by Brian Adams
“I warned you!” I said.
“And then, I sorta said I had a boyfriend who went to another school, so Marc would think I was experienced and knew how to be around boys and all. But then he asked me what school and I got all tongue tied and said it wasn’t really a boyfriend just some random guy off the Internet.”
“Smooth move!”
“Yeah, I thought so. And then I was walking backwards so I could face to face him and he’d catch what was left of my twenty-five calming flower and plant essences, but I backed right into a stop sign and smacked my head and fell over backwards. I scratched the crap out of my knee and was bleeding all over, so we had to go to Fas Chek and get a Band-aid and it was super-embarrassing.”
“Nice!” I said, trying not to laugh. “It sounds like things went really well!”
“They did, they really did!” Ashley said, taking off her shoes and socks and, as always, sticking her feet in my lap. “I thought, Yeah, he’s a guy. He’ll want to walk me home just to get a closer look at my gorgeous boobs. But he didn’t even bring them up!”
“No!” I said.
“Yes! He was interested in me. I figured it was just because I was hot but it’s not. Guys can want hot and smart! We can be both!”
“And you certainly showed him the smart part,” I said, continuing to rub her feet.
Ashley, caught up in the throes of Marc-mania, was completely oblivious to my sarcasm.
“And you know what’s weird? Really weird?”
“That your feet smell like Cheetos?” I said.
Ashley took a toe whiff. “God, they do. They really do! That is weird. But let me tell you something even weirder, and don’t go off on me. I’m glad they’re trying to blow the top off of Tom!”
“You’re what?”
“I feel like a total shit saying this, but in a really selfish way I’m glad they’re trying to blow up the mountain.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I angrily flipped her feet off of my lap.
“Stop!” she said, putting her feet back on me. “Listen to me. I mean, of course I feel horrible that those assholes want to blow up our mountain. I hate them. I really do. I think I hate them more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life other than that creepy circus clown that was stalking us when we went to the carnival the summer before last.”
I put my hands over my ears. “Ahhh . . .” I yelled. “Don’t talk about the clown! Not the clown! Anything but the clown!”
“Sorry,” Ashley said. “The point is I hate them. I hate them almost as much as the scary circus clown. And that says a lot. But ever since we found what they’re trying to do, it’s like a whole new world has opened up for us. We’re like different people, Cyndie. You and me. People want to hear what we have to say. People want to do what we want to do.”
“Well,” I said. “Some people. Don’t forget about Bert and Michael, the dipshit duo.”
“The good people do. I mean, this is seriously awesome. Let’s face it, at the start of school we weren’t exactly tearing it up around here. We were like, Ashley and Cyndie who? If someone had told us then that in October we’d be leading the charge on a hot political issue and that Number Twos would be asking us out, I’d have said, ‘Get off the crystal meth, dude!’”
“Marc asked you out?”
“He asked me out!”
“Oh my God!” I yelled.
“He did! He seriously did! I mean, look what’s happening to us, Cyndie! We collected over a hundred signatures today. Strangers at the dump told us we were awesome. I slapped down one of the biggest shitheads in school. And to top it off, we’re on the verge of crossing into Boyfriendland. Scoring Number Fives! I’m like, thank you, American! Don’t hate me for it. That’s just how I feel!”
“I’m past the verge,” I said.
“What? Of hating me? No! You can’t be.”
I laughed.
“I will never, ever hate you. But I think I’ve crossed.”
“Criss-crossed? Apple sauced?”
“No! Cross-crossed. Into Boyfriendland!”
“What?”
“He kissed me! Kevin kissed me!”
“Oh my God!” Ashley yelled, jumping up and down. “He kissed you?”
“He did!”
“Oh my God!” Ashley yelled again, leaping up on to my bed and then bouncing into my arms.
“Do you see what I mean?” she said, hugging me tight and twirling me around in circles. “Do you see what I’m saying? Thank you, American Coal Company! Thank you!”
