by Beth Goobie
“Maddy?” said David.
She was grunting, snarling. And the sound wouldn’t let up. Wordless, it kept heaving out of Maddy’s mouth – sounds she’d never made before, sounds she’d never heard anyone make. Her fists pounded; her mouth snarled and spat; in her mind, she reached for the memory, and grabbed and tore and shredded it. As she did, the memory began to retreat. Gradually, the voices in her mind quieted; the grabbing hands shrank, then slid back down to wherever they lived when they weren’t destroying her life.
Exhausted, Maddy lay down and let nothingness pour through her. No, not nothingness, she realized – relief. And then, slowly, triumph. She’d done it. She’d taken that monster memory into her own hands and defeated it.
“Maddy?” said David.
“You still here?” asked Maddy.
“Yeah,” said David.
“Why?” asked Maddy.
David hesitated. “I’m not them,” he said. “Not everyone’s like them.”
Maddy breathed a while. “What are you like, then?” she asked.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” said David. “I didn’t have the guts then. Do I now?”
Maddy sat up. “You got rid of those guys just now,” she said.
“That’s nuthin’,” David muttered. “Nuthin’ compared to ratting on my brother.”
Maddy’s mouth twisted. She gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t know about you and your brother,” she said. “I don’t give a shit about your goddamn brother. That’s your problem, and I’m not eating your pain.”
Clambering to her feet, she headed across the park, a silent David behind her.
. . .
Saturday night, Maddy sat, chin on knees, observing the mural. It was finished. She knew this with a completeness of heart, a quietly enormous feeling of satisfaction that lapped at her like an inner ocean. She had brought the monster out of herself and trapped it in all its terrifying detail on the tree house wall. Which meant that in some way it was gone from her – gone from where it had lived inside her skin, inside her spirit. She wasn’t free of the fact that it had happened – she would never be free of that – but it would no longer be happening inside herself, over and over. It was in the past now, and she was in the present.
The figures of the three remaining boys had been filled in. One of them, David’s older brother Keith, stood with his head back, howling. Robbie held the central figure – herself – down by the shoulders, while Ken raped her. Pete prowled. At the edge of the clearing, David stood, frozen with shock.
The boys’ masks hung, five pale leers, from the bare branches of trees. The mural didn’t display the boys’ individual features clearly, but still Maddy had decided to unmask them, to tear off their plastic grins and throw them to the skies. Above all five, dangling from the highest branch, hung a single weeping mask, its truth. It was the last thing she’d drawn, the last detail she’d needed to add to the scene.
She couldn’t believe she was done. The mural felt like a long black sickness that had lifted out of her; she’d thought it would be never-ending, and now it had ended. It was an enemy, and at the same time it had been part of her – part of her strength, her fierce seeking to overcome. And so, contradictory as it might seem, the mural had finally become a friend.
A sound outside the tree house alerted her. “Maddy,” called a voice.
It wasn’t Leanne – Trucker was at an out-of-town weekend volleyball tournament. Maddy crawled to the entrance. “C’mon up,” she said.
Feet clambered up the ladder, and August’s beaming face poked over the threshold, followed by Kara’s. “Cool digs!” said August, clambering into the tree house. “This thing is stable, right? We’re not all gonna keel over and tumble to the ground? Whaaaa—?”
Her eyes hit the mural and she fell silent. Beside her, Kara came to a halt, also stock-still as she studied the image. Wordless, Maddy knelt, watching Kara’s face. She respected August – knew how her own energy and self-esteem doubled in the other girl’s presence – but here before the mural, it was Kara’s reaction she was waiting for, hoping for, seeking.
“This happened to you,” said Kara. Her voice was hoarse, guttural. She spoke without looking at Maddy, her gaze riveted.
“Yes,” said Maddy.
Kara continued to crouch, motionless. “It’s like a scream,” she said. “A black scream.”
“Yes,” whispered Maddy.
“I wish,” said Kara, blinking rapidly, “my brother could’ve screamed like this.”
Maddy remained silent; there was nothing to say to something like that.
