Nobody liked Kelly Fisherman, including Kate, and Kate felt bad about this. She was uncomfortable disliking anyone, having been disliked herself, but Kelly made it very hard for you to like her or even feel fondly toward her. All that was left for Kate to feel for Kelly Fisherman was sorry.
This was especially true two seconds later, when someone stuck a foot out and Kelly Fisherman went flying. The cafeteria was suddenly a volcano of laughter and hoots erupting everywhere. Keith Lawton was one of those silent laughers, Kate noticed. His mouth was open and his head was moving up and down, but no sound came out of him. Nevertheless, it was clear that he was very much enjoying the spectacle of Kelly Fisherman lying splat in the middle of the aisle, the contents of her tray rolling everywhere.
In the middle of the pointing and the hooting, Kate noticed a tall boy standing at a table a few rows away from the commotion, his palms flat down on the tabletop so that he was leaning over it, talking intensely to a scrawny kid with white blond hair and pimply skin. With a shock, she realized it was Matthew Holler. She’d never seen him in B lunch before. For a few seconds the commotion didn’t seem to touch him, but finally he turned his head toward Kelly, who was still on the floor, too stunned to move.
Matthew Holler studied the sprawling figure of Kelly Fisherman on the cafeteria floor for a moment before turning back to his friend and flashing him the peace sign. Then he walked toward the lunch line, circling around Kelly, who was slowly rising to her feet and dusting herself off.
Kate watched as Kelly picked up her chips and her plastic-wrapped cookies, but abandoned her hamburger, which had flown off her tray and landed underneath a table. She seemed to be pretending that her two milk cartons, now leaking in the middle of the aisle, had nothing to do with her whatsoever.
After collecting her tray, Kelly Fisherman sat down at an empty table and began eating. Kate picked up her own sandwich, but was too distracted to eat it. Was Matthew Holler in B lunch? How could she not have noticed that before? She was searching her brain like crazy to think of other times she might have seen Matthew in the cafeteria when she saw him returning from the lunch line, walking down the aisle like he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, just heading off somewhere after lunch. But as he passed Kelly Fisherman’s table, he dropped two plastic-wrapped sandwiches on her tray. Kelly gave him a puzzled look and muttered a barely audible “Thank you,” but Matthew was already halfway out the cafeteria door before the words left her mouth.
Kate was wondering if she was the only one who’d witnessed this amazing act when Keith Lawson said, “He is so weird.”
“Who’s so weird?” Marcie asked eagerly, turning her head left and right, looking for potential weirdos.
“Matthew Holler,” Keith answered, as though it were obvious. “He lives on the next street over from me and we used to play together when we were kids, but now? Forget it.”
“What was he like?” Kate asked, eager now herself for information. “I mean, when he was a kid?”
Keith gave her a strange look. “He was like a kid. Why do you want to know?”
Kate shrugged. “He just seems sort of cool.”
“He gets in trouble all the time,” Keith told her. “He used to be gifted, but now he just does regular classes. All he cares about is music.”
That’s when Kate knew that somewhere in his closet, Matthew Holler had a pair of boots that made his mother sigh and roll her eyes whenever he put them on. In fact, at that very moment, Kate felt like she knew everything worth knowing about Matthew Holler. She knew he thought different was good. She knew his fingers were calloused from hours of playing guitar, pressing down hard on the bottom two strings at the first fret with the tip of his index finger, doing it forever just to get the F to sound right. She knew so much about Matthew Holler that it didn’t surprise her one bit when he came back into the cafeteria and walked up to her table.
“I want you to hear something,” he said. “You got a minute?”
Kate nodded and stood up, abandoning her lunch. She ignored the murmur of questions coming from Marcie, Amber, Brittany, and Timma. She ignored Keith Lawton’s snort of disgust. When Matthew reached out his hand to her, she took it. She held it like a present. She tapped her fingertips against his fingertips and knew what she had always known, from the very first time she’d set eyes on him.
girl, dreaming
“You have to do this.”
