Bittersweet Dreams

by V. C. Andrews

  “Yes, there is an afternoon period when it’s free.”

  “Good,” Dr. Richards said. “It’s yours along with whatever equipment you want to use.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous? If I hurt myself without supervision, I mean? Julie might start a lawsuit.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Frankly, under the circumstances, I think it’s a good solution. My husband and I will sign any permission slip you need,” she added for Dr. Richards. He smiled.

  “Really? How surprising,” I said. “So, let me understand this, Dr. Richards, understand exactly what’s happened here. Some self-absorbed airheads make a ridiculous accusation against me, and the solution is to avoid confronting them, to accept what they say as true, and to find a way to please them and their carbon-copy mothers?”

  No one spoke.

  I looked at Julie. “This is the way you’re representing my father and our interests? You’ll sign a permission slip without conferring with him?”

  “He doesn’t need this sort of distraction right now, Mayfair. He has a lot on his mind with his business. None of us needs this distraction, and the solution is simple and avoids any more unpleasantness. Why be so obstinate?”

  “I haven’t found anything terribly unpleasant yet,” I said. “Except the fact that I’m being judged without any sort of hearing concerning the evidence. I should at least get a trial by ordeal. Burn my hand and see if it heals in three days or something. If you want to go backward in the pursuit of justice, there are so many ways.”

  “Please, stop this. You know what I mean, what they mean. Why make this difficult when there’s a good solution?”

  “Good for whom?”

  “The girls have agreed not to say another word about this,” Dr. Richards said.

  “There aren’t any words left to say. They’ve said it all. They’ve embellished their disgusting and hateful stories so much that you’ll have to wear boots to slosh through the hallways now.”

  “Then this will end it, get it off the front burners,” he said.

  “Front burners? That’s an apt analogy, Dr. Richards, but I’m afraid it’s already cooked.”

  “Please don’t make this any more difficult,” Julie begged, trying hard to sound as if she was really concerned about my interests. “You certainly don’t care about these girls, and PE as a class is not important to you. You can exercise in our gym at home if you want. You don’t even have to use the gym here at all. She can have more time to do her own thing, right, Dr. Richards?”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “So the conclusion here is that I should be grateful?”

  No one spoke.

  “You’re not in the least bit curious about whether what the girls are accusing me of is true?” I asked Dr. Richards.

  He smiled that plastic, political smile that administrators must practice in front of mirrors so they’d be prepared to confront boards of directors. “I think it’s best we follow the military lead. Don’t ask. Don’t tell. Why get into such a sensitive topic? No one benefits.”

  “That doesn’t exist anymore, and it wasn’t a solution for the military anyway.”

  “We just want to stop it,” Mr. Martin said. “Calm the atmosphere and protect you, too.”

  “But I just told you. They’ve already been spreading their lies, and they have done it in spades.”

  “They’ll stop now,” Dr. Richards said, putting on his firm face. “I can assure you of that.”

  “Just conduct yourself properly, and the nasty rumors will evaporate,” Julie said. “Am I right?” She looked at Dr. Richards, and he smiled again and nodded.

  “Precisely. I’ll bring each of the girls involved in this matter into my office and spell it out to them very clearly.”

  “There, see?” Julie said.

  I shook my head. “You’re pathetic.”

  “It’s not like you’re going to run for class president,” she said, sharply now. The dam had broken. There was no telling what else she would say. She was on a roll. I could see how pleased she was with herself and the solution. She might even be able to keep her friends.

  “No, Mayfair has bigger things to do than that,” Mr. Martin said, trying to sound like an appeaser. “You don’t want to be distracted by this nonsense.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Good,” Julie said. “Then it’s settled.” She pounded her words down like a judge pounding a gavel to end all arguments.

  She stood up quickly so there would be no question that this hearing had ended.

  “Thank you very much, Dr. Richards, Mr. Martin. My husband and I appreciate the way you’ve handled this. Mayfair, be a good girl, now,” she said, flashing a cold smile that would freeze someone’s heart, and headed for the door. “I’ll see you at the end of the day.”

  “No,” I quickly replied. “I have something important after school. Just come for Allison.”

  “Fine,” she said. She flashed another smile at Dr. Richards and Mr. Martin and then left.

  “You come see me if you have any more problems with this,” Dr. Richards said, returning to the chair behind his desk. “Or come see Mr. Martin.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Martin said. “Anytime.”

  I rose to leave, feeling my legs half turn to lead. At the door, I turned back to them. “You didn’t do those girls any favors today, Dr. Richards,” I said. “You taught them that lying, being mean, is okay. They’ll keep doing it until they hurt someone more than they hurt me, and they’ll eventually hurt themselves.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mayfair. We’re keeping our eye on them. I’m letting them know my feelings about this. They’ll behave themselves.”

  I smiled at them the way an adult would smile at a child who had said something very silly. “Why is it that the easiest person to fool is yourself?” I asked.

  Neither replied.

