Seventh Grade in the Life of Me, Penelope

by Alison Pollet

  The door creaked open to reveal wood tables covered in blank pieces of paper and littered with charcoal pencils, rulers, and markers (markers!). There were older girls sipping Pepsi Light and listening to Walkmen. And there, in a corner, huddled over their Earth Science textbooks, were Cass and Tillie.

  Penelope didn’t even know how she’d known where to find them. So how come it seemed like they were expecting her? They looked at her at once, then stood up and grabbed their backpacks.

  There is no chance, thought Penelope. Say something, she told herself. Talk!

  Cass and Tillie had their backs to her now. She watched them walk away from her — was that still a bit of blue ink on Tillie’s neck? was that the bumblebee shirt Cass was wearing? — and then Cass turned to Penelope and, with a flick of the wrist, motioned for her to follow.

  I deserve whatever I get, thought Penelope, marching several steps behind them.

  I’ll take it.

  Except all Cass and Tillie did was give her a tour. First, the girls’ bathroom on the second floor of the Solden Science Center, then the girls’ bathroom in the gym. Then Gritzfield Hall. It was a silent tour. They didn’t want to talk; they just wanted to show her that the writing was gone.

  Over the weekend and during Penelope’s suspension, all of the bathrooms had been repainted. It had been part of a larger maintenance job, the repainting; the sinks had new faucets, chipped tiles had been replaced. But, regardless — whether the point was to remove the graffiti or not — the writing was gone. Penelope stared in awe at the bright white walls. They look so clean, she thought. It’s like nobody was here.

  The five-minute warning bell clanged as they emerged from Gritzfield Hall, and facing Cass and Tillie, standing in the cold, Penelope willed herself to speak. Out of her mouth flew a hundred embarrassed apologies, a thousand “I’m so sorry’s.” She couldn’t find the words to say exactly what she felt, but Tillie and Cass seemed to understand. Somehow they knew that even if the words hadn’t found their way out yet, they were somewhere inside Penelope. It was just a matter of time.

  January turned to February, and Penelope spent the break between semesters watching Rick and Monica’s affair fizzle on General Hospital, playing video games at Baronet with Nathaniel, looking for Moe Was Heres with Tillie and Cass, and studying Algebra with her tutor. She was a dorm mate of Jenny’s, and sometimes after their sessions, she’d eat dinner with them, listening to Elvis Costello during dessert. Cass’s favorite song was “Watching the Detectives,” which was actually a violent song that had nothing to do with detectives, but she liked to pretend it did.

  Every now and then, Penelope ate dinner at Empire Szechuan with Stacy and Shirley Commack. Ben even came along sometimes. Shirley Commack was wary of him until he told her he didn’t believe in thinking about colleges until at least eleventh grade, and, anyway, he was thinking of joining the Peace Corps. Sometimes Penelope would meet Stacy and Ben at Baronet for video games. Ben loved the Upper West Side, and through his eyes Stacy learned to like it again, too — so Penelope had to figure that was a good thing.

  Still, there were some afternoons when Penelope passed Stacy’s apartment building and felt the strangeness of it all. To not even go up! To not even say hi to the doorman or Bernice! She’d force herself to keep going, then trip her way up Broadway, the immensity of loss churning in her belly, feeling like the world was tilted.

  But then she’d think about her dream about the rope ladder. She’d see Stacy scaling the rope ladder; she’d see herself falling. She wasn’t sure what it meant, if it meant anything at all. But she sure slept a lot better not having that dream anymore.

  Life was easier not having the bad thought, too. Sometimes Penelope even let herself have a new thought: that she and Stacy might match again someday, that it was just a matter of time.

  And, so, Stacy got closer to Vicki and, to Pia’s dismay, to Annabella. Not long after Stacy met Ben, Annabella found a boyfriend, too, a new kid she met in her F. L. class. With their first kiss came the collapse of The Pledge and the No Newks crusade. Dr. Alvin’s threats became moot, The No Newks Newksletter ceased publication, and No Newkers traded their NO NEWKS T-shirts for college ones like the upperclassmen wore.

  It was over, despite Pia Smith’s desperate attempts to rally the troops, despite everything. Annabella had broken her own rules — or maybe it was more like the rules were changing. Or maybe that was just growing up.

