I was about to say that would be great when a pack of girls crossed the hall between Ginger and me, and the shape of Rachael Collins emerged from among them. “Judy!” she said, turning and peeling off the circle. Everyone else gave me lingering, interested glances, but kept walking. Except Jessica Lambkin, who hung back with Rachael. I thought immediately of everyone saying Jessica Lambkin had made out with her dad. I wondered how long it had taken her to feel like people weren’t thinking of it anymore, and tried to put it out of my mind, so I could be one of the people who didn’t imagine it every time I saw her.
“Well, I have to—see you soon, Judy,” said Ginger, wandering off.
“Hey, Rachael. Hi, Jessica,” I said, even though Jessica Lambkin and I had never talked, and I worried that even saying her name would be evidence that I was thinking about the story of her and her dad, keeping the lie alive. Of course, she could have used my name with impunity even though we’d never talked, just because I’m famous in this school. I mean, everyone, even in the impossible event that they haven’t seen the video, knows who I am anyway. Everyone’s always known who I am. I guess I’ll never have the benefits or drawbacks of being invisible.
“Hey,” said Jessica.
“How’s Cletus?” I asked Rachael. Jessica looked confused.
“He’s good,” Rachael said, smiling. “Our fetal cat,” she said to Jessica, who nodded vaguely. “More important, how are you?” Rachael asked.
“I’m good, actually,” I said, feeling for the moment like it might be true. “Thanks. Hey—listen, I’m really sorry about leaving you in the lur—”
She cut me off. “I totally understand, of course. I saved all my notes. Do you wanna hang out sometime and go over them so you’re ready for the AP?”
“That would be great,” I said.
“Anytime,” she said. “Just text me when you’re free.”
“I will,” I said, and we stood there for an extra second, smiling at each other, maybe because we both knew that I would text her. Or maybe we hoped for even more—that we would end up super close and stay friends for the rest of our lives after we both aced the AP and placed out of college freshman biology. It all seemed possible. I mean, I had been back at school for only half an hour and had already secured a lifetime of free, incredibly awkward counseling with Mrs. O’Henry, a pot date with Ginger, and a nerd date with Rachael. Maybe life would be fabulous from now on.
Upstairs, I peered into Ms. Doman’s room. She was sitting at her desk, writing something: grades, maybe, or an idea she wanted to save for later. I had the fully articulated thought “Please let me be like her. I don’t even have to be a singer. I can be something quiet, a writer, a teacher, Ms. Doman. Please. Just let me recover from this enough so that someday I can be the one waiting calmly while a girl like me stands in the doorway.” But when Ms. Doman looked up and saw me standing there, she didn’t seem at all calm. She almost knocked her chair over, getting up and rushing over to me. Then she crouched down in the doorway and did a whole full crazy tall-person-hugging-dwarf hug. She smelled like spring.
When she let go, I thought I heard her sniffle, so I moved away from her and set my books down—on the first desk in the first row.
She noticed this. “Judy,” she said. “I’m so—I can’t—”
She had never dropped a sentence partway through. I rescued her.
“I have a draft of my college essay,” I said. “Would you mind reading it and telling me what you think?”
“Nothing would please me more,” she said. “Is it the one about the Hottentot Venus?”
“No, it’s a new one, actually,” I told her. “About a guy.”
Anxiety flashed across her face, naked and painful, and I was excited for the moment when her expression would go back to beautiful and happy, relieved.
I said, “Not that guy. Just a new friend of mine, someone I met called Bill.”
She waited, so I added, “When I was out on my own.” Ms. Doman was about to say something, but the door opened and Molly came into the classroom. Ms. Doman moved back toward the blackboard.
“Hi,” Molly said to her. She bounded the two steps it took to get to where I was sitting, and flung her arms around me before sitting down in the desk next to mine. “Thank god you’re back!” she said, smiling with her whole self. “Did you get our note?”
I nodded. “Nice work on the brown belt.”
“Thanks!” She lowered her voice, leaned in, “So, you want to skip after this class? I have a new poem I want to show you.”
“Yes,” I said, nodding vigorously because I wanted to acknowledge the rule-breaking sacrifice she was offering to make. Even though the poem was probably the weirdest thing I’d ever read, I also knew that Molly had never cut class in her entire life. I suddenly desperately wanted to sit outside with her and Goth Sarah, too. Where was Sarah? Other people had begun trickling in, looking over, going silent, turning to each other to confirm it—oh my god, she’s back, she came back—then looking again, staring, more and more people, until it felt like the entire class, except Kyle Malanack, quiet, looking, pulsing with my return while Molly and Ms. Doman pretended not to notice. Everyone was noticing or pretending not to notice. Again, I guess.
