Quite an Undertaking: Devon's Story

by Barbara L. Clanton

  I OPENED THE door to the cafeteria courtyard, but shut it fast when a gust of cold air made me shiver. We’d probably have to eat inside from now on until the earth thawed out again in April, so I claimed a table inside.

  I bit into my turkey sandwich while I kept an eye out for Gail and Travis. I stood up and waved my arms when they walked into the cafeteria holding hands. Gail waved back when she saw me. Travis headed to the food line while Gail made her way to me with her brown bag lunch.

  “Too cold?” Gail gestured to the courtyard.

  “Yeah.” I pushed my backpack closer to the wall, so she could pull out the chair next to me.

  “Devon, your hair! I love it!”

  At first, I didn’t know what she was talking about, but then I remembered the auburn highlights. I reached up and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Missy helped me.”

  “Oh, Missy came home?”

  I tried not to let my heart react. Gail had forgotten that my grandma died eight days ago.

  “Oh, God. Devon,” she put her hand on my forearm, “I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean...”

  I watched her face turn scarlet. “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay, but I’m sorry.”

  And she was sorry. I knew it. I felt the familiar knotting of my stomach again. No, I thought to myself, there will be no more crying in public. At home in my room, that’s where any and all crying would happen.

  I sighed and unwrapped my sandwich. Gail sighed, too when she opened yet another peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I pushed half of my sandwich toward her. “Halvsies?”

  The smile on her face told me she knew she was forgiven. “Yeah, thanks.” She picked up the half sandwich and took a bite.

  She slid half her PB and J over. I gulped down a sugary peacemaking bite and then took a long drink from my water bottle.

  When Travis showed up at the table, Gail grabbed his arm, relief clearly showing on her face.

  I looked away from them and scanned the cafeteria for Rebecca. The black kids usually sat together on the same side we were, but closer to the front doors about four tables away. I saw Jessie first. Well, the back of Jessie, that is. Her solid frame and dark braids were hard to miss. She stood up and looked my way for an excruciatingly long time before heading toward the food line. It was as if she knew that I was looking at her. I shook off my paranoia and looked at Rebecca. Now that Jessie was gone, I had a clear view of her. The noisy cafeteria held no distractions for me as I drank in her smile, her high cheekbones, her soft eyes, her dancer’s grace. Her hair fell in wisps in front of her shoulders. She usually wore her hair tied back, but seeing her hair down made my insides twist around in a tickly sort of way.

  Rebecca must have felt my eyes on her because she turned from her conversation and caught my gaze. I had a quick moment of panic because I felt like a peeping Tom, peeping Mary, whatever, but, thank goodness, her smile never wavered. I automatically smiled back hoping she couldn’t see my face turning red across the lunch tables. She gestured to her hair, and that confused me for a second until she mouthed the words, “I like it.” The highlights. She had noticed.

  “Thanks,” I mouthed back.

  We continued to smile at each other across the tables until Jessie came back. Rebecca didn’t look my way again, and it felt like somebody had turned the lights out.

  “Hey,” Gail said, “what happened with Mrs. Gibson this morning?”

  Her voice startled me back to my own table. I hoped she hadn’t seen me smiling at Rebecca, but why should that bother her? Rebecca was just another kid at school. Except for the fact that I melted down completely whenever I looked at her.

  I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t tossed off the paper, if that’s why you’re asking.” I grinned wide.

  “Excellent, excellent. So what did happen?”

  “She promoted me to girls’ sports editor.”

  “Get out!” Gail dropped her sandwich on her lunch bag and whirled to face me. “That’s awesome.” She leaned over and hugged me. I hugged her back, but hoped Rebecca wasn’t watching. I didn’t want her to think that Gail was my girlfriend or anything. I almost laughed out loud. The chance that Rebecca was family, a member of the church, a card-carrying gay girl was microscopic. I shook my head to get out the cobwebs.

  “Um, Devon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What do you know about sports?”

