She stands under the stream of hot water, her eyes closed, breathing in the steam and the smell of coconut-scented soap. She could stand this way for hours. Totally encapsulated within the stall, immersed in steam. It feels safe, somehow.
When she opens her eyes, she sees a trickle of blood running down the inside of her leg to form a pinkish pool at her feet. A moment later she feels the heavy, familiar tug in her lower abdomen.
Oh, thank God, she thinks to herself.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
She hadn't known what she would do if she were late, but it's all she's been thinking about. What would happen? How would she tell Eddie? She's only fourteen.
She breathes a huge sigh of relief and allows the hot water to hit her straight in the face. Nothing has ever felt so wonderful, and she places her hands gently over her slightly swollen belly. The ache feels good, healing, almost, and for the second time today, she feels that bit of warmth inside her again, like a weak candle flame; a faint little glimmer of something, that makes her stand taller.
She wraps the towel around herself, grabs a tampon from her backpack and finds a toilet stall. When she's done, she pads over goes to the bench to retrieve her clothes. Her shoes are gone. In their place, is a lined piece of paper stuck to the bench with a blue push pin. There is something written on it in messy black letters.
"Looks like you're barefoot now.
Wonder how long it'll take till you're pregnant?"
Maya sits down on the bench and studies the paper. Whoever wrote the note, also took the time to draw a bad caricature of her—a skinny cartoon girl with long hair and a big stomach protruding beneath a tight t-shirt that says SLUT on it.
She crumples the paper and tosses it on the floor. But she doesn't cry. She's surprised to find she's not even close to tears. Not this time. She picks the paper up again and smooths it out on her lap. Someone took a fair bit of time creating this, she thinks. Someone really gave this some thought. She knows it's the handiwork of Nicole and Paige. Maya wonders if they lie awake at night, trying to think of new ways to be cruel.
She stares at her bare feet. It's shoes, she thinks, not the end of the world. Just shoes. She'll get them back. And she isn't even angry. She's just tired. Of herself, mostly. Tired of feeling scared; tired of feeling powerless. Tired of trying to hide. Mostly, she is just tired of being tired.
The door opens and Maya's heart leaps in her chest. Not again. No more.
But it isn't Nicole and it isn't Paige. It's Jasmine.
"You okay?"
Maya opens her mouth to speak, but just nods instead.
"I saw those little bitches come out. I wondered if they'd done something." Jasmine bends over to retrieve the crumpled piece of paper. She smooths it out and reads the message.
"I'm just tired of it, Jasmine," Maya says. "I never did anything to them. I just tried to be a good friend. And this is how they treat me."
Jasmine sits down on the bench and passes Maya her clothes. "Come on. Get dressed. You can't hide out in here all day."
"I don't want to go out there," Maya says, but she gets dressed anyway.
"I know. But you have to."
"They'll be waiting out there. Plotting their next move. I know it!"
"So, what."
"What do you mean, so what?"
"Just what I said. So...what."
Maya blinks at Jasmine. Is she going to turn on her, too? This person, whom Maya was sure she could trust? Is she going to prove to be just like the others? Mean-spirited and heartless?
But Jasmine rests her hand on Maya's shoulder. "Maya?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you know who Virginia Woolf was?"
"A writer, wasn't she? She killed herself?"
"That's right," Jasmine says. "She died in the 40s, but she was seriously badass. A true feminist for her time. And she had a lot of shit to deal with. I mean, mental illness, for a start, but she kept on giving her all."
"Until she put rocks in her pockets and drowned herself in a river," Maya says sullenly.
"Yes. That happened. That was a bipolar event. But the woman wrote some brilliant prose. You should read her sometime."
"What does all of this have to do with Nicole and Paige?"
Jasmine smiles, and hands Maya the hairbrush rested on the bench. "Virginia once said, "You can't find peace by avoiding life."
"It's not the same thing."
"Yeah, it is. Don't you see? If you keep letting those girls—or anyone for that matter—control you like this, you're letting them steal your power. They're nothing, Maya. Nothing. You are a good person. You need to start believing you are worthy of being happy. That you deserve to have a good life." Jasmine digs into her bag and pulls out a little book. She pushes it into Maya's hands. "Here. Keep it. A present, from me to you."
It's a book of quotes by notable women of the past one-hundred years. Maya flips briefly through its pages, and smooths her hand over its soft velour cover. It's delicate and pretty. She's never seen a book like this before. "Thank you, Jasmine. This is really nice of you."
"There's something else," Jasmine says.
