Some Boys

by Patty Blount

  The way she says the family prickles my ears. “So you’re canceling the big party?”

  “Well, yeah, since there won’t be any entertainment. We’ll just do something small. Keep it simple and low-key. I wanted to let you know right away so you could make plans for next weekend.”

  Plans, of course. Since I have such a busy social life. Well, I’m not letting her off the hook that easy. “No problem. I can walk over to your place after school whatever night you’re planning to do the cake. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  “Oh. Well, the thing is…we’re not sure yet. I’ll have to let you know. Plus, it’s a school night, and I don’t want to get you in trouble with Theresa, so don’t worry about it. Kody won’t mind if you miss it this year.”

  “No, I couldn’t. You only turn five once, and he is my brother.”

  “I know you’re disappointed. Imagine how we feel. A stupid double-booking mistake and Kody’s plans are crushed.”

  “We could take him to the zoo instead.”

  “Oh, you know how your dad hates crowds and parking and all that.”

  This is true. My dad does hate these things.

  “Well, I have to run. Just wanted—” There’s noise in the background, and I hear my dad’s voice. “Well, okay, honey. Thanks for calling. Bye!”

  She ends the call before I can say anything. What was that thanks for calling stuff? She called me. I want to spike the phone to the floor and crush it into a million pieces, but I manage to hold on to a little self-control. I suppose I can call my dad and ask to come over one day during the week to drop off Kody’s present, preferably on a day when Kristie isn’t home. I fall asleep with thoughts of sneaking Nair in her shampoo bottle entertaining me all night.

  The next morning I wake almost happy. It’s such a weird feeling. I totally suck at life from just about every angle, but yet I feel kind of bouncy.

  It’s Ian. I know it.

  There’s this—I don’t know—a cleanness around me this morning. Like I dusted out all these emotional spiderwebs, and now there’s room to play and dance and sing inside me. Okay, my step-monster obviously doesn’t want me anywhere near her precious baby boys, and my dad doesn’t understand me. And my mom still hopes deep down that I’ll run away to Europe, but all that fades away whenever I remember there’s one guy who believes me.

  One special guy. I dance down the stairs, kiss my mother’s cheek.

  “Wow, you’re in a good mood.” She’s already dressed for work. “Want to share with the class?”

  “Oh, Kristie uninvited me to Kody’s birthday party, and I’m plotting payback.”

  “Excuse me?” Mom whips around, pulls out her best oh-no-she-didn’t voice, and I hold up a hand.

  “Seriously, I’m good. I’m fighting back, remember?”

  She nods and slowly smiles. “Okay. Just, you know, try not to do anything that requires bail, okay?”

  We laugh and climb in the car, and a short while later we join the line of cars doing the morning drop-off.

  “You’ll be okay on the bus today?”

  I shake my head. “No, no buses for me. I’ll either walk or get a ride with Ian.”

  With a wave and a last “love you,” she’s off.

  Despite the week off, I am still the hottest topic buzzing around school. I climb the stairs, head for my sparkling clean, orange-scented locker, dodging the whispers and mean comments and the guys trying to grab me. I’m not fast enough to evade one, and when I feel a hand close over my breast and squeeze, I don’t stop to think about it. I just react the way my dad taught me, catch the unknown hand in a finger lock, and twist.

  Somebody screams out a string of curses. I don’t stop to see who.

  I make it to my locker and dump all the books I had to take home for the break. My first class is English lit. I roll my shoulders, grab the text, slam my locker, and start the long trek to the third floor. Ian Russell’s heading this way, laughing with Jeremy, Kyle, and Matt. When they see me, all four of them come to a full stop in the center of the corridor.

  I keep walking.

  Jeremy looks scared, and there’s a part of me that likes that a whole lot more than I should. Matt is pissed, and that makes no sense. I didn’t do anything to him. I try hard not to stare too long at Ian, but it’s not possible. His lips are parted, his dark eyes wide, and I know my outfit has done its job.

  I’m wearing a leather motorcycle jacket over black pants, black boots. Under the jacket, a slashed T-shirt that does reveal some skin, though nothing in any strategic places. Leather wrist gauntlets tied with crisscrossing straps disappear under the jacket’s cuffs. My hair is straight and loose, and yeah, I’m wearing black lipstick and black eyeliner.

