League of Strays

by Schulman, L. B.

  “Do you guys know Tiffany Miller?” I asked.

  Groans and somber nods all the way around.

  “She used to go to my old school, about an hour and a half from here. The only good thing about moving was leaving Tiffany behind. Except she followed me to Kennedy. Well, not really, but her family moved here right after mine. Pure nightmare coincidence.” I cleared my throat. “It started when I was six, I think. She and her friends used to follow me home from school. They talked behind my back like I wasn’t there, and it just got worse.”

  “How?” Nora asked.

  “I had to wear this back brace in the seventh and eighth grades, and I could only take it off in—”

  “Scoliosis,” Nora said. “Three out of a hundred teens get it.”

  I rolled my eyes just a bit, but she caught it.

  “I read too much,” she admitted.

  “I know where you’re going with this,” Zoe told me. “I had a feeling the girl was a loser.”

  “She called me Hunchback every day,” I said.

  “What did your parents do?” Nora asked.

  I paused at the unexpected question. “I don’t know. I didn’t tell them.”

  If I had, they would have said something lame like, “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but names will never hurt you.” When that didn’t work—because it didn’t—Mom would have set up a meeting with the teacher. After that, she’d call Tiffany’s parents. Then the principal. Adults were hung up on bullying, but in the end, they usually made things worse. At least, my mother did. She could chop my social life to bits faster than a wood chipper.

  Zoe patted me on the back, imitating the generic parent. “Don’t worry, dear. Tiffany behaves that way because she’s jealous of you.”

  “They forget how hard school is the second they graduate,” Nora added.

  Kade looked unimpressed. “What else did she do?”

  I hesitated, afraid that if I gave more examples, it would only show that I was a coward, unable to stand up to Tiffany. I didn’t want them to think of me as the victim type, whatever that was. Besides, reliving these memories was like pouring rubbing alcohol on a skinned knee. But Kade wanted to know more. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him.

  “You can tell us anything, Charlotte.” His fingers brushed against my knee, light as a fallen leaf.

  I rooted through my memory for something more dramatic. “There was one time in fifth grade when Tiffany sent this boy a letter, begging him to be my boyfriend. She signed my name to it. The next day he told me he’d rather eat maggots than get near me.”

  Back then, I thought I’d never be able to face school again. But here, right now, it seemed like nothing more than an immature stunt. Not bad enough to qualify for lasting-humiliation status. Maybe it had been kid stuff. I probably should’ve let it go a long time ago.

  My eyes drifted to Kade’s hand, resting on my knee. He didn’t want to hear kid stuff.

  “Then this other time, she stole my sneakers out of my locker and rubbed them in dog crap. I threw them away and told my gym teacher I’d forgotten them. He made me pick up trash around the jogging track for the rest of the period.”

  Kade returned his hand to his lap. His face said, Come on, Charlotte, is that all you’ve got?

  I glanced around. Everyone was waiting for the climax: my dark, untold secret. But what was it? The truth felt childish. I had to come up with something big, something that would make them feel sorry for me.

  Kade’s eyes skirted over Nora, who was staring into her cup, deep in thought about something other than my boring story. She was probably thinking about her tragic family. Workaholic parents, academic pressure, suicide—bigger stuff than my childhood teasing.

  I wanted Kade’s hand back on my knee. I took a breath and, like any good story, started with a seed of truth. “Tiffany and I were in orchestra together at my old school. She played clarinet, but only because she had the hots for this French horn player.” Details make a story leap to life, my ninth-grade English teacher used to say. “Derek Logan,” I tacked on. I hadn’t known the guy’s real name, but the made-up one popped into my head as if it had always been there. “We were at an audition for All-State Orchestra. I knew if I landed principal chair, my application to Barrymore would be a lot stronger.”

  Kade sighed, a little puff of air that urged me to get to the point quicker, whatever the point was. I closed my eyes, transporting myself back to the practice room, to the chaotic mix of scales leaking through the supposedly soundproof door.

  “Right before my audition I got thirsty, so I looked for a vending machine. Tiffany was on the floor in the hallway, draped over the guy.” All true. But still, uneasiness sat in my stomach at the detour coming up.

