I didn’t.
During my free period—which was one very good thing about junior high, having a whole hour to supposedly work on homework, but which was really just for hanging out and talking—Dinah and I sat outside on a bench and discussed our Halloween strategy. Halloween itself was this Sunday, which wasn’t ideal, but was definitely doable. What stunk was when Halloween fell on a school night. But even though the actual holiday was on Sunday, our school party would be on Friday. It was going to be a daytime party, not a nighttime party, but it would be fun in its own dorky way. Music. Dancing. Sugar cookies. And of course the perfect trial run for our costumes.
“I’m going to be a cat,” Dinah said.
“I know,” I said. “You’re always a cat.”
“Because I love cats. If I had to die and be reborn as any animal, that’s what I’d want to come back as.”
“You’d be a very good cat,” I said. “You could sleep in the sun and purr.”
“What are you going to be?” she asked.
“Don’t know yet,” I said. “Either an angel or a devil.”
“Yeah, but which?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t decided.”
A trio of eighth-grade guys walked past us, and we stopped talking. One of the guys, whose name was Larson— and whom I had recently developed a secret crush on—gave me a two-finger salute.
“Hey, Win,” he said.
“Hey, Lars,” I said back. I was glad he couldn’t hear my heart, because just seeing him had made it start pounding.
They continued by, and we followed them with our eyes. Lars had such a boy walk, all slouchy-cool and pants too low, even though it was against the dress code.
“He called you Win,” Dinah said when they were far enough away.
“Shh,” I said, even though I knew they couldn’t hear. “He’s in my French class. He should be in French Two, but he’s not, so he’s in Ms. Beauchard’s class with me.”
“He called you Win,” she said again.
I was bright red. “Shut up, okay?”
“Does everyone call him Lars?”
“I call him Lars because he calls me Win. Now shut up.”
Louise walked out of Scott Hall, spotted the two of us, and strolled over. For the first time in my life, I was glad to see her.
“Hey, girls,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Louise,” I said.
“That was hysterical in class today,” she said. “Oh my God, when she called you Wendy, and you were like, ‘What? What?’ I about peed my pants.”
Okay, so I wasn’t glad to see her after all. I still felt bad about that, and I didn’t want to relive it.
"Who called you Wendy?” Dinah asked.
“No one,” I said, while at the same time Louise said, “The sub.”
“You had a sub?” Dinah said. “Lucky.” She chewed on a fingernail, one of her bad habits. “She thought your name was Wendy?”
“Yeah, because that’s what Winnie told her,” Louise said.
“It was a misunderstanding,” I said.
“Huh,” Dinah said. She wiped her finger on her jeans. “I can’t see you as a Wendy. You’re so much more of a Winnie.”
“If we have her again, we’ll have to do something even worse,” Louise said. “I hope Ms. Duncan stays out all week.”
And I hoped Louise would read my expression and let it go.
“Well,” I said, “almost time for fourth period.”
“We have ten minutes,” Louise said.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” I said. “Dinah? You coming?”
Dinah stood up.
“Okay,” Louise said. “Go make yourselves beautiful. But I’ll see you tonight, right, Winnie?”
Oh yeah. Tonight was the night of Mom’s Ladies’ Guild meeting, which Louise’s mom attended, too.
“I guess so,” I said unenthusiastically.
“We can come up with more evil plans to get Miss Fatty.” She took my spot on the bench as I got up. “See ya!”
In the bathroom, Dinah rested against the edge of the sink. “Why are you going to see Louise tonight?” she asked.
“Because our moms belong to this stupid club thing, and they drag us along.” I peered at my reflection.
“Sandra and Ty, too?”
“Just me—aren’t I lucky?” My eyes were a pretty shade of brown, I thought, but I wondered if they were too small. “Sandra used to come along, but now she gets out of it because of track. And Ty’s a boy.”
Dinah giggled. “I know Ty’s a boy.”
“Well, there you go.” It occurred to me that maybe I should start wearing eyeliner to make my eyes look bigger. Maybe just a little, even though Dinah and Cinnamon and I had sworn we wouldn’t. I wouldn’t want Lars seeing me and thinking, Oh, there’s that beady-eyed girl.