“What’s that?” asked August, pointing to the cream-gold sphere Maddy had drawn midair. “It’s not the moon – that’s over there.”
“I don’t know exactly what it is,” said Maddy. “I drew it after the background, but before anything else. It just had to be there.”
“Okay,” said August. “What are those?” She pointed to the masks.
“Comedy masks,” said Maddy. “From Our Town, when they gave them out to the audience. Were you there?”
“No,” said August, “but I heard about it. Is that when it happened?”
Maddy hesitated. Even after the mural’s completion, even after inviting both girls over specifically to show it to them, she felt shaky. “After,” she blurted out. “Coming home. They jumped me in a bunch of trees. They were wearing the masks.”
“Do you know who they were?” asked Kara.
“Yes,” said Maddy. “I figured it out. One I knew then, the rest later.”
“Who?” asked Kara and August, their voices overlapping.
Maddy stared into their eyes, the shocked intensity of their gaze. The necessary words felt enormous, like tombstones leaving her mouth. They would change everything; she knew this. Nothing would be the same ever again.
“Ken Soong,” she said. “Pete Gwirtzman. Keith Janklow.”
August let out a whoosh of air. “David!” she said. “That’s why!”
“He was there,” said Maddy. “He didn’t do anything. He’s the one at the edge of the trees.”
“He didn’t help?” demanded Kara.
“He told me he froze,” said Maddy. “We talked yesterday. I don’t think he could’ve stopped them anyway.”
“That’s not an excuse!” protested August. “He should’ve done something!”
“Something like that happened to me once,” said Maddy. “A teacher was picking on one of my friends.” She described the incidents with Mr. Zarro and Jennifer Ebinger, then added, “I froze then too. I was right there and I could’ve said something, but I didn’t. Not because I didn’t want to. It was like something invisible was holding me back.”
“It’s not the same,” said August, shaking her head.
“Nothing’s the same,” said Maddy. “But I know what David meant. It’s something that just happens to you.”
Silence swallowed the tree house. The three girls crouched staring at the mural, the only sound their hoarse breathing. Maddy didn’t know what to say next, what the soul words were. She’d called these girls on her phone earlier that afternoon, told them how to find the tree house, and invited them over for eight p.m. Now she was at their mercy. She waited.
“Who’s the guy holding you down?” asked August.
“Robbie Nabigon,” said Maddy. “That’s all he did. He didn’t actually…rape me.”
“Have you told anyone?” asked Kara. “Your parents?”
“Not yet,” said Maddy. “I wanted to finish this first. I had to.”
“Yeah,” said August. “If I had something like that hanging around my gut, I’d want to get it out too. It’s like the end of the world.”
“And the beginning,” said Maddy.
For the first time since entering the tree house, Kara looked directly at Maddy. She wa
s crying slightly; the smile she gave Maddy was lopsided. “Maddy,” she said, “you’re a fucking incredible artist.”
Maddy gave her a lopsided smile back. “So you believe me?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Believe you!” exploded August. “We heard Ken’s chapter! And David’s.”
Maddy sagged like a collapsed balloon. “Okay,” she whispered, the word barely audible. “Okay.”
“Did you think we wouldn’t?” August asked incredulously. “After all the rumors going around school? What’re we – blind and stupid?”
“I didn’t mean that!” protested Maddy.
“Maddy,” said August, crawling close and poking her face directly into Maddy’s, “I believe you. Absolutely. Period.”
Maddy stared into the dark eyes inches from her own. Tears slid down her face. “I didn’t know,” she quavered, “how you’d be. This is the first time this has happened to me.”
“I believe you too,” Kara blurted, touching her arm. “All those times with your hands in class. Now I know why.”
Maddy rubbed her sleeve across her eyes. “Sorry I’m crying,” she mumbled. “I’ll try and stop.”
“You cry as long as you want,” said August. “It’s a free country.”
And so the three of them sat quietly while Maddy sobbed out her relief. It had been so long – the aloneness, the silence – and now it was over. She’d guessed, she’d taken a risk, and she’d chosen wisely. These were two friends who would stick by her.
