by S. L. Naeole
Is that what you want me to do?
I hesitated before shaking my head slightly, knowing that as imperceptible as it would have been to anyone else, he would see it. I couldn’t ask him to cheat for me. I had never cheated before. Add to that the fact that I had never asked Robert to use his abilities to help me in any way, and I wouldn’t start now.
The bell rang and my nerves started twitching. I knew that for better or worse I was going to have to go through with this, but that didn’t mean that my body was going to want to cooperate.
I saw Stacy walk into the classroom, my book bag still on her shoulder, and turned my face towards Robert’s to thank him and tell him that we’d talk in first period. He placed a soft hand against my cheek, and I pressed it into his palm, grateful for the way it calmed me and made me forget—even if for only a moment—what it was that was troubling me.
“Thank you,” I whispered. It was the only thing I could think of to say. There was a lot more that we needed to talk about, but at that moment I could only say those two words and be glad for their existence.
“No, thank you.” He bent down and kissed the top of my head. It was such a small gesture, mundane in so many ways, and yet…it was enough. I turned around and stepped-pulled-swung myself towards the desk that Stacy was keeping free for me. I ignored the blatant gawking that seemed to come from everyone, including a far from asleep Mr. Frey, and carefully slid into the seat next to Stacy who took the crutches out of my hand before I could protest.
“Why do you need these anyway? I swear you’d get around a lot faster without these sticks.” She leaned them up against her desk and pointed to my book bag by her feet. “Is it in there?”
I knew what it was, and nodded my head. “It isn’t going to win me any Nobel Peace Prizes, but I won’t be sued for libel either.”
Stacy grimaced at that. “I wouldn’t put it past her to try and do it anyway, or at least threaten you about it. She’s been talking about hers for the past two days and I have no doubt that she’s planning on making you into the school’s pariah. I hope that you’re ready for it.”
Ready for what? I had already lived through an emotional and physical nightmare. What else was there left for her to do? The thought of losing Graham again floated around for a bit, but flew away when I came to the decision that whatever his choices were, I had nothing to do with them anymore.
“I’ve already experienced the role of Pariah. She can’t do anything to me now that hasn’t already been done. I’m ready for this to be over with. I’m ready.” I knew that when I was handed my script and I took my place onstage, I’d know for sure if I were truly ready, but at that moment, there was nothing else that could be done, no preparations I could make, and no words to make me feel more confident. I was as ready as I’d ever be. My only question was whether or not the day would drag or fly by. It didn’t matter to me either way.
When the bell rang for first period it dawned on me that my entire conversation with Stacy had been the main focus of everyone else in the classroom. We were the only ones who stood up when the bell rang, and the first ones out of the door; everyone else was trying to quickly cover up the fact that they’d been eavesdropping with nonsensical chatter, very loud scraping of chairs across the floor, and books being slammed on top of each other.
Stacy found it to be highly amusing. I cringed at the thought of more people knowing about what was coming. With every step-pull-swing of my body, I drew closer to a pivotal moment in what was turning out to be one very interesting senior year in high school.
***
At exactly thirty minutes past one, I entered the auditorium that served as the classroom for sixth period theater. Robert had met me outside of English Lit, as he had with Biology, and carried my book bag while I did my best impersonation of a human pendulum.
As much as I knew he had wanted to talk with me about what had happened the night at the park, I couldn’t deal with that and focus on what was coming at the same time. We sat silent throughout French class because he wasn’t thrilled with not being able to talk about it. By the time Calculus was over, we’d come to an understanding that whatever there was to discuss would simply have to wait until the day was through and I had recovered, if necessary, from the damage that Erica’s soliloquy was going to inflict on me.
The auditorium looked very empty when we arrived, our class sitting near the stage area, and Mr. Danielson standing onstage having a very animated discussion with another teacher about something I couldn’t quite catch. Robert stiffened, which told me that he didn’t like what he had heard, but wouldn’t tell me what it was quite yet. I frowned, not liking the way his forehead creased up.
We sat down in the front row seats along with the rest of the class and waited for the bell to ring. I heard the door of the auditorium open up behind us, and tried to turn to see who it was, but Robert placed his hand on my chin and held my face immobile. The sound of dozens of feet stomping against the wood flooring of the auditorium caused my eyes to grow wide in my face, and my breathing to increase rapidly.
We had an audience, and from the sound of the buzzing coming from behind me, coupled with the nonstop rumble of feet, it was a large one. I kept trying to turn my face to see, my hands getting sweaty with panic, but Robert shook his head, his hand still holding my chin, his other hand gripping mine. You don’t need to see it to know it’s there. Focus on what you have to do. I’m here. It’s going to be fine.
I looked into his eyes, seeing my reflection in them and realizing that I was showing more in my face than I ever could with just my mind, and that everyone could see just how I was feeling. Including Erica, who walked past us just then, her face wearing the same smug smile I had denied myself earlier this morning.
It was that smile that finally snapped me back into focus. Robert knew it, too. He let go of my chin, but continued to watch me.
