by Lisa Yee
“I’m sorry, I can’t find your form,” Samantha Verve said when it was my turn at the front of the table.
“I’m sure it’s there,” I said evenly.
“Nope,” she said, scanning the list again. “No Dinky Dick.”
The joke was wearing thin.
Roo came over and sat down next to Samantha. “Maybe I can help,” she said. “Because unlike some people, I like to help. What is your last name?”
“You know my last name,” I said impatiently.
“Excuse me, but have we met?” Roo said. Her lower lip began to tremble. Tears welled in her light blue eyes. Most people were mesmerized by Roo’s eyes. They were like aquamarine gemstones, as flawless and clear as the sky on a perfect day. Only, today was far from perfect.
“Look, I’m sorry —” Before I could finish, Roo’s delicate shoulders were heaving as she sobbed.
“Go away!” Samantha shouted, putting a protective arm around Roo.
“Look, I just want my cap and gown,” I protested.
Mrs. Sanchez hurried over. “Is there a problem with A through G?” she asked.
“I just want my cap and gown,” I pleaded.
Roo and Samantha scowled in solidarity.
“Thank you for the apples, Higgs,” Mrs. Sanchez said as she tried to find my order. “I’m going to miss all the fresh fruit! And you too, of course. I’m looking forward to hearing your commencement speech. You’ve come a long way.”
Mrs. Sanchez handed me my cap and gown sealed in a plastic bag, along with a gold tassel for being in the honor society, plus a gold sash with the word “valedictorian” printed on it.
“Thank you,” I told her. “For everything.”
She nodded. Mrs. Sanchez knew what I meant.
Just then Lauren Fujiyama got in line behind me. It was hard to hate her. Lauren was nice to everyone.
“Hey, congrats,” I said.
She smiled shyly. “Thanks, Higgs. It was a huge surprise. I really thought that you were going to get it. Well, you or Zander.”
“Well, you can’t win them all,” I said, trying to smile back. The only thing was, up until that day, I thought I could.
My parents were sitting side by side, poring over Reflections/snoitcelfeR. I couldn’t recall the last time they’d sat this close to each other.
“It’s an odd name, don’t you think?” Mom asked.
“snoitcelfeR is Reflections spelled backward,” Charlie explained. “And it’s not an odd name, it’s an incredibly odd and stupid name.”
“Twelve! Higgs, you’re in here twelve times,” Dad crowed. He raised his glass to me.
I still hadn’t told him about not getting Senior of the Year. I wasn’t sure how he would take that, given that it was the last award Jeffrey had won before heading off to Harvard. Well, wait. Technically, my brother never did go to Harvard. Yes, he was accepted, but he never did make it to his first day of class.
“Thirteen,” I corrected my father. “I’m in there thirteen times.”
“Very nice,” Mom said. “You’re very photogenic, honey. Although I wish you had gotten a haircut for your jazz band photo.”
“What about me?” Charlie asked. “I’m in there too, you know.”
Dad finished off his second Chivas, then swirled the ice around the empty glass. “Charlie, your photo is with all the others in the freshman class section. You’re going to need to get more active in school if you want to go to Harvard, like your brother.”
“What if I don’t want to go to Harvard like my brother?” Charlie snorted. She shoved a handful of Doritos in her mouth and crunched angrily. “Besides, I’m in there more than once.”
“Oh! Where?” Mom brightened. “Show me.”
“I’m on the music page, plus there,” Charlie said, stabbing at a picture with her finger.
“Where?”
“There!”
“That’s you?” My mother squinted.
“Uh-huh,” Charlie answered. I sensed a twinge of pride in her voice. “I’m a member of the StreetArt Asylum, a.k.a. STartA.”
“Shouldn’t that be STart Ass?” I said.
Everyone ignored me.
“You’re a SweeTart?” asked Mom. “Isn’t that a candy?”
“StreetART … Street Art …,” Charlie tried to explain. “You know, outsider art in the streets.”
“Is that safe?” Mom was still examining the photo.
“Let me see that,” Dad said, taking the yearbook. “That’s not you!”
