Chrissa

by Mary Casanova

  “Knock, knock,” came Mom’s voice at my door. “May I come in?”

  I groaned and then answered, “Oh, okay.”

  “Aren’t you getting up for school?” she asked.

  “Mom, I just can’t.” I shifted onto my elbow. “The thought turns my stomach into a washing machine.”

  Although she was clearly ready and dressed for work, she settled onto the edge of my bed as if she had all the time in the world. “It’s Friday, then the weekend. Think you can make it just for today?”

  I wanted to tell her exactly what had been happening at school since my first day at Edgewater. Holding it all inside was killing me. Instead I said, “Mom, is it okay to take a sick day when your heart and head really, really hurt?”

  She rested her silky, cool palm on my forehead. “Hmmm. You do seem a little warm to me.”

  “I do?” I said with a little too much enthusiasm.

  She nodded gravely. “Yes, I’ll call and ask your teacher for your assignments and pick them up for you so that you don’t get behind.”

  “You will?” I rested back on my pillow with relief. I wasn’t going to have to sit with Cluster Four today. And I could put off facing Gwen.

  Mom continued, “Although I don’t usually recommend this remedy for most of my patients, I think I know exactly what you need to start feeling better.”

  “You do?” Now I was a little bit worried. If I wasn’t really sick, taking medicine could be a bad thing.

  “After you went to bed last night, your dad and Nana and I were talking about tonight’s fund-raiser at the Community Center. We think—”

  “That’s tonight?” I’d completely forgotten.

  She nodded. “And Nana thought it would be an extra-special touch to have the llamas there. Remember how Nana and Grandpa used to take their old llamas to nursing homes? Everyone loved them. Anyway, with this particular ailment of yours, I think that helping Nana get Cosmos and Checkers groomed and ready is just what you need.” She smiled at me. “I think I’ll help, too. But it’s up to you. What do you think?”

  “But don’t you have to go to work today?”

  “I’m thinking that I’ll clear my schedule for the day.”

  “You will? Why?”

  “Just because. Besides, there’s a new batch of interns in need of practice. They’ll fill in for me. Now, Chrissa, there’s only one condition to your being home today.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you to tell me everything that’s been going on at school. Come on—let’s sit on the window seat.”

  I wiped a tear from my eye, and then the dam broke and I started sobbing. Mom gave me a bear hug and just held me, letting me cry out all my hurt and pain into her shoulder. She waited until my sniffles lessened. Then she handed me a tissue and I blew my nose with such a loud snort that we both started laughing.

  And then I told Mom everything, starting with the stolen valentines and teasing, all the way up through the haircut disaster.

  And then I told Mom everything.

  “Oh, Chrissa,” Mom said. “You shouldn’t ever have to put up with this nonsense. Bullies come in all shapes and sizes—and ages. I remember being teased for getting top test scores when I was your age.”

  “You were?”

  “I never told anyone, either. It almost made me want to try failing school instead of getting good grades. I thought that if I dumbed down, others would like me more. But then I realized how stupid that would be. I’d only be hurting myself.”

  “So what’d you do?” I asked.

  “Well, I just kept doing my best and ignored the rest. Plus I found some friends who liked me for who I was. But guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Even now I sometimes have to stand up to other adults—adults who think it’s their job to make someone else’s life miserable. They feel better about themselves when they put someone else down. Bullying doesn’t happen only with kids.”

  “So will we tell the principal—and Gwen—what really happened?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. I’m just sorry that you’ve been trying to figure all this out on your own. The important thing, though, is that you finally spoke up and told the truth.” She looked at me intently. “Now, don’t you think it’s time to say, ‘that’s enough’?”

  I practiced the words in my head and then let them roll off my tongue. “That’s enough,” I said. “That’s enough!” I repeated. And this time I meant it.

  Mom smiled.

  “I’m feeling a little better already. But Mom, if I tell, won’t I be tattling?”

