Outcast

by Susan Oloier

  I stormed into Mr. Pace’s office. He was our principal after all. He was talking to his secretary, so I stood in front of them until they directed their full attention to me.

  “May we help you, young lady?” Mr. Pace reluctantly forced the words through his tiny mouth.

  “Someone wrote graffiti on my locker.”

  They both stared at me as if I’d spoken a foreign language.

  “Graffiti?”

  They seemed to be taking an unusual amount of time to process the word and the concept behind it.

  “Yes.”

  Mrs. Peters, his secretary, stared open-mouthed. They behaved like a Jewish Bat Mitzvah was taking place in the school.

  “This is a Catholic school.” Mr. Pace pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have graffiti.”

  “You do now.”

  “We’ll have someone walk by and take a look at it.” He dismissed me just as the bell rang for the start of homeroom. “Off you go, young lady.”

  “But...”

  They treated me like someone who reported a broken fingernail.

  As I turned to leave, I heard my name.

  “Noelle.” It was Ms. Sherwood, my counselor. She beckoned to me from the offices with a finger. “Word in the hallways is that your grades are dropping.” Ms. Sherwood was never one for greetings and formalities. She got right down to business.

  “Your teachers are concerned about you. You’re an honor student performing at anything-but-honor-roll level. What’s going on?”

  “I have a lot on my mind. I’ll get back on track.”

  “Anything you want to chat about?”

  I considered relaying the whole locker incident and outcast thing to her, but I was fairly sure I didn’t want the advice she’d offer. I could hear her saying that I should ignore Trina or make an effort to resolve things with her. Neither of which I wanted to be told. If I knew she’d give me tips on how to successfully dunk Trina’s head into the toilet, then she would be a good sounding board. By virtue of the fact that she was a counselor, I doubted she’d offer that kind of advice.

  “Not really.”

  “First quarter grades are going to get you booted out of honors. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I’ll get back in by midterms.”

  “If you need to make an appointment…”

  She ripped off a late pass and handed it to me.

  “Thanks.” I shrugged her off with a wave and headed to class.

  I skimmed two chapters in History, glanced at the Cliff’s Notes on East of Eden, and scribbled down a Calculus answer or two before getting ready for bed. I knew my grades were slipping, but I had plenty of time to bring them up to honor status. At that moment, I had more important matters to consider. My thoughts swirled around getting back at Trina. I had to think creatively. Rats dangling from nooses outside her bedroom window were not going to cut it anymore. I needed something that would hit her where it really hurt—her social life.

  As I washed my face, scores of ideas streamed through my head. None of them seemed practical. Where would I get the elephants to trample her? There would be too many witnesses if I pushed her down a flight of stairs. I needed to think.

  However, the muffled sounds of Becca in her bordering room interrupted my train of thought. I dried my face, but left the water running. I leaned against the door, and it pushed slightly open. I saw Becca on the bed with her back toward me. She was on the phone, stifling cries.

  “He said he’s not looking for that right now…”

  Her conversation was riddled with pauses. I assumed she was talking to Gloria.

  “I don’t know what to do.” She started to cry again. There was another brief pause. I wished I were privy to both sides of the conversation.

  “I know, but he told me he loved me.”

  Kevin.

  “No,” Becca answered whatever question was asked of her, vacuuming the snot and tears. “He said it was, but now he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

  Another flood of tears and hiccupping cries ripped through her. All of the secret things Becca did with boys didn’t make them stay around. It seemed like everyone was giving him or herself to someone else. People treated sex like it was a commodity to be traded for love, security, or simply a moment of pleasure. Nobody cared about the intimacy of it, the sacredness of it. Becca, Aunt P, Chad—they all used it for what they thought they needed at the time. And it didn’t stop there. Maybe Grace would have sex with Henry in exchange for a trip to Castles and Coasters. Maybe my mother did it to secretly have another baby, a baby my dad most likely didn’t even want. Everyone wanted something in exchange for it. It wasn’t unconditional; something seemed to always be attached to it. I wondered if I would be the same way, using sex to get something I wanted. My head swirled. I decided I had eavesdropped enough. I knew all the information I needed to know.

  I discovered the details of the pregnancy test when I was trying to watch Modern Family. My mother was too consumed with more important matters to monitor my television consumption. I was supposed to be studying, but I didn’t care.

  My dad left the house when the argument started. My mother and Becca battled in the back of the house. I turned down the volume to listen. Their dispute was pretty heated. My mother yelled a standard phrase of hers: No daughter of mine will ever do that! What really captured my attention was Becca’s response.

  “It’s my body and I’ll do whatever I want with it!”

  Now my curiosity was totally piqued. I hit the mute button on the remote control.

  “You’re seventeen years old. You made your bed and now you’ll lie in it.”

  “I’m not keeping a baby!”

  I may have been naïve, but I wasn’t stupid. Becca was pregnant, and she didn’t want to keep the child. My thoughts scrambled like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I flashed back to the moment I plucked the EPT pregnancy test from the garbage—my mother’s garbage. What was it doing in there? Becca never would have hid it there. My mother must have known. She must have allowed Becca to take it.