  I laughed. “Not a thing.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Except I sometimes watch tennis on TV,” I offered.

  “Oh, that makes you qualified, I’m sure.” Gail rolled her eyes and turned to Travis. “Can you believe that? Sports editor?”

  Travis smiled. “That’s cool. When do you start?”

  “Tomorrow, I guess. I have to tell Mrs. Gibson tomorrow morning that I’m going to do it.”

  Travis asked me why Mrs. Gibson promoted me in the middle of the year, so I told them about Melissa Cox moving and how Mike Reynolds offered to help me get started.

  “You should ask him out,” Gail blurted.

  I almost choked on my sandwich “What?”

  “Mike Reynolds. You should ask him out. He’s cute, and he’s so nice. I have English with him.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her in disbelief, but she just shrugged. “You need to be in a relationship. It’s about time you had somebody.”

  I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, except, Yeah, and she’s sitting about four tables that way.

  THE LESSON ON conjugating the subjunctive was apparently finished for the class period because Madame Depardieu put the dry erase marker onto the white board tray and walked to her desk. When she picked up a stack of papers, I groaned. Worksheets. I hated worksheets.

  Mme Depardieu was a short stout woman with long black hair sprinkled with gray. She tied her hair back every day, but by the time eighth period rolled around, loose sprigs sprang everywhere. I saw her once at the beginning of the school day and almost didn’t recognize her because her hair was so neat and tidy.

  “Votre attention, s'il vous plaît.” Mme Depardieu started counting out enough papers for each row. “Please get zis pehrmission slip signed right away. Euh, we are going to zee power dam on zeh St. Lawrence River zeh day before Zhanksgiving vacation.”

  I sighed in relief. They weren’t worksheets.

  Rebecca sat in the front row of the classroom while I sat in the back. She took the stack of permission slips from Mme Depardieu and turned all the way around in her seat to pass them to the girl behind her. I didn’t want to seem stalkerish, so I kept my gaze on Mme Depardieu, but I smirked in triumph when Rebecca looked my way. At least I think she looked my way. It might have been wishful thinking, but I couldn’t help the perma-grin creeping onto my face. My grin screamed so loudly that I barely heard Mme Depardieu gushing about her favorite Frenchmen Jacques Cartier and André Masséna.

  Mme Depardieu called for our attention again. “Please get zee, euh, pahrent signature right away.” Her Québec accent was thick, but at this point, I pretty much understood everything she said in English. “You’ll miss pehriods one through four, and, euh, we’ll be back sometime during pehriod five. You should bring your lunch wiz you in case we get back late.” This elicited a few groans from my classmates, but as long as Gail’s brother didn’t make my lunch I’d be okay.

  I wondered slyly if I could get my mom or dad to write me a note excusing me from the trip, so I could work on the newspaper instead. I had a feeling girls’ sports at Grasse River High School were going to take over my life. As soon as the thought came, though, I almost smacked myself in the head. Rebecca would be on the field trip, so forget it. A field trip with Rebecca was way better than editing copy.

  I tucked the permission slip into my assignment book and wrote in the little Monday square allocated for French, “Get Permission Slip Signed Tonight!!!!” I put four exclamation points and a little smiley face in the square.

  With
only a couple of minutes left to the period, Mme Depardieu let us pack up and walk around the classroom. We weren’t allowed to leave until the bell rang, so I put my assignment book in my backpack and dared to look toward Rebecca. She zipped up her own backpack, stood up, and headed right for me. I found myself leaning back in my chair almost trying to get away.

  Rebecca smiled when she reached me. “Your hair looks great, Devon. It brings out your pretty brown eyes.”

  I gulped, but hoped she hadn’t seen. I knew my cheeks were turning red because my face got hot all of a sudden. “Thanks, my sister did it for me.”

  “Oh, I saw your sister at the...”

  She didn’t finish her sentence, but I knew she was going to say “funeral.” I nodded and then dropped my head. “Yeah...” I wanted to say something more, but I got that choked up feeling again.