43
“DID YOU SEE MY BACKPACK?” Ashley asked me at lunch. “I swear I left it right here when I went to pee.”
“No,” I said. “I can barely keep track of my own junk. Did you leave it in the girl’s room?”
“I didn’t take it in with me. I left it right here.”
“I haven’t seen it,” I told her. Actually, I hadn’t seen anything. All during lunch I had been doodling. First the word KEVIN drawn endlessly in elaborate loops, curves, spirals, and wavy lines. Then TOM, with the O in TOM becoming the Earth, or a snake chasing its tail, or the yin/yang symbol, or the peace sign. Who knew how many things you could do with the letter O. To the casual observer, it might have looked as if I were desperately torn between two boys. Lovesick and too confused to choose. As if somehow writing their names over and over would make the answer magically appear.
“Damn. Where would I have put it?” Ashley looked around the lunchroom.
Most kids had backpacks that looked pretty much the same. Boring, functional, run-of-the-mill blah backpacks. Not Ashley. Ashley had been using this hot-pink backpack ever since elementary school, with ribbons and stickers and an “I Love Justin Bieber” patch. No one else would be caught dead with a backpack like that. Ashley didn’t give a flying frig.
The best thing about it was that you could spot her from a mile away with that thing on. It was like a glowing beacon, a backpack lighthouse. If you looked at it long enough you could go blind. Mr. Cooper made her hide it in the closet during class because he thought it might bring on a seizure.
“I know I had it right here,” Ashley said. “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone . . .” She stopped talking in midsentence and opened her mouth wide.
There was Jon Buntington, strolling down the cafeteria isle, whistling Dixie, and swinging Ashley’s backpack. All eyes in the cafeteria were on him.
“This yours?” he said, sitting down next to us and flinging the pack on the table. A zipper was open and the contents spewed out. Lip balm, half opened gum, two tampons, her pack of pills, and a plastic baggie full of something.
“Dude, why do you have my backpack?” Ashley asked, hurriedly stuffing things back in. “And what the hell is this?” She held up the baggie for Jon to look at. The rest of the cafeteria was looking just as hard.
Jon snatched it out of her hand and put it in his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Ashley asked. “What’s going on?”
“The Bert and Michael show,” Jon said. “Assholes.”
“What are you talking about?” Ashley said.
“I saw them walk off with your backpack. They were putting shit into it. Crystal meth. That’s what’s in the baggie. They were setting you up. They’re trying to get you busted.”
Mr. Livingston, the evil math teacher, came bustling up to the table. “Jon, Cyndie, Ashley. To the principal’s office. Now.”
•
It was, as they say, a total shit show. Some tattletale freshman had told Mr. Livingston that Ashley had sold Jon Buntington a bag of crystal meth, and now we were seated in the principal’s office being read the riot act. I could barely believe it was happening.
“Let’s cut to the quick,” Principal Miller asked. “Are you dealing?”
“What?” Ashley answered, rising out of her chair, steam coming out of her ears.
“Are you dealing crystal meth? Were you selling Jon crystal meth?”
“Are you kidding me?�
�
I was terrified that Ashley was going to go off on the principal. Take him down. Grab her backpack and start whacking him on his head, branding him for life with the “I Love Justin Bieber” insignia. I was scared to death that just when I was finally becoming girlfriend material I’d have to throw it all away and spend the rest of my life on the run with Jon Buntington and Ashley, flitting from town to town, always looking over my shoulder for the sirens and the handcuffs. The FBI’s Three Most Wanted. The Justin Bieber gang.
But Jon Buntington coolly and calmly explained what went down and somehow, miraculously, Ashley kept her cool. Jon had watched Bert Stanmere and Michael Mead snatch Ashley’s backpack from the cafeteria table while she was peeing and I was off in la-la land, lost in my doodles. He followed them out to the hall and watched them put a baggie in her backpack. When Bert and Michael saw Jon they dropped the pack and ran like hell. Jon came back to the cafeteria, flipped the backpack to Ash, and that’s when the baggie came out.
