Auburn: Outcasts and Underdogs

by Valerie Thomas

  Chapter 18

  Charlie’s grandfather passed on January third. His wife’s birthday. I thought it was poetic, but no matter how many times we talked about it, Charlie kept blaming him. I won’t lie, it caused a rift between us that felt insurmountable.

  We tried writing a song to fix things: Early Flight. I wrote the melody for an acoustic guitar, but Joey had to step in to play it, since it made Charlie too emotional. Hell, it made me emotional. That was sort of the point. It was a simple metaphor, a man taking the early flight home. The first time I sung the lyrics, Joey guessed what it was about. But that was okay; we weren’t trying to hide anything.

  What I’m getting around to—admittedly, in a roundabout manner—is that Charlie and I were hardly speaking by the time Winter Break ended. That, paired with my inability to stay away from Loser McGee, left me feeling sick.

  Sick enough to miss one day. Sick enough to miss two days. I didn’t know if Mom called me in, but I stayed home for a third and fourth day. It was just easier than going to school. No Jessica, no Charlie, nothing but a TV and terrible daytime programming.

  I was lounging on the living room couch in a pair of oatmeal-stained yoga paints when the doorbell disturbed my half-sleeping state. With a groan, I rolled off the couch and rose to my feet. The doorbell rang again, twice.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, annoyed by the disturbance. Somewhere between the second and third day, I’d managed to convince myself that I actually was sick.

  It looked like the short woman outside was about to ring the bell again, but thankfully I was able to turn the lock and pull the door open first. My brow furrowed in confusion. “Principal Wroth?”

  She looked up at me, hands on her hips in the stance of a strict disciplinarian. “Ahem. Yes, Ashley. Can you tell me where your mother is?”

  “Y-yeah. I think she’s at work.” It was strange; I wasn’t quite sure how to react. As far as I knew, the principal didn’t make house calls.

  “Alright. Does she know that you didn’t go to school today?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Of course she does. I mean, she noticed that I didn’t leave for the bus today. Probably. I think.”

  Principal Wroth’s jaw popped as if she was holding back strong emotions. “My office didn’t receive a call from her. You’ve had three unexcused absences in a row. Do you know what that means, Miss Nimzovitch?”

  It was all I could do to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “That I’m in trouble, I guess.”

  “Yes, you could say that. I’m legally required to serve notice to your mother and recommend you to the school district’s truancy program.” Her eyes were on me, but for some reason I got the feeling that her anger was aimed in a different direction.

  “Wait, what?” My mind wasn’t in panic mode, but the word truancy certainly got my attention.

  “I have to speak to your mother and recommend you to the truancy program,” the principal repeated unhelpfully. “Don’t worry, it sounds worse than it is. All it means is that steps will be taken to prevent future unexcused absences.”

  I suddenly felt very dizzy, but I also had a weird urge to laugh. Of course it would all come back to me. I couldn’t catch a break. “Okay, cool. What steps will you take?” I asked, faking nonchalance.

  “Miss Nimzovitch, this is serious.” Principal Wroth let her hard exterior fall. Just enough that I could see a human side of her. “Ashley, you don’t want to be forced to go to Saturday school, do you? You don’t want to experience juvenile court.”

  Before I knew it, I’d lost my composure. “No, I don’t want to go to juvenile court!” I practically screamed. “I don’t want things to be this way! I don’t… I didn’t ask for this… Any of it.”

  “Ashley, any of what? Are things okay? Are you alright?”

  Just say you’re alright, I told myself. Say you’re alright or she’ll make you talk to a counselor. But I couldn’t do it. “No, I’m not okay. I’m not okay.” Saying the words felt like I was lifting a hundred-pound weight off my chest; I wasn’t alright, and I’d been lying far too long.

  “Can I come in?” When I nodded, Wroth guided me into the house, pausing only to gently close the front door. She maneuvered me toward the wicker dining table and helped me into a chair. By the time she found a seat across from me, tears were flowing freely. I didn’t even try to stop them.

  “Okay Ashley, let’s talk. What’s wrong? Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I shook my head.

