Rebel Girls

by Elizabeth Keenan

  “Here,” I said. “If you really support Helen, you can wear this. It’s the most pro-life, anti-gossip thing I have.”

  I pushed past Angelle and into the classroom, not waiting to see her reaction. I rushed to my desk and leaned over to tuck my backpack underneath. When I sat up, Mrs. Bonnecaze loomed over me, taking up my personal space in the way that all the religion teachers at my school did. Her necklace—a large but simple cross on a gold chain—dangled above me as she bent her willowy frame to my level, serving as a reminder that she was the Voice of God in this classroom.

  She knelt down to get a better look at my bright turquoise “So what if she did?” patch, which stood out against the red nylon of my backpack with eye-jarring contrast. Her long purple skirt added an extra layer of clashing color.

  “Athena, I don’t think that patch conforms to uniform guidelines,” she announced.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think it does,” I said, trying to sound confident and knowledgeable. I’d been able to boss Angelle into submission in the hall, but Mrs. Bonnecaze was a teacher. Still, I knew that the patch conformed to the guidelines. It was all part of our plan—rebel in a totally visible, absolutely legitimate way in order to maximize exposure and minimize risk. “The rules say—”

  “I know you want to support your sister.” Mrs. Bonnecaze dropped her voice so only I could hear. “And I personally believe that sweet, sweet girl is innocent of the terrible things people are saying about her. But you cannot think that suggesting abortion is anything other than a sin will do you any good.”

  “But I thought the So What? campaign wasn’t really about abortion?” I said, trying out the lines that we’d prepared for this inevitable situation. I sounded almost like Wisteria. “As far as I know, it’s more about getting people to think—”

  “I know you might think that,” Mrs. Bonnecaze said, interrupting me again. Impatience crept into her rushed tone. “But that is not the signal it sends. And, at this school, you have to uphold the pro-life policy. Especially in times like these, when our country’s courts have seen fit to get rid of a law meant to protect the unborn. For students, that means you cannot suggest, however indirectly, that abortion is a good choice. It simply isn’t. It’s not good for the baby, it’s not good for the mother, it’s not good for society—”

  “That’s not what this is about,” I repeated. “We’re trying to—”

  “I’m only going to say this once.” She leaned into my face so that I could see every pore, the light dusting of powder, the strong line of blush she applied to her cheeks. She was so in my face that not only could I smell her perfume, but I felt like it was transferring onto me. “You have to take that patch off, or I’m sending you to Sister Catherine’s office.”

  I’d never been sent to the dean of discipline’s office before. Sister Catherine had the power to suspend me, or worse, if she wanted. I definitely didn’t want to go see her, but I also wasn’t about to take off my patch. I closed my loose-leaf binder and stuffed it into my backpack, then pushed up from my desk so that I was thoroughly in Mrs. Bonnecaze’s space. I wasn’t trying to be aggressive, but since she was so thoroughly invading mine, it was kind of unavoidable.

  “I guess I’m going to Sister Catherine’s office, then.”

  Mrs. Bonnecaze backed up, holding her hand to her chest with dramatic shock. “Athena, we should talk about this.”

  “No, you’re right. I’ll get confirmation that I can have the patch—or not—on my bag, and it’ll be over,” I said, holding out my hand. “Just give me a note to give to her, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Everyone was looking at me. Everyone. My heart pounded. This wasn’t like talking back to Mrs. Turner in her office or getting caught with a note by Mrs. Breaux. This was about standing up for something in front of everyone, with all the risks attached.

  Mrs. Bonnecaze blinked hard. “If that’s what you want.” She grabbed a pad of pink slips from her desk, scrawled some writing on it, and handed it to me.

  I grabbed it roughly from her hand, more from nerves than anger. If I made it through this, then our campaign would be able to go on. If not, everything would be over. And either way, I’d have to face Helen and Melissa. Either of them would be better at this than I was. Helen had determination, and Melissa had principled rudeness. I wasn’t sure what I had.

