Finny

by Justin Kramon

  “Why?”

  “Take a guess,” Judith said.

  Finny didn’t have a response to this, so they sat for a moment in silence. Then Judith said, “I was living alone before break. Actually, I’m in ninth grade.” The way the girl began her sentences with the word actually, it sounded like she was correcting some unheard person. “You’re in eighth, right?”

  Finny nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  “When they said a new girl was coming, I volunteered to have you stay with me.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Finny said. “But how did you get to choose?”

  “My parents are on the board,” Judith said, and then blew at a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. Finny was captivated by her movements, her ease in these strange surroundings. “It just means they give a lot of money,” Judith went on. “You might have seen the Turngate Auditorium? That’s my last name. Turngate.”

  “I’m sorry you had to give up your room,” Finny blurted out. She felt clumsy in the presence of big graceful Judith.

  “Like I said, I wanted a roommate. My last roommate left all of a sudden, and it was lonely. Actually, I’m very glad you’re here.”

  “Why’d she leave?”

  Judith shrugged. “Family stuff. By the way, why are you here? I mean, why’d you come in the middle of the year?”

  “I got in trouble,” Finny said.

  “What kind of trouble?” Judith asked. “Boys?”

  “Actually, yes,” Finny said. She was already beginning to talk like Judith. The girl’s pull was that strong, like a huge planet on a tiny pebble.

  “Did you get caught doing something?”

  “Sort of.” Normally Finny wouldn’t have answered any of these questions. She would have shrugged, or made a smart comment about what she got caught doing. But she felt compelled to give Judith what she asked for. Finny wanted so badly to please her, to win her approval. She could see that Judith must have been used to having that effect on people. “I started taking piano lessons so I could see this boy. Then my parents found out.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I got sent here.”

  “No. I mean, what happened with the boy?”

  “He’s at home. We’re still in love.”

  Here Judith let out a squeal of pleasure. “How wonderful,” she said. “Have you written him?”

  “I just sent him a letter this morning.”

  “Hm,” Judith said, frowning. “Well, you have to be careful about that. Old Yeller will check mailboxes.”

  “Really?”

  “But she won’t check mine. How about you have your boyfriend send the letters to my mailbox? And then I’ll hand them off to you. I promise I won’t peak at anything. Unless you let me.” Judith was glowing. Finny loved the way their strings were crossing, how they were winding into each other’s lives.

  “Thanks,” Finny said.

  “Nothing,” Judith said, in a way that sounded faintly European to Finny, though Finny had never been to Europe. “So what did you do last night?”

  “I ate dinner with Poplan. Then we played Jenga.”

  “Oh, so the Pussy Popper got you to play already?”

  “It wasn’t that bad. The only dumb thing was this shirt I have to wear so I don’t run away.”

  “Shirt?”

  Finny got up and went to her closet, pulled out the shirt. She put it on, and modeled it for Judith, striking a sassy hand-on-hip pose, the way she used to when she was modeling her rat’s nest for Sylvan. Finny was beginning to feel comfortable enough with her new roommate that she could joke like this, strut around and make faces, twist up other people’s behavior into these absurd shapes.

  Judith laughed at Finny’s display, so hard she fell back on the bed and hit her head against the wall. “Ow,” she said, then laughed some more. Finny kept dancing, enjoying how silly she and Judith looked together.

  “Shorty Finn,” Finny said. “It’s like a deformed shark.”

  After a while Judith stopped laughing. “Actually, that’s terrible,” she said. “The shirt, I mean. I’m so sorry they’re making you wear that. But I think I can take care of it.”

  “How?” Finny said.

  “You’ll see.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, until it was time to go down to dinner. When they had gotten their coats on and were all ready to go, Judith said, “Oh, by the way, I know you went through my dresser, and it’s okay.”

  Finny was going to deny it, but then she wondered how Judith knew. Were there video cameras in the room? Was she psychic? Finny could have believed this girl possessed almost any powers. Maybe the CIA was working for her.