  “Duck!”

  Penelope’s kneecaps smacked the concrete. “Ow!” she managed to yelp before Cass’s hand clamped her mouth shut.

  “I on’t chee zem? Dew ewe chee zem?” mumbled Penelope from behind Cass’s hand.

  “No, I don’t see them,” answered Cass, removing her hand and wiping her palm against the leg of her jeans. “Yuck! How many teeth did the dentist pull? I think I touched your gums.”

  “If you don’t see them, why’d you tell me to duck?”

  “It was a test. I was testing your reflexes.”

  “Yeah, well, I think you broke them,” scowled Penelope; she massaged her throbbing kneecaps.

  “At least we know we’re in the right place.” Cass pointed to the folding chairs arranged in neat rows along the sandbox.

  Penelope and Cass hadn’t been invited to the launch party for the East Village Community Playground, but that hadn’t stopped them from attending. In fact, they’d walked seventeen blocks and taken two buses and one cab to get there.

  The playground had been designed by artists represented by Fred Something with funding from Mrs. Schwartzbaum’s bank. “Boy, are these kids lucky!” Penelope’s mother had exclaimed that morning. “Do you think they know they’ll be sliding their little bottoms down an Yves de la Veaux? Climbing a Theo Buckley jungle gym?”

  Indeed, this was the charity function that Penelope’s mother had been “toiling on day in and day out.” She’d come home gleeful when a famous artist agreed to participate, disgruntled when a famous socialite declined to RSVP. She was hoping for a gigantic turnout — and also to get some coverage on the local news. “We’ll reel them in with famous folk,” she explained, “but this is really about the children.”

  Mrs. Schwartzbaum was so excited about the event, she was having her hair colored and her makeup professionally done — just in case she got on the news. And if she didn’t, “Well, what the heck! It’s not often you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor!”

  For Penelope and Cass, attending the party had an obvious appeal as well: They got to see Mrs. Schwartzbaum and Fred Something in action. Plus, Kip Harwood, the artist Cass had suspected of being the Upper West Side’s most notorious graffiti artist Moe, had painted a mural on the playground wall. It was covered with a white sheet, today would be the unveiling, and he would be there. So perhaps they’d finally get to see Moe!

  Penelope and Cass were scrunched behind the water fountain, peering out at the activity. A crowd was forming, but Penelope’s mother and Fred Something were yet to arrive. “I sure am glad Bea’s not married,” said Cass out of nowhere.

  “Why, so you don’t have to worry about her having an affair with someone?” asked Penelope, scanning the crowd.

  “Yeah, and just ’cause it’s dumb.”

  “What’s dumb?”

  “Marriage.”

  “Why?”

  “Weddings, women wearing white dresses, vows — I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “How can it not make sense to you? Everyone does it.”

  “So, everyone does Algebra, and it doesn’t make sense to you.”

  “Hey!” gulped Penelope, who didn’t need to be reminded of her mathematical shortcomings.

  “I know some people just think it comes naturally. Grow up, get old, get married. But I think it sounds dumb. Throw some big party just because people decide to live together? I want to live with Sylvia Hempel for the rest of my life. Did anyone throw a party for us?”

  “Your parents were married,” Penelope a
rgued. “You don’t think they’re dumb.”

  “Well, who knows?” said Cass. “If their car hadn’t crashed, they might be divorced by now.” Sometimes Cass Levin said very disturbing things.

  By the time Tillie joined them, a large crowd had formed. Small children from the neighborhood fidgeted in folding chairs, and artists with dyed blue hair, wearing paint-splattered T-shirts and neon pink sweatpants, mingled with bankers in wide suits and skinny ties.

  Fred Something had finally arrived. Penelope first spotted him standing alongside a man with braided hair in a banana-colored jumpsuit. They were in front of the white sheet covering the mural, doing an interview with Eyewitness News.

  “Do you think that’s Moe?” Cass asked.

  Penelope craned her neck to get a better look at the man in the yellow suit, but blocking her view was a frizzy head she actually recognized — it belonged to Shirley Commack, who was taking notes in one of her reporter notebooks.

  Stacy’s mom was here, but hers wasn’t? Where was Mrs. Schwartzbaum?

