by C. D. Payne
“What does he use the computer for?” asked Carlotta.
“Writin’ stuff, I guess,” replied Dwayne. “Boy was he burned, too. He found a whole bunch o’ nasty stuff Nick wrote.”
My private journal!
“A lot of it was real insultin’ to him too,” continued Dwayne. “And to me. I almost got into some deep shit, on account of some lies Nick wrote about me molestin’ him. I denied it, though. Boy, and I was always real nice to him too.”
Liar!
“Mr. Twisp looked at Nick’s private journal?” asked Fuzzy.
“Ain’t that’s what I been sayin’?” said Dwayne. “Yeah, and Nick wrote some real nasty stuff about your mom, Fuz. Mr. Twisp, he turned some of it over to his lawyer.”
“Why?” demanded Carlotta. Could my doting dad actually be contemplating bringing suit against his own son for libel?
“’Cause there was a part where Nick said Paul and Lacey gave him some drugs,” explained Dwayne. “Nick had this weird trip where he went crazy for his bedspread. The lawyer showed it to Lacey, and she had to quit prosecutin’ Mr. Twisp for fillin’ up her car with cee-ment.”
My dad beat the rap!
“What did Nick say about my mom?” demanded Fuzzy.
“Uh, Fuzzy,” cooed Carlotta. “It’s late. We better be going now. You’ll excuse us, young man?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Come by anytime. How ’bout tomorrow night? By yourself.”
Carlotta stifled a shudder. “What an attractive invitation. I shall certainly consider it.”
My felonious father has electronically accessed, snooped through, and possibly erased my personal journal! I feel as if my most private thoughts have been invaded and defiled. I see now I should have locked my personal files behind a coded password. All those years spent in the custody of my computer-illiterate mother tragically lulled me into a false sense of security.
I feel lost in a state of computerless nakedness. Another wrong to be avenged. I must unleash François and damn the consequences!
MONDAY, December 7 — Today I experienced my third first day as a new student in a second-rate public high school. At least this time I arrived already acquainted with many of my new teachers and fellow students—even if they were unaware they knew me.
Since Carlotta arrived sans transcript, Miss Pomdreck, my aged guidance counselor, was faced with a familiar dilemma.
“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “The last student I admitted without papers caused the worst scandal in the history of the school. The FBI is still looking for him.”
Carlotta gulped. “I’m certain my transcript will arrive soon, Miss Pomdreck. I fear it must have been delayed by the crush of holiday mail. Of course, it has to come all the way from Switzerland.”
“You say you were attending a private finishing school there?” she asked, studying my black dress and shawl with evident unease.
“That’s right. In the mountains near Geneva.”
“Well, my dear. You are obviously an intelligent girl. But I must tell you, most of our tracked classes are filled now. You will have to make do with what’s available this semester.”
“That’s fine,” replied Carlotta. “Oh, I should also mention I have a congenital bone condition. Ossifidusbrittalus syndrome. I’ll have to be excused from gym class.”
“May I see the note from your physician?”
“Oh. You need a note?”
“Of course, my dear. Otherwise, our gym classes would be quite deserted.”
“I’ll bring you a note as soon as I can,” promised Carlotta.
“I’ll need it by Friday,” Miss Pomdreck replied, beginning to fill out my registration forms. “Or I’ll have to put you in gym next week. I can only bend the rules so far.”
Twenty minutes later, I left Miss Pomdreck’s cluttered office with this stimulating schedule in hand: typing, physics, world cultures, clothing technology I, lunch, business math, study hall (or girls’ gym!), art, and health issues.
Having missed the first period, I was walking to physics class when I felt a hairy hand upon my shoulder.
“Nic… I mean, Carlotta!” hissed Fuzzy. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Hi, Frank,” I replied. “I’m pursuing what passes for an education in this school.”
“Carlotta, are you bonkers? You’ll never get away with it!”
“Don’t worry, Frank,” I whispered. “I’m going to be one of those shy, wallflower girls who no one pays the slightest attention to. I intend to disappear into the institutional woodwork, as it were.”
In physics class, Carlotta slipped into the desk immediately behind My Beloved, just acing out traitorous Vijay. The vile alien took the next desk across the aisle and studied me with obvious interest. Cutting him dead, I lightly tapped Sheeni on her lovely shoulder. She turned and smiled in ill-concealed amazement.
“Carlotta!” exclaimed my future life partner. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Sheeni. I’m going to be attending your school. I just received my schedule from nice Miss Pomdreck.”
“You are! That’s marvelous, Carlotta. But somehow I thought you were, uh, older.”
“Everyone makes that assumption. It must have been all those years I spent at finishing school in Switzerland. No, I am a mere teen.”
“Carlotta, this is my friend Vijay Joshi,” said Sheeni. “Vijay, this is Carlotta Ulansky. Her mother is a famous actress.”
Vijay smiled a warm, although transparently insincere greeting. Carlotta nodded coldly. She did not extend her hand. Embarrassed, Vijay withdrew his.