  “Actually, I wasn’t sure,” Judith said. “But now by the look on your face, I am.” She laughed. “Don’t worry. Like I said, it’s okay. Actually, I would do the same. No one stops at the top of the dresser.”

  That evening the dining hall was a completely new room, alive with the bustle of eighty girls. Finny could hear their shouts and chatter even as she came down the stairs. Judith was next to her, and by the way everyone watched them, Finny could tell that Judith held a privileged position in the school. Judith introduced Finny to some girls as they picked up their trays—one named Nora who lived on their hall, and another named Jean who was downstairs—and though Finny’s head was swimming, she loved their faces, their smiles and timid, sweaty handshakes.

  Judith and Finny sat down at an empty table, which soon filled up around them. They talked about so many subjects that Finny would have trouble recalling them later: hair products, favorite stores, dishes to avoid in the dining hall, what people did over vacation. Judith pointed out people to Finny. There was an upper-form girl named Cynthia Bunswaggel, whom they called Bum Wagger because of the way her ass swayed when she walked. There was a girl named Yasmin Pitzer, whom they called Pits of Death because she didn’t shave under her arms and had BO. Tasha Nolan was the Jackhammer, because of her percussive laugh.

  In the far corner of the room was a woman that Judith identified as Mrs. Barksdale, the Old Yeller. She wore a bright red blazer, and her stringy hair was dyed a light orange color, as if she’d been going for blond but hadn’t left the dye in long enough. She was so skinny that Finny could see the muscles tensing in her face and neck when she ate, and a vein that pulsed in her forehead. There was something animal-like about her, like a starved and aggressive dog.

  When they were eating dessert, the Old Yeller got up and came over to Finny’s table, which became instantly silent.

  “Hello, young lady,” the Old Yeller said to Finny. “I’m Mrs. Barksdale.”

  “Hi,” Finny said.

  “We’re happy to welcome you to our school. I hope you’ve settled in okay?”

  “Yes. Thank you very much.”

  “And Poplan told you about your dress code?”

  Finny nodded. She was struck by Mrs. Barksdale’s voice, which seemed strained and nasal, like air pinched from the neck of a balloon. It was an almost inhuman pitch, and it cut through all the background noise in the room.

  “Then I will see you at the check-in this evening. I expect you’ll be there?” She made this last comment with a small laugh, as if she were on to Finny already. And then she tucked her chin to her neck and gave Finny a long look.

  “That was odd,” Finny said when Mrs. Barksdale had left.

  “Actually, that was a typical Old Yeller moment,” Judith said. “No one knows what she’s thinking.”

  After dinner and an hour and a half of free time, which the girls used to unpack but which was normally reserved for homework, all of the girls in the dorm were called to line up in front of their rooms for check-in. Judith had been out in the halls, catching up with friends. Finny hadn’t seen her since dinner, though now she took her place next to Finny. They were the first ones in the hall, and Finny wondered where everyone else was.

  Then the girls came out of their rooms. Finny was shocked at the sight of them. She looked
at Judith, who giggled. Finny couldn’t believe what was happening.

  The reason Judith was laughing was that all of the girls were wearing purple T-shirts. They looked exactly like Finny.

  “What is this?” Mrs. Barksdale shouted, her voice high and grating, like nails scraped against glass. Finny had to put her hands on her ears.

  When she took her hands down, Judith said, “You see what I mean about the nickname?”

  Chapter 7

  Finny and Judith Find Ways to Entertain Themselves

  Classes began the next morning. They were all the subjects Finny was used to, but the Thorndon School called them by different names. English was “communications,” history was “humanities,” and math was called “SMP,” for some reason related to the textbooks they were using. But once Finny got used to the titles, the courses were standard. She’d always been a decent student—not A’s, but usually high B’s—and here was no different. In truth, the classes were what engaged the least of Finny’s energies in her first semester at Thorndon.