  She sat in the empty seat next to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re okay, Devon. Just breathe, okay?”

  I almost melted at the compassion in her eyes. My pulse raced so fast I thought I would pass out. Rebecca Washington’s hand was on my shoulder—I almost couldn’t deal, but I took a deep breath and nodded to her that I was okay.

  The bell was going to ring in a matter of seconds, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and I desperately didn’t want to leave our conversation hanging on my grandmother’s funeral.

  Her look of sympathy when she said, “Are you okay?” almost tipped me over.

  I took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m doing a lot of breathing these days.”

  She laughed. My heart melted inside my chest. I had just made Rebecca laugh.

  She said, “It works, doesn’t it?” She took her hand off my shoulder, and the spot felt distractingly cold.

  Without much thought I blurted, “I’m the new girls’ sports editor for the Gazette.” Okay, it wasn’t a smooth transition, but at least my brain had come up with something to say.

  “Wow! Congratulations. You could use a distraction about now, couldn’t you?” I nodded. What she didn’t know, and what no one else knew either, was that she was becoming my main distraction.

  “You know, Devon, I’m good friends with Jessie Crowler. She’s the captain of the basketball team, and I could ask her to talk to you if you want. I don’t know, like an interview or something?”

  “Absolutely. That would be great. I have to set up a winter sports preview for basketball, so that’d be cool.”

  “Okay. I’ll ask her.” She patted my shoulder again.

  When the bell rang, she stood up and headed back up the aisle. I watched Rebecca’s back as she left the classroom. She moved so gracefully. She opened the classroom door, and I was surprised to see Jessie leaning against the wall waiting for her. They started to walk off together, but then Jessie turned her head and sneered at me. My fists clenched. For a second, I couldn’t place the reason for my instant anger until I realized what it was. Jealousy. And I had it bad.

  Chapter Four

  Frenglish

  BY THURSDAY MORNING, I felt like I’d been the girls’ sports editor for two weeks instead of two days. My training with Melissa Cox after school on Tuesday and again on Wednesday had been rapid and intense. She had only been the sports editor for two months, but she showed me so much in those two afternoons that I knew I could do the job. Of course, I could always call Missy for advice. She was connected to her cell phone. I also had Mike, four computers away. In fact, I already had a question for him. I just hoped he didn’t take my attention the wrong way.

  I scooted my chair toward him.

  “Hang on.” He put one finger in the air and finished typing a sentence about the wrestling team. “Okay, what’s up?” He looked at me as if my question was the most important thing in the world to him at that moment. That, of course, made me feel like a jerk for not liking him as more than a friend.

  I cleared my throat. “I emailed all the girls’ sports reporters about their fall wrap-ups. So that’s done. Do you think I should go to the fall sports banquet on the Monday before Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes, yes, yes. Mrs. Gibson told me that the reporters are usually on the team, like I’m the boys’ cross-country reporter. She said the reporters tend to get caught up with the dinner and forget details like what place they came in, or who made the all-county team.”

  “Pretty major.” “No kidding. So, yeah, you should go. The boys’ banquet is the next night, and I’ll be going to that.” “Cool. You know I’ll have more questions, don’t you?” “Anytime. I’m glad to help.” As I scooted back to my station, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he continued to watch me. I pretended not to notice and made a mental note to try to get answers from other people, even if I had to ask Mrs. Gibson, because I didn’t want to give him false hope. I pulled out my assignment book. In the Thursday square under Journalism I wrote, “Go to Gym Today. Sign up for Girls Banquet.” I’d probably go to the P.E. office right after school.

  Mrs. Gibson began her daily patrol, so I jammed my assignment book in my backpack and clicked open the girls’ sports folder. The varsity and junior varsity wrap-ups for four sports—cheerleading, volleyball, cross-country, and soccer— were complete. The junior varsity golf article was finished, but the varsity article was on hold because the team had to make up a match against Tupper Lake on Saturday. Joey Pitone, the golf reporter, promised to get the article in the folder on Monday. I had plenty of articles to read over the weekend, so I told him that Monday would be soon enough. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to get all mean and bossy if his article was late.

