Keeping Up With Piper

by Amanda Adair

  I breathe out before entering the classroom for geography. I’ve always been eager to learn new things, meet new people and live life, but lately I’ve been feeling too empty to care about anything. I haven’t studied at all. I barely have any energy for homework at the moment. Sometimes I just stare at a wall, at my meal or at some tree during the bus ride, and that’s it. I just stare at it, feeling empty.

  “Pen,” I hear Piper shout in the hallway.

  I hurry even more to sit down. This time I pick a seat in the first row. That way I can maybe become a more active student again, like I was in elementary and middle school. I may not come along with my classmates, but I can at least concentrate on school.

  “My lashes annoy me,” Penelope complaints as soon as she appears in the doorframe.

  “You need to wear them more often, so you get used to them,” Piper says as they walk towards the second row.

  “You never wear fake lashes,” Penelope says. Their voices become quieter as they move farer away from me. “How would you know?”

  “Well, YouTube,” Piper says.

  “We should start a YouTube channel,” Penelope says.

  I don’t know why I still listen to them instead of the teacher, who just introduced himself as Mr. Jensen.

  “For what?”

  It takes a while for Penelope to answer. “Beauty, pranks, I don’t know.”

  Pranks like taking pictures of my bare skin and sending it to everyone they know? I’m just glad Mr. Jensen doesn’t suggest doing some icebreaker again. I’m so done with that. The lesson takes forever to finish. It’s the last lesson on this day. I pack my stuff and walk outside the classroom. What now? Normally I would just do my homework either at home, at school or at a friend’s house and then hang out with them. Watch Netflix, do sports, play some games (not like the games I played with Piper, Penelope and the others but card games or pantomime), walk their dogs or go to the cinema. There’s plenty of things to do in Toronto. Every afternoon was different in some way or another. I’ve never felt so bored and alone before. Maybe I should get myself an Instagram account, if that’s the way they communicate. Maybe I shouldn’t.

  As I walk down the hallway, straight towards the exit, I hear Cora and Anna talk behind my back.

  “Did you know she’s been with some prisoner?,” Anna says.

  “Of course,” Cora says skeptically.

  “No, seriously, that’s what Piper told me.”

  I wonder who they’re talking about.

  “Come on, that’s not true. In Canada?”

  “Yeah. Some juvenile detention center.”

  Are they talking about me? Automatically I turn around. Cora and Anna look at each other, then they look down and walk past me. I can’t believe it. Yes, they were talking about me. Piper’s now spreading rumors about a prisoner-ex of mine. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Is that mandatory when you enter high school? Only one of my friends back home already had a relationship, not a serious one though.

  My day can’t get any worse. My week can’t. When I get home, Mom isn’t there. I wouldn’t know where she went. The only thing she could do was go grocery shopping. What else is there to do for a Mom in Maywood? She doesn’t know any of the other Mom’s yet and they wouldn’t get to know each other. It’s not like we’re having playdates like in elementary school. I walk to the kitchen and open the fridge. There are eggs, bacon, non-dairy milk, pesto, some red peppers and cheddar. I’m not in the mood for any of this. With a deep sigh I close the fridge again. I remember that Dad keeps some chocolate chip cookies in the top drawer next to the dishwasher. That is because he got frustrated sometimes when working on his dissertation and, of course, that’s also the case with his habilitation. He just eats one cookie (yes, just one, he’s very disciplined and therefore slim) and then he continues working.

  Just as I swallow the last cookie crumbs and chocolate chips the front door opens.

  “Samantha are you there?,” I hear Dad say.

  Sadly, I am. Where else should I be? I don’t have anywhere to go, let alone anything to do. I spend the rest of the day in front of the TV with my parents. I didn’t know what so say when they asked me about school.

  “It’s fine, yes.”

  “They’re okay, it’s just that it’s hard being the new kid.”

  “The workload is okay.”