When the class began, Mr. Tratinni, as was his custom, asked the new student to stand and introduce herself. Not wishing to draw undue attention to herself, Carlotta kept her remarks brief.
“I’m Carlotta Ulansky,” I said. “I just moved here from Los Angeles. Thank you.” I sat down and devoted myself to my textbook, ignoring the curious stares of my classmates. I was two weeks behind and determined to reassert my academic hegemony.
After physics, Carlotta bid adieu to My Beloved and left the track to disappear among the teeming masses of Redwood High’s scholastic underachievers. First stop was Miss Najflempt’s world cultures class, where, in a room palpitating with subnormal IQs, Carlotta found herself seated in front of the dimmest light of them all: Dwayne Crampton.
“Hi, Carlotta,” he said, poking me in the shoulder. “Guess what?”
“What?” she asked indifferently.
“I ain’t wearin’ no underwear,” he whispered.
“Good for you, Dwayne.”
“Are you comin’ by the trailer tonight?”
“Certainly not.”
“How come not?”
“I heard something troubling about you from Vijay Joshi.”
“What’d that spic say?” demanded Dwayne.
“He said some guy named Nick told him you were queer. That you forced yourself on him.”
“Liar!” hissed Dwayne, reddening.
“Take it up with Vijay,” sniffed Carlotta. “I understand he’s telling it to everyone in school.”
Next stop was clothing technology I, where Mrs. Dergeltry is teaching 24 young women, Carlotta, and a sophomore named Gary to transform raw cloth into sophisticated, fashion-forward garments. I may enjoy this class once I figure out how to adjust the tension on my sewing machine. (Carlotta is desperately behind the others, who are already up to interfacing, whatever that is.) Despite the presence of Gary (or because of it?), there seems to be considerable casual disrobing among my fellow sewers as they try things on. Even Mrs. Dergeltry removed her blouse briefly to test a dart. With a build like hers, the position and load capacity of such darts must be carefully engineered.
Lunch came next. As her customary lunch mate was away being treated by the school nurse for a cut lip and swollen eye, Sheeni was free to dine with Carlotta. We found two seats together at the Scholarly Elites’ table. Across the room, I noticed, my despised a
dversary Trent Preston was chowing down at the Varsity Jocks’ table.
“Vijay was just attacked by that horrible boy Dwayne,” Sheeni announced, removing the neatly wrapped contents of her bagged lunch and arranging them carefully on the scarred table. Carlotta did the same, hoping the rapidity of her movements would conceal the tremor in her hands. An intimate cafeteria lunch with Sheeni! Within the very sight of Trent! Almost more than I had ever dared hope.
“Boys are so aggressively combative,” sighed Carlotta philosophically. “It’s the testosterone, you know.”
“Speaking of elevated testosterone, Carlotta,” said Sheeni, “that boy they call Fuzzy seems to be watching you.”
Carlotta looked up and directed a cautionary glance at Fuzzy, dining at the Wanna-be Jocks’ table not far (except in the social hierarchy) from Trent and his buddies.
“Perhaps he likes you,” suggested Sheeni. “Do you know him?”
“We’ve met,” Carlotta replied noncommittally.
“No spark of passion?”
Carlotta reddened. “Hardly, Sheeni. How about you? Is Vijay your boyfriend?”
“Not exactly, Carlotta.”
What’s that supposed to mean!
Sheeni bit into her sandwich, masticated pensively, then continued. “He’s a nice boy. Very intelligent. I think he likes me. But I don’t know if I’m fully over my last boyfriend yet.”
A wave of rapture swept over me. “You mean the fellow in India?” asked Carlotta.
“Him too. I was referring to Trent Preston. He’s the godlike person over there with the blue shirt and deep tan. No, Carlotta, don’t look at him. I don’t want him to think we’re talking about him. He’s going out now with Vijay’s sister Apurva. I feel so torn when I see them together.”
Carlotta prayed her thick layer of rouge concealed my profound emotional distress. “You’re, you’re still in love with Trent?”
“I honestly don’t know, Carlotta. I thought I was over him. Then a friend of mine visiting from school last month made a big play for him. I got insanely jealous and told her to leave.”
“Oh, who was that?” asked Carlotta casually.
“My former roommate, a girl from New York named Taggarty. I feel she betrayed our friendship. Do you think I’m being petty, Carlotta?”
“Oh no! No, Sheeni, no. Definitely not.” Carlotta was nothing if not emphatic on this point.
Another despised Nick Twisp adversary shot down in flames. Rest in peace, Taggarty!
“But you still care a little for the boy in India?” Carlotta persisted.
“His name is Nick, Carlotta. Nick Twisp. At least, I think it is. That’s what he told me, at any rate. I’ve learned with Nick never to trust entirely what he says. It was a painful lesson. For example, I learned from Vijay that he killed my dog through gross negligence, then lied to cover up his carelessness. Fortunately, darling Albert has returned in another, quite similar form. Although I wish he hadn’t parceled himself out to Apurva as well. Am I confusing you, Carlotta?”