  Mrs. Gibson hovered behind me. “Devon, are the editor passwords working?”

  “Yes, thank you. I only need two more articles. Varsity golf and varsity field hockey.”

  “Oh, field hockey,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “That team is never done by the deadline. I assume they made the playoffs again?”

  “Yes, the playoffs start next week.” The field hockey team probably had as many trophies down in the gym as Mrs. Gibson had journalism trophies in her classroom. Mrs. Gibson even had trophies dating as far back as 1980.

  “Well, if they’re not done by press time you’ll have to finish the article with an editor’s note.”

  I felt powerful all of a sudden. “What should it say?”

  “Oh, something along the lines of ‘The field hockey team had not completed its season by press time.’”

  I hoped the team’s season would be done, though, not that I wanted them to lose in the playoffs or anything, but I wanted my first issue to be complete.

  “Oh, and Melissa Cox said you caught on rather quickly.”

  I nodded. “She showed me everything. I didn’t realize how much an editor did.”

  “A lot of hard work goes into putting out a newspaper, Devon. It’s not all glamour and glitz.”

  Glamour and glitz? I held back a smile. “I’m learning that.”

  I turned back to my computer, and Mrs. Gibson continued her patrolling.

  I had only been editor for two days, but I wanted my first issue as sports editor to be perfect. I guess I caught that disease from Missy. When she was editor, she always stayed up late working on the computer in our room. I used to complain about it, but eventually I just turned toward the wall and put a pillow over my head, so I could sleep. Now it would be me at the computer late at night.

  In our session on Wednesday afternoon, Melissa suggested I highlight the girls’ basketball team for the winter sports preview because they were supposed to go all the way to the state tournament. Of course, thinking about the basketball team made me think about Rebecca which, unfortunately, made me think about how stupidly jealous I had gotten over Jessie on Monday. They were probably friends like me and Gail. No big deal, right? I had to be careful because I didn’t want to scare Rebecca off by being frosty to her friends, even though Jessie, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to like me very much. I think Rebecca liked me though. Maybe not in that way, but at least she smi
led at me and asked me if I was okay. Later on in French class, I wasn’t sure how I’d answer if she asked me how I was because we buried my grandmother exactly one week before.

  Wallowing in the one-week anniversary of my grandmother’s burial would have to wait. I had articles to edit. I clicked open the varsity volleyball article and started reading. After two paragraphs of run-on sentences, misspelled words, missing commas, and dangling prepositions I sighed and realized editing might be tougher than I thought. The reporters had to fix their own text, but it was my job to find a way to help them do that. Somehow, I’d have to find a subtle way to convey the finer points of grammar to the girl who had written the article. I was glad for the distraction.

  IT TOOK ABOUT a year, but my eighth period French class finally arrived. When Rebecca walked in the classroom, she hesitated by her desk, but then kept walking. She stood beside the open desk next to me. “Is this seat taken?”

  “Be my guest.” I put my hand out in welcome as my permagrin sprang up instantly. What had started out as kind of a sad Thursday got way better when Mme Depardieu announced a partnered exercise.

  “Partners?” Rebecca asked me.

  “Oui!” I said with way too much enthusiasm and flung my desk next to hers. I looked back at the girl I usually worked with, but she seemed okay with my sudden defection. In fact, she moved her desk next to the boy she liked. I laughed. Maybe changing partners would work out for both of us. In my dreams, I thought.

  Mme Depardieu wanted us to interview each other in French and then write down the responses. For homework we were supposed to write an essay, in French of course, about our partner.

  Rebecca asked me the first question on the worksheet. “Quel pays aimerais-tu visiter le plus et pourquoi?”

  What country would I want to visit? Her soft brown eyes waited for my answer as her pen hovered over her paper. How could I think with her staring at me? I guess I was supposed to answer France or something, but I said, “England. Wales, I mean.”