Free writing was done before the close of every class. Students were to use the last fifteen minutes to write whatever popped into their heads, whether it was the beginning of a novel, a short story, a journal entry or a poem. It didn’t matter. They were free to write whatever they wanted. And JJ had written a poem.
It wasn’t just a few scribbled lines though, like many of her previous free writing efforts. This poem had flown effortlessly from her pen as if by its own will. She’d been thinking of her relationship with her mother, and how her mother had always wanted a daughter who was just like her. She’d wanted a daughter who was girly, who liked cheerleading and boys. JJ was the exact opposite. Their relationship had suffered because of it, because JJ felt that she’d never lived up to her mother’s expectations.
She’d written the first line on a whim, hoping for some closure. The result was a poem that was far more personal than she’d originally intended.
“JJ, would you stand up please and read your poem for the class?”
JJ stared up at Mrs. Clark, unable to move. She felt the sweat gather under her arms and the nausea swell in her stomach. Her heart sped up to a pace that the rest of her body couldn’t possibly match.
She looked down at the flimsy paper in her hands. Her lips moved slowly, mouthing the first line, but no audible words came out.
“You might want to stand up,” Mrs. Clark advised. “And speak up a bit.”
JJ’s legs were like two masses of jelly. She trembled as she stood. Her mouth was as dry as a stale piece of bread, and her tongue stuck to her teeth. She tried to speak once more, and again no sound emerged.
With all those eager eyes upon her, JJ felt as though she was under a microscope. She glanced from face to face in a panic, her eyes darting around the room so fast that she felt dizzy.
“JJ—are you okay?” Mrs. Clark asked.
“I’m—I’m not feeling so well,” JJ managed. “May I go to the restroom?”
Mrs. Clark nodded, and JJ bolted from the room. Only she didn’t head to the restroom. Instead, she ran through the front doors of the classroom building and burst out into the open air.
She breathed heavily, taking in each breath slowly and releasing it more slowly than the last. When her heartbeat returned to normal, she sat down on a nearby bench. She knew Mrs. Clark would be wondering where she’d gone, but she also knew that if she went back to class she’d have to read the poem to everyone. And that wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever.
Instead, JJ sat contentedly on the wooden bench, admiring the fresh landscaping along the stone path that led up to Heath Hall, the building for English classes. She waited until students began to file out the front doors, signaling that her class had ended. When the last couple of students trickled out, she stood up and walked back inside to retrieve her belongings from the classroom.
Mrs. Clark was still in the room, shuffling through papers on her desk. JJ tiptoed in, and then cringed when she heard Mrs. Clark’s nasal voice.
“Are you okay? Where did you go?”
JJ straightened up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “I didn’t feel good, so I decided to leave class.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This didn’t have anything to do with me asking you to read your poem in front of the class, did it?”
“No.”
“Because that would be a shame. Of all the writing I go through day in and day out,” Mrs. Clark tapped the stack of papers at her desk, “this is by far one of the best poems I have read in a long time. It deserves to be shared with the class. And the class deserves to hear it.”
“You mean you didn’t read it or discuss it after I left?”
“It’s not my poem to read. It’s yours. It’s yours to share.”
“But—what if I’m not exactly comfortable with—what if I don’t want to share it?”
Mrs. Clark made a slight clicking tsk-tsk sound, and removed her glasses from her face. “I can’t force you to read it, JJ,” she said. “But I will ask you this—what good is writing, what good is art for that matter, if you can’t share it with the world? Part of this class involves active participation. And by participation I mean interacting with your classmates, offering criticism of their work, and taking in criticism of your own. How else do you expect to grow as a writer?”
“Emily Dickinson never shared her work,” JJ reasoned.
“And Dickinson died without ever realizing her true potential.”
“Maybe she wanted it that way.”
“Maybe she did. But is that what you want?”
JJ said nothing.
“I’d hate to have to lower your grade simply because you refused to read your poem out loud.” Mrs. Clark relaxed back in her chair and gently folded her arms across her chest. “Be prepared to have another go at it on Monday.”
“All right,” JJ muttered and walked toward the classroom door. “I’ll read it on Monday.”
“I’m not doing this to be mean,” Mrs. Clark called after her. Her teacher’s words stopped JJ at the threshold. “I’m doing this because I think you are a very talented writer. But you’re not as confident in your writing as you are, say, on the basketball court. I’m giving you an opportunity to take a last-second shot and win the game. To shine in the spotlight because I believe in your talent, just as your basketball coach believes in you. Understand the correlation?”
JJ nodded. She understood. And she was flattered that Mrs. Clark had taken such an interest in her writing. But that didn’t mean she liked the idea any better. It didn’t mean that the thought of having to share her work in front of the entire class still didn’t scare her to death.
CHAPTER 20
Practice that afternoon felt like it lasted an eternity. JJ couldn’t concentrate. She kept thinking about her writing class and the fact that her date with Kendal was only a few hours away. Coach Cook had finally incorporated a ball into practice, and JJ ruined a golden opportunity to teach the freshmen about what it took to start for the Sampson Lady Yellow Jackets basketball team. She missed easy shots from the elbow of the lane, flubbed numerous breakaway layups and had the ball stolen right from her hands three times in a row by an overzealous freshman eager to make it into the starting lineup.