  “Honey, you’re telling in order to protect yourself and others. You are reporting what happened, which is the right thing to do. If you were tattling, it would feel different—more like you were trying to hurt someone else’s reputation somehow. Do you see the difference?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Tattling means bringing someone down out of meanness. As I see it, you’re telling, not tattling. By speaking up, you’re going to help put a stop to something that’s wrong. Can you do it?”

  I nodded. All I had to do was picture Gwen’s cruel haircut.

  For the first time in days and days, I was filled with energy.

  At 9:30 that morning, I returned to school with Dad and Mom for an appointment with Mrs. Ziminsky.

  “Well,” I began, knowing that I had to speak out, even though I was scared. I cleared my throat. “It pretty much started on my first day at Edgewater.” Then I told her everything from start to finish. My chin trembled at times and I thought I might start crying, but telling the second time was a little bit easier. And with each telling, I felt stronger somehow, too.

  “Thank you, Chrissa,” Mrs. Ziminsky said, resting her chin on the tips of her steepled fingers. “Thank you. It takes a whole lot of energy to hold in this kind of hurt, and when we finally tell the truth, it can leave us feeling a little raw and exhausted. I agree that a day at home is more than warranted. I’ll meet with your teachers today, and we’ll take it from here.”

  As we headed to the parking lot, Mom squeezed my hand and Dad patted my shoulder. “We’re proud of you,” he said.

  At home, I flew through my homework. After lunch, Mom, Nana, and I groomed Cosmos and Checkers until their winter coats looked perfect. When we were done, I poked my head into Dad’s studio. “The llamas are ready for the big event, Dad.”

  “Good,” he said, turning from the deep sink, “because I could use a little help washing these bowls. The glaze is safe to eat from, but I’m worried that people will choke on the dust.”

  We washed, dried, and packed up bowls for the evening’s fund-raiser. I was glad to be busy, because every time I stopped to think, my stomach flip-flopped. Although I’d told Mrs. Ziminsky what had happened, I really didn’t know how things would be now. Was Gwen even at school today? No doubt the Mean Bees would lie again and deny everything—and not even Gwen knew what had happened because her eyes had been shut.

  As soon as Tyler hopped off the bus, we all piled into Dad’s truck and Nana’s van, which were filled with bowls and llamas, and headed for the Community Center. “I thought you didn’t feel well,” Tyler said as we unloaded the llamas at the center.

  “I feel better now,” I replied. There would be time later to fill him in.

  We helped haul boxes into the center’s large kitchen and stacked bowls on the end of the serving counter, which held large, steaming pots of different kinds of soups and stews. They smelled so good, my stomach grumbled.

  Mr. Beck was in the kitchen in a red apron, slicing loaves of bread. “Chrissa!” he called. “Glad to see you made it!”

  I waved to him. “Let’s go get the llamas,” I said to Tyler. I guessed that Mrs. Ziminsky and Mr. Beck had talked, and I didn’t want him to ask me about the Mean Bees right now. My newfound confidence was still a little shaky. In fact, I hoped the Bees would not show up at all.

  As more people arrived, Tyler and I formed the �
�greeting committee” inside the main doors. I held Cosmos by her lead rope, and Tyler held Checkers.

  “Llamas!” a little girl chimed. She pulled at her mother’s arm. “They’re little!”

  “That’s because they’re mini llamas,” Tyler said.

  “May she pet them?” the mom asked.

  “Sure,” I replied. “One child at a time.”

  Soon, I was so busy answering questions about llamas that—to my relief—I didn’t see everyone who came through the doors. Before I knew it, Dad came out to find us. “Okay, almost time to start. Let’s settle the llamas back in the van for now.”

  When Dad, Tyler, and I returned, the tables and benches were filled with families eating and visiting. I was relieved not to see the Mean Bees. We quickly found Nana and Mom and sat down with them.

  My family. My safe zone.