Mazie shoved a fluorescent yellow sheet of paper in Marylin’s face. STUDENT GOVERNMENT ELECTIONS! the headline practically shouted at Marylin. BE A MOVER AND A SHAKER! MAKE DECISIONS THAT MATTER! REPRESENT YOUR CLASS!
“Why do I have to do this?” Marylin sat up from a hamstring stretch and tried to lean back out of Mazie’s range. The way Mazie was waving that sheet around, someone was going to get a paper cut.
“Because we need representation!” Mazie threw her hands in the air like a politician making a speech, her voice bouncing over the gym’s hardwood floors. “Our cheerleading uniforms are a joke. We look like kindergarten cheerleaders. And we need our own van for away games. And money so we can enter competitions.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” Marylin asked, lying back on the mat and pulling one knee up to her chest. “Or with Student Government, for that matter?”
Mazie held up a finger. “One, Student Government makes recommendations to the school administration and the PTA about how much money should be spent every year on clubs. Cheerleading, for your information, is a club.” She held up a second finger. “Two, you’re our best candidate. None of the eighth-grade cheerleaders wants to run for Student Government because they’re practically in high school and couldn’t care less anymore. So that leaves you.”
Marylin felt confused. There were five seventh-grade cheerleaders. Why her? Although, even as she thought this, a little flower of excitement bloomed inside her. Marylin McIntosh, Student Government representative. It had a nice ring to it, she had to admit.
“I’ve got it all worked out,” Mazie continued, taking a seat on the mat next to Marylin. “Ruby would really be the best person to run, but she’s only allowed one extracurricular activity at a time. You’re second prettiest after Ruby, plus you get good grades except in math. You didn’t used to be popular, so the unpopular kids can relate to you. You’re perfect for the job.”
Marylin took the sheet of paper from Mazie and put it beside her on the floor.
“Let me think about it, okay?” she said. “Some of my classes are really hard this year.”
“What’s to think about?” Mazie asked, leaning forward in a long stretch. “There’s nothing to it. You just show up at the meetings and vote the right way.”
“Maybe,” said Marylin. She stood up and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. She couldn’t believe how sore her arms were after the routine they’d performed at Saturday’s game, the one where she had to stand on her hands forever and then flip over into a bridge. “But I should still probably talk to my mom about it.”
Actually, Marylin knew her mom would be thrilled if she ran for Student Government. Student Government was something that good kids did, kids who were already thinking about college in the seventh grade, kids who spent their weekends with their church youth groups building houses for homeless people. Clarissa Sharp, who was running for an eighth-grade representative seat, was always coming in during Marylin’s art class to ask Mrs. Sage if she could stay after school to work on posters about ending world hunger and saving the environment.
Sometimes Marylin wanted to ask Clarissa if she could help her with her posters. Only she had cheerleading practice after school Monday through Thursday, and on Saturdays there was always one game or another to cheer for. In general, Marylin didn’t have a lot of time for saving the world. But when she passed the art room on her way to the gym after the last bell and saw Clarissa bent over a piece of poster board, she got this excited feeling inside of her. She almost envied Clarissa Sharp for having such important work
to do. She had to remind herself that Clarissa Sharp wasn’t even pretty, and probably none of the eighth-grade football players even knew who she was.
“Well, ask your mom tonight,” Mazie told Marylin as they walked to the other side of the gym, where the rest of the middle-school cheerleaders had gathered to start practice. “Because you should really start campaigning right away.”
Then she smiled her best middle-school cheerleader smile. “Don’t worry. With my help, you’ll win by a landslide. I’ll be your campaign manager.”
Marylin had been afraid of that.
That night, Marylin called Kate. Kate was the one person she knew she could get the straight scoop from.
“You know, I think this is the first time you’ve called me since school started,” Kate said the second she got on the phone. “Remember how in third grade we took turns calling each other to say good night?”