  Yes, the workload is fine since it’s been just a few days. And to be honest, I was so distracted by the photo Penelope took of me that I haven’t been dealing with my homework much. But it is totally not fine. I’m not fine and the worst thing is I can’t tell them. As much as I want to I can’t do it. I can’t tell them there’s a photo of my bare breast out there. They would blame me. Am I the one to blame? I went to Piper’s game evening by choice even though I already knew she’s quite a difficult and strange girl, so are Penelope, Axel, Tammy and Jason. It’s not that hard being the new kid. I’ve been the new kid so often in my life. I’ve been the new kid every time I went to a different acting camp, every time I went to a new school, every time I attended an acting workshop. I’ve been the new kid before, it’s not hard, it shouldn’t be, it’s exciting actually. This time it just feels exhausting.

  I wake up before the alarm goes off. Not because I’ve had such a pleasant and restful sleep but because my sheets turned into a wetland. Apparently I’ve been sweating all night long. It looks. Like I’ve been swimming in the sea and went straight to bed, taking half of the ocean with me. I have no idea why. This night went by without any nightmares or other incidents. I shower before I finally change the bedding. I throw the wet bedding and sheets into my bathroom because I can’t let Mom wash or see these. I talk myself into believing it’s probably just the stress these last days that turned my body into a sprinkler. I avoid talking to Mom this morning. I walk down the stairs shortly before I go to the bus.

  “I’m late,” I say as I walk past the kitchen, where Mom’s sitting at the dining table. Looks like she made pancakes again.

  “See you, Samantha,” I hear her say before the door closes.

  School’s even worse today. Nobody approaches me, they all just stare and get out of my way as soon as I appear. It feels like I’m a rock in a river. The water swerves but it for sure leaves its marks on the rock in the long run.

  27

  Weeks pass by, even months. Brown, yellow and red leaves turn into white snow, snow turns into flowers of all colors, the flowers dry out during a heat wave in summer, then those brown, yellow and red leaves celebrate their comeback. It didn’t get better at school, it got worse with every month spent at Maywood High. It’s been a while since people have talked to me. It feels like they aren’t even avoiding me but rather allergic to me. No one talks to me, no one approaches me, rarely anybody reacts when I talk to them. They just giggle, laugh, walk away, look away, even push me away. It’s mostly people who don’t know me or people who work at Maywood High that still talk to me. Everyone Piper knows treats me like a ghost, even worse, they treat me like some disgusting illness. I just want to disappear. I started going to the library after school. I didn’t know where else to go without any company. I wasn’t able to make any friends because of Piper and her minions. Well, that’s not true. I’ve had a friend during summer, for a few months. Francine.

  Francine is French and came to Maywood for a student exchange. She lives with Karen Samuel, a middle-aged woman and coworker of my Dad. She’s a coordinator for international exchange at the university. She doesn’t have any children, so she applied as a host family, or host mom since she lives alone, at an international exchange organization. She now hosts Francine Boucher. She is fifteen years old and comes from Marseille. When she got here she was skinny, a bit introverted and her look was decent. She didn’t wear any makeup but wide trousers and shirts. My Dad though I could show her around, and even though I wasn’t in the mood I started hanging out with her.

  On a sunny and humid Saturday in late July Dad drove Francine and me to Phil
adelphia.

  “You won’t have much time for trips like this when school starts,” Dad said while driving. He looked like a professor with his simple large glasses and his messy haircut. He’s always been a flagship nerd. Mom once showed me a photo of their wedding.

  “I hope I can go at least on a few trips,” Francine said and looked at me. “I want to see the whole East Coast and then travel to California and see Vegas on the way.”

  Her hair is medium blonde. It has lots of highlights. She said it’s her natural hair color. Francine has narrow lips but pretty green eyes, and a lovely French accent, of course. The guys at school will like her, I’m sure of that. Most of my classmates started dating by now. Not Cora, she seems to be focused on her grades and sports and her scholarship. She has three brothers, maybe that’s why she’s more of a buddy to the boys at school than a girlfriend. But Piper and Penelope, even Anna, they’re all dating someone. I’ve seen most of the others kiss someone at least, even if it was sometimes just for a dare. I’ve realized that Penelope’s into older guys, meaning guys in college or older brothers of our classmates. Everyone knew she’s into Elliot, but he started dating a precocious blonde freshman, so Penelope started making out with Anna’s brother, then with even older boys. I’ve heard she’s busy. Piper, however, is less volatile. Even though she seems to have a special relationship with Axel (or he at least wants a real relationship with her), she’s somehow dating Dan, who’s a senior. She met him because of her group of older friends.

