Taylor Before and After

by Jennie Englund

  Field trips.

  We’ve been to the Bishop Museum, we’ve hiked Diamond Head, we’ve gone to the Polynesian Cultural Center, where we stayed the whole day, even for the luau, and didn’t get home till eleven. And in sixth grade, my first year here, our class went to Pearl Harbor. It didn’t make any sense—how Japan bombed us, then we bombed Japan, then we stuck all the Japanese people who were even born in America into dusty camps, but then we were friends again, after all that. Somehow, Japan moved on and America moved on.

  Me, I’m different. People who backstab me, they will never, ever be able to make it right again, not for the rest of forever.

  Brother O’Malley, who had just started teaching, let us pick our field trip partners. So of course I picked Li Lu and she picked me. The bus pulled into the enormous lot and parked with all the other buses along the side. We all walked through the lot, toward the flags and past a thousand “reserved” spaces. Back in Oregon, at the library and the grocery stores, there were two or maybe four. But in this lot, there were almost as many saved spaces as regular ones—reserved spots, just for vets. And in the very, very front were other signs—PEARL HARBOR SURVIVOR PARKING ONLY. I remember that. It was happy and sad at the same time.

  Our class had tickets for the 10:30 a.m. history movie—I still have mine pinned up on the corkboard behind my bedroom door. So, while we waited for that 10:30 movie, Brother O’Malley tried to keep Kevin Loo away from the water, and Charlie Champion from climbing on the monuments, and Na Wen out of the gift shop. Li Lu and I sat on a bench by the big brass bell, talking about how she liked Oliver Woods and what she should do about it.

  The history movie was sad, and I wondered how Laura Yamimoto was doing, sitting there in the theater when there were words like Jap in the film. It didn’t sound like a good word. Laura cried when we took the boat to the wall with all the names of the soldiers who had died, after Charlie Champion said something to her the rest of us didn’t hear. She pulled her long, black hair over her face. She didn’t want us to see her crying.

  Laura didn’t come back to school after that. Some people said her family moved back to Michigan. And Na said she heard Laura transferred to the Koalua Academy of the Arts.

  But this island’s tiny. You’d think that in two years, Li Lu or I would have seen her somewhere. I hope she got out and started a new life. Even Michigan would be better than here.

  FALL

  Prompt: Rules.

  “It’s like America’s Next Top Model.” Brielle slid her Frappuccino over to me, said she didn’t want it. “… Or Project Runway. Or Top Chef, Chopped, American Idol, Survivor, The Bachelor, Amazing Race … You get it, right? You watch those?”

  I looked at the Frappuccino, the whip still intact. “Yeah, I watch.”

  I’d watched all of them. Just last night on Project Runway, Elena was eliminated. Michael Kors wasn’t thrilled by her looks. I never liked Elena. No one did. But she got eliminated for one literally teeny-tiny thing. BABY clothes. Seriously, you don’t even get a chance. One wrong move, and you’re out.

  “It’s a game,” Brielle went on, her eyes sparking. “It’s fun. Aren’t you bored on this fish-kicking island?”

  She went on without waiting for me to say, “Totes.” “Everyone starts out the same. And then, people get eliminated. They get Cut.” Cut with a capital C.

  I looked over at Isabelle. She was sitting by herself, looking at her phone. Hailey wasn’t around. I hadn’t seen her since school started up again. Did she even go to OLR anymore?

  “Like … Isabelle?” I asked.

  “Exactly.” Brielle leaned into me, and I must have pulled away or something because Brielle put down her phone and said, “Oh god, no, it’s not MEAN or anything. It’s just a game. People don’t even KNOW they’re playing it.”

  “Why did you Cut her?” I asked.

  “TAAAYYYLOR,” Brielle went on, “I don’t Cut anyone, okay? People pretty much Cut themselves. It’s like the school decides, or the universe, or whatever. It just happens on its own. It’s happening everywhere, all the time.”

  I had no idea what that meant.

