The History of Hilary Hambrushina

by Marnie Lamb

  “I hate Mrs. Carruthers!” I screamed. “How can you go see her after what happened to me!”

  “What happened?” she shrieked.

  Heat like spilled sun was burning my insides. Without removing my boots or coat, I tore upstairs into the bathroom. I threw myself down in front of the toilet, where I vomited again and again and again until I thought there must be nothing left in me to throw up.

  I —

  -17-

  I Meet the Empress

  It’s March.

  I haven’t written in this thing for who knows how long. It’s weird, you know? I thought writing this would be easy. I’d just be telling you about something that happened to me. It’s not like I had to worry about making up a story because the story was already there. All I had to do was remember. But it’s more complicated than that.

  Maybe you know what I mean, if you’ve ever tried writing about something that happened to you. You can’t stop remembering stuff about that time, the time you’re writing about I mean. Weird stuff like smells or TV commercials. And it’s like you’re living through it all over again. Only you’re not participating in it, you’re just an observer. And you can’t change anything.

  Oh what am I saying? I don’t even know who you are. Maybe you’ve no clue what I’m talking about. Maybe you don’t exist. Sometimes I wonder if I should even bother with this.

  But a few days ago I was talking to someone (the person who suggested I write my autobiography) and she convinced me that I’ve come so far that I can’t stop now. She’s right. I have to finish this story. I’ve tried forgetting about it, but it bursts into my mind at the weirdest times, like when I’m poaching an egg or drying between my toes. I’ve tried telling myself I’m not going to write any more, but every time I think of abandoning this thing, I feel this uncontrollable urge to go back to it. So here goes.

  The next thing I can remember is sitting on my bed, surrounded by the soft glow of my gingham-shaded reading lamp. I was wearing my green polka-dot pyjamas and the sick feeling was gone. My stomach felt like a big empty space that hurt around the edges.

  Mom was sitting beside me, one arm around my shoulders like a leafy tree shading a weary traveller. “How do you feel?” she said.

  “Fine.” My voice sounded crackly, as if I hadn’t used it in a long time.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

  I wasn’t prepared for this question. But her voice was so gentle that the whole story gushed out of me like a corrosive liquid out of a vat. When it was over, I howled, “I hate school! I don’t ever want to go back there!”

  “Well, you won’t have to go back for a few days. You need to stay at home and recover from being sick.”

  That was a small victory, although I knew I was only postponing my date with doom.

  “I don’t have any friends!” I wailed. “They’re all being horrible to me, even Kallie. I don’t understand why those people are picking on me. What did I do to them?”

  “You didn’t do anything. Sometimes people are just cruel, and it’s not fair.”

  “But why can’t they just leave me alone?”

  Mom considered this. “Well, from what you’ve told me about Chanel’s family, she’s probably very unhappy, and she’s taking that unhappiness out on others.”

  “How can she be unhappy? She has a pool and a big house and … she models.” But those reasons sounded lame even to me. “And her mom’s really cool, I mean no offense or anything, but her mom lets her do what she wants. She doesn’t even have a curfew.” I frowned. “She doesn’t seem unhappy.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m sure she has worries and fears like everyone else. Maybe she doesn’t like being that much taller than all those other girls, and that’s why she wears flat shoes. She probably just doesn’t want people to know about her fears. So she thinks if she acts happy and confident, people will believe she is.”

  I remembered Mom’s words from a few months ago: “If you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will.” I guessed Chanel was trying to get people to believe in her, even if she didn’t believe in herself.

  Mom said, “It sounds like Chanel’s parents don’t care about her, and that must be very hard for her.”

  “But her mom must care about her.”

  “A mom who doesn’t even give her a curfew? Who isn’t worried about how late she stays out or what might happen to her? Is that really something you’d want?”

  I tried to picture Chanel feeling sad or alone, running to the washroom to throw up, arguing with a snarly voice. But all I could see was a hard black glaze.

