Fighting Words

by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

  Exactly. “You said—you said when we got here that if we caused trouble we’d have to find a new place to live.”

  “Caused trouble,” Francine said. “Not had trouble.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  “Set fire to my house on purpose, that’d be causing trouble,” she said. “Slash my furniture. Pee on the carpet—”

  “Pee on the carpet?”

  She flapped a hand. “It happened.”

  I said, “What if I cooked meth and blew up your bathroom?”

  Francine’s grin faded. “What?”

  “What if I did that? What if I cared more about meth than about my two little girls? What if I let them get stuck in a horrible place where they’d be bad hurt by bad people and no one paid attention or helped them at all? What if I was that bad?”

  Francine stared at me for what felt like a long, long time. “Then you’d be someone else,” she said at last. “First of all, you’re not addicted to drugs, and I see no reason why you ever should be. But also, the person you are would never do such a thing. The person you are is tough and resilient and loving and kind.”

  If that was true, there was only one reason for it. “Because I had Suki.”

  She nodded. “You were lucky.”

  “And Suki had nobody.”

  “That’s not true,” Francine said. “Suki had you.”

  “I couldn’t fix things. I didn’t stop Clifton. I didn’t even realize what he was doing to her.”

  “You didn’t know about Clifton,” Francine said. “It wasn’t your job to stop him.”

  “I wish I’d known. I wish I’d stopped him.”

  “Of course,” Francine said. “But you love Suki. She’s always had that. It’s a lot, believe me.”

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  Forget the pizza. For dinner, Francine made us perfect mac ’n’ cheese.

  Not that I could finish mine. I was too worried about Suki. And me.

  34

  Next day was therapy, which was awesome because it meant I got to go to school late. I sat down on the couch next to Rosie and I don’t know why, I just started talking, about Trevor, about the in-school suspension, about what I’d said to Francine. About Mama.

  Dr. Fremont listened. When I finished talking she said, “You want to know why Trevor’s bullying you? And why your mama couldn’t shake her addiction?”

  I nodded. “And why Clifton—why he did what he did.”

  “I don’t know why,” Dr. Fremont said. “If I knew their whole stories I might be able to guess, but it would only be a guess.” She sat up straighter. “Some people get hurt so badly they lash out. They hurt other people. A small percentage are truly evil. Bad from the start. Addiction is very complicated—some people can shake it off, others never do. I don’t know what went wrong with your mama. You’ll probably never be able to find out.”

  Dr. Fremont said, “What Clifton did to you and Suki—that’s common.”

  I jerked my head up so fast that Rosie, who was half asleep across my lap, startled. She licked me once across the face before she lay back down. “Common?” My stomach lurched. “You mean—not just Suki and me?”

  “Honestly?” Dr. Fremont said. “You’re probably not the only kid it’s happened to in your class.”

  I thought for a moment. “You mean in my school, right?” I said. “My class, that’s only, like, twenty-five people. Only thirteen girls.”

  Dr. Fremont looked sad. “I mean in your class. Yes. It happens that often. And it happens to both boys and girls.”

  It was so icky, so dark in my memory. I had thought it’d had to be just me—me and Suki. Nobody else. “I never heard anything like that,” I said. “Nobody ever talks about it.”

  “I know,” she said. “Maybe more people should. Maybe if more people felt they could talk about it, it wouldn’t happen as often.”

  “Does it always cause problems?” I asked.

  Dr. Fremont nodded. “Always,” she said. “It hurts people in lots of big ways.” She reached out. I thought she was going to pat my arm, and I didn’t want her to, but she scratched Rosie’s head instead. “The good news is, people can and do heal. They can and do get better.”

  35

  Suki could get better. I was going to hold on to that. I could get better too.

  At recess I walked up to Trevor.

  “Hey, dummy,” he said. “How was suspension?”

  I ignored that. “You are not ever allowed to touch me,” I said. “You are never, ever allowed to touch me without my permission in any way. So don’t.”

  Dr. Fremont and I had talked about that at the end of our visit. It was called consent.

  He laughed. “‘Without my permission,’” he said. “Hey, dummy. Nobody’s going to ask your permission!”

  I walked away. What I said wouldn’t stop him, probably, but at least I’d said it.

  I found Nevaeh and Luisa and Mackinleigh. “I don’t have to let him touch me,” I explained. Dr. Fremont had said so. “Not ever. You don’t either.”

  Luisa ran her fingers through her braids. She said, “I wish he couldn’t touch me without permission. I hate it.”

  “He can’t,” I said. “He isn’t allowed to. That’s the rules. For everyone.”

  Luisa rolled her eyes. “Says who?”

  “Everybody,” I said.

  “Sure,” she said. “We’ll see how that works.”

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  The next night, Francine and I got to go see Suki again. She wasn’t doing as well as her doctors had hoped. Her team said she was struggling. They made me wait in the hallway while they discussed the details with Francine, even though Suki told them I could stay. For a moment, Suki started to insist that I stay, but Francine cut her off. “It’s hard on her, Suki,” she said. “There are things she doesn’t need to know.”