  “Okay, fine.” She waved her hand in the air. “Isabelle, you know … all that drama from Puakea’s party … She’s a dingbat, that’s why.”

  The thing was that Isabelle wasn’t a dingbat at all.

  Which other people has Brielle Cut? Who were they? What did they do? Why’d they get Cut? What happened to them after? Who besides Brielle and me knew about the game?

  “So…” Brielle’s eyes narrowed like a lizard’s. She stood up, put her phone in her bag, and said, “Are you in? Or are you out?”

  I wanted to get on Brielle’s Carnivale list, to see everyone and talk about it all after, to get my fortune read and see the velvet ottoman, to have an amaretto sour and see the food carts. I thought how great it would be to borrow those Stuart Weitzmans.

  And Soo and Noelani, too. Finally, I had more than just one boring friend. I had a group—just like Eli always did. For once, my life was kind of exciting. I had a future. There were so many possibilities.

  But those good, happy things were instantly erased by the panic that came next. What would happen if I didn’t play? Would I be Cut? Brielle and I wouldn’t be friends anymore? If so, she’d take Soo and Noelani with her. I’d lose everything.

  “Think about it,” Brielle told me. She picked up the Frappuccino she had given me and clutched it to her chest. Then she walked off to stand out in the courtyard with Noelani and Soo.

  WINTER

  Prompt: If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

  Schools.

  Of course I would change that night at Pipeline, too. I’d beg Eli not to go when Stacy texted him. I’d come up with some excuse about why he had to stay.

  Actually, I wouldn’t have gone to that party in the first place. I would change that, too.

  I’d change ever even talking to Brielle that day back in September. About All of My Purple Life. About Eli.

  But changing schools, that’s what I’d do right now. I’d get out of Our Lady of Redemption, and I would go somewhere—anywhere—else.

  Trash.

  That was on my locker door, scribbled in lipstick, Fuchsia Flash matte.

  Trash. It’s a terrible, horrible word.

  It means you don’t matter at all.

  “Taylor?” Sister Anne asked. “Do you know who did this?”

  * * *

  I am dying. Part by part. Cell by cell. I can’t do anything to stop it.

  And even though I’m dying, the math and history homework keeps coming.

  Last night, when Dad was sitting in the green chair watching about Mars on Nightly News, I asked him for a list of reasons for the “sharp political divide in America.”

  Dad told me, “Everyone has their own agenda.”

  “Is there also another reason?” I asked.

  Mr. Montalvo wasn’t going to keep giving me full credit for one-answer “lists.”

  “There are two kinds of people,” Dad said to his second sloe and tonic or maybe even his third, “Democrats and Republicans—”

  “Can I switch schools?” I just asked him straight out.

  “Why?” he asked me. He seemed surprised. And kind of irritated.

  Sinking down into the other green chair, I thought about why—ALL the reasons why—I had to switch schools: the Smashbox Fuchsia Flash Trash on my locker, Brielle, math, Li Lu. How the whole health class turned around and stared at me at the start of the “Alcohol, Decisions, and You” lesson.

  I told Dad, “It’s … hard.”

  After a while, Dad asked, “Where?”

  “School,” I told him. “School is hard. It was hard going back, and it’s been one month and twenty-five days, and it’s still completely impossible.”

  “Not where is it hard,” he said. “Where would you want to go?”

  I hadn’t really thought about where I would go. I had just thoug
ht about the leaving.

  “Malala, maybe?” It was a random suggestion. But anywhere away from Brielle and Soo and Li Lu and Sister Anne and Colin Silva would be better than Our Lady of Redemption. Anywhere away from the two empty desks in the back of English 12, three if you counted the one Eli used to sit in.

  While Dad kept his eyes on Scott Pelley, I took a second to try to sound convincing while also not over the top. I didn’t want to give Dad a reason to leave.

  Dad cupped his chin in his hand, rubbed his thumb back and forth like a windshield wiper. “Our Lady of Redemption is a great school, Taylor. It’s worth sticking it out. You can use it as a springboard to get into any college.”