  I walked out. The bell had rung, and students were rushing to their next class. I felt like I was floating. I think I was in more pain than anger. I even felt like crying, letting my face flood with tears, and that surprised me. Tears did begin to burn my eyes as I fought them back. I stood still for a moment and took deep breaths to calm myself.

  How could I have become the victim here? How could these tiny-minded, mean-spirited girls get the better of me? How smug would they be? I thought I looked like a clown now in my new hairdo, my new clothes, and these damn earrings in my pierced ears.

  “Hey there,” I heard. One look at the expression on Mr. Taylor’s face told me he had found out about all this. He looked like he had been waiting to speak to me, in fact. “Keep your chin up. Stop by my classroom after school.”

  It was hard to understand why I would consider doing that. All I really wanted was to get as far away from this place as possible.

  However, my father hadn’t been here to protect me, Julie had practically brought the rope with which to hang me, and the school administrators were hiding behind closed doors, congratulating themselves on how they had squirmed out of a potentially sensational event and kept their lily-white reputations unblemished.

  Who was there for me now to talk to?

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Just do it,” he said sharply. “I’m on your side,” he added, and then winked and walked away.

  Before the end of the day, news about how I was being handled spread faster than the original rumors and lies. I did my best to ignore the smug smiles, but I couldn’t subdue the anger raging inside me. I wasn’t planning to have lunch in the cafeteria, but a girl in my class, Joy Hensley, tugged at my arm when the bell rang.

  Joy was at least twenty pounds underweight, a classic anorexic. I wondered how she even had the energy to walk. Shrunken on that skull of hers was actually a pretty face starving to be fleshed out. Her eyes were a tired, dull gray, and her dark brown hair looked dry, with split ends. She was only about an inch shorter than I was. I often wondered about her, because she was probably ignored just as much as I was
, for obviously different reasons.

  I think the whole time I had been here, I had spoken no more than two words to her. If anything, she seemed more afraid to approach me than most people did. I had the feeling she thought I might say something even more devastating than the nasty comments other girls made. I once witnessed her being dressed down mercilessly by Joyce Brooker and Cora Addison in the locker room. They mocked her small bosom and the way her ribs pressed against her skin.

  “What’s your mother’s food bill?” Joyce had begun. The question really took Joy by surprise, because Joyce sounded very interested and not critical.

  “Why?”

  “We’re doing a survey for the school.”

  “I don’t know,” Joy said with the familiar look of panic on her face.

  “Twenty cents?” Joyce asked.

  “What? No.”

  Cora stepped up on her right side. “Why don’t you eat?” she asked as if she cared. “Are you being used as a model at some medical school because the students can see your organs so easily?”

  “No,” Joy said, and tried to turn away.

  “Are you getting help from the UN?” Cora asked.

  “What?”

  “You know, that organization that helps feed starving people all over the world?”

  “No,” Joy said.

  “Would you like a cookie? I have an extra double chocolate chip.”

  “No, thanks.”

  By now, other girls had joined them and stood by smiling. They were like a pack of coyotes getting ready to kill and feast on a small rabbit. Joy looked around and saw that they were all feasting on her discomfort. She held her blouse up in front of her and searched for some escape route, but there was someone standing everywhere. “Leave me alone,” she said.

  “How do you pee? Don’t you have trouble sitting on a normal toilet seat? You could fall into the water,” Joyce said, and there was a roar of laughter.

  I stood back, watching them as if I was observing another social ritual.

  “Your mother shouldn’t have to pay for gas when you’re in the car with her,” Cora said. “It takes energy to move weight, and in your case, a breeze could do it.”

  Joy shut down. She just stood there now, accepting one derogatory comment after another, her eyes closed. When no one could think of anything more to say, they all moved away. She stood frozen for a few more moments and then hurried to get dressed and out of the locker room.

  I hated what they had done to her, but I didn’t particularly care to go to her defense. She had mental problems that created her physical problem, I thought. I knew she had lost her father in a terrible auto accident. I had overheard other students talking about that, but I wasn’t eager to burden myself with someone else’s psychological baggage at the time. I felt sorry for her, of course, but I didn’t see any value in having her friendship.

  “What?” I asked her now, surprised at how aggressively she had grabbed me.

  “Can I talk to you, have lunch with you?”

  “What about?”

  “What happened to you,” she said.

  “Nothing happened to me.”

  “You’re smarter than all of them, so I just wanted to know what you were going to do to get even,” she said.

  “What makes you think I care enough to do that?”

  “I hope you do,” she said. “They had no right to spread those stories about you, even if they’re true.”

  I widened my eyes.

  “I mean,” she continued, “there’s nothing wrong with you if they’re true, right?”

  It was as plain as day. She suspected that she was gay and was hoping that I was, too, or maybe that I could convince her that she wasn’t. She was also hoping that somehow by avenging myself, I would be avenging her, too. “You’re right,” I said.

  She smiled.

  “Even if it was true, but it’s not.”

  I decided to go to the cafeteria after all. Joy kept up with me and was right at my side when I entered. I looked around the room. There were many eyes on us. Conversations stopped and then started.