  It took a while to drive all the way to Philadelphia. Maywood really is in the middle of nowhere.

  “We could visit Toronto,” I said, “or New York at least.”

  “You’ve lived in Toronto, right?,” she asked. Every time she said something it sounded like Marion Cotillard. Not anymore though, she’s almost lost her accent.

  “We moved here about a year ago,” I told her and looked down at my blue dress.

  “Was it easy to get to know everybody?,” she then asked. “I never moved anywhere else, not even within France. I’ve always lived in Marseille.”

  What should I say? After one year in town barely anybody ever talks to me, or is interested in me, or cares about me. It didn’t matter if I was chatty or quiet, moving or motionless, present or absent, alive or dead. They don’t like me, no matter what I do. Probably they all wish I was gone. I had no one to talk to besides my parents, and I even started telling them as little as possible. Then came Francine. I didn’t think our friendship could last for long.

  “It’s sometimes hard,” I finally said. Sometimes? What did I just say? “It’s really different from Toronto. Just different from cities in general.” And I thought it would be difficult for Francine. Marseille isn’t a small town either.

  “Oh.” Francine looked away.

  “Don’t worry,” Dad said. “Samantha managed to overcome all the differences, and so will you.” I saw his smile through the rear-view mirror. I quickly lowered my gaze.

  Thanks, Dad. I managed to overcome nothing. I didn’t manage to fit in. I admire my parent’s blindness. They really do not get it. They just don’t see what’s going on. Francine stays in Pennsylvania for a whole year, I thought, maybe I can become popular with her as a friend. She just got her, and I was the first one to get to know her. Having her by my side could change everything. Even though I asked myself why a French girl would want to spend one year of her lifetime in Maywood, Pennsylvania, I was glad she came here.

  In Philadelphia Dad had an appointment with a colleague. That’s what he said but I guess he just wanted us to have some fun time without a parent around. I appreciate that. Francine and I did some sightseeing, we had cheesecake for lunch, and then visited the LOVE sculpture downtown.

  “Let’s take some photos,” Francine said and dragged me in front of the huge red letters. “First one’s serious,” she said, held her phone up and put her arm around me. “Next one’s a silly one.” On her phone I saw that she rolled her eyes up, so they were almost all white. I stuck out my tongue for the photo. “Perfect,” she said as she looked at the results of our photoshoot.

  “Do you mind taking one of me?,” she asked and handed me her phone.

  While Francine posed in front of the sculpture I tried to take a few good-looking photos of her. She thanked me and asked, “what’s your Instagram?”

  I still didn’t have Instagram. No one back in Toronto cared if I had a profile or not. Here no one wanted to see my face in real life, so I didn’t feel like showing anything of myself on social media.

  “I don’t have Instagram,” I said.

  “You’re right, Maywood really is a small town if people here don’t use Instagram,” she said. “I use it to show my friends and family what I’m up to in America. But okay, tell me when you have an account, so I can tag you.”

  I thought that could be my chance to get involved in Maywood’s social media life. That evening, when we came back from Philadelphia, and Francine stayed at my place overnight, I downloaded Instagram on my old iPhone that I practically inherited from Dad.

  “I can’t think of a username,” I said. Francine said on my bed and scrolled through TikTok. I could hear lots of songs, sounds and voices.

  “How about goldilicious,” she said. “Is that taken?”

  “Sounds weird,” I said.

  “I decided to go for franfromfrance,” she said and rolled her eyes. “I’m so not creative. I just thought it’s funny.”

