Be the Girl: a Novel

by Tucker, K. A.

  This is going to be a long semester.

  25

  “Grab that end, will ya?” Uncle Merv juts his wobbly skinned jaw toward the burlap, flapping in the cool breeze. “Shoulda done this weeks ago.” He guides the winter wrap around Aunt Connie’s prized rosebush to help protect it from the coming snow.

  I don’t have the heart to tell him that I’m afraid Murphy has killed it, if it had any hope of survival to begin with, and so I bite my tongue and quietly help feed the cloth.

  “Hi, Uncle Merv! Hi, AJ!” Cassie shouts. She’s about to climb into Heather’s car.

  Uncle Merv pauses in his task to offer her a smile and a wave, something he always has for her, no matter what mood he’s in.

  Heather waves back, and then ducks into her car quickly. She has cooled toward me, though she’s cordial enough. But I sense her watchful eye through the curtains when Cassie and I are walking up the sidewalk after school, and when she drives us to the animal shelter for our volunteer hour.

  I know what she’s searching for—any reason why she shouldn’t trust me around her daughter.

  I can’t blame her.

  All I can do is prove her wrong.

  “That girl could talk an ear off a goat.” Uncle Merv chuckles and hands me the staple gun “You know how to use one of these?”

  “I think I can figure it out.”

  “Just aim and point. Down there. Not at me.”

  I hide my eye roll and begin punching staples through the burlap to secure it.

  “Yeah … I still remember this boy named Buckey O’Donnell, back when I was in school. Gosh, that would have been”—he scratches his forehead—“sixty-five, almost seventy years ago. He was a strange kid. A giant. Six feet by the time he was twelve, could barely read, couldn’t add pennies to make four cents for the longest time. But he was a gentle giant. Everyone had a good time pokin’ fun at that kid, myself included. Even the teachers told him he was stupid.”

  I cringe. “That’s horrible.” Suddenly Ms. Forester doesn’t sound so bad.

  “People didn’t understand ‘different’ back then. And Buckey, he was different.” Uncle Merv tugs on a corner of the burlap and then points to where he wants me to secure it.

  “What happened to him?”

  “Don’t know. But of all the people I’ve met in my life, Buckey O’Donnell is a name that sits heavy on my soul ever since Cassie came along. She’s made me regret how I treated him. Not that she’s like he was but, you know, she’s different, too.” His jowls lift with his smile. “She has a way of lighting up a room just by walking into it. I pity the person who doesn’t see it.”

  “Yeah, I know. I see it.” I can’t help the tone of accusation. Why is he saying this? And why is Uncle Merv telling me stories about Buckey O’Donnell?

  Cloudy eyes turn to me. “I know you do. Which is why I know you’re going to be okay, Aria.” He hobbles around to inspect my stapling job. “Now it’s your job to help other people see it.”

  “How?”

  “Probably by setting a good example and not breaking a girl’s nose,” he mutters, heading up the porch steps.

  * * *

  “Next is”—my heart pounds as McNair shifts her reading glasses to scan her list—“Aria and Emmett. Their topic is bullying.” She gives me a small nod. I’m sure she’s heard my story. Or at least one version of it. Who knows how many versions are floating around within these walls by now, weeks after Holly’s vengeful stunt put me under the school’s microscope.

  Someone in the class coughs as I stand, and I catch the muffled “ironic” beneath it.

  I ignore that taunt, much as I’ve ignored all the comments and looks I’ve caught in the hallways over the last few weeks, and make my way to the front of the class, suddenly lightheaded.

  Emmett unfolds from his seat on the opposite side of the class, where he has taken to sitting since we broke up, and that now-constant ache in my chest swells. I feel it every time I think about him, every time I see him. I’ve tried my best to keep my head high, to smile at Cassie like nothing’s wrong on our morning rides, to hide my flinches whenever she mentions his name.

  Thank God he hasn’t started dating anyone yet. The day I see him with his arms around another girl will be the day that finally breaks me.