  “Well, I still don’t think it’s fair,” I said. “If Chanel wants to be mad at someone, she should be mad at her parents. I don’t think it’s a good enough reason to start teasing other people.”

  “You’re right. It’s not fair.”

  This made me think about my behaviour towards Marcia and Kallie. I’d picked on Marcia and I’d turned my back on Kallie when she needed me most. And I didn’t have an explanation like Chanel did. Or did I? I’m still not sure.

  I told my mom how bad I felt for the way I’d treated Marcia and Kallie.

  “It’s true, teasing Marcia wasn’t right. And I think you’ve learned something from that?”

  “No kidding. I’ll never even think something mean again. Except about Chanel,” I added bitterly.

  “As for Kallie, don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard to go against a crowd, especially at your age.”

  This made me bristle. “Yeah, but friends are friends, no matter what age you are. Just because I’m only twelve doesn’t mean it’s O.K. for me to turn my back on my friends.”

  Mom lowered her gaze. “No, you’re right.”

  I sighed. “But I was just too scared to talk back to Chanel. I wanted to be her friend for so long, and I just really wanted to be popular. I guess that was pretty dumb.”

  “No, it wasn’t. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be popular. It’s wonderful to have a lot of friends, as long as you’re not blind to their faults.”

  I picked at the soft ridges on my lavender duvet cover. Mom rubbed my shoulders and said, “I want to tell you a story. I was a little younger than you when we moved to northern Ontario, and the first year I was there, I was very shy because of my French accent. I didn’t have many friends, and there was this one group of girls…” She shook her head. “They were horrible. They used to do all kinds of things to me, pull my hair, shove me around at recess, put gum on my seat. I’ll never forget the ringleader. Doris Howard.” Mom said the words as if they were doused in liver juice. “She detested me. I think she would’ve used my skin as a handbag if she could.”

  I shuddered. “Why did she hate you so much?”

  “Partly because I was French-Canadian, and she was English. But mostly because I came from a close-knit family. We didn’t get a lot of one-on-one time with our parents, but they were there for us when we needed them. This girl didn’t have that. Her father was a banker, but he was also an alcoholic who used to trash the house in a drunken rage. It was one of those well-kept secrets that’s not really a secret. Everyone in town knew about it but didn’t do anything.

  “One day, these girls followed me home and started throwing berries at me. I ran inside crying. My mother was in the kitchen, preparing a tourtière for dinner, and when I told her what had happened, she ran outside — and you know Grandma’s not a tall woman, some of those girls were taller than she was — but she ran out and yelled at them to leave me alone or she would tell their parents. They laughed even harder and started throwing berries at her. So she went inside, picked up the tourtière, came back out, and threw it right at Doris Howard!”

  I laughed so hard the edges of my stomach throbbed. “What! Grandma?”

  Mom was laughing, too. “It’s true. Doris stood there with this horrified expression, pork and gravy and pie crust dripping down her school uniform, and she knew she was in trouble. She knew that if she ever t
eased me again, my mother would go to her father. And she knew she’d get a thrashing if he found out she’d picked on some poor French-Canadian girl. You see, he liked to think he and his family were very open-minded. So after that, she was much more careful around me. I won’t say she didn’t still tease me, but she kept her distance.”

  “I still can’t believe that about Grandma,” I snickered. And I’d thought my grandma was boring. But she threw tourtières at mean girls named Doris. Who knew?

  “Maybe Grandma could come and throw a tourtière at Chanel?” I said hopefully.

  Mom laughed. “Oh, Hilary. I’m telling you this so that you know you’re not alone. I’m glad you told me about what’s been happening at school. We haven’t talked much this past year.”

  “Well, I didn’t feel like I could talk to you,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  I squirmed. “I don’t know. It’s just … we’ve been fighting a lot. You know, about The Limit and that. I thought you thought I was bad for wanting to shop there. And that you might be mad if I came to you. Like that time we went shopping and we got in a fight and you said it was a mistake to try to make me feel better.”