  What really happened was that the boy’s French horn had been lying on the floor, discarded, not even in its case. Tiffany was spelling out words on his palm with an insanely long fingernail. She’d glanced up and said, “Here comes our virginal viola player. I wonder what she uses that bow for?”

  It was a stupid comment, and I’d stood there, searching my brain for a retort. Angry at my stalled thoughts. Why did she have to be in my space, my world, spoiling everything? She shouldn’t have even been at All-State auditions; she couldn’t pull more than a gurgle from her clarinet.

  Then they called my name, which meant it was my turn to audition. Without saying anything, not a word of defense, I’d skidded down the hallway, back to the practice room to get my viola.

  “And?” Kade asked. “What happened?”

  They all leaned forward like flowers bent to the sunlight. Richie, with his arms squared on his knees; Nora, eyes drifting up like she was visualizing scenarios in her head—ones much worse than reality. Zoe, shaking her head as if Tiffany had already let her down. And Kade’s almond-shaped eyes, gliding across all our faces, taking it in.

  I wondered what they would think if they knew the truth; that my emotions had swirled through my head, then sunk like a boulder to my hands, making my vibrato heavy and unbalanced; that I couldn’t latch on to a reliable rhythm; that the notes had come out sharp and flat and everywhere in between. All because Tiffany had glanced at me wrong.

  I couldn’t admit this to the League of Strays. I had to come up with something recruitment-worthy. Enticed by the captivation in their faces, I invented a different ending. “I was confident and prepared when I went into the audition, but a few measures in, my tuning pegs slipped. I asked if I could start over, but it kept happening. Again and again.”

  “I bet that was frustrating,” Kade said, anticipation glimmering beneath a sympathetic look.

  “It was,” I agreed. “I couldn’t stop the tears. Couldn’t even see the sight-reading piece they put in front of me.” I was surprised at how fast the lie grew. It started out as a quartet and ended up a full orchestra, kettledrums and all.

  Something brushed against my shin. Kade’s foot. A colossal heat wave barreled through my body. Courage welled up inside of me, pushing the words from my mouth. “The judges said they’d heard enough. The ‘sorry’ letter came in the mail a few weeks later. I hadn’t even made the Dungeon … that’s what they call the last row.”

  Zoe’s hand slid across the floor, her pinkie tapping mine. An act of solidarity coming from her, of all people. She saw my double-take and laughed.

  “What happened to your viola?” Nora asked.

  “There was something sticky on my tuning pegs,” I said. “Peach moisturizer.” Peach moisturizer! It was the perfect detail. And so Tiffany. She was always pulling those sample-sized bottles out of her purse.

  Richie paused, the implication sinking in. “Oh, man.”

  Nora pinched her nose. “Say no more. I can smell her a mile away.”

  Kade and Richie smiled at me, and I smiled back. Not because Nora was funny or empathetic, but because I’d survived my own lie.

  “Tiffany Miller ruined my dreams,” I added, wiping the sleeve of my shirt at a tear tha
t wasn’t there.

  “That was cruel,” Richie said, shaking his head. Nora and Zoe added grunts of disgust.

  I felt pleased that my performance could inspire outrage. At the same time, I was stunned by my outrageous performance. The lie sat in my stomach like a clump of dough.

  “Does she still bother you?” Richie asked.

  “Not lately,” I admitted. “I guess she’s moved on to more important things.”

  Zoe snorted. “Like dyeing her hair twelve different shades of Clairol.”

  “Or making out with the entire lacrosse team behind the gym,” Nora said.

  Kade’s hand was back. An inch higher this time. His fingers were beautiful, long and lean like a professional pianist’s. “Someone should teach her a lesson,” he said. “Show her how it feels to be humiliated, to have her dreams smashed to pieces.”

  Did this mean he finally understood that they were, in fact, my dreams? I smiled at the small victory, but Kade read my reaction differently. “That would feel good, wouldn’t it, Charlotte?”

  The funny thing about Kade was that most of his questions came out like facts. Before I could think more on this, his hand crept a little higher.