  Aside from a body shifting in a chair and a few low whispers, there isn’t a sound in the room as we meet at the front of the class. Everyone knows what happened between us.

  He peers down at me with those dark-brown eyes that I could stare into for hours. “You have the file, right?” he asks, for the second time since we left his driveway. Aside from our morning rides into school, we don’t talk anymore.

  We might as well be strangers.

  A reality that hurts more, not less, with each passing day, as my regret bubbles every time I see him, every time my fingers itch to reach for him.

  I hold the flash drive up by way of answer and then plug it in to the port, my stomach churning with nerves. I pull up the presentation I consolidated last night, after he emailed me his five slides.

  Emmett turns to face the class. He takes a deep breath and rubs his hands down the sides of his jeans, and then says, “We’re here to talk about causes and effects of bullying on today’s teenagers. I’m gonna cover the first five slides, and then Aria will jump in to do hers.”

  He begins to speak, and his words and voice pull me back to those days in his bedroom, sprawled out on the floor, planning this very presentation that I dreaded—that he had no idea I was dreading because he didn’t know me. He didn’t know the girl I used to be.

  I only let him know the one I’ve been so desperate to become.

  “In this day and age, cyberbullying has become one of the most prevalent avenues for spreading gossip. Social media platforms like Instagram and Twitter and text-messaging apps allow people to target their victims from behind a screen, sometimes anonymously.”

  My eye catches Holly’s at the same time that hers shift to mine.

  She has the decency to avert her gaze to her desk.

  If there is any good that came from the war between us, it’s that Holly can’t hide her vicious mean streak behind a sweet voice and fluttering lashes anymore. People know better now. She earned herself two days’ suspension for the prom-date joke and was kicked off the cross-country team, too. Add that punishment to losing Emmett and my banged-up knee for her broken nose, and we’re about even, I guess.

  I still wonder, though, what made Holly the way she is. With Julia, it wasn’t too hard to connect the dots afterward. But Holly’s smart and beautiful, and I heard she has two parents who love her. I asked Dr. Z what she thought. The tall, willowy blonde therapist didn’t have an answer for me, other than to say that having intelligence and beauty doesn’t equate to having tolerance and empathy.

  I’ve thought about that a lot since. I’ve wondered if the old Aria and her friends had had more tolerance and empathy to begin with, would she have made different choices, too?

  “Okay, AJ’s up next.”

  I take a deep breath and flip to the first of my slides.

  Surprise flashes in Emmett’s eyes and then he frowns at me in a “What are you doing?” way. A low murmur buzzes around the classroom.

  I clear my throat. Aside from conversations with Dr. C., I’ve never actually talked about this out loud. I sure as hell have never stood in front of a classroom and divulged my deepest, darkest secrets, from beginning to end. “I’m going to talk about what happened to a fourteen-year-old girl named Julia Morrow, and how it could’ve been stopped.” I make a point of meeting Holly’s blue eyes, which are filled with a mix of wariness and curiosity.

  “Before I became Aria Jones, I was Aria Wiser.” I take a deep breath. “And somewhere along the line, Aria Wiser became a bully without even realizing it.”

  * * *

  Uncle Merv’s snore is a deep, rhythmic rumble carrying through the quiet house when I come down at eight that night in my ru
nning gear.

  My mom is stretched out on the couch with her law textbooks. Murphy, lying next to her slippers on the floor, merely lifts an eyelid.

  “How can you study listening to that?”

  “It’s oddly soothing,” she says, pulling the curtain back with a frown. “It’s snowing, Aria.”

  “I know, but I just … need to run.” To clear my head. I haven’t been motivated to drag myself out of bed in the mornings lately. It’s cold and dark and going to Miller’s Park without Emmett is too painful. But, come the quiet evenings, I find the urge to get out, to snake along the side streets, getting familiar with this town that has become my home, keeping myself busy. Last night I ran almost ten kilometers.

  She nods slowly. “By the way, Ms. McNair phoned me earlier today, about your presentation.”