  “Fine. You don’t have to keep it. You’ll give it up for adoption.”

  I snacked on the potato chips I pilfered from dad’s secret stash in the pantry. It was a real on-the-edge-of-your-seat moment. But, at the same time, it was like having an out-of-body experience. My sister—still a teen, still in high school—was going to have a baby.

  “I am not staying pregnant for nine months.” I heard the tears behind the defiance in Becca’s voice. “I’m getting an abortion.”

  Stunned, I remained silent. And so did my mother. I could imagine the anger that swelled beneath the surface of my mother’s face. She was absolutely against abortion. No exceptions. It didn’t matter if it was rape or incest, my mother was a card-carrying member of the Pro-Life cause. She was a Catholic woman to the core.

  Suddenly, in a burst of violence, a wicker basket bounced down the hallway, finally rolling to the edge of the living room. I didn’t want to become the victim of my mother’s anger. I turned off the television, slipped on some shoes, and headed out the front door just as my dad did when the argument first began. It seemed easier to run away from people and things instead of standing by and watching them fall apart.

  The night sky exploded in blackness, the color of India ink. The city lights blinded the stars, making them squint in the atmosphere, dimming their brilliance to a slow, throbbing dullness. Sprinklers hissed as they showered the Midwestern-style lawns. The smell of water on the pavement mimicked the odor of a first rain.

  I ran around the block to burn off some steam. But I felt a burning in my lungs and was winded far more quickly than I expected. I stooped over, hands on my knees, to catch my breath. I needed to get back into running, had to stop smoking.

  When I’d recovered, I beelined it to Grace’s house. It was eight-thirty at night. I knew I should have called first, but I didn’t have time. She’d understand, especially after I told
her what had happened.

  My nerves galvanized when I saw Jake’s red Honda in the driveway. I considered turning around and going back home, but a force outside of myself propelled me forward. Before I knew it, I was at the front door.

  “Noelle. I don’t think Grace is expecting you. Is she?” Mrs. Hallaran politely greeted me.

  “No, but I need to talk to her.”

  “Come on in, honey. She’s just working on a project with some classmates.”

  I stepped into the foyer, looking directly into the living room. A semi-circle of people formed around the coffee table: Grace, Mina Liu from Grace’s history class, Jake...and Trina. I shook my head like an Etch-A-Sketch, hoping to clear away the image of her. When I opened my eyes, she was still there. Trina, the one person I absolutely hated. I didn’t care what Father Patrick or the Bible said. It had to be acceptable to loathe Trina Brockwell. There was no other reason for her existence.

  Grace behaved like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, like having Trina at her house was totally normal.

  Grace merely looked at me and said hi. Jake gave me a warm smile, but he was seated comfortably next to Trina. And the queen bitch herself gave me a smirk that was loaded with innuendo. No one else picked up on it, but it spoke volumes to me. She was using Grace for one of two things, maybe both. She was getting back at me for stealing Chad away from her, or she was going after Jake. Why couldn’t Grace see how transparent Trina was?

  Grace finally excused herself and met me in the foyer. I wasn’t even worthy of joining her study group.

  “What are you doing here, Noelle?”

  I glanced beyond Grace, toward Trina. I saw her touch Jake’s arm. I knew what she was capable of. My blood pressure thrummed, and my pulse quickened.

  I wanted to scream out Becca’s pregnant and having an abortion, but go back to your little party!

  Instead, all I said was nothing.

  “Why are you here?”

  “To see if you wanted to study. That’s all.” My vision kept pulling away from Grace to the living room.

  She looked at my empty hands. “You don’t have any books.”

  “Must have forgotten them.”

  She appeared puzzled, and I was glad. I wanted her to wonder about the real reason I was there.

  “Look, I know you’re busy. I’ll let you get back to work.” I moved to hug her, but she stepped away. Grace always hugged back whether she meant it or not. I studied her for a moment, then immediately headed for the door, not turning back.

  “Bye, Noelle,” Mrs. Hallaran called.

  Her words awoke Jake from the spell Trina held over him in the other room. “See you, Noelle.”

  I ignored him.

  I no longer cared about the locker, which still hadn’t been repainted by the janitorial staff. I did care, however, that Trina was usurping my friend. And to make things worse, she was seizing her brother, the one who I’d a crush on since grade school. If the way she behaved with Chad was a sign of how she was going to act with Jake, it was all over for me. I needed to crush her before she could defeat me. And I wanted Cassie to help me do it.

  “Haven’t you heard? Trina’s having a party.” It was all Cassie said to me when I presented my dilemma to her.

  “I suppose you’re going, too?”

  We stood outside the Taco Bell, smoking cigarettes. It was only something I did at lunchtime when I was around Cassie. It was as though I felt an obligation to smoke with her. Cassie looked at me like I was square if I didn’t do it. I graduated from merely holding it to taking a puff now and then.

  “No, I’m not going. I have better things to do with my time than hang out with high school kids.” She exhaled a nicotine cloud. “No offense.”

  “Then what? Crash the party?” I practiced holding the cigarette and putting it to my lips in different ways.

  Cassie shook her head. “There’s not going to be a party.”