  With everyone now staring at me, I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders and walked out of the classroom. The only thing that kept me going was the adrenaline buzzing in my head, along with the steady reminder that I was doing something important. I was standing up for something I believed in.

  I walked through the empty hallway to Sister Catherine’s office, all while trying to figure out what I was going to say to her. I’d never had much cause to interact with her before, so I had no idea how she was likely to react to the situation.

  As I walked in, I noticed that it looked a little like Mrs. Turner’s office, but sparser and—paradoxically—much more comfortable. Two polished oak chairs with appealingly curved backs were lined up in front of her oak desk, and a bookcase filled with religious books and a ton of family photos stood behind it. I didn’t know nuns had families.

  Sister Catherine didn’t notice me standing by the door at first. She sat behind her desk in yet another polished wooden chair, her forehead creased with concentration all the way up to her gray habit. She was studying an open file folder through her reading glasses. Unlike Mrs. Breaux, she didn’t peer over the glasses as a means of intimidation, mostly because she didn’t have to. Her job title was enough.

  I tapped gently on her open door, and Sister Catherine looked up.

  “Oh, hello, Miss Graves.” Sister Catherine closed the manila folder on her desk and pulled the glasses from her face. I wasn’t sure if she usually called students by their last names or if she didn’t know my first name. “What can I do for you?”

  I wiped my palms against my uniform skirt. The fate of our campaign now rested in my sweaty hands.

  “Um, Mrs. Bonnecaze sent me. She wanted me to take a patch off my backpack. But I don’t see why.”

  Sister Catherine peered at my backpack from her seat behind her desk. “Hmm. ‘So what if she did?’ I see. Well, you’re not specifying what, so I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

  “Really?” My voice was a high-pitched squeak. “It doesn’t violate the pro-life policy?”

  As soon as I said it, I wanted to kick myself, because she was either unaware of the controversy surrounding Helen—which I doubted—or giving me a free pass for reasons unknown. Either way, I was shooting myself in the foot.

  Sister Catherine studied me for a good long time. I could practically see her thoughts forming in her head, except that I didn’t know what they were.

  “I think its meaning is in the eye of the beholder,” she said very deliberately. She raised her eyebrows at me meaningfully, and I felt a small surge of hope at the gesture. “If someone perceives it to be about something, such as—but not only—abortion, I can see why they might think it violates the policy. But as long as no one fills in that last blank on his or her patch, I won’t make the student in question remove it. Do you understand?”

  I did. Loud and clear. Stay ambiguous, and everything would be fine. Make a direct statement, and it would all be over. And that was perfect, really—I doubted Helen would be happy if we came out and used abortion in our campaign anyway. We were trying to clear her name, not cement an association between her and abortion in people’s minds.

  “Can I tell that to Mrs. Bonnecaze?”

  Sister Catherine shook her head. “You can’t. But I can.” She grabbed a pad of pink slips from the corner of her desk and scrawled a note. She handed it to me with a flourish. “Now, get back to class. I don’t want to see you here again.”

  I gulped hard, and then I saw that she was smiling. I guess nuns have weird senses
of humor. I smiled back at her, hoping we had formed a bond.

  She waved me away. “What are you waiting for? Get back to class, Miss Graves.”

  She didn’t have to tell me a third time. I practically sprinted out of the hall, thankful I’d missed out on whatever punishment that Mrs. Bonnecaze had imagined Sister Catherine might give me.

  26

  I looked at the pink hall pass to see what Sister Catherine had written.

  Athena Graves has not violated the dress code, nor have other students with pins and patches of the same kind. As Dean of Discipline, I offer no opinion as to the supposed political content of the message.

  She had also written the wrong time on the paper, giving me fifteen extra minutes before I had to rejoin Mrs. Bonnecaze’s class. I didn’t go back to her office to let her know. She’d given me a break, and I would take it.