Marylin wished Kate wouldn’t bring up the past. In fact, she wished that Kate wouldn’t mention anything that made Marylin feel guilty or like a bad friend. Sometimes she felt like Kate was never going to let her forget that Marylin and Flannery had given her the silent treatment for weeks last year. Most people Marylin knew would have let it go by now. They would have let bygones be bygones. But not Kate. She liked things to be out on the table.
Personally, Marylin preferred things to be kept in drawers. Life was a lot neater that way.
“I’m thinking about running for Student Government,” Marylin said, cutting off any discussion of how things had been in the old days. “But I wanted to get your opinion first. Good idea or bad idea? And if I did run, do you think I’d win?”
Kate was quiet for a moment. Marylin tried not to take this as a bad sign.
“Last question first: Yes, I think you’d win,” Kate said finally. “You’re popular, but people don’t hate you. Not yet, anyway. Is it a good idea? I don’t know. I guess it depends on why you want to do it.”
“To make a difference,” Marylin said, only it came out sounding more like a question.
“That’s pretty unspecific, don’t you think? What kind of difference do you want to make? Who do you want to make a difference for?”
Now it was Marylin’s turn to be quiet. She couldn’t say she wanted to make a difference for middle-school cheerleaders. No one would vote for her. Besides, she realized, she didn’t care about making a difference for middle-school cheerleaders. She thought their uniforms were cute. She had fun riding to away games on the team bus.
On the other hand, she realized suddenly, she would like it if the fruit they served in the cafeteria didn’t have brown spots on it. The apples were always mealy and mushy, and the bananas looked like they were five minutes away from turning completely black. She would like it if Walt Sevier, who had muscular dystrophy and had to walk with crutches, could get through the hallway in the morning without always getting pushed to the wall. She would like it if the janitor, Mrs. Mosely, had a real office and not just an oversize closet with a student desk in it.
“Does that sound right?” Marylin asked after she’d told Kate her thoughts. “Or is it stupid?”
Kate laughed. “That’s the least stupid thing you’ve said in over a year. No offense or anything. My only advice would be, come up with two things that everyone would think were really cool, like having a movie afternoon one Friday a month, where they’d cancel classes and show a video in the auditorium instead.”
“But that could never happen,” Marylin pointed out.
“Of course it could never happen,” Kate replied. “The point is, it makes people think you’re looking out for their needs. So they elect you, and then you take care of Mrs. Mosely.”
“Isn’t that like lying?”
Kate took a second to answer. “Think of it more like dreaming out loud,” she said. “The fact is, if you could get a movie afternoon for everyone once a month, you’d do it, right?”
“Sure,” said Marylin. “I love that idea.”
“So it’s not a lie,” Kate concluded. “It’s a kind of wish that you’re sharing with other people.”
Before she could stop herself, Marylin blurted out, “Would you help with my campaign? I mean, come up with ideas and stuff?”
“Like be your campaign manager?”
Marylin automatically regretted saying anything. Mazie was supposed to be her campaign manager. But Marylin knew that Kate would do a million times better job. Kate could get her elected.
And just like that, Marylin knew getting elected to Student Government was what she wanted more than anything else in the world.
“Sure,” Marylin said. “You could be my manager. I mean, Mazie sort of said she’d do it, but you probably have more time than she does and everything.”
“You mean I’d actually do a good job,” Kate corrected her.
“You’d do a great job,” Marylin agreed.
“Mazie’s going to be mad if you tell her I’m doing it instead of her.”
“Mazie’s always mad about something,” Marylin said, which made her giggle.
Kate giggled too. “Mazie’s a jerk.”
Marylin felt like she should stick up for Mazie, even though she was pretty sure Mazie would never stick up for her. “But she is my friend.”
“Well, your friend’s a jerk,” Kate replied, still giggling.
Marylin couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh uncontrollably. “I know!” she shrieked. “I know!”