  I flipped the pillow onto Zoe’s lap.

  “I HATE WANDA HARRIS,” ZOE BEGAN.

  Wanda had been in my choir class last semester. Or at least I think she was. She came and went like a mosquito on a summer day. Most of the time, she hung out behind the tennis courts, keeping cigarette companies in business. The janitor once found purple cigarette butts on school grounds, an exact match to the lipstick on Wanda’s big mouth. When our principal, Mr. Reid, questioned her, she called him an asshole to his face. Or at least that’s what she told anyone who’d listen.

  “She’s done a lot of shit to me,” Zoe said. “But there was this one time when I thought we could actually stop being at each other’s throats.”

  “Why were you at each other’s throats?” I asked.

  “Why does Tiffany make your life miserable?” she volleyed back. “Because she can.”

  It wasn’t a stretch to see Wanda in the same light as Tiffany. The difference was, people didn’t mess with Zoe. I’d seen them clear a path when she plowed down the hallway.

  “People like that don’t need a reason,” Kade said. “They’re evil.”

  Evil seemed a little strong, but I didn’t want to contradict him. His brows were knit together in a scowl. He looked almost dangerous, in a sexy kind of way. Without warning, he locked eyes with me. Note to self: Stop. Staring. At. Kade.

  “So we’re both in detention after school,” Zoe said, “and Wanda tells me she’s having a party. The whole school’s coming, she says. I think she’s about to go, ‘Everyone but you, ass wipe,’ but she doesn’t. What she says is, ‘Let’s bury the hatchet, Zoe. Come to my party.’”

  I wondered what the hatchet was that needed burying.

  “I’d never been to a party before. I mean, it’s not like my dance card runneth over, you know? Hey, it sounded good. Real good. So I took the address she gave me and showed up. There was music blasting out of the house and voices laughing. The door was open a crack, so I went in. But there were only guys there. Not guys from school. Older ones.” She paused, blinking hard like there was something in her eye.

  Richie bit his lower lip. I looked away, knowing that Zoe didn’t want us to see her cry.

  “Go on,” Kade urged.

  I took in her panic-stricken expression. “Maybe she could do this later?” I suggested.

  Kade cupped his chin in his hand. Waiting.

  A tear escaped, rolling down Zoe’s cheek. She caught it on the tip of her tongue and swallowed the evidence. “They were ready for me.”

  Ready for her? Pangs of sympathy shuddered through my body. I held my breath, mortified.

  “‘This is a gift from your buddy, Wanda,’ one of them said. He grabbed me, tossing me to another guy, then another, and another. Like a basketball, their hands going all over me, everywhere.”

  Her face tightened, lips a pale, thin line.

  “She set you up,” Kade said.

  “One of them unzipped his jeans while the others watched, cheering him on. I took advantage of the moment and delivered a round kick to the balls of the guy nearest me. They were so busy oohing and aahing in sympathy that I ran out the door. One of them ripped the shirt off my back, but I pulled harder and got the hell out of there.”

  Her eyes dropped to the mud-colored tank top under her camouflage jacket. “I liked that shirt. Sucks that they trashed it.”

  Kade slammed a fist down on an empty Coke can, flattening it like an accordion. We all jumped. “Like I said, evil.”

  This time, I couldn’t disagree with him.

  Richie leaned across Nora and lifted the pillow from Zoe’s lap.

  AFTER A CHEETOS BREAK, RICHIE SCRATCHED HIS HEAD, leaving a few strands of hair pointing up. “Everyone knows my story already.”

  “Not your side of it,” Kade said. “Here’s where you set it all straight.”

  Richie gave him a plaintive look but did as he was told. “Two years ago, I got suspended for bringing drugs to school.”

  “Is it true you were selling at the middle school?” Nora asked the question on my mind. Probably on everyone’s mind.

  The way I’d heard it, the cops found a list of names in Richie’s wallet. Some of the kids were only in the sixth grade.