“Why would Bert and Michael do such a thing?” the principal asked.
“Because they’re out to get us,” I answered. “You know how we’re trying to save Mount Tom? That’s what has pissed them off so much. They’re beyond pissed off. They’re totally nutso on the issue. They can’t stand the fact that we don’t want the mountain blown sky high. They’ll stop at nothing to try to stop us.”
“Look,” Ashley said. “Bert and Michael are the ones that vandalized our KABOOM posters, the thing you got so upset over.”
“How do you know that?” the Principal asked.
“Because we do,” I said. “We’re sure of it. Who else could possibly drop the C from the F-word. Then they crashed our meeting, talking trash. We’re on the opposite sides of the mountaintop issue here. And that’s okay. But it’s not okay when they’re playing dirty and going at it the way they are.”
Boy, something had happened. Belinda the Brave had nothing on me. Even the principal didn’t scare me anymore.
“And then,” Ashley said, “on Saturday we were collecting signatures at the dump and they showed up again. I mean, this is a democracy. We have our rights. There we are being responsible and engaged and involved in issues the way we’re supposed to, and they’re trying to grab our petitions and be a bunch of big bastard bullies!”
Ashley conveniently left out the slap part.
“And now this,” I said. “They’re trying to get us in trouble so we’ll stop doing what we’re doing. But it’s gonna take a heck of a lot more than those two losers to shut us down. We will not be silenced!”
“And anyway,” Ashley added, “why the heck would Jon walk down the aisle flashing my backpack if we were going to do something like that? Do you really think we’re that stupid? Do you really think I’d hold a bag of crystal meth up to his face for all the kids to see if I had any clue as to what was even in it? They were out to frame us!”
The principal sighed that principal kind of sigh, a prolonged whoosh of a sigh that seemed to indicate that he wasn’t paid nearly enough to deal with this kind of bullshit. We sat in silence until Mr. Livingston came back into the office.
“Gone,” he said. “Flew the coop. Can’t find them anywhere.”
“See?” Ashley said. “We’re not lying. None of us would ever do something like this. Ever. Well, Jon did, but not anymore. Right Jon?”
Jon, who had been uncomfortably fidgeting throughout the ordeal, nodded his head.
“Back to class,” the principal said. “All three of you. But I want to see you here in my office at 2:35 sharp this afternoon. Do you understand me?”
The three of us nodded.
•
“Did you really slap the principal?” Marc asked Ashley. Marc and Kevin were walking us to Miller’s office after school.
“Oh my God, Marc!” Ashley said, giving him the staredown.
“I knew you didn’t. But that’s what kids are saying.”
“The legend grows,” Kevin said. “Never a dull moment with you two. Pretty soon you’re going to be like goddesses. Untouchables.”
Ashley looked at me with a quizzical expression on her face. I had neglected to tell her how I had divulged our boy rating system to Kevin.
“That’s the last thing I want to be,” I said, reaching out and holding Kevin’s hand. “Well, maybe the goddess part would work.”
“As Alice in Wonderland said, ‘Things just get curiouser and curiouser.’” Kevin squeezed my hand.
“Welcome to Wild, Wonderland West Virginia,” I added.
“Good luck,” Marc said. “May the Force be with you.”
Kevin leaned over, brushed back my hair, and kissed me. A wild and wonderful kiss. “We’ll be here for backup. Give a shout if you need us.”
“A shout,” Marc added. “Not a slap.”
•
“So it wasn’t even crystal meth?” Kevin asked. He was driving me home after our meeting with the principal. Marc was walking Ashley home.
“No. It was baking soda, for goodness sake. Baking soda! And, get this, Bert and Michael had gotten it from the cafeteria lady. Somehow she heard what was going down and told the principal. They said it was for a science experiment.”
“What a couple of yahoos.”
“Totally.”
“What’s going to happen to them?” Kevin asked.
“I guess they were stupid enough to come back to school after fifth period and Miller dragged their sorry asses down to his office. He confronted them with our version and along with the cafeteria lady’s story, and they ended up confessing.”