  “If Suki needs me—” I said.

  Francine pushed me out into the hallway. “She needs you to love her. She doesn’t need you to be burdened with every detail.”

  I tried to understand exactly what that meant, but mostly it was this: Suki’d be staying in the hospital for at least another week.

  When they were done with their big group meeting they let me talk to her for a few minutes. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I need to find an acceptable outlet for my pain,” Suki said.

  “Where’d you learn that?” It didn’t sound like something she’d say.

  She flapped her hand. “Oh, you know, this place.” She said, “I’m trying hard to get better, Della. But it isn’t easy.”

  I asked her, “Did you know it wasn’t just us?”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “Clifton stuff happens to lots of kids. That’s what my therapist says.”

  “Yeah.” Suki’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know that either, until I got here. I thought it was mostly just me. But it happened to a bunch of the kids in here. What Clifton did or something like it. Messed them up. Messed up all of us.”

  “You need to tell,” I said. “Suki. Tell people what Clifton did. He’d stay in prison longer. It’d be safer for everybody.”

  Suki’s face froze. Reminded me of the way she looked when she was staring at the knife. “I’ve told everybody here,” she said. “The doctors know. My therapist knows. That means the police have to know too. Doctors and therapists are mandatory reporters.”

  I blew out a big breath. “That’s great.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to press charges,” Suki said. “I’m not.”

  I said, “You’re going to let Clifton get away with it.”

  “He’s not getting away with it,” Suki said. Her eyes flashed and she sounded angry again. “We’re taking him to court for what
he did to you. We have evidence. He won’t be able to talk his way out of that photo. It’s easy.”

  “Is not—” I said, remembering the tight feeling in my stomach the day I made the tape. How scared I felt.

  “Easier,” she corrected. “We don’t have photographs of what he did to me. It’d be my word against his. I’d have to sit in the courtroom while his lawyers tried to make it sound like I was lying. I’d have to sit in front of him—I’d have to look at him—and I can’t do it, Della. I’m sorry. The people here, they promised they wouldn’t make me.”

  “You’re stronger than that,” I whispered.

  She laughed and gestured to the walls. “Current evidence suggests otherwise.”

  It was hard to disagree with the soft puke walls of a psych hospital. Which didn’t mean I didn’t want to try.

  I wanted to climb into Suki’s lap, or pull her into mine. Instead I said, “Tell me something good about Mama.”

  “What?”

  “I mostly only remember the motel,” I said. “Can you remember anything good? Tell me one good thing.”

  Suki reached across the space between our chairs. She wrapped her arms around me. She put her chin on the top of my head. “Hmm,” she said. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got one.” For the first time that night, she smiled. “Right after you were born, I went to go see you in the hospital. I’d been staying with some of Mama’s friends and they brought me in. Mama was in this big bed with white sheets, her head propped up, holding you. You were wrapped in a blanket and had a pink hat on your head.”

  “What did I look like?”

  “All I could see was your little squished face,” Suki said. “I climbed up on the bed and Mama put her arm around me. She said, ‘Here’s your new sister.’ I leaned over to get a better look, and you scrunched your eyes up and started to scream.

  “And Mama laughed,” Suki said. “She said, ‘We know how to make her feel better, don’t we, Suki?’ And she started singing. ‘Skinna-ma-rinky-dinky-dink. Skinna-ma-rinky-do. I love you.’”

  “She sang that?” I said. “I thought it came from Teena’s mom’s tape.”

  “It was on Teena’s mom’s tape,” Suki said. “Mama sang it to us first. Long time ago.”

  She scooped me closer, leaned her cheek against mine. We sang together.

  Skinnamarinky dinky dink, skinnamarinky do,

  I love you.

  Skinnamarinky dinky dink, skinnamarinky do,

  I love you.

  I love you in the morning, and in the afternoon.

  I love you in the evening, underneath the moon.

  Skinnamarinky dinky dink, skinnamarinky do,

  I love you.

  Suki and me, we loved each other. Once upon a time, our mama loved us too.

  “Oh, Della,” Suki said, “why are you wearing those horrible shoes?”

  I stretched my feet out. They were horrible shoes. “I don’t know,” I said. “I felt like I took too much from you. I took your money for the purple shoes.”

  She shook her head at me. “I wanted to buy you the purple shoes. They’re fantastic. Also, you give me more than you take.”

  I didn’t know about that.

  “Also?” Suki said. “Those free-clothes-closet shoes suck.”

  36

  I put my purple shoes back on my feet, and my crummy shoes back in my drawer. That Friday night, Teena came to spend the evening with me while Francine went out to O’Maillin’s with her friends.

  It was not babysitting. Teena said so. “Like I’d expect to be paid for hanging out with you,” she said. “I’m so glad to be here.”

  “What about your boyfriend?” I asked.

  “Ditched him,” she said.