  “No way,” Richie answered. “Dave Harper wanted me to ask my brother Tony for some weed. See, Tony was friends with this jerk named Eddie, who always had a supply. Anyway, Dave kept passing me notes in class, begging me to give him some. He wouldn’t stop. So one day, I went into Tony’s room, searched through his desk, and found his stash.” He pressed his lips together like he’d already said too much.

  I felt sorry for him, even though it was stupid to do a favor for a creep like Dave Harper.

  “Mr. Reid caught Harper smoking it in the locker room,” Kade said. “Took Harper about ten seconds to rat on Richie.”

  “He told Reid I pressured him to buy it,” Richie said.

  “Tell them why you did it, why you gave him the drugs,” Kade instructed.

  Richie’s ears matched the color of the smashed Coke can in front of him. “I guess I kind of liked him. I thought maybe … maybe he liked me back …”

  I ran my fingernail along a groove in the scratched-up wood floor, unable to meet Richie’s eyes. I knew he was gay—everyone did—but it was hard to listen to something so … private. It was weird, all of us spilling our secrets like this. At least no one had laughed or made fun of anyone else. Actually, it was kind of a relief to talk about things I’d kept locked up inside for so long, even if I had taken certain liberties with my story. This is what friends do, I told myself, they talk. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a real conversation with Sofie.

  “I was an idiot,” Richie said with unexpected ardor. “I trusted everyone. I trusted Dave, without even knowing him. I should’ve listened to Kade. He knew what a jerk Dave was! He tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

  Kade slung an arm across Richie’s shoulder. If I’d blinked, I would’ve missed Richie’s adjustment, the almost imperceptible shift closer to Kade. I was beginning to wonder if he had more than just a bad case of hero worship.

  “What about the list?” Zoe asked.

  Richie shrugged. “Rumor.”

  A fly buzzed under my nose, and I waved it away. Kade followed it as it zoomed past Nora’s ear, tracking it as he spoke. “At the board meeting, Reid defended his star jock. He said Dave was a good kid with a temporary loss of judgment under pressure. The board didn’t know who to believe. Since it was a first offense, they both got suspended. Reid was pissed—he wanted Richie expelled.”

  “I was out for ten days,” Richie said.

  “What does Mr. Reid have against you?” I asked him.

  “He’s one of the biggest bigots in the school.” Kade seemed surpri
sed that I didn’t already know this.

  To be honest, I’d had no idea. Our principal was always in front of the school gym, shaking hands with people coming to after-school events. Mr. Reid seemed to have a smile for everyone. Then again, maybe he was checking to see if kids were drunk or on drugs. Could the caring part be an act?

  “But didn’t our school just start a gay-straight alliance?” Nora asked.

  Kade shrugged. “He’d get rid of it if he could. Trust me, Reid doesn’t like anyone who’s different from him, which means anyone who isn’t straight, white, and boring.”

  “A few weeks later, Dave and five of his buddies jumped out of the bathroom. They punched me and knocked me to the ground,” Richie told us. “Dave called me a homo. He told me that’s why he asked me to get the drugs, ‘cause he knew I’d give it to him for free.”

  “He used you,” Kade said. “But that wasn’t enough for him. He had to prove what a macho dude he was by unleashing his personal pit bulls on you.”

  “Do they still pick on you?” Nora asked Richie.

  “Sometimes, but not as much. Not now that I have a bodyguard, anyway.”

  Kade made a muscle. “At your service.”

  “Wow, I never heard about any of this,” I said, ashamed that I’d accepted the rumors, sized Richie up, and cut him down. Like everyone else.

  “No one did,” Nora said. “Lies make better stories than the truth.”

  I looked away, the guilt of dishonesty rumbling through my stomach. I’d dressed up the truth, too—when my own misery had failed to impress.

  Without taking his eyes off Nora, Kade slammed a hand to the floor. I startled, shrinking my knees to my chest. Kade lifted his palm to check what was underneath, then flicked the dead fly across the room. “Richie got a concussion,” he told us, “and a broken finger, too.”

  “Mr. Reid found out what they did to me, but they only got suspended for a few more days,” Richie said. “Then Kade overheard Reid talking to Dave Harper.” He looked at Kade, waiting for him to take over.