  “Hilary, I would never have been mad! And when I made that comment, I only meant it was a mistake to take you shopping to make you feel better. I should’ve known we’d end up arguing!” We exchanged remorseful smiles. “And if I disapprove of things like Limit clothes, it’s not because I think you’re wrong for wanting them. I just feel they’re too mature for someone your age. I know you hate Maxford’s, and I promise I won’t buy you any more clothes from there. Maybe we could find a compromise store, like Fashionisteen?”

  The corners of my mouth lifted. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  She frowned. “I should’ve tried to reach out to you more. I was just worried that if I asked too many questions, you’d think I was being nosy. I wanted to give you space, and for a while, it seemed like you were opening up. But then you shut down again, and I didn’t know what to do. I even asked Mrs. Foster for advice.”

  “Really?” I was embarrassed but kind of honoured. “You mean, parents ask other parents for advice?”

  She laughed. “Yes, all the time. Especially first-time parents.”

  “What did Mrs. Foster say?”

  “She told me I should keep giving you space but let you know I was there for you. And she said she’d try to encourage you to talk to me.”

  So Kallie’s mom hadn’t been abandoning me. She’d been directing me to my mom.

  “I knew you were anxious about junior high,” said Mom. “But then everyone is. I thought that when the time was right, you’d talk about it. I had no idea all this was going on.” She hung her head.

  A soft glow spread through my chest. “I think you did try to reach out to me. You asked if I was O.K., and you took me shopping downtown. And … I’m sorry I threw the bag at your head. It was really stupid, and I’ll never do it again.”

  “It’s O.K. I know you were upset. If you ever need to talk, I’m always here.”

  “I know,” I said warmly.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to take you to the doctor to make sure you’re all right. And I’ll call the school to tell them you’ll be off for a few days.”

  All my fears sprung back on me as if I’d opened my closet and found a ten-foot, club-wielding sasquatch there, ready to pulverize me into a trillion pieces. “You’re not going to make me go back there, are you?” I said, alarmed.

  When Mom didn’t respond, I whined, “You are, aren’t you? Thanks a lot, Mom. I thought things were finally O.K. between us.”

  “They are. But Mackenzie is a good school and you like your teachers. You don’t have to leave.”

  “Of course I do! Everyone’s picking on me. I hate Mackenzie!”

  “I know it’s rough for you now. But why should you leave? You haven’t done anything wrong. Tomorrow I’m going to set up a meeting with the principal. Together the three of us can talk about how to deal with Chanel and her gang.”

  “No, Mom, don’t!” I gasped. “That’ll just make things worse! Please let me go to a new school. I won’t try to get in with the popular crowd, I promise. In fact I won’t even talk to anyone.”

  Mom raised her eyebrows. “Do you really want to go through high school all alone, not having any friends just because some girls were nasty to you? You don’t deserve that. You can get through this, and when you do, you’ll be the same great person you’ve always been.”

  “How do you know? If I’m teased every day, I might become mean like Chanel.”

  Mom laid a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not Chanel, Hilary. I trust you. And you’re not going to be teased every day. We’ll find a way to stop it.”

  I was saved from having to disagree by a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  My dad eased open the door and hovered there, like a giant afraid to enter a pixie’s room for fear he might knock over her tea party.

  “How are things here?” he asked quietly.

  “Fine,” I said. When he still hovered, I said, “You can come in.”

  Dad came up to the bed. I put out my arms to him as I would’ve to a favourite teddy bear when I was small. Sometime during our hug, I felt Mom lay her hand on my back.

  Later, after my parents had left, I settled into bed, inhaling the soothing scent of freshly laundered sheets. My mom had been really cool about everything. She hadn’t even been mad at me for lying about the dance. I wished I’d told her all that stuff a long time ago. I felt so much better knowing I had someone I could talk to. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t have that wormy feeling in my stomach. I stretched out like a star and fell asleep.