“It is me, I swear!” Charlie cried. “That’s me behind the boy wearing the Andy Warhol wig.”
“And how is being in the Sweetheart Club going to help you to get into Harvard?” Dad asked in his I-am-forming-this-as-a-question-but-it’s-really-me-telling-you-something way.
I put a pillow over my face to stop from laughing.
“Urrgggg!!!!” Charlie shouted. “Damn all of you, and damn Harvard!”
We sat still and watched her storm out of the room.
“Three … two … one,” I counted down. Right on cue, Charlie ran back in and grabbed the bag of Doritos. Then she stopped, glared at me, and yelled, “Dinky Dick!!!”
My father watched Charlie retreat to her room. “You should talk to her about her language,” he said to my mother. “It really is unacceptable.”
Mom shook her head. “She’s always so angry. I don’t know what to do about that girl.”
“You could farm her out to another family,” I suggested.
Dad chuckled as my mother cautioned me, “Now, Higgs, be nice to your sister. Not everyone has the gifts you have.”
A skinny slacker dude was manning the cash register. His T-shirt read “I am currently out of the office.”
I had stopped at the iffy Mart and picked up a pack of Camel cigarettes, a Butterfinger, and a coffee, black, for myself. I started drinking coffee my freshman year to stay awake. By my senior year, I was a full-fledged caffeine addict.
The water tower loomed in the distance like a lighthouse without a beacon. As I crossed the gravel pit, I wondered why I was ever scared of it. Just then, I spotted a leg sticking up from the dirt. My heart leaped and a scream escaped, until I realized it was just a branch. Behold the power of suggestion.
Even though it was obscured by plants I could still see the rounded roof of the once-silver Airstream trailer. It reminded me of a giant pill bug rising among the weeds. Nick and I used to play with pill bugs when we were kids. They’d be crawling along the sidewalk, and we’d pick them up and watch them curl up in the palms of our hands before putting them back on the ground.
One time when I was little, I accidentally stepped on a pill bug and couldn’t stop crying. Later, Jeffrey came up to me with something in his hand. He uncurled his fingers. “See,” he said as he tousled my hair with his other hand. “You didn’t squish it, it’s still alive.”
As I got closer, I could see Monarch sitting outside the trailer in her lawn chair.
“Hello!” I called out. I began to jog toward her, then walked in an attempt to dial down my enthusiasm.
“Well, well,” Monarch said, lowering her cat’s-eye sunglasses and looking at me over the top of Madame Bovary. “If it isn’t Higgs Boson Bing, the human collider.”
Was I blushing? God, I hoped I was not blushing.
I handed her the cigarettes and candy bar.
“Coffee?” she said.
I handed her that too.
Without taking her eyes off of me, Monarch ripped the candy bar wrapper open with her teeth — she had nice teeth, perfectly even and white — and then broke off a piece. After removing the lid of the cup, she dropped the chunk of Butterfinger into the coffee. She put the lid back on, placed her thumb over the opening, and shook it up.
I wasn’t sure if Monarch was testing me, flirting with me, or challenging me, so I remained silent. She took a sip of coffee. “Ahhh, that’s good stuff,” she said, closing her eyes and clearly enjoying herself. I felt like a pe
rvert watching her, but still, I couldn’t turn away.
Monarch’s skin was pale and smooth, unlike Roo’s, who had been known to visit a tanning salon when the sun wasn’t cooperating. Monarch’s nose was small, but her lips were full. She had on bright red lipstick again. Her eyelids, rimmed with black, set off her hazel-blue eyes, which sparkled like they knew a secret. Roo aspired to be fashion model thin and gave the impression that she could float away at any given time. But Monarch was, and I mean this in the nicest way, grounded.
“What are you staring at?” Monarch asked when the cup was drained.
“Nothing,” I said. “Hey, did you get the cigarettes and Butterfinger from yesterday?”
Monarch arched an eyebrow. “Oh, those were from you?”
“Well, yeah, who did —?” Oh. She was making fun of me. When she started laughing, I did too. It was the first time I had laughed in two days.