  A man in a V-neck sweater and tie stepped up to the small stage and microphone. “Good evening,” he said. He explained that he was the director of Sunrise House. “Every donation made tonight will directly benefit Sunrise House, which serves families caught in emergency situations and in need of housing.” After a short talk, he concluded, “This event wouldn’t have been possible without Maxwell Pottery, and extra help from the fourth- and fifth-grade students and teachers of Edgewater Elementary. Please stand so that we can thank you!”

  As we all stood up, the room exploded with applause. The director continued, “These fourth- and fifth-grade students and their teachers and parents deserve your applause, because not only did they help decorate the bowls, but they’ll also be washing them for you to take home.”

  Another round of applause floated up.

  “And now, I’d like to introduce a person who has become a dear friend and who is willing to share her story…willing because she wants to help us understand the purpose of and need for Sunrise House. Please welcome Janine Thompson.”

  From a table near the front, a woman about Mom’s age stepped up to the stage, leaving a girl sitting alone. From the slump of the girl’s shoulders and the back of her blonde head, I knew it was Gwen. I couldn’t see her face or her brutally short bangs, but something stirred in me. I couldn’t let Gwen sit there alone. Before I knew it, I was walking past tables and heading toward her, my heart chugging like a train gaining speed. Then I sat right down on the empty bench beside her.

  Her eyes seemed even bigger under her stubble of bangs as she glanced over at me.

  “Hi,” I mouthed silently.

  Gwen’s mother had started talking. “This rose I wear,” she started, indicating the red rose on the lapel of her blazer, “is the symbol of Sunrise House. Roses, I’ve discovered, can indeed grow in the midst of thorns. Though it’s extremely difficult for me to share my story, I’ve been asked to help give you a picture of why your donations are so important, so needed.”

  Next to me, Gwen clenched her hands together so tightly that I thought she’d cut off her circulation. I reached over and gave her hands a quick squeeze.

  I was relieved when she squeezed back—and then held on.

  Gwen’s mom went on to explain how her family had fallen on hard times when her now ex-husband lost his job. Despite her job as an office manager, they lost their house when they were unable to keep up with payments. “Then I woke up one morning to learn that my husband had left us, and my daughter and I were evicted—truly homeless. It happened that fast. I always thought homelessness happened to other people. Never to me. That was late last fall. At first, my daughter and I slept in our car.

  “I’d park so that we’d wake up near a wayside rest area or a restaurant—somewhere where we could use the sink for washing up—and then I’d go to work and pretend that life was just as it had always been. But I wondered what we’d do when winter came along.” She paused. “I was too ashamed to ask for help. And then the first snows fell. We buried ourselves under blankets, trying to stay warm in the car. Barely sleeping, even though we were exhausted. Finally, when all seemed lost, we found help through the caring staff at Sunrise House. Without Sunrise House, I don’t know where we’d be today.”

  The room was completely still. Now I understood why Gwen had washed her face at the school sink. My heart broke for her. I had complained about having to change schools and live in Nana’s house instead of our own, but I’d never considered what it would be like to be without any roof over my head.

  Suddenly, Sonali—of all people!—slipped past me and sat down on the other side of Gwen. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her. Though she looked straight ahead at Gwen’s mom, out of her pocket she pulled a paper napkin on which she’d written something. She handed it to Gwen, who unfolded it. I saw what Sonali had written:

  I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

  This was something I had never expected.

  As Gwen’s mom spoke, she explained how, with help, she and her daughter were putting their lives back together again. She smiled as she announced, “And just last weekend we left Sunrise House and signed a lease for a nearby apartment. It’s small, but honestly, home never looked so good. Most importantly, we have hope again. Thank you.”

  When she finished, the whole audience stood up and applauded.

  Afterward, Gwen, Sonali, and I worked together clearing tables.

  “Gwen,” Sonali said, stacking dirty bowls on a tray, “I hope you know that it was Tara, not Chrissa, who cut your bangs. Chrissa wouldn’t do something like that.”

  I placed a fistful of spoons on a tray and turned to Sonali, thankful that she’d backed me up.