  “I’m hungry,” I said. “I didn’t think I was going to be, but suddenly, I am.” I went to the food line.

  “I’ll save you a seat over there,” she said, nodding at a table.

  “I doubt that you need to save it,” I said. “It’ll be there.”

  She smiled. When I got what I wanted, I went to the table. She had brought her own lunch, which was just a small plain yogurt and an apple. She started to eat her yogurt as if she had a sore throat. I could tell she wasn’t even going to finish it.

  “I watch you a lot,” she told me.

  “Watch me? What’s that mean?”

  “I mean, I see you working on other things in class and see how you work in the library by yourself. Nothing seems to bother you.”

  “Nothing here, maybe,” I said. “I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking I care. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she said with disappointment.

  “Time is important. You don’t want to waste it on them. Work on improving yourself, helping yourself,” I said. “Forget about them.”

  She nodded. “You’re very pretty,” she said. “I overheard them talking about you recently, and they were all very jealous. It must be nice to have people jealous of you for something.”

  I put my sandwich down. “Look, Joy, I’m no one to give anyone advice when it comes to social happiness around here, but the worst thing you can do is fall into a pit of self-pity. Get a hold of yourself. Gain some weight. Is your mother addressing your problems?”

  “Addressing?”

  “Getting you medical help?”

  “Oh. No. My mother just tells me to finish my dinner, but she doesn’t say anything when I don’t. She always gives me too much.”

  I shook my head. Too much to you, I thought, but probably just enough to anyone else. “Okay. I’ll do some research for you and get you information to give your mother. She has her head in the sand. You should be seeing a therapist, at least.”

  She laughed. “My mother would be terribly embarrassed if I did that.”

  “She’s not embarrassed about you now?”

  She lost her smile.

  Suddenly, I thought of something. I looked around the cafeteria and saw the way some of the girls and boys were whispering and looking at us. How well known was it, I wondered, that Joy was gay? Had she had some sort of experience with someone else from school?

  Possibly what I was doing now by sitting and talking with Joy was confirming the rumors the bitches from Macbeth had spread.

  “I have to go,” I told her, ironically not even coming close to finishing my own food. “I have something to do before my next class.” I rose.

  “Can I call you?” Joy asked.

  “What for?”

  “To talk,” she said.

  “I don’t have time to talk on the phone,” I told her, and took my tray to the trash bin and the shelf for trays. I didn’t look back when I left.

  What am I doing? I thought when I was halfway down the hall. I stopped. It’s like I’m running away. I’m letting them push me around. Why was I fleeing from Joy? I was so angry at myself. Damn them. Maybe I would find some way to get back at them after all.

  I was in deep thought about it for the remainder of the afternoon. Every chance they got, one of them would say something nasty close enough for me to hear. I didn’t react to any of it, but I was fuming inside. By the time the last period ended, I felt like strangling someone. I had told Julie that I was doing something after school. I needed more time before confronting her, especially in front of my father. It was then I remembered Mr. Taylor’s invitation and went to his room.

  9

  “Please, close the door,” he said when I stepped into his classroom. He smiled and loosened his tie. “I need a break from the racket. Sometimes I wish I were teaching in a school for mutes.”

  He wasn’t wrong about the rack
et. The students were leaving the building. Most of them always acted as if it were a fire drill, especially the junior high. They charged at the doors like prisoners released, their screams and shouts bouncing off the hall walls.

  I closed the door.

  “Glad you decided to stop by,” he said. “I was hoping you would.”

  He got up and took one of the seats at a student desk. Then he patted the desk beside him, and I took that seat. Now that I was here, I felt very foolish and nervous. Why had I come? He was a junior-high English teacher. What did I expect to gain? Was I flirting? Was I so thick when it came to any of this that I wouldn’t recognize what I was doing? Could he see it?

  It was like I had swallowed a ping-pong ball whole and it was bouncing in my stomach. Oddly, I hadn’t felt nearly as nervous in Dr. Richards’s office, and he was someone who was trained to strip me mentally. Somehow, though, when Mr. Taylor looked at me, I felt naked.

  “So, I hear through the grapevine that you’re having a particularly bad day,” he began.

  “I’d say the school’s having a worse day than I am.”

  “Well, whether you like it or not, you’re part of the school. Tell me what happened, what really happened. By the time anything gets to this wing of the building, it’s quite distorted, I’m sure. What actually caused all this commotion?”

  Commotion, situation, whatever word was used, didn’t do it justice. I looked down at the floor. His asking me about it stirred my rage the way a wild beast that had finally quieted down might burst into an angry roar when poked. My body tightened with the frustration I felt. He misread my silence.

  “I’m not looking for juicy gossip,” he said. “I know some of my colleagues feed on that, but I have a feeling you weren’t treated fairly, and this whole thing, what’s happening to you, is more important than gossip.”

  “Treated fairly? You’ve been here long enough to know that fairness is not the first consideration, not in a school where donors put in enough money to get their names on gyms and pools. Justice comes in only one color here, green.”

  He laughed. “Okay. What happened?” he asked, softening his tone. “How did this start?”