  “Maybe she had to go into the office,” offered Tillie.

  “Or maybe she’s just late,” suggested Cass. But just as the word “late” left Cass’s lips, a choral group launched into a song about “letting the children play,” and the charity event began. Four six-year-old kids read a poem about art. And Fred Something said some words about the merging of form and function.

  The grand finale was the unveiling of Kip Harwood’s mural. Kip Harwood was, in fact, the man in the yellow suit, and he seemed quite pleased with his picture, which featured one-eyed neon green aliens with shovels and buckets playing in a sandbox of magenta sand. The minute she saw it, Penelope knew there was no way he could be Moe. Moe wouldn’t paint kids as aliens. He’d make a much better statement than that.

  After the unveiling, the little kids broke in the new playground, and artists and bankers sipped red wine. Penelope watched Shirley Commack scurry from artist to artist doing interviews. She seemed to like doing her job, and Penelope felt a flash of missing her.

  The crowd started to thin and Mrs. Schwartzbaum still hadn’t shown. Still, when Fred Something left, the girls decided to follow him.

  Penelope, Tillie, and Cass walked a careful ten steps behind Fred Something. He ambled west on Fourteenth Street, past stores advertising T-shirts for a dollar and jeans for five. On Seventh Avenue, he bought the New York Times at a newsstand, then ducked into a subway station.

  “I’ve never taken the subway alone!” gulped Tillie as they fought their way underground. Neither had Penelope or Cass.

  The subway was faster than the bus, that was for sure. The girls hovered around a silver pole, several seats away from Fred Something, who was reading the newspaper.

  “If he sees us, we’ll just say we’re coming from a field trip for school,” instructed Cass.

  “Where should we say we went?”

  “The zoo.”

  “The zoo’s uptown and east.”

  “A museum, then.”

  They were trying to think of a museum downtown, when Fred Something folded his paper and put it in the side pocket of his camel-colored blazer. He combed his hair with the fingers of his left hand, checked for lint on his lapel, and got off at the next stop. They followed him.

  In the middle of Seventy-second Street between Broadway and West End, Fred Something stopped so abruptly, the girls skidded in their sneakers to stop short. Penelope collided with Cass, who slid into Tillie, who was so nervous about getting caught, she froze in a position that reminded Penelope of the mime with the white-painted face who performed on the corner of Fifty-ninth Street and Central Park South.

  “This isn’t freeze-tag, Tillie!” Cass said, and laughed, collecting herself. Except none of them could move as they watched Fred Something give his blazer one more brush with his hands and walk down the steps of a tiny restaurant called the All State Café. Music from a jukebox blasted onto the street when he opened the door. This did not look like a place Mrs. Schwartzbaum would go!

  The girls ducked into a deli next door. “I don’t think we can go in there,” said Cass. “It looks very small. He’ll see us for sure.”

  “Yeah,” said Tillie. “And I think we’d stand out. It doesn’t look like there’d be anyone our age in there.”

  They weren’t sure what to do next. Then, through the deli’s glass doors, Penelope spied a familiar figure strolling diagonally across Seventy-second Street.

  It was Jenny.

  Jenny’s blond hair, particularly sleek this evening, looked like velvet theater curtains opening and closing around her face as she walked. She wore a fuzzy yellow sweater over white Levi’s and pink clogs.

  “Where’s she going?” asked Cass.

  Penelope exited the deli and called out to Jenny, but the honk of a bus obscured her voice and before Penelope could yell again, Jenny disappeared — down the stairs and into the All State Café.

  The All State Café!

  Where Fred Something was!

  Well, this was sure going to be something, thought Penelope. If Jenny saw Fred Something and her mother dining together at the All State Café, what would she say? She was probably meeting the girls from her dorm, and wouldn’t that be weird to see Fred Something and Mrs. Schwartzbaum! Would she figure it out?

  They bided their time in the deli, but Cass said just being around food — it was almost dinnertime now — was making her hungry. They moved on to the stationery store, where they took turns being the lookout person.

  There were many close calls.

  “I think that’s her!”

  “Ooops, sorry, that just looks like her.”

  “Here she comes!”

  “Sorry. My mistake.”