  Finny’s real life began at three o’clock, when the final class let out. She’d go first to her room, to drop off her bag and check for letters from Earl. Finny had asked Earl to start addressing his letters to Judith, and Earl didn’t mind. He always included a very polite note to Judith wrapped around his note to Finny: Thanks again, Judith, for delivering this letter to Finny. I hope I’ll meet you sometime. You sound like a very nice and considerate person. Sincerely, Earl Henckel. Judith had gotten in the habit of leaving the letters on Finny’s pillow during lunch, since Judith got back to the room later in the afternoon because of basketball. (She was the center on the JV team.) Sometimes she told Finny how sweet Earl seemed, and how she couldn’t wait to see them together.

  “You must be the most adorable couple,” Judith said, and though Finny liked the sentiment, she had the odd sensation her friend was talking about people much younger than herself.

  “Cute as a button,” Finny said, and Judith laughed. She could tell now when Finny was being sarcastic, and she seemed to get a lot of pleasure out of Finny’s cranky comments.

  Earl’s letters to Finny were as sweet and careful and encouraging as Earl was in person. Finny! he always began, and she could picture him that day he yelled to her and waved his arms like he was signaling an aircraft. That excitement, that joy, he didn’t try to contain it. He told her the news about his life, about school and his afternoons and Mr. Henckel, the words seeming to just pour out. My dad was a little depressed after you left, Earl confided to Finny in one letter. He’s been falling asleep a lot lately at the dinner table and during his lessons. One time he actually fell asleep onto a student, which was awkward. I think he got used to our afternoons together. He always asks me if you’re going to come over for coffee sometime. I didn’t really tell him everything that happened, because I didn’t want him to know you got in trouble. I hope that’s okay. I know he just misses seeing you, like I do. Those were fun days, weren’t they?

  When she read it, Finny started to cry. “Damn,” she said to herself. She meant to stay happy, skim along the surface of her days at Thorndon. But every once in a while a memory snagged her. The letter was getting speckled with tears, so she put it away.

  But most of the time she was happy. Days were bright and cold and fast. Once Judith got back from basketball, panting and sweaty, they’d shower in two stalls next to each other and talk about their days, their voices reverberating off the tiled floors and walls. They’d go to the dining hall together, eat with Brooke and Mariana and Simone. Then they’d do homework together in the study room until check-in.

  Now that they were into the semester, Poplan did the check-in instead of Mrs. Barksdale. At night Poplan wore a kimono. She lined the girls up, and after calling each one’s name, she made them wash their hands with soap and warm water. “For your own sake,” Poplan said. She fought colds with a military vigilance, and at the first sign of a sniffle or a sore throat, she would quarantine a girl in the guest room for a week. “There’s no negotiating with a fever,” she would inform the girls. “Your lives are in my hands.”

  Finny’s favorite time was the night, once she and Judith were shut up in their little room together, the hallway dim, the black sky pressed against their window. There was a cozy companionship to these moments, a luxury of time, as if life spread out before them, an endless and dazzling sea. She felt such exhilaration in Judith’s presence that Finny had to check herself from becoming too giggly, too overwhelmed with pleasure. So she fell back on her wry delivery, that deadpan way of making jokes. It was the sense of humor Finny would hold on to, even as an adult.

  Judith seemed to know everything about everyone in the school. She stood a head taller than most of the girls, and there was a kind of authority in her walk and demeanor. At night Judith told Finny all the gossip, about who’d snuck off with which boys at the last dance. About the girls who stuffed paper in their bras. And other things. More intimate, sexier things than Finny had ever heard talked about before. Judith told her about how Cynthia Bunswaggel had once gotten her period when she was in bed with a guy, and in the morning he’d woken up in a puddle of her blood and thought she was dead. And Halley Klein, who put condoms on carrots and used them to masturbate, only one time the carrot broke off and Halley had to go to the nurse to get it extracted.