* * *
Monarch had found an old plastic kiddie pool near the car graveyard and made me drag it across the gravel pit and up to her trailer. We were both sitting in it and she was using a broken tennis racket and rowing like she was in a boat. The shade from a giant oak covered us. We’d been there nearly an hour and neither of us had said anything, although every now and then she’d scream something like, “Alligator!” and fight off the imaginary creature with the tennis racket.
I couldn’t have spent an hour with Roo without her rambling on and on about some inane topic, like whether she should part her hair in the middle, or if bananas made you fat, or if, when we’re married, we’d have one or two kids.
Finally, I said to Monarch, “How long have you been here?”
“Been where?” she asked, staring at a hawk overhead. “In this boat? In the Airstream? In this world?”
“All three, I guess,” I said.
Monarch reached down into her boot and retrieved a cherry-red Zippo lighter with a rooster on it, then lit up. She tapped the cigarette ashes into an empty Spam can. I was charmed that we were out in the woods and yet she used an ashtray.
“I have been in this boat to nowhere with Higgs Boson for about an hour?” she said. I had almost forgotten that I had asked her a question. “I don’t have a watch,” she continued, “so I’m just guessing. It feels like I’ve been on my own for about forever, and I’ve been on the planet for eighteen years.”
“Me too,” I said.
“You’re on your own?” For the first time, she looked interested in me.
“No, I’m eighteen too.”
“Oh,” Monarch said, clearly disappointed.
“All right,” I told her. “Now you can ask me three questions about myself.”
“What if I don’t want to know anything about you?”
“Well, then you don’t have to,” I said, slightly wounded.
Monarch, rather ungracefully, got out of the rowboat and walked away.
I stayed seated, unsure of what to do.
Finally, she turned around. “Higgs Boson!” Monarch shouted. “Are you coming or not? I’ve thought of a question.”
I had to sprint to catch up to Monarch, who was happily tramping through the tall weeds and whacking them with the unstrung tennis racket. She had a pretty good backhand. Monarch was about eight inches shorter than me, but I wouldn’t have bet against her in a fight.
As I neared, she turned around and gave me an evil grin before swatting me with the racket.
“Hey,” I cried. “That hurt!”
“Why are you here?” Monarch asked, holding the racket as if she meant to hit me again.
“Because you told me to come with you,” I reminded her as I rubbed my shoulder. I slowly stepped away from her, lest she attack again.
“No, why are you here? That’s my question. Why are you in Brookhaven? Why aren’t you playing with your after-school friends?”
“School’s not going so well right now,” I admitted.
“Why?” she asked as we neared a gnarled old tree that seemed to shoot up for miles.
“It’s complicated,” I answered.
“What grade are you in?”
“Senior. I graduate on Saturday. What about you?”
She started to say something, before stopping herself. I regretted asking the question. Monarch seemed like the dropouts who hung around campus. My suspicions were confirmed when she said sullenly, “A high school diploma leads to what, Higgs? Another four-year prison term?”
We walked in silence.
“Give me a boost,” Monarch ordered when we got to the tree.
As she climbed, I followed, and when I was halfway up, I settled into a sturdy branch and wrapped my arms around the trunk. Monarch kept going higher and I couldn’t help but look up her dress. She was wearing black panties. I wondered if her bra was black too? That is, if she was even wearing one.
“Higgs Boson, explain yourself,” Monarch demanded.
I started to tell her that I didn’t mean to look up her dress, until I realized that wasn’t what she was talking about. So instead, I explained the flyers and the PA announcement, and that I didn’t get Senior of the Year. It felt so good to finally talk to someone about it all, like a weight had been lifted. I didn’t mention Roo or the kidney hypothetical.
The sound began low and worked its way up to full-out howl. Monarch could not, or would not, stop laughing. “That is SO pathetic,” she cried. “I LOVE it! You are such a loser!!!”
If I hadn’t been sitting in a tree, I would have walked away. Forget Monarch. Who was she anyway? Just some random girl who lived in a trailer in the woods? Who was she to make fun of me — Harvard-bound Higgs Boson Bing, Sally Ride High Valedictorian, Debate Captain, Varsity Track.