  “Penelope, isn’t that your mom?”

  “Oh, gosh, sorry, that’s a man.”

  “There! There!”

  “Sorry. I’m so hungry, I’m hallucinating.”

  A half hour into their second stakeout of the day, and Mrs. Schwartzbaum hadn’t shown — again. Cass decided it was time to make a move. Maybe they’d missed Penelope’s mother. Maybe she’d already been in the All State Café when Fred Something got there. She decided that Tillie — having met neither Fred Something nor Jenny — should scope it out.

  Tillie wasn’t crazy about this idea, but Cass said there were no other options. “C’mon, it’s this or failure.” She gave Tillie explicit instructions: “It’s a three-step process. Number one. Ask to use the bathroom. Number two. Pay close attention to the person Fred Something’s with. Number three. Leave. Think you can handle it?”

  “But what if they don’t let me use the bathroom?” Tillie asked nervously. Out of habit, she reached to pull at a clump of hair, caught herself, and jammed her hands in her jeans’ pocket instead.

  “Improvise!” commanded Cass, who must have been very hungry. She wasn’t a very violent person, but she practically shoved Tillie down the stairs.

  “He’s with her!” yelped Tillie when, five long minutes later, she emerged from the All State Café. She flailed her arms. “He’s with her!”

  “Who’s her?” begged Cass. “Why are you jumping? Who? Penelope’s mom?”

  “No,” Tillie cried excitedly, shaking her head wildly. “With the girl walking across the street! The blond one!”

  “Fred Something is with Jenny?” gasped Cass.

  “Jenny’s with Fred Something?” gasped Penelope.

  Tillie nodded.

  “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Ah-hah.”

  They went on like this for a while.

  “And get this?” shouted Tillie, clearly pleased to be playing such a crucial role in the escapade. “They were kissing! Kiss-ing! A kiss kiss! On the lips and everything!” Tillie sang. “That happened before I went to the bathroom. And then, when I came back, they were holding hands!”

  “I’m going
to faint!” whooped Cass, looking not at all like someone who was going to faint.

  “Me, too!” shrieked Penelope, who was actually feeling a bit woozy.

  “It was really gross,” said Tillie.

  “What? The kiss? The kiss was gross?” Cass and Penelope looked on at their friend in horror. They could only imagine what was involved with a gross kiss. Spit? Tongues?

  “No, the bathroom,” Tillie said, and laughed. “The kiss looked” — she paused thoughtfully — “the kiss looked nice.”

  Once Cass and Penelope were convinced that the kiss was a couples-kind-of-kiss, that Jenny and Fred were on a date, and that the “age-inappropriate paramour” Bea had heard about was NOT Mrs. Schwartzbaum but Jenny — Jenny! Jenny!— they linked their arms to create a chain and spun in circles.

  Out of their mouths came brassy hoots and gleeful snorts. They laughed until their voices cracked and their bodies trembled. The stationery store owner accused them of being public nuisances, and an old man in a Yankees windbreaker thwacked Penelope in the shin with his umbrella.

  The sky was a dark shade of lavender, and they hadn’t even noticed it was raining out. They sprinted to the Utopia Coffee Shop, where they ordered grilled cheese sandwiches on rye, onion rings to share, and three Cokes.

  After dinner, Cass and Tillie decided to walk Penelope home, then share a cab across town. It was drizzling now, and Penelope and Cass crossed Broadway holding a plastic bag over their heads. Tillie said she liked the way the rain felt on her short haircut, which sprouted from her head in tiny wet spikes.

  West End Avenue looked bigger when it was dark and windy out; yet, tonight, it still managed to make Penelope feel snug. On Seventy-seventh Street, they hit a red light. Waiting at the curb, the rain falling harder now, Penelope turned her gaze down the block toward Riverside Park.

  The street was empty except for a solitary shadowy figure standing in front of a red brownstone; he appeared to be a hunched man poking at the sidewalk with a stick. At first Penelope thought the stick was a metal detector, but then a car stopped, and for a brief moment the yellow headlights illuminated the street, and Penelope realized the stick wasn’t a metal detector but a cane, and the man, small and soggy in his plastic rain poncho, wasn’t poking at the sidewalk, he was writing.