“I’ll be fine. I’m fine. I can do this.” I reached for my book bag, which he had placed by his feet, and unzipped it. I grabbed the blue folder that held my soliloquy for Erica and pulled it out. Sticking the folder between my teeth, I reached for my crutches and stood up.
Robert pulled the folder out of my mouth, smiling. “I don’t think she’ll appreciate you getting spit all over her dialogue.”
I shrugged my shoulders as I placed the cumbersome crutches underneath my arms and then snatched the folder out of Robert’s hand. “I don’t think that really matters right now, do you? She’s going to crucify me in front of all of these people, and she’s going to enjoy every second of it. The only thing I have on my side is the truth, and that won’t matter much to any of them.” I motioned to the people behind me with the folder in my hand.
Robert grabbed my elbow, his rock solid strength effectively stopping me from moving. “You’re wrong. You also have Stacy on your side. And Graham…” He motioned with his head at someone who was approaching us.
I hesitated to look, unsure if he’d grab my chin again to prevent me from seeing who it was that was headed directly for us. When I was positive that he wouldn’t stop me, I turned my head to see Graham, a determined expression on his face.
What is he doing? I looked at Robert again, panic flooding into me.
He wants to know what’s going on. He didn’t know that you and Erica were in the same class. Or that I was as well.
Oh dear bananas. The last thing I needed was a confrontation between Robert and Graham. And in front of what was starting to look like half of the student body, too.
Taking a few deep breaths, I turned my body completely around to face Graham. “What are you doing here?”
He looked at Robert’s hand on my elbow, and then back at me. “Erica told me that she had a thing today for her dramatics class. She didn’t tell me that you were in the same class with her. She didn’t tell me a lot about this class, actually,” he said, glancing back at Robert, his eyes mere slits.
I was sick. Whatever it was that Erica had planned for today was
going to hurt Graham, too, and she had meant for me to be the one to do it. I looked at Robert’s face and his eyes were cold steel, his mouth a grim line. Both confirmed my suspicions. My head started spinning, and I could see the little black and white dots twinkling in front of my eyes, like snow on the television set; the precursor to the dreaded faint. How utterly appropriate.
Take some deep breaths, Gee.
It wasn’t as though I wasn’t trying. I was taking the deepest, slowest breaths I could, but the cold sweat that broken out on my forehead has also spread to my palms. Robert helped me to sit back down, while Graham grabbed my crutches. Both seemed too intent on making sure I didn’t pass out to care about the other’s presence at the moment, which suited me just fine.
I…needed something. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but it was close. It was something that was so close, I could taste it. A warm hand still holding my elbow squeezed it gently, no iron grip needed to keep me from leaving anymore. He had said that I had Stacy and Graham on my side.
I looked at Graham and through the snowstorm of my vision, saw the concern on his face—and surprisingly, the hurt—and knew that Robert had been right. I thought back to Stacy’s face this morning, and how she had helped me so much this past week, and knew that he was right about that, too. But was that it?
“What about you? Do I have you on my side, too?” I asked, my voice shaky, my eyes still unable to focus well.
“Never doubt it for a second.”
And that was it. I had three people in my corner. Three more than I ever imagined I’d ever have.
Actually, you have one more.
I looked at Robert, confused. He pointed towards the back of the auditorium, where a bunch of girls were gathered, laughing and pointing at a group of guys sitting a few rows down. I didn’t have to look for long before I saw who he was pointing at. She was the only one not laughing, though her face was just as beautiful, just as perfect, and her eyes were just as sightless though I knew now how deceiving that blindness truly was.
“What is she doing here?” I kept staring at her, waiting for some sign of friendliness, anything.
“She goes to school here, too, Gee. She’s a sophomore.”
I snorted. A sophomore? She’s over five hundred years old; the least she could have been was a junior!
I turned to look at her again and knew she had heard me. Of course she had heard me. She knew what I was going to say before it even came out of my mouth.
Hate me? I looked at her.
She shook her head. Why would I hate you? I said the exact same thing. If I’m incapable of appreciating irony after five hundred years, I don’t deserve this inhuman existence.
I breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good. It felt really, really good actually, knowing that I had all of them supporting me, even if Graham was the only one who didn’t know what exactly was going on. It was enough.
Steady and sure, I stood up again, accepting my crutches from Graham, and my folder from Robert. I ignored the stares as I stepped-pulled-swung myself towards Erica. I ignored the whispers. I ignored everything except my destination.
She saw me approaching, her face full of amusement, and I decided to smile back. All the humor left her face at my unexpected reaction and that smug smile I had refused to place on my face this morning came back with a vengeance. “Here’s your soliloquy.” I handed her the blue folder, pleased that I had taken the route I did with it.
She looked at it as though it would infect her with something, but didn’t open it. She bent down to reach into her large tote bag and pulled out a manila folder that contained a few sheets of loose paper. “Here is yours. Remember, no peeking until we’re called up.”