I turned to Dinah. “Hey—you could come with me tonight. Want to?”
She looked pleased at the invitation. Then she smacked her forehead with her palm. “Can’t, I’m meeting Vanita. We’re planning a routine for tomorrow, in case they play some Eminem.”
“Going to do some lockin’ and poppin’?” I asked. Lockin’ and poppin’ were hip-hop terms that Dinah had taught me. I couldn’t do them to save my life, but Dinah could. So could Vanita, who was in the hip-hop club with her. They often got together after school to practice, and sometimes I even felt jealous.
Dinah shoved my shoulder, because she knew I was kind of teasing her. Then she leaned toward the mirror and picked at something on her chin. “Louise said ‘Miss Fatty.’ Is she your sub?”
“Uh-huh, only she’s really Ms. Braddy.”
“Is she fat?” Dinah asked.
“Maybe. A little.”
“Then that’s mean. You shouldn’t call her that.”
“I know,” I said. “And I didn’t. It was only Louise.”
That afternoon at Mom’s meeting, I gathered with the other dragged-along daughters in the arts-and-crafts room at the community center. There was another Westminster girl there, too—a surprising and alarming addition by the name of Malena. There were also some girls from Lovett, but they clumped together and so did we.
“This is boring,” Louise said to Malena and me, rooting through a cabinet. “All that’s in here is yarn.”
Malena read her CosmoGirl. She was chewing a piece of gum, pink braces and all. She’d changed out of her school clothes into a plaid miniskirt and a slim-fitting black shirt that said ROCK ’N’ ROLL.
Louise closed the cabinet. She glanced covertly at Malena, and it was like I could read her mind. She was thinking, What can I do to impress her?
“That was great in English today, huh?” she said.
Malena turned a page.
“You know,” Louise said. “With Miss Fatty.”
“Omigod, her thighs were bigger than me,” Malena said, keeping her eyes on her article.
“She needs support-top hose,” Louise said.
“She needs a lot more than that,” Malena said.
Louise’s lips twitched. This was just what she wanted, for the two of them to be in cahoots. I focused on my crossword puzzle and disliked them both.
“She fell asleep in the middle of silent reading,” Louise said. “Did you see?”
“So lame,” Malena said.
“I know,” Louise said. “She is the lamest substitute ever.” She fidgeted with a container of glue, picking it up and digging at the dried bits around the top. “Someone needs to teach her a lesson.”
Malena snorted but didn’t respond. Unwilling to give up what she’d gained, Louise turned to me. “Don’t you think, Winnie? That someone needs to teach her a lesson?”
“She’s the teacher,” I said. “She’s the one who’s supposed to teach us lessons.” I meant it to come out sounding cheeky, but somehow it didn’t.
Louise blew air out of her mouth. “We’re stuck with her again tomorrow. I heard Ms. Lapinsky say.” She put down the glue. “We shoul
d do something. Like if she falls asleep again, we should all sneak out of the room.”
“Yeah, only where would we go?” Malena said.
“Well . . . then we should drop our books really loud on the floor. Or yell ‘boo’ right into her ear.”
Malena looked unimpressed.
“No,” Louise said. “No, I know. We’ll tape her to the desk! And when she wakes up, she’ll be like, ‘Ahhhh! I can’t move!’ ”
Malena’s lips twitched. “Can you imagine? She’d freak.”
Louise turned to me. I tightened my grip on my pencil.
“Winnie,” she said, “go get some masking tape. I bet there’s some in the supply closet.”
“Ha ha ha,” I said.
She sensed my weakness. “What, are you scared?”
Maybe I was. I didn’t want to get the tape, but I didn’t want Louise and Malena to make fun of me, either. I should have said no this morning, when Louise told me to say the wrong name. But I didn’t, and somehow that complicated things. So did Malena. Her expression was bored, virtually expressionless, although I had the feeling she was keeping it that way on purpose. But there was something in her eyes that said, Will she?
She was so . . . worldly in her miniskirt and black shirt. She snapped her gum and folded it over, drawing it back into her mouth.