  Instead of heading back to religion class, I went to the most isolated place on campus: the library’s study carrels. Raised up on a platform, but behind some of the stacks, I would see and hear anyone coming long before they saw me.

  Almost as soon as I sat down, Coach Wilson’s sociology class filed through the doors of the library. Coach Wilson, a former army brat and Trip’s dad, usually took discipline seriously, but that ended as soon as his class got through the doors and scattered to all corners of the library. Once everyone was out of his direct line of sight, he abandoned his teaching duties to flirt with Ms. Clapton, the librarian. I hunched down behind my carrel, hoping no one would notice me.

  I froze when I saw Kyle walk in, followed by Aimee. Aimee’s scarlet-lipsticked mouth bobbed up and down as she said something to Kyle, whose face alternated between disbelief and nodding understanding. They walked together toward the back of the library, where the sociology section abutted the stairs to the carrels. In other words, right below me.

  I ducked farther down and pulled my legs up onto the chair. I couldn’t leave now, not when they were so close. I wouldn’t be able to get past them without Aimee noticing. Plus, I had to know what she was saying to him. I silently thanked Sister Catherine for those extra fifteen minutes.

  “Did you find anything yet?” Aimee asked.

  “No. I think they were all checked out by the first-hour class,” Kyle answered. He sounded bored. They were probably assigned to work together.

  “Oh. Well, like I was telling you before—”

  “Look, if you’re going to tell me some more crap about Athena, you can stop now.”

  What did she say about me? Or really, what had she been saying, since he’d said “more”? At least he sounded like he didn’t believe whatever it was.

  I wrapped my arms around my knees and kept listening. I felt so tense I could explode.

  “Don’t get mad or anything,” Aimee said. “All I’m saying is, if you’re going to ask someone to the homecoming dance, please, ask Leah. She needs it.”

  Wait, what? Why would Leah need a date to homecoming? I thought back to my brief conversation with Sean and wondered what he’d been trying to tell me. He’d mentioned a fight with Leah—what had they fought about?

  And also, shit. Fuck. All the swear words couldn’t encapsulate what I was feeling. Kyle and I had been out together every Friday night for the past three weeks. He’d kissed me in the hall here at school more than once. It might not have been “official” that we were dating, but it wasn’t unofficial, either. Maybe we hadn’t had a “what is our relationship?” talk, but I didn’t expect him to not ask me to homecoming. And why would he ask Leah, of all people? He knew what she’d done to Helen.

  A book slammed shut, making me jump, and Kyle sighed.

  “Let’s just concentrate on the project,” he said. “Have you found the book on homelessness in major cities since the 1980s? Or the one on homeless Vietnam vets?”

  Homelessness. I wasn’t sure how far away that was from my perch in the carrels, but I hoped it would be close enough that I could still hear them. I had to know how this conversation would end, but I couldn’t exactly go creeping around the library like some stalker.

  “I think that Leah really needs someone right now,” Aimee said. “You know why she had to break up with Sean.”

  What? They’d broken up? Since when? That must have been what he was trying to tell me. I kind of wished I’d listened to him, but he’d been so indirect, and I couldn’t deal with it. He owed me a straightforward apology. Still, I should have heard him out, instead of being so impatient.

  “Leah said they grew apart.” Kyle sighed loudly—again.

  “Oh, I guess she was afraid to tell you. Well, you know.” Aimee paused. “Sean...well...you know...”

  “Know what?” He sounded impatient, like maybe he wasn’t really ready to believe anything Aimee said.

  “Well, Sean’s a very... He was a bad boyfriend, let’s just say that.” Damn, Aimee was good. “Bad boyfriend” could mean anything, from cheating to being an abusive boyfriend to just ignoring Leah and her feelings.

  But Sean was never a “bad boyfriend,” not in any kind of way. If anything, he’d been almost too understanding of Leah’s problems. He’d stuck up for Leah when she friend-dumped me last year. He’d dismissed any thoughts that Leah had said anything bad about Helen. And he’d always excused any mean thing she did as a mere misunderstanding. You couldn’t get a more supportive boyfriend than Sean.