  Deal with it.

  Ian’s mouth goes thin. I figure he’s not happy I’ve gone back to my costume, as he calls it, but he stands aside. Kyle, Matt, and Jeremy cross their arms, plant themselves in the center of the corridor, forcing people to squeeze by them. Well, Grace Collier does not squeeze by anybody. I shove my way right through their line. Jeremy’s kind of a runt, so that’s not difficult.

  Loud laughter follows me down the hall to the classroom, where I drop my gear, take out a notebook, and get ready to work.

  At the front of the class two girls I don’t even know talk about me like I’m not there. “Is it Halloween already?” and “Oh my God, did you see her makeup?” As if those are the worst things anybody’s said about me. The funny thing is that I’ve been dressing like this since freshman year and nobody ever raised an eyebrow over it. My friends thought it was cool—back when they were actually my friends. I shake my head and let it roll off.

  Nothing can hurt me today.

  • • •

  “When Grumio says in act 1, ‘Katherine the curst! A title for a maid of all titles the worst,’ he’s calling her a shrew, the worst name you could ever call a girl,” Mrs. Kirby tells the lit class, and I roll my eyes.

  It’s not the worst name. Trust me.

  “But Petrucchio kind of liked her, would you agree?”

  Maybe. I think he just saw dollar signs when he looked at her, not hearts.

  “What did you all think of Kate? Was she really the shrew everyone believed her to be?”

  “She was a total bitch,” someone called out from the back of the room. I twist around, decide it was Allie.

  “Guys, would you want to marry Kate?”

  The guys all make faces and shake their heads.

  “So why was Petrucchio so determined to not only marry her but tame her?”

  I zone out when the boys Mrs. Kirby calls on make some lame-ass vague comments that prove they never finished reading the assignment. There’s no debate, just a rehash of Mrs. Kirby’s remarks…until some brave moron says, “If Kate were my woman, she’d learn respect real fast.”

  What?

  A murmur of “Ooo” ruffles over the class, and Mrs. Kirby grins at Jax, a guy who pretends he’s a gangsta. “What would you do differently?”

  “I’d put it to her straight up. You want out of your daddy’s house, girl, then you gonna do things my way,” he adds, waving his hand like a rapper.

  Oh my God, seriously? I sigh and shake my head.

  “You disagree, Grace?”

  Uh-oh. My classmates turn to laugh at me, sneer at me, make lewd gestures at me that somehow Mrs. Kirby fails to notice. I don’t answer her, but she’s relentless.

  “I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

  I clear my throat. “My thoughts? Okay. I think Kate was centuries ahead of her time. A woman with original thoughts and intelligence. O woe for her poor father!” I fling a hand to my head to add some drama. A few people laugh, but Mrs. Kirby’s eyes gleam.

  “Why do you say original thinking and intelligence brought woe to her family?”

  I look at her sideways. “Come on. Isn’t it obvious? She’s a girl. She’s nothing but property. Her father pimps her out to the highest bidder because that’s all girls w
ere good for back then.”

  “Not much good today either,” Jax adds, and the guys roar.

  The girls shoot him indignant looks, and a spark flares inside me. Mrs. Kirby opens her mouth to encourage more stupidity, but I don’t have the patience to hear it.

  “Coward,” I volley back. A few of the girls actually cheer. “The only guys who actually believe we’re better off in the dark ages when women were just some man’s property are the ones afraid of girls. You afraid of girls, Jax?”

  He blinks at me and then pins on a confident grin. “I ain’t afraid of no girl.”

  The class cracks up again, but Mrs. Kirby isn’t done. “Hold it. Hold it. I think we’re on to something here. Grace, continue your point.”

  I draw in a deep breath. “My point is that Kate didn’t want to simply be bred to wed, and that’s all her father expected of her. When all those guys started circling her younger sister, her father was so happy to be rid of the pair of them that he actually paid guys to take them off his hands. And the guys, what do they care what the girls are like? They’re not only getting paid, but they’re getting pretty girls and guaranteed sex. And if the girl didn’t even like her husband, that was too bad. She didn’t even get to pick him.”