“Dinky Dick!” she yelped. “How funny is that?!!!”
By then, she was laughing so hard that no sound came out.
“It’s not funny at all,” I muttered. “And it’s not dinky,” I added a little louder.
I was glad she was above me and couldn’t see my face. My jaw had locked into that painful position that inflicted itself upon my father whenever someone mentioned Trent Tenafly.
“Oh, but it is funny,” Monarch insisted.
How long can one person laugh? I wondered.
“It’s beyond funny because it’s so surreal, like you’ve been shit on in every direction, and keep popping up for more. You’re a shit magnet! Oh, wait, I’ve got it. You’re like those Whac-A-Moles, only instead of getting hit with a mallet, you get shit on!!!”
Monarch climbed down the tree, over me, and then stood below, grinning.
I pretended to be interested in the tree bark.
“Come on.” She motioned to me. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get down here. Set your worries aside for a while. They’ll be there when you get back!”
I shook my head. I wasn’t talking to her.
“Oh, Higgs Boson Bing, grow up,” Monarch chided. “So you had a bad couple of days. Big deal. It could be a lot worse. You could have actual problems.”
I picked at a leaf. There was a spider on it, so I set him gently on a branch.
“Dinky,” she called out in a faux sweet voice. Her regular voice radiated confidence, unlike Roo, who made everything sound like a question, or Rosalee, who made everything sound like a command.
“Oh, Dinky, are you having a private moment up there?” Monarch asked.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
She pouted. “Now, now, Dinky, is that any way to talk to a friend?”
Then the strangest thing happened — I started to smile. I struggled to tamp it down. My situation was not funny, she was not funny, I reminded myself.
“Dinky …?”
Suddenly, the laughter doubled as I joined in.
“Come on down, Higgs,” Monarch said as she bent over to catch her breath.
“I can’t,” I told her.
“Why?”
“Because,” I confessed, “I’m scared.”
“Listen,” Monarch said. Her head
was tilted back as she looked up at me. “Name-calling and not winning an award is nothing to be scared of. Wondering where your next meal is coming from, now that’s a problem.” Monarch imitated a game show announcer and yelled, “Higgs Boson Bing, come on down!”
“I can’t,” I insisted.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t.”
She put her hands on her hips. “What is your problem, Higgs?”
I wrapped my arms tighter around the tree. “I’m scared of heights.”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“I AM SCARED OF HEIGHTS, OKAY? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?”
I was sure Monarch was going to start laughing at me again, but she didn’t. Instead, she shook her head and walked away, leaving me stuck up a tree.
It felt as if I had been perched in that tree forever. I had my cell phone, I could have called someone. But who? Nick couldn’t talk to me and Roo wouldn’t. My mother would start crying and my father would get mad. Charlie would never let me live it down. What was I doing in a tree, anyway? Trying to pick up some tattooed girl? What was her story? I wondered. Maybe she was a grifter. You know, one of those criminals who scams people.
Great. I was probably stuck in a tree forever, all because of some gritty grifter chick. As I resigned myself to the sad fact that I would probably die in that tree, I heard whistling in the distance. I wasn’t sure whether to call out or to be silent.
The sound got louder. Someone was whistling, “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, off to work we go,” from Snow White. That was one of Charlie’s favorite movies when we were little. She used to cry when I called her Dopey. Only, it wasn’t Dopey or any of the dwarfs who was whistling, it was Monarch … and she was carrying a ladder!
“I wouldn’t do this for just anyone,” she said as she heaved it against the trunk of the tree. “But for my favorite Dinky Dick, well … I had no choice but to rescue you.”
I was embarrassed to admit it, but at that moment, my heart beat faster. She was my knight in shining armor.
Monarch steadied the ladder as I climbed down.
“Careful,” she told me. “Some of the steps are missing.”
It seemed as if the tree was spinning around like an old-fashioned barber shop pole. Still, I kept going, slowly, slowly, one step at a time. When my feet finally hit the dirt, I leaned over and started to hyperventilate.