“Want to go into the house for ice cream?” she asked. “But don’t say anything to my parents – about the mural, or what happened. I’ll tell them soon. It’s just – this is enough for tonight.”
They climbed down the ladder and went into the house.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday morning before classes, as Maddy was standing at her locker, Pete Gwirtzman walked past, wearing a Greek comedy mask. August, who was standing next to Maddy, let loose an incredulous hiss.
“I don’t believe it!” she muttered. Then, glancing at Maddy, she added, “Oh yes, I do! Who was that? Could you tell?”
“Pete,” said Maddy, shaky and at the same time exhilarated that someone else had seen – she now had some kind of evidence. “They’ve done stuff with masks before.”
“That sticker!” August exclaimed. “The one that was on your binder!”
Maddy nodded. “They sent me a mask tweet too, and called themselves The Masked Avengers.”
August glared down the hallway at Pete’s receding back. “Well, they’re about to meet The Pissed-Off Avengers!” she snapped. “Last night I wrote my chapter for The Pain Eater. I’m going to ask Ms. Mousumi if I can read it today, after Sheng reads hers. Then I’ll announce you’re doing the last chapter. We’ll show them who they can’t push around!”
“But you haven’t heard Sheng’s chapter yet,” protested Maddy, stunned by the quantum leap forward that August wanted to make. “How could you know what to write?”
“I didn’t really have to,” August shrugged. “What I wrote will work no matter what Sheng wrote. But just to make sure, I called her yesterday and we talked about it. She’d already written her chapter, Saturday afternoon. She didn’t tell me exactly what was in it, but I did manage to get enough out of her.”
Maddy was stuck somewhere between the urge to flee and further exhilaration. “But aren’t you’re supposed to wait to write your chapter until after the person before you reads theirs?” she asked.
“Actually,” said August, waggling her eyebrows, “Ms. Mousumi never said that specifically. Besides, my dad says I’m a real charmer. I will just have to summon up all my powers and work them upon her.” Abruptly, her excitement left her, and she focused in on Maddy with concern. “You do still want to write the last chapter, don’t you?” she asked. “You look kind of pale – like you’re about to hit the floor.”
“I just don’t see how it’s going to work,” Maddy mumbled, shutting her locker door and leaning her forehead against it. Her stomach felt as if it was swimming laps through her gut. Life had been difficult enough dealing with The Masked Avengers – trying to foresee their next move, to keep, at all times, out of their collective sight. Now here was August, moving in and taking over in a way Maddy could never have predicted.
“We’ll talk about it at lunch in the caf,” said August, giving her an encouraging pat on the arm. “I won’t do anything without your say-so, okay? Kara’ll be there too.”
“Okay,” agreed Maddy. “Only I might be a bit late – I’ve got something I have to do first.”
“Not too late,” said August, turning to head off down the hall. “Or I’ll come looking for you.”
The start of the lunch hour found Maddy hesitating outside the art room door. Her head was down; inside her mind, she was stepping toward the doorway then away, then toward it again. What she wanted to do here felt enormous, bigger than what her thoughts could hold. She’d never done anything like it before; there was no way to foresee how it would turn out. Furthermore, it was hers to do on her own. August and Kara would have readily agreed to come with her – Maddy knew this – but this moment belonged to her, and her alone.
A rush of students came at her, and Maddy stepped through the open doorway to avoid them. Ahead of her the room was empty, except for a single figure at the back, who appeared to be going over paper supplies.
“Excuse me,” Maddy faltered. “Mr. Zarro?”
The teacher turned toward her, and a smile took over his face. “Maddy!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? We’ve missed you this year.”
Maddy swallowed and started toward him. “I guess I wanted to talk to you about that, sir,” she said.
“Okay.” Mr. Zarro set down the stack of paper he was holding and stood, obviously in listening mode.