“Er, not at all, Sheeni. And you, you never told any untruths to Nick? You were always completely honest?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, flushing slightly. “I knew for weeks last summer that I might be transferring to Santa Cruz, but never told Nick. I didn’t want to upset him. And when he got that scholarship to India, I tried to persuade him to turn it down. I knew as long as Nick remained in Ukiah my parents would have a powerful incentive to keep me in Santa Cruz. Then, there was my affair with Ed.”
“Ed?” piped Carlotta, startling her lunch mate.
“Yes. Ed Smith. A sweet guy from Iowa I met at school. You see, Carlotta, it was his first time away from Des Moines and naturally he was in sexual crisis. We were driving to a motel in Monterey to help determine his, uh, orientation when we were arrested in error. I think Nick got wind of it somehow.”
So they weren’t on an innocent sightseeing trip to the damn Aquarium! I knew it all along!
“And were you, uh, ever able to assist Ed with his, uh, difficulty?” asked Carlotta, dreading the reply.
“I did all I could, Carlotta. The boy had deep problems. I think it may have been his repressive midwestern upbringing. I concluded eventually he was polymorphous perverse. He wanted to put it in anything warm that moved. He certainly put it in every place he could find on me.”
AUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!
Somehow I got through lunch and the rest of the school day. I trooped through business math, study hall, art (with Trent at the next easel!), and health issues in black despair—the cool compress of boredom providing the only solace to my hemorrhaging heart. My One and Only Love has betrayed me. My last reason to live is gone.
TUESDAY, December 8 — I’m still alive. After a dismal, sleepless night, I decided to forgive Sheeni. I see now her actions were prompted by beneficence. She did what she did with Ed out of a commendable desire to help a fellow human being. The deed was unfortunate, but not strictly censurable. Nevertheless, I shall strive with unflagging vigilance to prevent a recurrence. Sheeni’s generous nature must be redirected into more positive channels—such as pining for the absent Nick Twisp.
As Carlotta sneaked into the alley this morning on her way to school, Bruno Modjaleski bounded athletically through the gate. He was wearing his varsity football jacket and carrying a wood technology textbook.
“Good morning, Carly,” he called.
“Oh, good morning, Bruno. You startled me.”
“I seen you in the halls yesterday, Carly. Are you like student teaching or something?”
“Hardly, Bruno. I am a matriculated student.”
Bruno looked impressed. “Congratulations, Carly. Would you like me to carry your books?”
“No, thank you, Bruno. I can manage.” I had enough enemies without adding a jealous Candy Pringle to the list.
“I usually ride my chopper to school,” apologized Bruno, “but I blew a head gasket last Saturday night cruisin’ down Main Street at 110 miles per hour.”
“I trust, Bruno, you were wearing a helmet at the time.”
Bruno scoffed. “A guy like me don’t need to wear no helmet, Carly. Hell, I wouldn’t wear one playin’ football, ’cept Coach makes me.”
“Oh, do you play football, Bruno?”
“Damn, Carly! I’m the quarterback!”
“Oh, then you must be that fellow they call the Fumbler Bumbler of Redwood High.”
“Who calls me that?” demanded Bruno, flexing his great hamlike hands.
“I believe he’s a freshman,” replied Carlotta. “A short Indian student named Vijay Joshi. Do you know him?”
“No,” growled Bruno. “But I’ll find him!”
In homeroom, Carlotta sat next to Fuzzy, who seemed more than usually dispirited.
“My mom stayed out all last night,” he said accusingly. “This morning I had to fix my own breakfast and pack my own lunch. Your dad is really cruising for a bruising, Carlotta.”
“Sorry, Frank. Knowing Dad, he’s probably dating your mom as a bargaining chip. I imagine he’d lay off your mom if your dad dropped his lawsuit.”
“Not a chance of that,” said Fuzzy gloomily. “I think Dad’s counting on some of that $3.5 million to help cover the strike losses. Now that damn Mr. Ferguson has got the scabs out on strike too.”
“Sorry, Frank,” Carlotta repeated. “I’m truly grateful for all you’ve done to help me out. I feel terrible about my dad and his roommate wrecking your homelife.”
“That’s OK, Carlotta. I guess it’s not your fault your dad is a repulsive creep.”
“Tell you what, Frank. Maybe I can do something about breaking them up. Would you like that?”
“Could you really, Carlotta?” he asked, brightening.
“I can try, Frank. But I may need your help.”
“You got it, Carlotta!”
“Of course, I may also need a favor or two in return.”
“Like what?” he asked suspiciously.
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“I’ll let you know, Frank,” I replied coyly, “when the time comes.”
After 45 stimulating minutes in typing class, Carlotta was ready to be reunited with my love. Once again, I arrived in physics class just ahead of the loathsome alien. I claimed the choice seat behind Sheeni, forcing Vijay to settle for second best across the aisle. He scowled at Carlotta through his colorful black eye and nicely swollen lip. Pointedly ignoring him, Carlotta conversed with her special friend.