  “Did she say if she was going to knock marks for going over time?” The rules were specific and I went over by at least five minutes. I don’t want Emmett punished for that.

  Mom’s lips curve into a tiny, amused smile. “No, she didn’t mention anything about that. Actually, she said it was the most impactful presentation a student has ever given in her class. She said even the boy who can’t keep awake through first period was listening.”

  I study my shoes. Probably because I nearly cried.

  “She thought you were incredibly brave for standing up there like that, and she asked me if I could convince you to give the presentation again at the bullying awareness assembly on Thursday.”

  “In front of the whole school?” A wave of nausea floods me.

  “I told her I’d mention it to you, but that it was your choice.” Mom’s shrewd gaze studies me a moment. “But I think you should do it, even if it’s terrifying. I think you need to do it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Maybe she’s right. Walking back to my desk after giving my presentation, I felt lighter than when I’d stood up at the beginning. Perhaps each time I tell my cautionary tale to someone else—the real, ugly version—I’ll find just a bit more peace in the process, knowing that it could help the Julias and the Cassies, and even the Buckey O’Donnells of the world.

  “Be careful. It’s slippery out there,” my mom warns. “Take a hat. And stay on the sidewalk.”

  I make a point of pulling my knit toque on in front of her. Time is slowly repairing the damage I did to our relationship, but it’s going to be a long time before Mom trusts me again. At least she gave me back my phone.

  I shudder against the cold air, taking a few moments to admire the falling snow as I stretch my hamstrings on our front lawn. The flakes are fat and light, clinging to the bushes and trees, coating the ground in a thin white blanket. If this keeps up, everything will be white by morning.

  I steal a glance next door as I always do every time I step out of our house. The porch lights are on and all three cars are in the driveway. The light in Emmett’s room that overlooks the street glows bright. A pang stirs in my chest as I picture Emmett sprawled on his bed with his textbook. I quickly push it aside, tuck my earbuds in, and take off at a slow pace down the sidewalk. Those fond thoughts will only weigh me down with regret.

  Is it normal for a sixteen-year-old to carry this much regret in her short life already?

  I turn right at the end of our street and head toward Mower’s street, admiring the houses already decorated for Christmas. It’s almost December, so I guess it’s time. Mom mentioned Mick offering to help us string lights this coming weekend.

  They’ve been having a lot of “It’s just pasta” dinners lately. Last weekend she tried to sneak back in at 5 a.m. after a date night. I think they’re having more than “just pasta” now.

  My lungs are burning with the cold by the time I’ve lapped the neighborhood, and the next one over, and am heading back. The snow is falling heavier now, and I slow my pace a touch to avoid slipping, but also to admire the beautiful, quiet white night. It reminds me of a snow globe, with a single set of headlights easing along the street, a canopy of trees, and a lone figure in the distance.

  As I keep going, I realize it’s another jogger, and they’re heading my way. Not long after that, I recognize the tight form and the fitted white-and-blue toque hugging his head.

  Dread builds as Emmett gets closer. Will he at least say hi on his way past? Will he do more than give me a fleeting glance? Is he wishing he turned right instead of left back there?

  My eyes sting with those thoughts and, as much as I try to keep my tears from spilling, by the time the distance between us has closed, fat, hot tears streak down my frozen cheeks.

  Emmett doesn’t run past me with a hi or a glance. He comes to a stop in front of me and, without saying a word, pulls me into his body, his strong arms wrapping around my back like a cocoon.

  I sink into his warmth as the first sob rattles my chest. The soft thrum of music pulses through my earbuds, and regret for all my bad decisions overwhelms my heart.

  The front of his down jacket is smeared with frozen tears by the time I finally break free, wiping at my cheeks and thoroughly embarrassed for breaking down on him in the middle of the quiet street.

  He gently slips one bud from my ear and holds it up to his for a moment. “Well, no wonder. That’s depressing music.”

  I laugh, and even though it’s weak, it feels good to laugh with Emmett again. “So, you run at night now, too?”