  “I know.” Gwen stopped wiping a table. “The principal told us earlier today what really happened. So thanks. But, um, Sonali? Aren’t you friends with Tara and Jadyn?”

  Sonali shook her head in slow motion, as if she had given the subject plenty of thought. “Not anymore. I’ve been friends with Tara since we were in preschool. Tara’s always been a little bossy, but this year it got worse, and, well, I didn’t know how to say no to her. But when she cut your hair, Gwen, I finally realized that things had gone way too far. When I said I was going to tell, she threatened to make my life miserable if I didn’t back up her version of the story. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. And I’m sorry that I was ever mean to either of you.”

  “Wow,” Gwen said. “I think you mean it.”

  “Thanks, Sonali,” I added, hoping that her change of heart would last. This time, it seemed it might. And there was a whole weekend ahead to find out.

  “Hey,” I said, brightening the mood, “can you two come over tomorrow?”

  Gwen’s eyes glowed. “Now that you know my secret and I can ask you over someday, too, the answer is yes!”

  “Sure,” Sonali beamed. “I’d really like that.”

  “Good, because I have a really cool idea. It’ll be fun!”

  On Monday morning, when the bus picked Tyler and me up from the end of the driveway, everything felt different. For starters, it wasn’t just Nana’s driveway anymore. It was our driveway—our home—our lions watching over the realm. And it wasn’t just a new school anymore. It was my school now.

  I hopped on the bus, proudly wearing my new headband. Over the weekend, Gwen, Sonali, and I had worked for hours in the sunroom making headbands. We’d stitched up the edges of fabric squares, folded them, and then decorated them with sequins, buttons, and embroidered ribbon.

  “Hi, Tyler!” Tara called out as we climbed the bus steps and took our seats. “Have a good weekend?”

  “Yeah, it was okay,” he replied, sitting down beside me. He flipped open his newest library book, Wonders of the Universe. Even if Tara and Jadyn still tried to get to me through Tyler, it wasn’t working.

  As agreed, I met Sonali and Gwen outside Room 103 before class started. We stood together in solidarity, wearing our headbands, as planned. Each was unique, but with all three of us wearing them for the rest of the year, I hoped Gwen wouldn’t feel so self-conscious as her bangs grew out.

  When Tara
and Jadyn neared the classroom, they shot us poisonous looks and paused in front of us. Tara scrunched up her nose. “Eeew! Something stinks!”

  I ignored her.

  “And Sonali?” Tara asked, crossing her arms and cocking her head. “What’s that on your head?”

  “Yeah,” Jadyn joined in, “are you guys trying hard to look stupid?”

  “Take it off, Sonali,” Tara said, almost under her breath, “or you’re out of our club.”

  A brief cloud of pain drifted across Sonali’s face. I worried that she was going to once again cave in. But she pressed her shoulders back and said, just as she’d practiced at my house, “No. I’m not taking off my headband. I like it. Besides, we had a great time making them this weekend at Chrissa’s house.”

  “Whatever,” Tara said, pivoting toward the classroom. Jadyn followed at her heels.

  “Mr. Beck,” I said, stopping him as he hurried toward the classroom door. “We need to talk with you. We want you to do something.”

  “Can it wait, girls? Class is just about to start.”

  Sonali shook her head. “No, I have to say this while I’m feeling brave. And we need your help.”

  “Okay then,” Mr. Beck replied, closing the classroom door. “Make it quick.”

  In the quiet hallway, Sonali explained again what had really happened with Gwen, how bad she felt—and how she wanted to start over.

  “I see,” he said. “And the headbands?”

  “They’re to show Gwen we support her and to show everyone that we stand up for others,” I said. “We can make more, too, if other kids want them.”

  He nodded. “Okay. You know that the principal is in the process of formulating school policy to address issues of bullying. That will take some time, but for now, what do you want me to do?”

  I spoke up. “We’d like to rearrange the clusters so that we can sit together.”

  “Hmmm,” he replied. “Given the circumstances, that’s not too much to ask.”