Later, after she’d hung up the phone, Marylin felt light and airy, as though she’d just shrugged off a backpack filled with bricks and could finally stand up straight and breathe. She knew she would be in big trouble with Mazie, but for some reason she didn’t care. She was going to run for Student Government and win. She was going to save the world, or at the very least get better bananas in the cafeteria.
* * * * *
On Saturday, after cheering at the football game, Marylin and her little brother Petey went to their dad’s apartment, where they were going to spend Saturday and Sunday night. On Monday morning, Mr. McIntosh would drive them to school. Marylin hated this routine, which they went through twice a month. She didn’t hate seeing her dad, she just hated having to switch around her life. She felt like her parents ought to be the ones who switched their lives around, since they were the ones who had gotten a divorce and ruined everything.
The worst part, in Marylin’s opinion, was the drop-off. Marylin’s parents not only no longer loved each other, they didn’t seem to like each other very much. They pretended that they did, but when they talked to each other it was like every word came with a little knife attached to it.
“Petey has to go to bed at a reasonable hour,” her mom told her dad as she handed him Petey’s suitcase through the apartment doorway. “I’d really, really appreciate it if just this once you could put Petey’s real needs first. He doesn’t need to watch movies until midnight. He needs to sleep.”
“Petey always goes to bed by ten on Saturdays and nine thirty on Sundays,” Marylin’s dad said. He rubbed Petey’s head. “Don’t you, Pete-ster?”
“Seventy-four percent of the time,” Petey replied.
“A hundred percent of the time would be preferable,” Marylin’s mom said.
“Yep, in a perfect world, it sure would be.” Marylin could tell her dad was trying to sound agreeable, but it was hard to do that through clenched teeth.
“And please get the kids to school on time,” Marylin’s mom continued. “They’re not in preschool anymore, where it doesn’t matter if they show up ten minutes late.”
“That only happened once,” said Mr. McIntosh. “And only because I had to stop for gas.”
“Maybe you should fill up on Sunday,” Marylin’s mom—who used to be Mrs. McIntosh but was now Ms. Fuller—said. “Plan ahead.”
“For a change?” Marylin’s dad asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“Could we go inside now?�
� Marylin asked, wanting more than anything in the world to get away from this conversation. “I have to start working on my Halloween costume.”
Marylin had her own room in her dad’s apartment. It was half the size of her room at home, but she didn’t mind. It had a cozy feeling to it. Her dad had let her pick the furniture and put up whatever posters she wanted, and Marylin had been very careful about what she chose. She picked colors in the light bluish green family for the paint and the curtains. All the furniture was painted white. It was the country cottage look, which she knew from reading her mom’s magazines. As long as Marylin didn’t look out the window, she could pretend she lived in a cozy cottage somewhere in England, and any minute someone would come over for tea. Marylin didn’t even like tea, but she liked the idea of having tea, especially if it was served in white cups with old-fashioned pictures of roses on them.
If Marylin made the mistake of looking out the window, she saw a parking lot, and beyond that the back of a strip mall where a bunch of skateboarders were always hanging out. It completely ruined the country cottage feel of her room, so she tried never to look out the window.
It had taken her forever to find the right bedspread for her room. Nothing at the mall matched the pictures in her head. Finally, in August, when she’d gone with her dad and Petey to the flea market at the county fairgrounds, she’d found a quilt in a Star of David pattern, with green and blue and pink all through it. It had cost two hundred and fifty dollars, but ever since her parents had gotten divorced, Mr. McIntosh pretty much bought Marylin and Petey whatever they wanted, so he paid for the quilt without complaining about how expensive it was.
Now Marylin carefully spread out her clothes for the weekend on top of her bed, refolding them before putting them in her dresser. She always brought too many clothes. Not only did she have to pack for the weekend, she also had to pack for Monday morning. On Fridays, when she packed, she couldn’t possibly predict what her mood would be on the following Monday, so she had to give herself options.
The Kind of Friends We Used to Be Page 6