  “No.” He offers me a dimpled smile. “Your mom said you were out here.”

  He came out here for me?

  I finally gather the courage to hold his gaze. His eyes are shining brighter than they have when they’ve touched me lately.

  “I didn’t have a chance to talk to you after class today, seeing as you bolted out of there.”

  I smile sheepishly. “Yeah. I needed a few minutes on my own.” I hid in the bathroom stall and was five minutes late for math.

  “I … that took a lot of guts, what you did today.”

  “Can’t really pretend it didn’t happen anymore, right?” And being a better person doesn’t mean hiding from or lying about who I used to be.

  “So much of what you talked about is shit that happens in school every day, Aria. The gossip, the text messages, the comments. People do it all the time. Everyone does it. I’ve done it. Doesn’t make it okay but … I can see how it spiraled out of control like that.”

  I shrug. “I figured, if my story makes people stop and think about what their words could do to a person, then I should tell it, right?”

  “Right.” He nods slowly, his eyes roaming my face.

  “I miss you.” I don’t mean to say it aloud, but it slips out anyway.

  He offers me a sad smile. “I miss you, too, AJ.”

  But you screwed it all up.

  I study my snow-covered running shoes as another prickly lump forms in my throat, a fresh wave of tears threatening.

  “I don’t think you’re Aria Wiser anymore.”

  “And yet somehow I ended up at war with another girl, and it started over a boy, again.” I laugh, though it’s not at all funny. “So, who am I, really?”

  “Look at me.” His jaw tenses as his thumb catches the single tear that falls. “You’re the girl who charmed a crusty old carnival operator into giving my sister an extra try. You’re the girl who couldn’t leave an old, unwanted dog in the shelter so you brought him home without asking.” A sly smile touches his lips. “You’re the girl who will sit in the cafeteria with Jen Ricci no matter what’s she’s wearing.”

  “That green Grinch sweater yesterday almost broke me,” I admit sheepishly.

  He chuckles, and his thumb grazes my cheek again. “I like that girl. A lot.” He takes a deep breath. “So, do you think we could start over, from the very beginning?”

  My heart skips two beats. What’s he saying? “Do you mean, like ‘Hi, this is Aria with the green face who likes dogs and hates tomatoes’ start over?”

  His head tips back with his deep laughter.

  Epilogue
r />   “Aria! They’re all waiting outside!”

  I check myself one last time in the full-length mirror that Mick installed on the outside of the closet he built me, and then grab my clutch and my heels and head downstairs.

  Mom beams up at me from the landing, her eyes watering as they drag the length of the A-line, floor-length silver gown we bought in April, after Emmett asked me to prom.

  “You look beautiful, hon.”

  I can’t help but twirl the moment my toes touch the landing.

  “You sure you won’t be cold? Your back is awfully … bare.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She fusses with one of my shoulder straps. Everything about the dress is perfect—from the V neckline and the lace bodice to the satin material.

  A sad smile touches her lips. “When did my little girl grow up …”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll still do plenty of stupid, childish things.”

  She sighs with exasperation. “Come on. Heather’s waiting outside with her fancy camera.”

  A nervous flutter stirs in my stomach as I step out into the warm June evening. The stretch SUV limo we ordered is waiting in the cul-de-sac for our group of twelve—mostly Emmett’s hockey friends plus dates, but also Jen and Richard, who decided to go together as “friends”—currently milling on our front lawn. Heather tests the lighting of various angles with her camera.

  I see Emmett before he sees me, and it gives me a few seconds to admire him without shame—his masculine profile, his stylish hair, how his tailored charcoal suit hugs his form—before he turns.

  His lips part as his dark-brown eyes drift over my dress. I catch the hard swallow.

  I love the way he looks at me.

  Zach lets out a whistle. “Can’t believe you stole her from me, man.”

  “Shut up,” Emmett throws back, accentuating it with a playful shove.

  “Okay, kids, I think we’re ready!” Heather hollers, then frowns, searching behind her. “Where’s Cassie? She was just here!”