“Come on,” I said. “Mom will never know.”
He looked at them and then back at me. “Just half an hour. Then you need to go eat some junk food and watch bad TV.”
“Deal,” I said.
Lila called me while I was still in bed the next morning. “Sorry I stormed off last night.”
“I’m used to it,” I said. “Are we okay?”
“Of course,” Lila said. “I was being a dick.”
“You were. You were a real asshole, actually.”
“All right, we’ve established that. Let’s move on, okay? Did you get home all right? Did your dad pick you up?”
“Uh,” I said, “no. Asha actually took me.”
“Asha?” she said. “Are you friends with her now or something?”
“No,” I said. “She was just there and she had a car.” I felt a coil of guilt in my stomach as I said it.
“Hmm,” she said. “As long as you were just using her.”
“I told you you were jealous. You’d like her if you got to know her.”
“I am not jealous, you loser!” she said indignantly.
“And yet somehow I don’t believe you,” I said. She laughed. “So how about you? How’d you get home?”
“Um, I’m not home yet.”
I sat up. “Explain, please?”
“Vodka,” she said. “Vodka is the only explanation.”
“Who was it?” Every time Lila hooked up with someone, I felt worse; another guy and her tally of conquests pulled further and further away from mine. It was particularly depressing because mine was zero. I knew I wasn’t supposed to mind. I didn’t want to mind. I pretended not to mind. I hoped someday I actually wouldn’t.
She sighed and mumbled a name I couldn’t make out.
“Sorry?” I said. “Did you say James Joyce?”
“Jason,” she hissed. “It was Jason. I can’t say it again or I’ll have to desecrate this cemetery with a loogie.”
“You’re…on foot?”
“Charlie, don’t make my walk of shame even worse. I’m wearing one shoe and I look like a raccoon with pinkeye.”
I tried to laugh, but panic rose like bile in my throat. The previous night I had been pretending to read The Brothers Karamazov but actually watching Sex and the City reruns and feeding Frida cheese. Lila had been fumbling down Jason Tierney’s pants. “Well,” I said, “how was it?”
“Awful,” she said. “Like kissing a badger.”
“What’s that like?”
“Horrible pointy teeth and a weird musky smell. I’m not sure if it was coming from his bedroom or his body.” She paused. “Hang on, I just found a bag of Ruffles by the side of the road.”
“How many times have we gone over this? Do not eat garbage.”
“Fine, I’ll starve.” She huffed and I heard the bag crinkle as she dropped it. “I’m taking a shortcut through the gravestones.”
“Don’t eat out of any vases you find,” I said. “That’s not Pixy Stix dust.”
“Ha-ha,” Lila said. “I do need something to wash my mouth out.”
“So how far did it get?”
“Oh, that. I don’t know. I touched his penis. Not impressed.”
“Small?” I said. I made up for my lack of experience by reading extensively about sex. I knew the average erect penis was six inches long. I’d studied pictures on the Internet to determine what they looked like so I wouldn’t be surprised when I saw one for the first time, and for other, less scientific reasons.
“Medium, I guess? I don’t know, I’m not that much of an expert. It was kind of…purplish. It looked angry.”
I laughed. “Also like a badger?”
Lila laughed too. “Yeah, exactly. He wanted me to suck him off. He just, like, presented it to me. Like I’m going to be like, ‘Oh my God, your dick! What a thrilling surprise!’ ”
I thought of making out with Drummond, seeing that he had an erection, that he wanted me to touch him. I shivered. “So you needing to wash your mouth out…”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t go through with it. As soon as he showed it off, I pretended I had to throw up. By the time I got back from the bathroom, he’d passed out on his desk chair, so I took his bed. I left before he woke up this morning. Thank God he has a separate entrance. That was convenient, huh? Can you imagine if I’d run into his mom?”
“So I guess you don’t like him anymore,” I said.
“I don’t know. I might give him another chance. Maybe I can teach him how to pull his lips over his teeth.”
Panic fluttered in me again. She could keep him if she wanted him; it was her choice. He wanted her either way. I would never have that.
“You’re lucky,” I said.
“Lucky like a badger.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Shut up.”
“You want to do it now?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”
“That’s a promising start.”
I was finally interviewing Drummond for the newspaper. Our first issue still hadn’t come out, a combination of hardly anyone having written articles and our inability to crack the layout software, although Dev was trying. Drummond was the only new permanent teacher, and I’d put off interviewing him because whenever I tried to, we ended up chatting instead. Besides, I’d already written a column, about why tennis was a metaphor for college admissions.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m just warning you now that I’m not going into those years at the smelting plant. Some memories are too painful.”
“All right. So where did you go to school?”
“Well, it was mostly on-the-job smelting experience.”
I cocked my head. “That’s your answer?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You want me to write, ‘Tom Drummond, newly hired AP literature teacher, says of his education, “It was mostly based on smelting.” ’ ”
“Are you implying I don’t know anything about, uh”—he turned around in his chair and typed something on the computer—“extracting base metals from their ore?”