“Well,” said Maddy. She paused. Her face felt flushed and her heart had started a deep, dull thud. Mr. Zarro was watching her with such a warm, expectant expression. What she was about to say would change that. Maybe she should skip the ugly stuff and pretend she’d come in for a different reason. But sometime soon, she was going to have to speak uglier, more difficult truths. If she couldn’t be honest here, how would she manage later on?
“I wanted to tell you why I didn’t take art this year,” she said.
“Okay, shoot,” said Mr. Zarro.
“Do you remember Jennifer Ebinger?” asked Maddy.
Mr. Zarro frowned, the friendliness vanishing from his face. Fear washed over Maddy and she took a step back; she fought the urge to turn and run.
“Jenn sat beside me in grade nine art,” she said, her voice wobbling.
Mr. Zarro maintained his frown. “Yee-es,” he said.
“Well,” said Maddy. She rested a hand on a nearby counter for support. “I thought you weren’t…fair to her, sir.”
Mr. Zarro’s gaze dropped, and he studied the floor. He cleared his throat. “I don’t see that this is any of your business, Maddy,” he said. “But if Jennifer wasn’t happy with her final mark—”
“I don’t know what her final mark was,” Maddy broke in hoarsely. “I never saw any of the marks you gave her. But I did see her crying in class a couple of times over things you said to her. Maybe she isn’t Rembrandt, but all she wanted to do was draw, sir. I don’t think the way you treated her was right.”
Mr. Zarro rubbed a hand over his face. A bright flush was creeping up his neck. Maddy’s heart went into overdrive. For a moment, she did almost turn and run.
“And that’s why you didn’t take art this year?” asked Mr. Zarro after a long pause, his gaze still fixed on the floor.
“Yes, sir,” said Maddy.
“And, I suppose,” said Mr. Zarro, after another long pause, “that’s why Jennifer didn’t take grade ten art either.”
“I don’t know why she didn’t t
ake art this year,” said Maddy. “We’ve never talked about any of this.”
“You haven’t?” asked Mr. Zarro, his eyebrows rising.
“No, sir,” said Maddy.
The teacher took a deep breath and shifted his gaze to the classroom window. “Well,” he said. “I’m sorry…this has happened. That wasn’t my intention. Sometimes I can be…harsh.”
“Sometimes,” said Maddy. “But you can also be really great, sir.”
Mr. Zarro’s eyes reddened. He blinked rapidly. “And here you are, missing art because of….” He shook his head. “One of my best students. And one of my bravest.” With a forced smile, the teacher held out his right hand. Confused, Maddy stared at it.
“I want to shake your hand, Maddy,” Mr. Zarro said quietly.
“Oh!” said Maddy. Quickly, she took his hand and they shook. A bit giddy, she giggled.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Zarro. “I’m glad you came and talked to me. It’s too late now to do anything about art class for you this year, but I’ve just started an after-school club for students interested in learning about stained glass. It’s normally only for grade eleven and twelve students, but I’ll make an exception for you if you’re interested.”
“Stained glass!” cried Maddy. “I’d love to!”
“Then I will see you Thursday afternoon, directly after last class,” said Mr. Zarro. “And Maddy – if you happen to see Jennifer, could you ask her to come see me sometime soon? I’d like to talk to her.”
“She’s in my French class,” said Maddy, turning to leave. “I’ll for sure tell her, Mr. Zarro. Thanks!”
Mr. Zarro didn’t respond. But when Maddy reached the doorway and looked back, the teacher was watching her. Without speaking, he raised his right hand and saluted her. Maddy waved back, and headed to the cafeteria to meet August and Kara.
. . .
That afternoon, Maddy walked into English class buffered by August on one side and Kara on the other. The sensation was a little like being inside a mobile fortress; to her surprise, Maddy realized this was the first time all semester that she wasn’t entering a classroom alone. Beyond her two friends, she could feel the class watching, their eyes speculative and distant – as if she was a character in a movie. For reasons out of her control, she had been lifted out of her regular, mundane life and become something for others to observe, to obsess over, to judge – all without bothering to talk to her, to get her side of the story. As if there was no other side, as if she had no story to tell.