The locker room afterwards was extra stuffy, and not because of the sweat. Unlike JJ, Queenie, as usual, had another outstanding practice, garnering such comments from Coach Cook as, “Nice job, McBride” and “That’s how a starter practices, ladies. Watch and learn. Watch and learn.”
“Where was your head today?” Queenie asked as soon as they reached the locker room.
“That’s something I would expect Coach to say,” JJ replied dryly.
“Hey, relax.” Queenie peeled the headband from her forehead. “I’m just checking in. You’ve been out of it since this morning.”
JJ leaned against her locker, “I’m sorry, I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like cheerleading queens and dates at coffee shops?”
“Kendal has nothing to do with it.”
Queenie held up her hands in surrender. “Touchy, aren’t we?”
JJ was about to confide in Queenie about what had happened earlier during writing class when Coach Cook loudly cleared her throat behind them.
“Jenkins!” She barked from the doorway. “May I see you for a moment?”
JJ cast her eyes at Queenie, who stifled a laugh. Just what I need, JJ thought.
Once in the confines of her office, Coach Cook closed the door tightly behind them. JJ remembered Queenie’s story about Dean Hoffman walking in, carrying a rose. At that moment she felt the urge to wink at Coach Cook just to see what she would say.
“You know me, JJ, I don’t like to kid around when it comes to basketball,” Coach Cook said. “So I’m going to get straight to the point. And the point is that you played horribly today.”
“I know, Coach,” JJ acknowledged. “I didn’t play
well at all.”
“Didn’t play well? That’s an understatement! I don’t start players who perform like that. I don’t have to remind you of what it takes to be a starter for this team, do I?”
JJ lowered her eyes to the ground, “No, Coach.”
“You are the starting point guard. You are the floor general. How do you expect to lead the team during a game when you can’t even be a leader during practice?”
JJ opened her mouth to respond but Coach Cook cut her off.
“I expect more from you, JJ,” she said, as her feathered hair flapped in the breeze coming from the fan on her desk. “You’ve been a part of this team for three years, a big part of it. You brought Queenie to the team. And you two are my senior captains. I need you to play with confidence.”
Apparently, you’re not the only one who expects more from me, JJ thought.
“I hope that you get over whatever was ailing you today and come ready to play tomorrow. You better get your game in gear. I’d hate to have to start a freshman in your place for our very first game of the season.”
JJ felt Coach Cook’s eyes zero in on her.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Coach,” she replied.
“Good.”
JJ arose from her chair and exited the office, feeling even worse than she’d felt earlier that morning when she’d abandoned her writing class.
“Everything okay?” Queenie asked. She was already showered and dressed, sitting on a locker room bench, playing with her iPhone.
“Peachy,” JJ said.
“Don’t worry about Coach,” Queenie said.
“Easy for you to say. Coach is like your best friend now.”
Ignoring that comment, Queenie asked if JJ wanted to join her for dinner in downtown Richmond.
“I think it’s about time I charged up my father’s credit card,” she said. “They just paid the last balance off earlier this week.”
“You can be such a jerk with them,” JJ snapped.
“Says you.”
“I’m busy tonight, remember?”
“Oh, right. Your non-date with the non-lesbian. So sorry I can’t be a fly on the wall for that one.” Queenie punched JJ lightly in the arm. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
* * *
Kendal stood in front of the floor-length mirror, wondering about her outfit. She’d decided on a pair of hip-hugger jeans, a slimming red graphic T-shirt, and a matching red hooded sweatshirt. She stood facing the doorway, admiring her backside when Christine came into the room.
“You’re wearing that?” Christine asked. Clearly, she wasn’t a fan of the outfit Kendal had chosen.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Kendal asked, admiring her jeans. “I thought I looked good.”
“You do. But maybe you should wear something a little sexier for Kyan’s benefit.”
Kendal groaned. When she’d gotten dressed that evening, she hadn’t been thinking of Kyan. She’d been thinking of JJ, and, as a result, it had taken much longer than she’d anticipated to pick out an outfit.
“For the umpteenth time, I’m only going to this party tonight with Kyan as friends.”
“Right,” Christine smiled wryly. “So how long is that poetry thing going to last again?”
Kendal shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve never been to one before.” She went back to studying herself in the mirror.
“I can’t believe you are going to go with her.”
Not again, thought Kendal. She’d been over it a billion and one times with Christine. She wanted to go to The Spot. She wanted to try something different. It was as simple as that.
Christine flopped down on top of her bed, stomach-first. She casually flipped through the pages of one of her many magazines as Kendal continued to scrutinize her own appearance. Kendal ran her long fingers through her hair, pulling it back and swinging it forward, mulling over which way accented her features better.
“So—what are you going to do if she makes a pass at you?” Christine asked still staring at the pages of her magazine.