I was partly happy that he was trying to make me laugh and partly dismayed that he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. Sometimes it felt like he pummeled me with jokes until I gave in and laughed. But I always did eventually. “So just to be clear, in your capacity as my newspaper adviser, you’re encouraging me to lie.”
He rocked back in his chair. “You don’t win Pulitzers without some truth stretching. You think Woodward and Bernstein didn’t embellish a few details? How plausible is it to you that Nixon added a tape recorder to his office just before he began committing crimes?”
“Are you saying this to annoy me or because you think the word smelting is funny?”
“Yes.”
I paused. “Okay, next question. Where did you work before this?”
“I told you I wasn’t going into the smelting years.”
I sighed.
“Tom?”
We both looked up. Ms. Anders stood in the doorway, looking at us quizzically.
“Is there something about your past you haven’t told me?” she asked.
“Secret’s out now,” he said. He let his chair drop to the floor and slapped his hands on the table. “What can I do for you, Tracey?” It was strange—and weirdly hot—seeing him turn professional and solicitous in an instant.
She stepped into the room and perched on the edge of a table. “It’s Olivia,” she said. I knew she must mean our principal, Dr. Crowley. “Did you hear about that bullshit directive?”
Drummond glanced at me, and she said, “Oh, sorry, Charlotte. I forgot you were there. Apologies for the swearing.”
She forgot I was there? I was sitting right in front of her. “No worries,” I said. “It does sound like a bullshit directive.” I stood up. “I’ll come back and you can tell me about your smelting days another time.”
I could see Ms. Anders was about to
nod me away.
“Don’t be silly,” Drummond said. “I have so many stories. We’ll only be a minute.” He raised his eyebrows at Ms. Anders.
I moved to the other end of the room, desperate to overhear their conversation but worried they’d notice if I did.
I hadn’t seen Drummond interacting with other teachers very often, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. What did they talk about? Students, I assumed, and apparently Dr. Crowley. They were talking in low voices, conspiratorially, and occasionally Ms. Anders threw her head back and yelped with laughter. Drummond laughed with that low, private chuckle I thought he reserved just for me. I wondered why I had stayed. I felt sure that they were talking about something so hopelessly adult that I wouldn’t be able to follow it even if I could hear them. It probably involved political humor.
Tracey, I thought, how perfect a name.
I watched them from the corner of my eye. She touched him on the shoulder and he smiled. Then she got up—at last!—and said, “Have a good one, Tom.”
“Yep, you too,” he said. He waited until her footsteps had faded, then turned to me and said, “Sorry about that.”
“Everything okay?” I asked as I sat down.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. Just the usual gossip.”
I smirked as if I had the faintest idea what he was referring to. “What about?”
“The same things bored people at work always complain about.”
“I haven’t been lucky enough to experience that yet.”
“Enjoy it,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of time to experience it when you get older.”
“I’m sure it’s more interesting than the things high schoolers talk about,” I said.
He shook his head. “It’s the same stuff, I’m afraid. It’s just polished to a higher sheen.”
“I doubt that,” I said, “but thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“It was more of a warning.” He nodded at my notebook. “All right, what’s the next question, Woodward?”
“You never answered where you worked before this,” I said.
“Ah, right,” he said. “It was Bloomfield High over in Peterborough. Three hellish years teaching freshmen how to parse sentences.”
I looked up and he raised his eyebrows at me. “What?” he said.
I shook my head and tried not to smile. “Nothing.”
“We are actually going to discuss Pride and Prejudice today, kids,” Drummond said. “If I hear any groans, I’ll probably just put up with it.”
There was a knock on the door.
“What did you do this time, Drummond?” Frank asked.
“You’re still here, so it couldn’t have been that bad,” Drummond said as he got up.
Dr. Crowley was at the door. They talked quietly for a minute, and then she smiled at us in a perfunctory way and moved inside, toward the windows at the end of the room.
Drummond sat down again. “Dr. Crowley’s going to observe, guys, so let’s not embarrass ourselves quite as much as usual.”
I was immediately anxious on his behalf: what if he got a bad evaluation? They couldn’t fire him, could they? I didn’t want to imagine the rest of the year without him.
“So, any thoughts?” he said.
Everyone was silent.
“Really?” Drummond said. “Not even about Paul Rudd?”
I nudged Lila, who was a reliable breaker of silences, but she shook her head and whispered, “Didn’t do the reading. Jason.”
I wrinkled my nose. “At least you’re getting an education.”
“All right, what about Elizabeth?” he said. “Did you like her? Dislike her?”
Another silence. This never happened; Crowley’s presence had shut everyone up.
Katie had her phone in her lap and was clearly texting someone.
“Katie?” Drummond said. “I bet you identify with Elizabeth.”
Katie looked up guiltily, then scowled when she realized what he’d said. “Identify with her? She’s completely dependent on her parents.”
Drummond raised his eyebrows, and Katie scoffed.
“Are you saying Katie is helpless?” Sean said.