  “To the mainland? With Grammie?” I knew he’d never go for that.

  “That’s not happening.”

  “You can homeschool me? It will be like I’m in college, in one of your classes. I’ll do all the work, every assignment, I promise, and I’ll practice the Sonatina every day, too.”

  I could do better. I was eight chapters and summaries behind on To Kill a Mockingbird, and I had gotten a D+ on the geometry test and a 61 percent in Latin.

  I could google ways to improve memory.

  Dad sighed a long, slow sigh. “There are two kinds of people in the world, Taylor,” he said again. “People who get through things, and people who give up. And Harpers don’t give up. You like your teachers, and you’ll be with all your friends.”

  I thought about Brielle and her Fuchsia Flash matte lips today, blowing me a kiss as she swished by my locker after school. Wingnut, birdbrain, bubblehead … Brielle Branson knew the meanest compound words on earth.

  That’s how Dad and I left things. That we don’t give up. That OLR’s great. That I’m with all my friends.

  FALL

  Prompt: Natural selection.

  The new Bachelor is Sean Lowe. I read it in People, and I can’t wait! It’s premiering in three months and six days, and Chris Harrison said it is going to be “the most dramatic season ever.”

  During the summer, Emily gave Jef and Arie roses, and sent Sean off The Bachelorette. Probably, she eliminated him because he turned down her overnight date card. He’s just not that guy. Hopefully this season, he finds somebody amazing. In the end, people always get what they deserve.

  Sister Anne pulled me into her office. Again. This time, she asked if I knew anything about the tuition list that had gotten out.

  I could see it on her computer, the Instagram page called “OLR X-posed.”

  Sister Anne knew I didn’t know anything—I don’t know anything anymore. She didn’t ask me any more questions about it. She told me to have a drink of water before I went back to math.

  When I got home, I pulled up the page and read all the posts about who was on full or reduced or waived tuition. No one could figure out Fetua’s E. There were a lot of guesses, like Exception, or Exchange.

  People were obsessed with Puakea. They were horrible, mean. They wrote things like “leech” under a picture of her with sunglasses on, and “mooch” under a picture of her on a surfboard, and “freeloader” under a picture of her with a piña colada at the Waikiki Yacht Club.

  And then there was the picture of her with her mom and dad, the three of them at a wedding at the Ko Olina Marina.

  Underneath was the word Bubblehead.

  WINTER

  Prompt: Does reality TV reflect authentic American culture?

  Today, there are two white birds in the hibiscus. Tern found another tern. Even the tern has someone.

  The February rain knocked a lot of the flowers on to the ground. There are more flowers on the pavement than in the branches.

  I’m in class. Writing words. Using class time wisely.

  Reality shows.

  They’re not the whole story, not the whole truth. People don’t know what led up to that one thing, or the reason someone did what they did. They don’t remember the person was good inside. They forget all about who the person was, and they remember just the one thing they did, the one thing that makes them who they are from then on, who they’ll always be.

  * * *

  Our house doesn’t smell the same as it used to.

  Every day after school, I notice it more and more—the oldness, the hot. It smells … dead. And smother-y. I open up all the blinds and windows, and I let in the trade winds, the ocean salt and rain and plumeria, and then the house smells kind of like before.

  But I forgot to open the house yesterday, and the bad smell was everywhere.

  And after that tuition list scandal at OLR, I’ve been thinking about tuition. Money. Our house. How did we ever buy this house way up in Mānoa? How do we pay for the view of Honolulu, the quiet street, two stories, the big garden?

  Miss Wilson doesn’t have a house like this, I’m sure. And she’s a teacher, like Dad. And Mom couldn’t possibly make enough as a hospice nurse to afford this. She didn’t even work those years she was on the waiting list to get on another waiting list to go to nursing school here.

  There is literally only one way this is possible. It’s the same way Eli and I pay full tuition at school. Someone has been making our lives happen for us.