“Christine!” Kendal spun around. “Why would you even ask that?”
“I don’t know. I’m just asking. Personally, I’d be creeped out.”
“Creeped out? Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”
“No, it’s the truth.”
“You wouldn’t be flattered at all?” Kendal couldn’t help smiling at the thought of JJ flirting with her.
“Flattered? Kendal, that’s gross!”
“Why is it gross? It’s just one person finding another person attractive.”
Christine shuddered as if the thought of another woman making a pass at her would make her severely ill. She stood up and grabbed Kendal by the arms.
“Promise me you’ll be there tonight.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll come to the party tonight.”
“I already told you I’d be there. Why do I have to promise?”
“Because I’m asking you to. As my roommate, teammate and confidante.” Christine held out her pinky. It was the way the members of the cheerleading squad sealed all of their most sacred promises and secrets.
“Fine,” Kendal said, linking her pinky with Christine’s. “I promise.” She sneaked a look at the clock on her dresser. “Can I go now? I’m going to be late.”
Christine reluctantly stepped aside. “Go ahead,” she said. “But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
CHAPTER 21
JJ sat down in a chair in the school lounge. Then she stood up. After a minute, she sat down again. Then she checked her cell phone, just in case Kendal had tried to call or send her a text. But she hadn’t. She crossed her legs, then slumped back in the chair and spread her legs wide. After realizing how ridiculous she looked, she stood up again and leaned strategically against the chair.
It probably didn’t matter one way or another to Kendal whether JJ was sitting or standing when she walked through the doors. But for some reason JJ thought that if she gave a good impression right from the start, then the rest of the evening would go just as smoothly. But considering the way her day had unfolded so far, it couldn’t get much worse.
JJ’s palms had been sweaty all day. She continued to wipe them on her shorts and jumped every time someone entered the lounge.
It had been quite the dilemma whether to use gel in her hair or wear a baseball cap. In the end, she’d decided that by not wearing a hat she would be showing off her softer side. And that was the side she thought Kendal enjoyed the most.
JJ shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her cargo shorts and studied her fresh white pair of Adidas sneakers for scuffs. The baby blue polo shirt she’d chosen to wear was tucked in just so, and she’d even ironed it before putting it on.
JJ noticed a black mark near the heel of her shoe, leaned over and tried to rub it out. She bent down as far as she could without falling over, licked her thumb and ran it over the mark. At that moment, the doors swung open and in walked Kendal.
“There’s something you don’t see every day,” she said, pointing at JJ’s backside.
JJ’s head snapped up. She quickly stood up straight, and wiped her hand on the back of her shorts. “I was—uh—there was something on my shoe,” she said, silently cursing herself for sounding so stupid.
“Right,” Kendal smiled. “That’s exactly what I thought you were doing.”
“Wow. You look amazing,” JJ blurted out. Once the words left her lips, she realized what she’d said. “I mean—you look nice and everything, you know?”
“You clean up pretty good, as well,” Kendal said, admiring JJ’s outfit. “I like you without a hat better, I think.” She had the sudden urge to reach out and touch JJ’s hair, but resisted.
JJ adjusted her shirt and picked up her backpack. “You ready?”
“Do you take that thing everywhere?” Kendal asked, pointing at the backpack.
“What? This?” JJ held the backpack in front
of her. “I keep some of my favorite books in here. And I like to carry my journal with me, too. I never know when I’ll be hit with something inspiring.”
“Ever hear of a purse?” Kendal held up her small white bag sprinkled with red polka dots.
“Can you imagine me carrying one of those?” JJ took Kendal’s purse and swung it over her shoulder. Then she batted her eyes at Kendal, who started laughing.
“You’re right,” Kendal said. “You look ridiculous.” She snatched the purse back from JJ’s hands.
They walked side by side across the quad to the edge of the campus. Several students crossed their path, some staring at them in wonderment. It wasn’t often that a cheerleader and a member of the girl’s basketball team were seen walking anywhere together at Sampson Academy, let alone appearing to enjoy one another’s company.
The looks didn’t bother JJ. She’d grown accustomed to the glares and stares she and Queenie often garnered whenever they were out in public together. They didn’t seem to bother Kendal much, either, and JJ assumed that Kendal had grown used to people looking at her simply because she was beautiful.
“How was your day?” JJ asked, genuinely interested.
“Uneventful,” Kendal responded blandly. “Yours?”
“You don’t want to know.” JJ nonchalantly kicked the curb as they stepped up onto the sidewalk.
“Now you’ve sparked my curiosity,” Kendal said.
“Let’s just say that everything today that could have gone wrong did go wrong. But suddenly I feel a lot better.”
Kendal flashed JJ a knowing smile, and then looked away, afraid her expression would reveal everything she’d been feeling lately. The more she thought about it, the more confused she’d became over how another girl could make her feel this way. She recalled Christine’s comment about being hit on by a woman, and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking of something Christine had said before I left.”
“What did she say? Make sure to carry a can of mace?”
The Trouble with Emily Dickinson Page 11