I felt my smug smile dip a bit, but pulled the corners of my mouth back up before she could notice anything. I was going to get through this, one way or another, no matter what she had written for me to say. “You, too.”
I remained standing there while she walked away, the blue folder in her hand appearing to weigh her down. When Mr. Danielson announced that we were ready to begin, I found myself being ushered back into my seat by several sets of hands. I looked up to see both Robert and Chips, sans Dip and Salsa, standing by me. I made the assumption that they had been partnered together, and together, had worked to get me away from Erica as quickly as possible once our folders were exchanged.
The first pair up on stage happened to be Dip and Salsa, which explained their absence, and each took humorous jabs at their nicknames—Dip announcing that he was lactose intolerant to himself, and Salsa saying that no one really likes a chunky dunk—as well as making light of their prowess with the ladies, which neither had. It was easy to see why the trio truly got along so well and I couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of them for it.
Three more pairs went up before Robert and Chips had their turn. Robert lamented at how handsome he was, and how he’d fallen in love with himself, but still could do nothing but envy the utter awesomeness of a guy named Chips.
The giggles from the audience pleased Chips, whose grin would have been bright enough to forgo the use of the spotlight that seemed to be singeing his clothing right before our eyes. When it was his turn to speak, he spoke about his obsession with food, and how he had named everything he didn’t want to eat “Robert” so that he’d have an incentive not to eat his new best friend in the whole wide world, his “BFFL”.
That drew a series of loud guffaws from the two dips, as well as some pretty amused laughter from an unlikely, yet familiar source who less than an hour ago had been upset over his mere presence. And then, it was my turn.
FACE OFF
Erica glided up to the stage effortlessly. I took notice of her skintight, dark denim jeans and black boots, her olive green off the shoulder, low cut top with white camisole underneath, and admitted to myself that even dressed as casually as she was, she still outshined me in Janice’s best. With Robert and Chips’ help, I hopped onto the stage and nodded my readiness to Mr. Danielson, whose face looked as excited as a kid on Christmas.
This was what he had been waiting for. As I looked around the auditorium, the faces that I could make out despite the bright, blinding spotlight all held the same curiosity and excitement. They had all come to see a show. A show that Erica apparently promised them would be worth it. God help us if it wasn’t. God help me if it was.
Because her last name alphabetically came before mine, she was given the opportunity to go first and get hers out of the way. She declined, deferring to me, and I could have sworn I saw purple stripes and a tail pop out from her face, her smile was so Cheshire cat-like.
I hobbled my way to the microphone standing dead center in the middle of the stage. There was a black music stand there to place our scripts on, which I did. I removed the crutches from underneath my arms, and bent down and placed them onto the stage floor. I didn’t need them for this.
I opened up the manila folder and removed the three sheets of paper that contained my soliloquy. I closed my eyes.
You can do this.
I licked my lips that had gone painfully dry.
I’m here for you, Gee.
I counted to ten, then opened my lids and began reading the lines on the first page.
“I hate to look at myself in the mirror. Who am I to anyone but a stranger, even me? The three people in this world that know me don’t even know the real me, and all that they do know just plain bores them to death. It would be different if I were attractive, or smart, or funny. Since I’m none of those, I simply exist in a world where I don’t fit in.
“I look different from all of the other girls, and if I notice it, then of course they do, too. And if the girls are noticing how different I am, of course the boys are. I cannot even get my own best friend to take me out, and he’s used to the way I look.
“But even my looks are something that people can get past. It’s not like I’m the ugliest girl in the school. I guess I could be passable if I tried hard enough. Plus there’s
always plastic surgery to fix the things makeup can’t.
“No. My looks, even my clothes can change. But the real me is where the problem is. The part of me that no one really knows, but they whisper about when they think I’m not listening. I know what they’re saying.
“They say that I’m stupid for thinking that Graham loves me and wants to be with me. I probably am. He’s one of the most popular guys in school while I’m just the freak, so how could we even make a friendship work? What do we have in common besides our addresses? And if I can’t land him, what makes me think I’ll land Robert Bellegarde? A guy like him can get any girl he wants. Shouldn’t I have learned with Graham that if guys are nice to me, it’s only because they feel sorry for me?
“Why is it that I never get just how desperate I really am? I’ve thrown myself at two guys now, and both have rejected me for someone else. I don’t understand why I simply cannot give up like a normal person would.
“The answer is simple, of course. I’m not normal. That’s the point I need to grasp that I just can’t. Everyone else knows what kind of person I am, and I know what they think I’m capable of. I know by the way that they look at me that they wonder if I did it, if I was to blame for it.
“They all think I’m responsible for my mother’s death; they all think I killed her. Maybe I did. Maybe I drove her to crash the car. Maybe I was being such a brat that she simply couldn’t take it anymore and decided that the best thing was to take out both of us. She always had a hard time controlling me, and everyone knew that I was a handful at that time. It’s why none of those other girls would ever be my friend. It’s why Graham was the only one who ever talked to me. It was why Dad was always out of town. I was difficult.