  Principal Wroth breathed in, drawing it out over several seconds. “Can I guess what’s wrong?” When I looked up, she was wearing a sympathetic expression. When I didn’t answer, she started to guess. “I think our interactions are all connected. The first time you were sent to me, it was because someone was spreading rumors about you. At least, that’s what you told me at the time.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her display of memory, but otherwise didn’t comment.

  “Then,” she continued, “Then you were brought before me because of… Hmm, worrisome song lyrics. Possibly suicidal, according to Mr. Schmitt. When I saw you performing downtown, those lyrics worried me too, because you were singing about how no one really loves you. And now here we are, discussing your unexcused absence from school.”

  No response had been asked for, so I stayed silent. Her attempts to understand both irritated me and made my heart jump; I thought that I might finally have someone on my side. Someone with power to affect real change.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “In my experience, there’s usually a short list of reasons why a student becomes truant. Drugs are one, and problems at home are another. I… Ahem, I hope it’s not either of those. So I suppose I’ll start with what I hope it is—although that’s not quite the right word. Ashley, are you being bullied?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But it doesn’t matter, because they use this fake Facebook profile so you can’t trace it back to them.”

  A kind smile slowly spread on Principal Wroth’s face. “Tracing it back to ‘them’ isn’t your job, Ashley. It’s mine. I can help. Who’s bullying you?”

  As with the first time I’d come before her, I found myself thinking about wanting to settle things on my own. It didn’t matter anymore; at least, not to me. At some point, my sanity and well-being had to come before pride. “Her name’s Jessica Smith. Her friend Maya does some stuff too, but I think it’s mostly Jessica. Whenever she sees me do something stupid or embarrassing she posts on the fake profile, pretending to be me.”

  “Jessica Smith.” She nodded, as if that was all she needed to commit the name to memory. “I’ll look into it. Has she done anything besides posting on that fake profile?”

  “Yeah… She was the one who called me a slut back in freshman year. She made me read Romeo and Juliet to the class.” I frowned; somehow it didn’t sound as bad when I phrased it like that. “What I mean is, our class read the play and she signed me up to be Juliet. So I had to act it out in front of everyone and I don’t know if that counts as bullying, but it should. She knew how afraid I was of speaking in front of other people.”

  She sighed. “If she intended it to harm you and you felt bullied by her actions, then of course it counts as bullying. Although, to be frank, I’m still more worried about the fake profile. Do you know where to find it?”

  The question almost made me laugh; of course I knew where to find it. I had it saved under my bookmarks, so that I could go there whenever I was feeling a little too good about myself. No, that was a lie; I mostly went there late at night, when I could cry and feel sorry for myself without anyone seeing. I pulled out my phone and clicked on the link before handing it over to the principal.

  “Thank you.” She pulled out her own phone and typed in a note. “I promise, I’ll investigate until the situation is resolved. If you know anyone who can prove Jessica is behind this, just let me know. It would make things a little easier, but either way, I’ll t
ry to figure everything out. In the meantime… Ask your mother to call and excuse your absence when she gets home. If you only have two unexcused absences, then this entire truancy mess can be avoided. But…” She pushed away from the table and stood up. “If I don’t see you at school tomorrow, I’m personally coming over here to kick your behind.”

  If someone had told me that I’d be laughing at the end of a visit from the school principal, I think I would have asked them which flavor of crazy they were drinking. Yet there I was, laughing. Out of relief more than anything else; an adult had promised me things were going to be better, and as much as I hated to admit it, I needed that.

  I texted Mom to let her know that she hadn’t called me in sick, and then changed into some decent clothes. I had no plans of catching the end of the school day, but I’d missed three days of band practice as well.

  The sun seemed to shine brighter as I walked over to Charlie’s house. I took my time, enjoying the clear smell of winter. The smell of freedom. I’d told someone I wasn’t okay, and it had been—perhaps ironically—okay. It was alright to not be alright.

  I slapped the ‘sop’ sign as I passed; they still hadn’t replaced the t, but that was fine with me. In another few minutes, I was at Charlie’s house, waiting outside his garage for the other two-thirds of Auburn to arrive.