  The next day, Mom took me to the doctor, who said I had a touch of the flu and prescribed some medicine. “There are some nasty germs going around this time of year,” she said. I smiled secretly, relishing the image of Chanel as a gummy blue blob, oozing snot from her gigantic nostrils.

  Then the doctor gave me a regular checkup. I sucked in my breath as I got on the scale. When I got off, she said, “Good. A few pounds up from last year.”

  Before I could stop myself, I said, dismayed, “Really?”

  She looked up from the clipboard she was holding. “Yes, but that’s normal for someone your age. I’d be worried if you weren’t gaining weight.”

  The calm way she spoke made me bold. “But … well, am I larger than other girls my age?”

  “Larger than some and smaller than some. You’re in the average weight bracket, and that’s the perfect place to be.”

  I didn’t know about that, but I felt a little better. It was like Chanel and the snarly voice were sitting on one end of a teeter-totter, and my doctor had just placed a pebble on the other end. Then I remembered Kallie and what she’d said that day on the beach. O.K., a pebble and a small rock. It was a start.

  “One thing I have noticed, Hilary,” my doctor said, “is that your muscles are really developing. I’m glad to see that because you’re actually more muscular than most girls your age, so you need to keep yourself toned. Have you been exercising?”

  I told her about the stationary bike, and she seemed pleased. “Good. It’s important to get some exercise, especially in the winter, when people tend to stay indoors. I’m happy with everything I’ve seen here.”

  As I left her office, I nearly laughed out loud. What did you know, Kallie had been right. Maybe it was my destiny to be a mesomorph after all.

  A couple of days later, Mom and I went to talk to Mr. Finn, the principal. I made sure it was late in the afternoon so Chanel and her friends wouldn’t see us, although, as Mom pointed out, they’d know soon enough.

  The meeting was easier than I’d expected. At first I was nervous. But the longer I looked at Mr. Finn’s large glasses and round face (which oddly resembled a librarian goldfish), the faster the words flowed out of me. He nodded and asked a few questions. I didn’t mention Kallie, though I did hint
that Chanel was picking on other people, too.

  When I finished, he made a steeple with his fingers. “I’m sorry you’ve had to experience this, Hilary. Mackenzie does have an anti-bullying policy, and here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll talk to Chanel and the others individually and make it absolutely clear that this kind of behaviour won’t be tolerated. We’ll make all the grade seven teachers aware of the problem so that if any bullying occurs in class, the teacher can deal with it instantly. We’ll rearrange the seating in each class, if necessary, so that those girls are separated, and we’ll make sure they’re not in the same class next year. We’ll also hire some monitors who can patrol the hallways and lunchroom and handle any problems. We need monitors for several reasons, and for some time, we’ve been lobbying the school board for money to hire some. I’m going to bring them this incident as an example of why we need monitors. As for that website, I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t realize it allowed such nasty postings. We’ll put a block on it so that at least students won’t be able to access it from school property.” His voice grew softer. “You’re very brave. Thank you for sharing your story.”

  As I shook his hand, I felt kind of famous, like I’d helped start a revolution that would give a voice to the weak and persecuted.

  But by the time we’d reached the car, the feeling had dried up, and I wasn’t convinced any of the things Mr. Finn had suggested would do any good. I told Mom this.

  “Give it a chance. Things won’t change overnight, but we took a huge step today.” When I didn’t answer, she said, “I’ll make you a deal. You stay at Mackenzie for the rest of the school year, and if things haven’t improved by then, we can talk about changing schools.”

  I nodded glumly. Next June seemed like a billion light years away, and I didn’t know how I was going to survive until then. “What I am supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “The most important thing is to keep believing in yourself. Don’t let those people tear you down. Focus on something you’re good at and enjoy, like doing art or writing stories. And another good way to fight bullies is to be part of a group of friends. People are less likely to pick on you if you’re not alone.”