  “samanthagold,” I finally said and immediately typed it into my phone. There it was. My account, without any photos, but with one follower. Francine.

  “Mignonne,” she said.

  “What?,” I asked and held out a plate full of mini pancakes and Oreos.

  She took some and said, “it’s a cute name.”

  Francine and I became close friends during summer. We visited New York with Mrs. Samuel, who kept telling me I should call her Karen, we walked her dog Scrunchie, and we talked about all differences between life in the States and in France. I found a friend in Pennsylvania. I never thought I could. But I knew she would only stay for a very limited amount of time.

  Just before the new school year started we went to our then favorite place in Maywood, a small but cozy café next to the library. We came here almost every day. The owner is my neighbor, Mr. Sutton, a thirty-year-old widow, who has two daughters. Sara was five years old, Eliana nine. Francine and I sometimes babysat them. Mr. Sutton wants them to learn French, so Francine helped him with Sara’s and Eliana’s bilingual education, and I played or cooked with them. I taught them how to make cookies, and Francine taught them to say the ingredients in French.

  “Let’s sit over here,” Francine said and dragged me towards a corner bench behind the glass counter.

  “Do you wanna travel with me to Las Vegas?,” she asked after we ordered a coke and iced tea. She put her phone onto the wooden table. The interior almost reminded me of Toronto. But as soon as I looked outside I knew I wasn’t in a big city, not even close.

  “When?”

  “October,” she said. “I don’t want it to be too cold.”

  “But you know you can’t gamble or drink, right?,” I asked.

  “I know.” She sighed. “That’s not why I want to go. I just want to see the city, the lights, the nightlife, the fountain, the shopping malls.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  She may not look like a girl who loves fashion and shopping, but apparently she’s interested. Francine looked outside the huge window. It was a rather hot day, sunny and windless.

  “We have school on Monday,” she said as the waitress brought our drinks. “I’m so excited to go to an American school.”

  I suddenly got stomach pain. I didn’t really tell her why we never met anyone from school. I just couldn’t. How should I explain my situation? Francine wouldn’t understand. I didn’t know if she was popular back home.

  “Yeah.” I looked down at the slightly yellowish drink in front of
me. Lemon-flavored iced tea.

  I heard Francine say something, but I didn’t listen. I was mentally absent, thinking about what could happen on Monday. Maybe she was my ticket into the various popular groups at school, maybe she was the friends I needed to resist those groups, or maybe our friendship would end because she was about to realize that I was the most unpopular girl she’d ever encounter.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I want to throw a party.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Samuel wouldn’t allow that.

  “I asked Karen, she’s fine with it.”

  “You need to tell me who to invite,” she said.

  I swallowed. “Sure.”

  “Let’s make a list,” she said and grabbed her phone.

  What should I tell her? Nobody would come to a party if I was the host. I never tried because I knew.

  “Who should I invite?” She looked at me full of expectation.

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Say something, I told myself. “Well, you could invite Anna, Everly and Cora.” Stop, I thought, they don’t like me. But they don’t hate me as much as Piper or Penelope. “Bran.” No, Bran? Did I just say Bran? “Elliot.”

  “Okay,” she said and typed the names into her phone.

  “Maybe you should just get to know the people at school,” I said, “and then make a list.”

  Francine nodded. “You’re right. I don’t want to steal all your friends.”

  She couldn’t steal what I didn’t have.

  We spent the weekend at Mrs. Samuel’s house, swum in her pool and made non-alcoholic cocktails. It was nice to have someone to do that with, all of it. On Monday Francine and I came to school separately. As I walked down the hallway I stared at my phone. I wondered if I should just text her.

  SAMANTHA

  Hey there, hope you’re not lost, see you in class

  A second later I received her reply. She sent me a photo of the school entrance. I waited a few more moments until Francine finally arrived in the hallway. As always she wore a huge long-sleeved shirt, but that day she didn’t wear jeans or wide trousers. She wore a skirt. One that looked like Britney Spears’ dark skirt in her …Baby One More Time iconic music video.