  I didn’t understand, and Cassie knew I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “What do you mean?” I took a final drag off the tobacco stick.

  “You’ll see.”

  What she meant was we would create posters and place them all over the school. The announcements advertised alcohol, drugs, parental absence, and free condoms. It was my task to design and print them all. Cassie told me that we needed enough to replace all the ones that Trina and her friends would rip down. We had to make sure that the teachers and administration saw them so that they could put a halt to the bash.

  The posters were standard paper size—just the right dimensions to fit into a folder. When no one was looking, Cassie and I slapped them on the walls. By the time we finished, they were everywhere: hallways, cafeteria, library, and all the bathrooms. It was guaranteed that at least one teacher, priest, or nun would see them. We plastered Trina’s name over every poster. She was the only one who’d be held accountable for the scandalous party. All Cassie and I had to do was sit back and wait.

  All of my time was spent preparing the posters, so there was no time to study. I didn’t care. It would all be worth it. The end of the semester was nearing a close anyway. It was too late to catch up on missed homework. I would make up for things on the midterms.

  In the meantime, I thought back to Mrs. Muir’s phrase, survival of the fittest. It was that and so much more. It would also be a pound of flesh if I had my way. Getting revenge was all I cared about.

  Since the argument with Becca, my mother was acting very moody. She’d always had a volatile personality, but now it was even more pronounced. It became obvious without even talking to anyone that Becca had not changed her mind. She intended to go through with the abortion.

  It was the middle of November, nearing the holidays and the end of the semester. My mother was already upset with me because I had stopped going to church on Sundays. I knew she was angry, but she said nothing to me; she had Becca to deal with.

  However, I arrived home from school one day greeted by her temper. “Your counselor called. She said your grades have fallen and you’re likely not going to make the honor roll at the end of the semester. Explain.”

  Time to get creative. I couldn’t tell her that I’d used my study time to seek revenge against my worst enemy. She’d never understand, even if I was able to make a case for Trina being the cruelest person in all of bully history or the worst Catholic on the planet.

  “There’s been a lot of tension around here lately.” I tested her reaction. When she didn’t explode, I continued. “It’s hard to study with you and Becca fighting all the time.”

  My mother, the strongest willed woman I have ever seen, the woman whose only emotion appeared to be anger, crumbled. She moved to her La-Z-Boy. Placing her head in her hands, she acted as though she was trying to wipe away all the stress that had built up and pressed itself into the pores and lines of her face.

  “Sit down, Noelle.”

  I edged my way across from her and sat on the couch. She proceeded to tell me about Becca’s pregnancy, which I was already fully aware of. She also recapped all the information I gleaned from their arguments—-that Becca had decided to have an abortion. My mother told me to pray for Becca to make the right decision. I didn’t know what the right decision was. I certainly couldn’t see Becca pregnant, much less with a baby. Maybe the correct thing for her was to have an abortion. What my mother should have said was pray for Becca to do what I ask her to do. It didn’t matter if her way was the best way or not.

  “I need to ask you something important.”

  I was afraid to say what, but I did anyway.

  “Are you having … relations with any boys right now?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. Relations? What was that? A term from the 1800s? If she meant sex, the answer was no. But if she meant kissing guys and letting them undo the buttons of my shirt, then the answer would be yes. Either way, it seemed like a very intrusive question, especially from a mother who had very little to do with me.
/>   “I mean, I thought I raised you two right. What did I do wrong?” She talked into her hands. It was as if the answers were encrypted on her palms and she had to keep studying them to decipher it all.

  I didn’t know what to say or what question she wanted me to answer, so I just sat there. She finally lifted her head and pleaded with me to tell her what she wanted to hear. I didn’t have to lie. I had never had sex.

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Mom.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief, then moved beside me. She held my hand for awhile. Perhaps my palm held the encoded answers, not hers. I felt awkward and just wanted to leave. I did feel sorry for her. She felt inept as a mother, like she had failed us somehow. Or more importantly, she had failed herself. She dropped my hand and ran her fingers through my hair like I was a little girl.

  “You’re hair is so straight. It would look so much cuter if—” She cut herself off. She knew she’d said too much, but it was too late.

  “I better study. I have some catching up to do.”

  I left her alone with her thoughts and her regrets.

  Until opening night, all of us continued to attend rehearsals. Trina treated Grace with a sheer sickening sweetness. If it weren’t for Grace’s gullibility and desperate need to believe that Trina accepted her for who she was, she would have seen her true colors, yellowed with artifice. I hated Trina for being so cruel, and Grace for being so naïve.

  Nick Taylor was Lorenzo in the play, Jessica’s love. He was a hot senior. He had hair the color of Florida sand, and his eyes were green Peridot. Though he was attractive, I wasn’t attracted to him. Nonetheless, Chad was jealous. I read it in his face. Maybe it was Nick’s looks or maybe it was the fact that Nick and I were lovers in the play. Whatever the reason, Chad didn’t like it and he didn’t like Nick.

  “Playing Jessica isn’t much of stretch for you, is it?”

  I told him he was seeing things that weren’t there. I had no interest in Nick. It was merely a part that I played. He still came across as suspicious and jealous.