I looked up from the desk, my face on fire, and saw Goth Sarah standing in the doorway. She took in the fact of me in the front row, then tossed her backpack onto the desk next to mine. She kept standing, though, staring at the gawkers as if she might lunge and attack them. But instead she said, crazy loud in their honor: “Oh my god—Judy Lohden?! Can we like, have your autograph!?”
Half the class looked away fast, caught. There was a scramble to unpack bags, open books, look cool. The other half kept watching, maybe to see what I would do. Would I admit what had happened? Would we all mention it? Would I cry and shatter in front of them? Or pull some wicked hurt-girl magic like in Carrie and burn the place down with my furious eyes?
I tilted my jaw toward the ceiling. Maybe everyone would talk later about how proud I’d been, how I’d kept my chin up. And it would be true. Because then I turned from the front row to look right back at that class like a laser. And I grinned. And there it was. You all want to watch me? Take a good long look—I’m right here, beaming: Judy Lohden, Thumbelina, blue dwarf star.
Acknowledgments
Jill Grinberg, thank you for being a magnificent agent and friend. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your superhuman commitment and your mind. Courtney Hodell, thank you for believing so fiercely in this book from the beginning, and for adding your absolute brilliance at every stage. Robert Pinsky, thank you for being and staying my teacher and mentor, for unfailing encouragement, and for your incredible work.
Researching this, I read dozens of books that were helpful and inspiring. Top among them were Dan Kennedy’s profoundly empathetic Little People: Learning to See the World Through My Daughter’s Eyes and Betty Adelson’s triumphant The Lives of Dwarfs. Thank you to LPA members Barbara Spiegel and Dan, Barbara, and Becky Kennedy for welcoming me into your community and families, and for being so generous with your time and anecdotes.
Thank you to everyone who commented on drafts: Martha Davis-Merritts, for your trust, stories, and sharp eyes; Cheryl Pientka for your enthusiasm and brainpower; Mark Krotov, for fabulous notes and being on top of everything all the time; Greg Lalas, for the hours at Think, and for freely writing “ugh” so often in my margins; Christine Jones, for so many notes and truths—you are the opposite of loneliness; Lara Phillips, Donna Eis, and Julia Hollinger, for loving me when I was a teenager, showing me Stranger Than Paradise, even though I didn’t deserve it, and continuing to read; Molly Metzler and Danielle Slavick for your feminista feedback; Tamar Kotz for the truth through the vents; Logan and Stef LaVail, Chesa Boudin, and Malik Dohrn for reading a river-soaked copy; and Thai Jones for the final mile. Thank you to the recent graduates who helped me think about adolescence and voice: Ingrid Bengtsson, Emily Brown, Mollie Ruth, and Kayla Stol
er. And thank you, Community High School dean Jen Hein, for the amazingly helpful letter about discipline and nuance.
Thank you to Kathy, for so many talks on this and on the lives of girls; to Harriet Beinfield, for building our nest; to Naomi and Saul Silvermintz, for being such gorgeous role models; to Martina Proctor, for your real-life example of courage and beauty; and to Peggy Sradnick, for a lifetime’s worth of parenting guidance.
Thank you, Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn, for your unique genius on love, law, teenagers, and dignity; for reading, parsing, helping with everything all the time; for your supremely generous engagement in the world and in our lives.
And to the real Judith, my mom, and my heroic dad, Ken: for reading this too many times to mention; for utterly unconditional applause and love; for anchoring me to the universe; for all the inspiring, traveling, talking, interrupting, cooking, eating, analyzing, editing, and disco dancing. Mom, Dad, Jake, Aaron, and Melissa, thank you! For your names, stories, lives, and selves—appropriated and rearranged.
Dalin Alexi and Light Ayli: you are the sun we orbit, and I’m delirious with gratitude for your sweet, bossy, inimitable selves. Thank you for showing me The Wizard of Oz two thousand times, as well as the fresh truth about everything every day, including bravery and resilience. This “story with a scary part” is for you two.
Zayd, thank you for agreeing to forever when it meant me and my manuscripts. And for being unwavering, brilliant, and loving in your readings of both. Thank you for our endless conversation, world, and girls. You are my best and favorite half, co-everything, lucky star.
Table of Contents
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Big Girl Small Page 30