  I might be in a huge fight with him at the moment, but that didn’t change reality. If I managed to get out of the library without suffocating myself to death or screaming out loud... Well, I had about a dozen different ideas churning in my mind. I would confront Leah about what she was trying to do with Kyle. I’d ask Sean about their breakup.

  And as for Kyle, I’d... I didn’t know what I was going to do about Kyle. A big gaping hole at the center of my feelings opened up, and what filled it would depend on what he did next.

  “Look, I don’t know much about Leah’s relationship with Sean,” he told Aimee. “But I’ve had a thing going on with Athena, and then this whole deal with Leah came up. I didn’t think that she was going to break up with Sean. You see how hard this is for me.”

  A “thing” with me? I didn’t know what that meant. Was it good, bad, passing? My heart told me that it had been good, but apparently something had changed for Kyle. And honestly, everything added up, if I looked back. His mom’s weird pause on the phone. His suspicion of me and Sean. His “tutoring” plans yesterday.

  A lump formed in my throat as I pushed back the sob that wanted to exit my body, but couldn’t.

  And how hard it was for him? What the hell, Kyle? My stomach clenched at the thought of what might have “come up” with Leah. Like Aimee’s judgment of Sean as a “bad boyfriend,” Kyle could have done anything with Leah, from flirting with her to things I didn’t want to imagine, but automatically did.

  “Athena will get over it,” Aimee insisted.

  “Look, this isn’t an easy decision for me. And no matter what I do, I don’t want to hurt Athena’s feelings.” Kyle slammed a book shut.

  “Honestly, I really don’t think she’ll care. She doesn’t like you that much anyway,” Aimee said. “I heard her and Melissa talking, and she said you were cute but arrogant, and that she could never seriously date you. Besides, everyone knows she’s been trying to steal Sean from Leah for months now.”

  Bile rose up my throat, and my stomach churned. I was going to be sick. Everything made sense now. They—Leah and Aimee both—had probably been planning this since day one.

  “Really?” Kyle sounded like he had the smallest gap in belief, and I knew Aimee could now swoop in there and plant not just a seed, but a big old tree of mistrust about me.

  “Yeah,” Aimee said. “You know you’re only second best to her, right? As soon as she and Sean make up, you’ll be out of the picture. You know, they weren’t always just friends. Everyo
ne knows they secretly had a thing going before Sean started dating Leah.”

  My voice froze in my throat. If I opened my mouth, I was sure that something closer to a wail than a word would pop out. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

  Kyle didn’t say anything, either. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Shouldn’t he say something? If he wasn’t saying anything, he was listening to her. And maybe believing her.

  “And you’ve just got to compare the two,” Aimee continued, like it was really no comparison and I was nothing. “You’ve been tutoring Leah, right?”

  I felt the floor drop out from under me. He’d been really careful to not say who he’d been tutoring, and now I understood why. The longer he let her talk, the more it seemed like Kyle was weighing his options on a scale of favor: me or Leah. Leah or me. Aimee’s words put a thumb on that scale.

  “Have you ever really talked with Athena? All she’s useful for is math equations or chemistry homework or English vocab. She can’t carry on a real conversation about anything else. Then look at Leah. She’s much more of a person than Athena is. Athena’s a freak. She’s not even pretty.”

  “Athena is not a freak,” Kyle said, though not nearly angrily enough, I thought. It sounded like she was wearing him down, and that was wearing me down in ways I didn’t want to think about. Another book slammed back onto the shelf. “I like her. She’s cute.”

  Cute? Bunnies were cute. Leah, I knew, was hot. My entire body felt like a tensed spring, pushed into place by Aimee’s lies. I could barely breathe.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that,” Aimee said quickly. “But it’s like I said before, Leah needs you right now. Athena doesn’t. You have to decide between them.”

  “Come on, Aimee. Athena needs me, too. You know what’s going on with her sister, right?”