“Morons.”
“Here’s the worst part. They told him it was meant as a joke. A stupid prank. Not to be taken seriously.”
“And Miller believed them?”
“I don’t know. He was pretty cool when he met with us. Anyway, he was pissed enough to suspend them for a day, but that’s it. Just a day. Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of them.”
“Should I be jealous?” Kevin asked.
“Of the two of them? Totally jealous,” I said. “I’ve always had the hots for bad boys. And I’m such a masochist. I totally love it when guys say crap about me.”
Kevin laughed.
“No!” he said. “Jealous of Jon Buntington. He always seems to be riding to your rescue just in the nick of time.”
I put my hand on Kevin’s knee and smiled at him. “This jealousy thing rocks. It really does.”
“I’m serious,” Kevin said, putting his hand over mine.
“Then you’re a moron,” I said.
“Good,” Kevin said.
“Good that you’re a moron?”
“Shut up,” Kevin said.
“Only if you kiss me.”
Kevin pulled the car over.
“Done,” he said.
44
“CYNTHIA,” DAD SAID. “We have something to discuss.”
I hated when Dad called me “Cynthia.” When Ashley did it, it was kind of cute. When Dad did it, it meant I was in trouble. The last time he referred to me by my full name was when I had barricaded Britt in her closet for three hours because she was by far and away the most annoying person in the entire universe, and then she somehow broke free and came sobbing to Dad, telling him that she was a shattered person and scarred for life—and I got called “Cynthia.”
“Britt, why don’t you go upstairs and do your homework,” Dad said.
“I don’t have any homework,” Britt said. “Anyway, I think I should be part of this.”
“Part of what?” I asked.
“The discussion we’re going to have about your recent behavior,” Britt replied. “The incident at school today, with the principal. What happened at the dump on Saturday. You’re doing it with Kevin Malloy.”
“What are you talking about!” I yelled. “And how do you know all of this?”
“See?” Britt said, with that awful little smirk on her hideous dweeb face. “I told you she was doing it with hi
m!”
“Shut up!” I threw a pillow from the couch at her. “Dad!”
“Britt!” Dad said. “To your room. Now!”
“You can run but you can’t hide!” Britt sneered, as she ever-so-slowly inched her way out of the living room.
“Oh my God! You are such a ...”
“Girls!” Dad said, his voice rising a notch. He waited for Britt to exit. “Cynthia, we need to talk about . . .”
“Britt, I know you’re sitting at the top of the stairs!” I yelled. “Dad said go to your damn room!”
Dad let out a long sigh, similar to the sigh Principal Miller had let loose when I was in his office earlier in the day. It wasn’t even dinnertime and it had already been a two-adult-sigh day.
“I’m not doing it with Kevin Malloy,” I said. “Seriously, Dad, we’ve only had one date. What kind of a girl do you think I am?”
“You’ve gone on a date with him?” Dad asked.
“Well, it was more like a thingamabob.”
Dad looked confused. “And where was this?”
“At the recycling station.”
“At the recycling station? We have a recycling station?”
“She means the dump!” Britt yelled from the top of the stairs.
“Shut up, Britt!” I yelled back. “I’m not doing it with him, Dad. I like him. I like him a lot. But give me a little credit here.”
“I saw you making out with him in the driveway after school,” Britt yelled.
“Oh my God, Britt!” I screamed. “You’re spying on me? Really? Are you serious?”
“It was impossible not to!” Britt yelled back. “I could hear the slurping noises even with the television on!”
“What did I say about watching TV after school!” Dad yelled.
“Good God, Dad, just let her come down. The whole neighborhood can hear us. And we’re going to get hoarse from yelling.”
Before Dad could sigh again Britt was back on the couch, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed.
“I just don’t know how comfortable I am with this,” Dad continued. “You’re fifteen years old. Fifteen. I’m not sure that you should be making out with boys in the driveway at fifteen.”