  “Still not seeing the problem here.” Jax shrugs and gets a fist pound from the guy next to him.

  “Really? You don’t see the problem? What if my father paid you to marry me? I can’t stand you, and you definitely don’t like me. You don’t see a problem there?”

  “You’d have to sleep with me because you’d be my wife, all legal and stuff.” He grins. “And you’d have to do all those other things a wife does like clean and cook and wash my clothes. I could live with that even if you are a—”

  “Jax, that’s enough,” Mrs. Kirby cuts him off before he can call me something worse than shrew, but it’s too late. I know what he was going to say. So does the rest of the class. I try not to let the pain show, but it’s part of me now.

  “You think I’m a slut.”

  “Grace—”

  “No, Mrs. Kirby, it’s okay. That’s what you were going to say, right, Jax? We all know it.”

  Jax doesn’t reply. He just throws an arm over the back of his desk and grins like he owns the world.

  “Why do you think that? I don’t remember ever having sex with you, so I’d like to know why you think that.”

  “Grace, that’s enough. We’re talking about Shakespeare, not you.”

  “Fine. Let’s talk about Shakespeare.” I will deal with Jax the jerk later. “Kate had no choice. No options. No hope. Petrucchio comes along, already won over by the money he’s going to get, and then decides he needs to break her spirit the way you train an animal.”

  “A bird.” Mrs. Kirby corrects me.

  “Whatever. It’s disgusting.”

  “This play is frequently called misogynistic for the ways in which women are treated. However, other scholars disagree and say the play is a farce, with Shakespeare trying to shed a little light on the way things were at the time. Some even go so far as to say Shakespeare was a feminist.”

  I consider that for a moment. That explains the ending of the play. When I first read it, I felt let down. Like Kate just gave up. But now? “Mrs. Kirby? The speech Kate gives at the end of the play. The one about the bet? She wasn’t serious, was she?”

  “I don’t know, Grace, was she?”

  If he was a feminist, I totally misunderstood the ending. “She just caved in. Said what her husband wanted her to say.”

  “Yeah, ’cause she learned her place,” Jax says and laughs.

  “No! No, she wasn’t tamed. She wasn’t broken. She was still herself, still a smart woman who thinks things through. I think she made a deal with Petrucchio. I think under all the posturing for the busybodies, they actually liked each other. Kate realized she could do a lot worse and was willing to give up the shrew stuff if he’d help her too.” When everybody sits there, vacant, I wave a hand. “Come on, isn’t it obvious? Kate’s still thinking, still scheming. She just found a partner willing to do it with her.”

  “That’s because she’s hot. Hot girls always get guys to do whatever they want them to.”

  “Yeah, and then lie about it later.”

  “Hey, hey, that’s enough.” Mrs. Kirby tries to regain control when the class erupts in a loud cheer, but I stand up and face the nasty little witch sitting near the window. Her name’s Camryn, and she hasn’t said a word to me since high school started. She’s petite with a sleek fall of dark hair that sweeps her shoulders, soft eyes, and a nice smile, which I don’t see because at the moment because she’s too busy sneering at me. First Jax and now her?

  Okay, I’m done playing now.

  “I didn’t lie about anything. Anytime you want to hear the truth, you come find me.”

  “Grace, sit down and be quiet.”

  I whip around, face Mrs. Kirby. “I will not be quiet when students in your classroom call me names, Mrs. Kirby.” I stare her down. “And get away with it,” I add to make her eyebrows climb.

  “Camryn, apologize to Grace.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “You called her a liar. Apologize or see Mr. Jordan.”

  Camryn crosses her arms and stares daggers through me. “Sorry.”

  “What? I didn’t quite hear that—”

  “I said I was sorry. Happy now?”

  I turn to face Jax. “And?”

  He pats his chest and looks at Mrs. Kirby to save him, but she nods. “You too, Jax.”

  “Aw, man. Fine, I’m sorry you’re a slut.”

  “Jax!”

  “Okay, okay.” He clears his throat. “Sorry. But if people don’t want other people to notice how they dress, then maybe they shouldn’t dress to be noticed.”