“No, Sean,” Drummond said, but he caught my eye for a moment and I could see he wasn’t as calm as he sounded. Embarrassment for him abraded my stomach, and then a fleeting moment of disgust did too. I hated seeing him not in control. “What makes you say that?”
“Elizabeth is lame,” he said. “She sits around waiting for a guy to marry her.”
“What other options does she have?”
“I don’t know,” Sean said. “She could go out and get a job.”
Drummond laughed, and Sean frowned at him. “Is that really an option for her?”
Sean shrugged. “Some women had jobs. What about their servants?”
“Okay, true,” Drummond said. “But do you think Austen’s condoning this kind of society?”
Sean paused. “What’s condoning?”
I couldn’t stand it. “Elizabeth isn’t helpless,” I said.
All the heads in the room snapped toward me and I had to stop myself from shrinking back. I looked at Drummond for help and he smiled at me pleasantly but didn’t say anything.
“She has some power,” I said.
“What power?” Sean asked.
I tried not to freeze up at Sean’s question. “She uses her intelligence,” I said. “It’s the only real power she has.”
“Yeah, but for what? To get a husband?”
“A husband is power,” I said. “At least for her.”
“What about love?” Sean said. Drummond frowned at him and then looked at me, his forehead still creased into worry lines.
“That’s power too,” I said. “Darcy gives her that when he marries her.”
“You mean social capital?” Dev said.
“Yes,” I said, relieved that he’d stepped in.
“That’s true,” he said. “Darcy is her way of getting ahead in the world.”
“But I think she actually loves him too,” Katie said.
“Yeah, she does, but that’s just a bonus,” Asha said.
Then people were talking over each other and I couldn’t keep track of it anymore. I glanced at Drummond. He mouthed, “Told you so.”
—
When I went in after school, Drummond’s classroom was deserted. It wasn’t a Truth Bomb day, but I was meeting Lila so we could go shopping—or rather, so Lila could shop and I could trail behind her, halfheartedly picking up shirts and then putting them down again. I headed for my usual seat, then stopped. I looked at his desk, which was a drab military beige. It was covered in curling stacks of paper and the occasional thumbed-through book. His chair was an old, squeaky metal thing lined with cracked vinyl padding. I sat down in it. It shrieked when I reclined—I smiled, remembering that day we’d talked alone in the classroom—but it was surprisingly comfortable.
“You taking over after my performance today?” Drummond was standing in the doorway. He looked as if someone had popped him and he’d half deflated.
“Crowley hasn’t told you?” I said. “This is awkward.” I gestured at the empty space in front of the desk. “Pull up a chair. I’ll give you some suggestions for improvement.”
“I’m looking forward to this,” he said. He dragged over a chair and sat down.
I settled my feet on his desk. “First of all, always sit like this when you’re addressing the class. It tells us you’re in charge, but you’re also a maverick who doesn’t play by the rules.”
“How many times have you watched Dead Poets Society?” he asked.
“Not important,” I said. “You can jump up here”—I rapped on the desktop—“when you really want to inspire us.”
“I guess I’ll have to memorize all of ‘If’ by Kipling,” he said. “I’ve always hated that poem.” He leaned back and looked at the ceiling.
“You were flustered,” I said.
He sighed. “Those w
ere my incredible coping skills under pressure. It’s too bad I didn’t become a pilot.” He held out his hands and shook them as if he were having a seizure. “Steady as a rock.”
“You’d be excellent at bumper cars.”
“I am renowned at a local track for several reasons.”
I picked up a couple of books and pretended to read the blurbs, then tossed them down again. There was something thrilling about looking through his things while he watched. “You really find Dr. Crowley intimidating? I’ve seen her drinking Go-Gurts.”
“I find anyone who’s spent that long in academia suspicious.”
“Why do I find that odd?” I said, and ruffled a stack of marked papers.
“All right, smart-ass,” he said, grabbing them from me. “There’s a reason I teach high school. It’s so I know I’m definitely smarter than most of you.” He looked at me. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Don’t play dumb when I’m complimenting your intelligence.”
I smiled. “I had to step in when it became clear you were going to give the game away.”
“The game?” he said. “You’re referring to the one in which I appear competent to the outside world?”
“That’s it.”
“Oh, is that where this conversation is headed? You’re uncomfortable with me complimenting you, so you’re insulting me?”
I paused. “Yes.”
He picked up the tennis ball from his desk and tossed it at me. “Typical.”
We were laughing as Lila walked up.
“Hey, nerds,” she said. “What’s so funny?”
“Besides your face?” I said.
“Oh ho,” Lila said. “Good one.” She turned to Drummond. “You have any bon mots for me, dude?”
“Not after today,” he said.
“Oh yeah,” Lila said. “Pathetic performance, really.”
“Lila!” I said.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I was only trying to put in as much effort today as Lila did.”
“I resent that,” she said. “I watched the entire BBC adaptation, which is really long.”
“In between ‘dates’ with Jason?” I asked.
“No. We watch them on dates. Or I do. He usually falls asleep.”
Even When You Lie to Me Page 8