“Come on, Winnie,” Louise said. “It’ll be funny.”
“Fine,” I said. I couldn’t stay there with them staring at me. “But there’s not going to be any.” I left the room, knowing that she and Malena were trading amused glances.
The supply closet was between the water fountain and the boys’ bathroom. Its shelves were deep and wide, with enough room on the lowest one to fit far more than the one lonely ream of construction paper pushed into the back. Enough room to fit a person, even. If she crouched in tight.
Nooo, I said to myself. Not a good idea.
But there it was, that empty, beckoning space.
I crawled in and pulled the door shut. It was as cool and quiet as I’d suspected. Louise and Malena could easily find me if they decided to, but for the moment—and that’s all I needed, just a moment—I had escaped.
I scrunched down so that my spine lay flat against the floor of the closet and my knees grazed the shelf above. My neck was at a bad angle, but I could live with it. I knew I was being stupid and even childish, hiding there in the dark, but I needed to be alone.
I didn’t like the whole “mean” kick Louise was on, even if it was to impress Malena. And it was mean, fantasizing about tormenting a sub. Because underneath being a sub, Ms. Braddy was a person, just like me or Malena or even Louise.
I envisioned Ms. Braddy strapped to the desk, bound firm with yards of masking tape. She would wake up, and she’d be baffled. What was going on? Why couldn’t she move? She’d panic at being stuck—and then humiliation would creep in as she realized that some other teacher was going to find her that way, since surely no kid would set her free.
What if it was my aunt Lucy instead of Ms. Braddy? What if she had become a teacher, and some kids taped her to a desk?
I knew Louise wouldn’t really do it. But what if she did?
Then came a worse thought, slippery in the dark. If I didn’t stop her . . . would it be my fault?
I kicked open the closet door and scrambled to get out. I would tell Louise no, even if she and Malena made fun of me. And tomorrow, when I saw Ms. Braddy, I would admit that I really did go by “Winnie.” I’d make up for the way we’d treated her.
I rose too quickly, and my head banged the shelf, knocking it free of its brackets. Art supplies rained down on me: paper, glue, and rolls and rolls of masking tape. The shelf smacked my skull, and the world went black.
The next day, Louise found me before homeroom. She bit her lip when she saw my bump, then turned it into a scowl.
“So did you end up with a concussion?” she asked. Mom had been called out of her meeting when Louise found me, dazed, in the hall of the community center, and even though I’d only passed out for a second, Mom thought it best to have me checked at the emergency room. The doctor had said I was fine, though, and that I should just take some Advil.
“No concussion,” I said. “But almost.”
Louise looked put out. “I wasn’t really going to do it,” she said. “Did you seriously think I was going to do it?”
I gazed at her, then dropped my eyes. I continued stuffing my Halloween costume into my locker.
“Not that it even matters,” she said, “because Ms. Duncan came back after all. So too bad—you won’t get to do any more torturing.”
“I wouldn’t have anyway,” I said, barely out loud.
“What?” Louise asked.
The warning bell rang, followed by the sound of slamming lockers and rowdy voices as kids headed for their classrooms. Malena strolled our way with two of her buds, one of whom was Gail. They were all in Mrs. Potter’s homeroom with me, and Mrs. Potter’s room was right by my locker.
“Hey, girls,” Louise said, trying to act as if she were one of them.
“How’s your head?” Malena asked me. She and Gail and Yasmin tittered.
I shoved the last of my costume into my locker and shut the door. I took the coward’s way out and pushed past without a word.
All through Mrs. Potter’s announcements, I obsessed over what a wimp I was. I was the queen of wimps. I couldn’t stop dwelling on it. Yesterday at the community center I’d resolved to stand up to Louise, but I hadn’t, because I’d bludgeoned myself instead. Which was mortifying, so maybe I should cut myself a break on that one. But just now I’d had the perfect chance, and I’d blown it. What was wrong with me?
“Don’t worry about it,” Dinah told me during lunch.
“Let it go,” said Cinnamon. “You’re harshing my mellow.”
“Huh?” said Dinah.