  First we went to Food City, just for fun. In the deli, Maybelline stuck her hand over the counter when she saw me. Empty, not holding a cookie. It took me a moment to understand what she meant. I stuck my hand out, and she squeezed it.

  “How you doing, sugar?” she asked.

  I took a breath. “My sister—”

  “Not your sister,” Maybelline said. “I hope she’s well, but I’m asking about you.”

  “I’m—I don’t know. I’m okay. I miss Suki bad.”

  Maybelline nodded. “Tony said you were having a hard time.” She reached into the display case for a chocolate chip cookie.

  I said, “Can I have peanut butter instead?” I nodded toward Teena. “Peanut butter’s her favorite.”

  Maybelline smiled. “Sure. It’s good to share your cookies with friends.”

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  Francine had given Teena ten bucks to buy snacks. We had a hard time deciding. A grocery store is full of riches when you’ve got money to spend. I showed her Suki’s garlic cheese. She shuddered. I suggested we get some Mountain Dew.

  “Girl, that stuff turns your teeth green!” Teena said.

  “Does not—”

  “It’ll probably make you glow in the dark! Nothing that color is meant to go inside your mouth.”

  In the end we got a box of frozen egg rolls. Teena swore I’d like them. And two donuts with googly frosting eyes and cookies stuffed into their center holes, so they looked like Muppets. And then, because we still had money left, we each spent fifty cents trying to win stuffed animals in the grab-it game in the lobby. Didn’t win, but it was fun trying.

  Back at Francine’s, Teena stuck the egg rolls in the oven. We ate the donuts at the kitchen table along with some soda from the refrigerator. I told Teena Suki wasn’t doing so good.

  “She was in pretty bad shape,” Teena said. “Broken bones take a long time to heal. Why shouldn’t brains?”

  Put that way, it made sense. “She’s taking medicine now, to help.”

  Teena clinked her glass against mine. “Hallelujah,” she said.

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  I would have stayed up until Francine got home, but around ten o’clock I started falling asleep on the couch. The third time Teena had to wake me up, she said, “Kiddo, go to bed.” She tucked me into the bottom bunk.

  “Sing ‘Skinnamarinky,’” I said, and she did.

  Teena was the only person besides Suki allowed to sing me that song.

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  In the morning, Francine was sipping her coffee when I walked into the kitchen. Fat-free full-sugar French vanilla creamer. I poured myself a cup, two-thirds coffee and one-third creamer. I took a great big gulp. French vanilla slammed my taste buds. I spat the whole mouthful into the sink. I said to Francine, “You drink that? On purpose?”

  “You’re not supposed to use half the bottle of creamer,” Francine said. “That sounds bad even to me. You girls have a good time?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We saved you an egg roll.”

  I got it out of the fridge. Francine took a bite. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Thanks for Teena,” I said.

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  I was sleeping better again, but sometimes, when the headlights of cars turning into the street near us flooded the room with light, it reminded me of the headlights from Clifton’s truck cab pulling into the drive. Then I’d remember Suki’s panic, and I’d start to panic too. I’d remember the way she’d fold in on herself. My heart would start racing and my breath would come tight.

  SOUICILED.

  IKUS.

  ANEET.

  ENICNARF.

  HEAVEN.

  Nothing I did seemed to help.

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  We’d heard from one of our lawyers that the trial date was edging closer. We didn’t have to do anything about it, she just wanted us to know.

  Clifton was in jail for what he did to me.

  But not for what he did to Suki.


  “How much time would Clifton get for what he did to Suki?” I asked Francine. “I mean, if the police knew everything?”

  “Dunno,” she said. “It would depend on the details. What exactly he did, and how often, and for how long.”

  Shoo.

  “But more time, right?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “At the very least, he’d be a repeat offender.” She gave me some side-eye. “You stay out of it. What he did to Suki is Suki’s story. Not yours. She gets to make her own choices.”

  “I think she needs to tell them.”

  “Not your decision,” said Francine.

  I said, “When he gets out of prison, he might hurt someone else. Some other little girl. Or girls. The longer he’s in prison, the fewer people he can hurt.”

  “That’s true,” Francine said.

  I said, “Did you know grown-up wolves have no natural predators?” I’d been reading all I could about wolves. The school library didn’t have much. Bunch of broken-down old books, and I couldn’t find anything about wolves in the books for sale at Walmart. But still, I read what I could.

  “Makes sense,” said Francine.

  “It’s true,” I said. “Bears and cougars might attack baby wolves, but once they’re grown up nothing can stop them.”

  Francine made an mmmm noise, pretending to be listening. I thought it was important. Suki and me, once we grew all the way up, nothing could take us down.

  37

  “What I want to know,” I said to Dr. Fremont, “is how bad things happening to people can actually hurt their brains.”

  I’d been thinking about it. Brains were shut up inside the hard bone-box that was your skull. If someone or something banged you upside the head, stands to reason your brain could be hurt. But just someone scaring you? Touching you where they shouldn’t?