  They made so much sound that I heard them before I saw them. Charlie’s bright laugh, Joey’s rich baritone. I couldn’t make out clear words, but it sounded like they were having fun.

  “Oh,” Charlie said as they came into view. The way his expression fell hurt a little. “Hey Ash. Are you feeling better?”

  “We were just wondering if we’d have to hold try-outs to replace you or something.” Joey grinned. “Jessica was first on our list, but then I realized I was more likely to strangle her with my guitar chord than play bass for her.”

  I laughed at the classic example of Joey humor. “Thanks for not replacing me with her. So, have you guys come up with any new songs for me?”

  “Songs for you?” Joey asked. “Shit, we thought you were writing songs for us. No, but seriously… It’s good to see you.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie agreed. His nose scrunched up in thought. It was clear he wanted to say something, but it took him a while to get the words out. “Ash, can we talk about us for a minute?” he finally asked.

  There wasn’t an easy way to say no, but I didn’t know what we would talk about. We had different opinions and, as far as I knew, that was that. “Um, sure.” I walked over to the edge of the driveway, where we could be reasonably certain that Joey wouldn’t overhear. At least, as long as we weren’t too loud.

  “This is stupid, isn’t it?” Charlie whispered. “I mean, there’s really nothing wrong between us. Maybe the only problem is that we’re still focusing on my grandpa’s death. He’s gone now, and I’m trying to be okay with it, but I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want us to be strangers, or just bandmates.”

  I folded my arms; since I already felt relatively peaceful, it was easy to agree with what he was saying. “Yeah, I don’t want to be strangers either. I miss you. It might sound stupid, but I can’t bear the thought of facing school without you anymore. We’re allies, and I don’t have many of those.”

  The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at Charlie’s features. “I’m glad to hear that. We’ll just try to forget everything that came before, then. But you should know… Ash, even during the worst of it, I would have been your ally. I’m always on your side, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

  It was entirely possible that he simply knew that what he was saying was what I wanted to hear, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Thanks, Charlie.”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s go play some music.”

  We turned, and he put his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the garage. It was empty except for our equipment, but we still stayed to one side in case Charlie’s dad came home. Practice was going fine until I started singing Early Flight.

  “He took the early flight home. Packed his bags and said, ‘I’ve gotta go.’” I sang the song with more inflection than I normally used; it was slower than our other songs, which meant I could focus on making every syllable sound perfect. “Kissed me on both cheeks, said goodbye to everyone. Told me our time together was just about done. ‘Cause he took the early flight home.”

  In the slight pause before the next lyric, I twisted to meet Charlie’s eyes. His expression was somewhere between controlled anger and less-controlled annoyance. Joey, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to play his child-sized acoustic guitar.

  “All the love that we shared, the times that we cried. The times that we laughed, I still had to say goodbye. They fit neatly in his suitcase, next to pictures of his wife. I love him forever, but he left us last night.” My voice broke slightly; it was hard not to sing the song without becoming emotional.

  “Yeah, he took the early flight home. Who could tell him he was wrong? He took—“

  Charlie interrupted me by clearing his throat loudly. “I think we need to rework the chorus,” he announced. “That part about him being wrong. We could say ‘I would tell him he was wrong’ instead.”

  “But that doesn’t work as well,” I said. “It’s a love song, in a way. And if you change the lyrics like that, it just makes it sound angry.”

  “Well, who cares? Maybe I am angry. Didn’t you say this was my song to get over what happened?”

  I looked to Joey, hoping he would back me up. But he just shrugged. “Sorry, you guys are the writers. I just play my guitar.” It was a total cop-out, and I almost told him so.

  Instead, I lowered the mic as I refocused on Charlie. “Do you think that maybe we should shelve the song until we can play it without everyone getting emotional?”

  “I don’t know.” His brow furrowed. “I guess we should play it the way it was originally written, if that’s what you want to do. Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here and pretend like I have something to do while you sing.”

  “But you asked Joey to play it!” I said, feeling worn bare by his passive-aggressiveness. “And we both wrote the song together! It’s one song, it’s not like we’re trying to kick you out of the band!”

  “You know what? Maybe we’re done with practice for the day.”