And then it was sixth period—time to put on our costumes. Dinah, Cinnamon, and I got ready together and oohed and aahed over one another’s outfits.
“You look awesome,” I said to Cinnamon, who’d elected to go as a pirate. She wore a flared white shirt and tight-fitting black trousers, and an eye patch over one eye. The other eye she made up dramatically with brown eyeliner and mascara, and I said not a word even though it went against our code. I just plucked her makeup out of her bag so that I could use it as well.
“How’s this?” Dinah said, twisting toward us so we could check the placement of her tail.
“Perfecto,” Cinnamon said. “Girl, you look hot.”
I did a double take. Dinah did look hot. She looked surprisingly curvy in her jet-black cat suit, and her cherry-red lips looked lush against her pale skin. Makeup again, I noticed.
“Whoa,” I said.
“And whoa to you, too,” Cinnamon said, nodding with approval at my daring (for me) attire. “You sexy thing.”
“Oh please,” I said. I tugged at my top, worried now that it dipped too low. Plus, the word sexy was just plain silly, especially applied to me.
“Shall we?” Cinnamon said, opening the door to the girls’ bathroom.
“We shall,” Dinah and I said together.
In the gym, a fog machine generated misty, moisty smoke, and one of those Halloween CDs offered up howls and wails. Cinnamon took off to join a group of kids doing the Time Warp, and Dinah and I migrated toward the wall. Vanita waved from across the room in a cute pop princess outfit, and Dinah waved back.
“Check out Malena,” I said, jerking my head at the refreshment table. She was dressed as a harem girl, her toned tummy on display.
Dinah sighed enviously. “You think she works out?”
“I’m pretty sure,” I said.
A girl with long fake braids walked by, wearing a hoop skirt and carrying a crooked cane. One of her friends trotted behind as a sheep.
“Who’s that?” Dinah said. “Is that Amanda?”
“Nuh-uh,” I said. “That’s Tammy Wells.” I looked for Amanda, but I didn�
�t see her anywhere. No, wait. There she was, dressed up in twinsie outfits with Gail. They were both French maids wearing actual fishnet stockings.
“Oh-oh-oh, there’s Lars,” Dinah said excitedly. I followed her gaze and saw him in his normal jeans and shirt.
“He looks good no matter what he wears,” Dinah said.
He sure does, I thought.
Louise pranced by wearing thigh-high black boots, a black dress, and a jaunty red cap with a sequined brim. She was doing a jerky dance move that involved a lot of hipshaking, and her eyes flew from face to face to see who might be noticing.
“What’s she supposed to be?” Dinah asked.
“A Brat,” I said. In English we’d had to do a freewrite on our alter-identities; that’s how I knew.
“A brat?” Dinah said.
“You know, as in Bratz?” I said. “Those big-headed, big-lipped doll-things?”
“Ew,” Dinah said.
We watched as some teacher apparently asked Dinah’s same question. “A Brat,” Louise told him. Then, louder and with a frown, “A Brat, okay? I’m a Brat!”
“That’s for darn sure,” I said to Dinah.
“It’s pretty sad when you have to get your fashion cues from a doll,” she replied.
I laughed, and a sudden confidence enveloped me. I told Dinah I’d be back, and then I marched over to the Brat. I tapped her shoulder.
“I need to tell you something,” I said.
She turned around. The song over the loudspeaker ended, and there was a big old blare of nothing.
“What?” she said.
“Uh . . .” I waited for the music to come back on. It didn’t.
Louise again said, “What?”
I lifted my chin. “You shouldn’t have been mean to Ms. Braddy.”
“I shouldn’t have . . . omigod.” She snorted. “Are you serious?”
I barreled on. “And you shouldn’t have called her Miss Fatty.”
The kids who could hear us snickered.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” I said. I marched back to Dinah as “The Monster Mash” boomed through the gym. Dinah’s eyes were wide, and I knew she wanted to dish, but I put her off because a noncostumed, extremely cute boy was heading my way.
“Hey, Win,” he said.
“Hey, Lars,” I said. My heart thumpity-thumped. “Great costume.”
Twelve Page 9