  “Jax, this is your final warning.”

  He holds up both hands, and I stand down, take my seat, laughing inside at the way Camryn’s face is turning an interesting shade of purple. But I’m not done yet. I told my mom I was done hiding, done staying quiet. I mean it. “You know, not much has changed since Shakespeare’s time. People still can’t be who they are and not have to worry what others think.”

  “Okay, Grace, you’ve made your point.”

  The bell rings, and the sounds of desks scraping the floor and books slamming fills the room. I’ve learned to wait for the crowd to thin a bit before I move. I grab my gear, turn to the door, and freeze. Robyn Nielson and Khatiri Soni stand in front of me. Robyn’s biting her lip. I cock a hip, cross my arms, and brace. “What?”

  Robyn holds up her hands. “Nothing, nothing. Just…that was really great.”

  My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. “What was?”

  She laughs and quickly swallows it, like that laugh had been chained in a dungeon and just broke free. “The way you shot down Jax and Camryn and even Mrs. Kirby.”

  “You are so fierce,” Khatiri adds with this note of awe in her voice.

  I blink and finally nod. “Thanks.” I grab my stuff and pass them, but Robyn stops me with a hand to my arm.

  “We believe you.”

  My lit text squirts from my hand, thuds to the floor. I want to grab Robyn, twirl her around the classroom the way my mom used to twirl me, and then make her sign a statement that I can photocopy and stuff into every locker I cleaned.

  With a smile and a nod, they’re gone. The rest of my classmates glare or whisper behind their hands, but I hardly notice because somebody thinks I’m fierce.

  Somebody believes me.

  • • •

  The third period bell rings, and in the crush of students trying to make it to their next class on time, I see Zac and Ian having a hot argument. Ian makes eye contact but says nothing, so I give them space. I lean against a locker until they separate and then straighten my spine, suck in a deep breath, and approach Ian to ask if we could have lunch together later.

  “Not now, Grace.” He sidesteps me and keeps walking. Whatev
er Zac said to him just now really upset him, so I force myself not to take his words personally. His face is pale, too pale, and as he strides away, he grabs his head like he did last week. Crap, I hope he’s not having another headache or dizzy spell. I have pain relievers with me. Maybe I can give him some at lunch. Except I don’t eat in the cafeteria anymore. I usually pack sandwiches I sneak into the library and nibble on them behind a large textbook.

  Maybe this morning’s lit class made me ridiculously bold, but I figure I could eat in the cafeteria today, especially if Ian’s head is bothering him again. I battle back the dread that keeps trying to talk me out of this idea throughout my entire third-period class. When the lunch bell rings, I pull it together and join the line. I hear the whispers and notice the raised eyebrows but stride through that food line like I own the place, and even though I have sandwiches, I plop two slices of pizza on my tray.

  Everybody seems to really like the pizza.

  While I pay for the food, Ian comes in, but he doesn’t see me. He heads straight for the lacrosse team’s table on the far right of the cafeteria over near the trophy case. Zac sits in the center of the long table, Jeremy the disciple to his right. Matt and Kyle are standing guard. When Ian gets close, they seem to close ranks, prevent him from getting near Zac. I hang back. The tension’s thick.

  “Zac, come on, man.” Ian holds out his hands, palms up. His face is way too pale not to be something to worry over.

  Zac shoots him a bored look. “The skank table is over there.” He jerks his head in my direction, and my stomach falls to the floor with a thud. I didn’t realize I’d been spotted. Ian turns and his dark eyes zero right in on me and then shift quickly back to Zac. The other guys sneer, laugh, and then get really serious. I’m standing here, carrying a tray with two meals and a bottle of Tylenol on it in some pathetic attempt to keep the only friend I have, and they know it. They’re waiting, salivating for what comes next.

  “Zac, seriously,” Ian tries again, but Zac just angles his head.

  “Don’t you want to know what the little woman has for you?”

  “Probably an STD,” Kyle says, and Jeremy bumps his fist.

  I give it a few seconds, a few seconds for Ian to step up the way he did last week—first with my former friends and then with his. But he doesn’t.