  It didn’t feel good to know that. It didn’t feel … right.

  Neither did the Brielle stuff. She was getting really mean. Dangerous. It was one thing calling people names behind their backs, or writing words that didn’t even make sense on their locker. But this was a whole other level—plastering their money business everywhere.

  After Dad sabotaged my idea to change schools, I flipped through the February issue of Elle that had come a couple weeks ago, the one with the Annual Reader’s Choice Beauty Awards. And there was this one ad for a watch—a guy in some board shorts, with long, salty bangs and sand on his shoulders but with the wrong eyes and jaw, and not as skinny. He was smiling on a beach. I couldn’t tell where the beach was, exactly, because it’s mostly just water, and water looks pretty much the same everywhere. But I could see that he was happy.

  Really carefully, I cut that guy away from the water and off the page, and I put him on the wall up over my bed. Tape wouldn’t stick to the wall, and no one can ever find a tack around here, so I had to staple Almost-Eli once in the foot, and once in the arm, and once at the top of his head.

  FALL

  Prompt: Revenge.

  It turns out, the attacks weren’t because of a movie. It was actually revenge. That’s what CNN said.

  The worst thing about revenge is when people think it’s done in the name of justice, of making things even and right.

  Playing or not playing Brielle’s pointless game isn’t really a choice.

  I have to play it. Because if I don’t, I could end up like Puakea on some hate page dedicated to making my life completely miserable, plus Li Lu totally started a fight with me last night, and Brielle and Soo and Noelani are all I have now.

  Out of nowhere, Li Lu texted: Brielle is totally using u

  And: u kno it’s true u just dont wanna admit it

  And: u dont even know what a real friend is anymore

  that’s totally false, I texted back: u have no idea what ur talking abt

  And: why do u even care?

  Her: i know u better than anyone

  And: she totally has an agenda

  And: i don’t kno what it is or why shes using u but she is

  And: she bought u. with lip gloss. u sold out.

  Now, Li Lu was definitely making this an issue.

  Me: u looooovvvve drama! ur always in everybodys face!

  Her: u think ur so much better than everybody else now

  And: u know shes using u. u just dont want to believe it

  And: u don’t even know who u are anymore

  Me: u don’t want me to have any other friends

  And: its always been like that

  And: u always try to control everything

  Her: whats so great abt Brielle anyway?

  Me: for one thing she doesn’t tel
l me how to live my life

  And: for another thing, people actually LIKE her

  My phone was quiet for a long time.

  Then her: fine. whatever. be friends w/ her or me but not both of us

  Me: FINE. if thats how it is. if ur forcing me to choose i pick her

  There was nothing else after that. From either of us.

  I took the “Forever” heart locket from around my neck and told myself to get rid of it.

  WINTER

  Prompt: Oops.

  Last night, out of nowhere, Henley texted me two words: Chicken piccata.

  There was a picture of the cat after that, its little pink tongue sticking out toward a mound of meat, cream sauce, and those green caper things.

  I was shocked. I mean, we hadn’t been talking at all. Then this.

  so? u and Jasmine? I texted back, instantly wishing I hadn’t.

  And him: um … definitely not.

  I knew he wasn’t lying. Brielle had lied that day at lunch.

  I changed the subject, wanting to keep things going: What are u into?

  Oh god. I read it back to myself. What are u into? No, no, no … Into. That’s not what I meant. I meant to ask what he was UP to! Into made it seem like I was asking if he was into girls or guys or what.

  So. Silly.

  I waited to hear back. I waited a long time. And the longer I waited, the sillier it sounded.

  Of ALL the things I could have asked him, I had asked him the silliest thing in the world.

  I can’t talk to him now. I just have to push it all out of my mind.

  On every level, every day here gets worse and worse and worse.

  * * *

  Yesterday after school, I saw Macario with his surfboard. His shoes were already off.

  Since Koa and Tate and Eli are all gone, Macario’s been coming to school a lot more. I guess he has no one to skip with anymore.