  Teachers, too. They weren’t safe from Judith’s swath of knowledge. Finny had heard the music teacher singing opera at night in her room, and when Finny told Judith how beautiful it was, Judith said, “It’s because she uses a vibrator. She sings to cover up the sound.” Which Finny found hard to believe. She wasn’t even quite sure how a vibrator worked, but she started listening for the sound of it beneath Mrs. Polczek’s singing. Poplan dated women, Judith said. She never brought them around because she was afraid of losing her job. For some reason Judith didn’t like Poplan, Finny had discovered. But when she asked why, Judith just shrugged and said, “She’s not my type.”

  Finny never knew how much of Judith’s stories were invented, or exaggerations of what had happened, tales that had been dressed up by so many tellers that it was impossible to make out their original shapes. But under the canopy of Judith’s voice, a garden of images and incidents bloomed. The world of Thorndon became alive and teeming with secrets.

  Then there was the game. When Finny thought back about it, she wasn’t sure exactly how it had started, but it became a pattern that every couple nights one of the two girls would offer the other a dare. They alternated dares. It began simply enough. Go outside the room after lights out. And then the next time: Go outside after lights out and say the word “penis” in the hallway. Each time a step further, a little more dangerous. Stay outside for five seconds. Do it with your pants off.

  Finny no longer had to wear the purple shirt because Mrs. Barksdale realized that she couldn’t make a rule that none of the other girls could wear purple shirts. So Finny felt a little freer at night. Some nights they both put on Judith’s black clothing, and her lipstick, called each other “draculady” and “phantom” and snuck into other girls’ rooms to show off their looks. Judith’s “dark” wardrobe was extensive, and she told Finny that when they were in the upper forms they’d go to clubs in New York where they could wear these clothes “for real.”

  They talked about their lives at home. Finny told Judith about her mom’s social pointers, her dad’s lectures and the way he popped handfuls of Pepto like an addict.

  “They sound funny,” Judith said. “I’d love to meet them sometime.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” Finny said.

  “No, really. I mean it. On some break. I could come visit.”

  “You could come during spring break if you wanted.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Judith said. “I’m going to Shorty Finn’s house for spring break.” Here Judith got up and pulled Finny off her bed by the arms. They did a little ballroom dancing routine they’d made up just for fun, Finny dipping
and spinning Judith. When they came together in a final embrace, Finny felt the curves of Judith’s womanly body pressed against her own childish frame.

  “Oh great,” Finny said. It sounded like the flat way she delivered punch lines.

  Judith’s explanations of her own family were a little harder to make out. It seemed she didn’t really spend time with them the way Finny did with hers. Her parents didn’t talk to each other anymore, Judith said, except when it had to do with money or plans for Judith. Her mom and dad lived in separate parts of their apartment in New York—“wings,” Judith called them, “separate wings.” They lived on the Upper West Side, in a building called the Beresford, which Judith said was one of the fanciest buildings in New York.

  “If you tell anyone in New York that you live in the Beresford, they’ll think you’re a snob.”

  She said that most of the other people in the building were famous, or at least old and rich. She saw movie stars in the elevator, and once Peter Jennings had given her a ride in his car. The lobby of the Beresford was like a museum, with chandeliers and antique end tables and Oriental rugs. If you tripped and fell, you might break ten thousand dollars’ worth of furniture in one clumsy swoop. (Finny of course imagined she’d be the one to do that, if she ever visited.)

  “But it’s all terribly boring,” Judith said, in a way that made her sound much older. “All the smiling and bowing doormen. It’s so stupid.”

  “It sounds very glamorous to me,” Finny said.

  “Well it’s not.”

  This was the first time Judith had gotten agitated with Finny. Finny heard her friend’s mattress creaking as she adjusted positions. And she wondered: Why would Judith make such a big deal of all the chandeliers and riding in Peter Jennings’s car if she hated it so much?

  “My dad has a girlfriend,” Judith said.

  “You mean a lady he takes out?” Finny was trying to get a grasp on this strange world.

  “No, I mean a woman who looks like my sister. I mean, she’s twenty-five or something. But she actually comes over. While I’m there. He doesn’t tell us, but I’ve heard them together.” Judith had dropped her aristocratic way of speaking. She sounded like a child now.