"Okay?"
"I just want you to know...if you ever feel like you're going to crack, or if you need a little moral support, or maybe you just need a friend, you come and get me, understand?"
Maya blinks. This all feels so foreign to her. "Wow. Okay. Thank you."
Jasmine pulls an old envelope from her bag and writes something on it. "Here. My cell and my home phone. You call me, okay? Anytime. I mean it. We're in this together." She raises a fist to the sky. "Solidarity!"
"Solidarity!" Maya says, raising her own.
The two girls fist bump each other, and a few minutes later, after Jasmine leaves, Maya opens the book in the middle. Her eyes fall upon a quote that fills the entire page. It makes her smile.
"Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world." - Marilyn Monroe
"Thanks, Marilyn," Maya says out loud. "I think I've got this.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
The small flame in Maya's belly burns a little hotter. She lifts her head, sets her shoulders square and stands up straight.
Okay, she thinks. This is it. I'm done. That's enough.
She tucks the book of quotes into her bag, silently thanking all those women in the pages--those women who still managed to kick butt when so many others said they couldn't. If they could be brave, then she could be brave, too.
She gets dressed, slings her backpack over her shoulder and walks out into the hallway.
She smiles to herself, because she's padding down the hall in bare feet—something she would normally never do. Not in a million years...not until now. Not until Jasmine. And Virginia Woolf. And Marilyn Monroe. Not until today.
She walks down the hall, her heart banging like a hammer on the inside of her ribs. She's still scared, but she's taking Jasmine's advice. She's going to fake it. And the funny thing is, the more she fakes it, the more genuine it feels.
When a couple of students chatting near their lockers point at her and laugh, Maya performs a dainty little curtsy and continues on her way. She strides right into the cafeteria, ignoring the stares, walks around the counter and into the kitchen area—an area that is firmly off limits for students.
***
Cora is pulling some chicken out of the big walk-in refrigerator. Her face registers surprise when she sees Maya, but she doesn't look angry.
"Good Lord, girl," she says, placing the frozen packets of meat on the stainless-steel table, "where on earth are your shoes?"
"Some girls stole them," Maya says matter-of-factly. "I was having a shower in the gym, and when I went to get dressed, they were gone. I know I'm not supposed to be in here, especially with bare feet. But—"
"Well, who would do a thing like that?" Cora interrupts, retying her apron behind her. Cora has an impressive selection of aprons; the one she is wearing today has hand-painted daisies all over the fro
nt.
Maya shrugs. "I'm going to get them back," she says calmly. "I know who took them. But I was wondering if it would be okay if I borrowed your spares this morning? You know, those old brown ones you keep by the back door?"
"Course you can, sweetie," Cora says, shuffling toward the back of the kitchen. "But you know they aren't pretty. They're nasty old lady shoes."
Maya shrugs again. "It doesn't matter," she says, and she's surprised to discover that it really doesn't. She could care less what the shoes look like. "Thank you so much, Cora."
"Don't mention it," Cora says, but she looks concerned. "You okay, Maya? Those girls giving you a hard time?"
A warm smile spreads across Maya's face and her eyes twinkle as she laces up the brown oxford-style shoes. "Yes," she says. "They are. But I'm okay. Actually, I can't remember the last time I felt this good."
Cora laughs and shakes her head. "Well Maya DuMont, I do believe you're telling me the truth!"
Maya walks into her English class and sits where she always does. But this morning she does not slump in her seat. This morning she sits tall as she scans the room. This morning she makes eye contact with the other kids in her class. A few of them point to her shoes and laugh, but Maya doesn't care. Not even a little.
When Nicole comes in and sits at her desk, Maya gets up and walks over to her.
Nicole's face reddens. She glances around the room to see who is watching them. Everybody is watching them. "Nice shoes, Maya," she says sarcastically.
"Oh," Maya says, looking at her feet. "These old things? They actually aren't mine. Mine were stolen out of the girls' change room early this morning when I was having a shower. Cora in the cafeteria was kind enough to lend me hers until I get them back."
Nicole is speechless, and Maya is pleased when she sees a bright red flush spread quickly over Nicole's face.
"Well?" Maya says.
"Well, what?" Nicole's voice has lost its usual punch. Maya is pretty sure she hears it break a little.
"I'd like them back," Maya tells her. "My shoes. Not that these aren't comfortable. They are. But I'd like mine back, please."
"Uh," Nicole stammers. "Are you high? I don't have your shoes."
Maya throws her head back and laughs. She feels like a whole other person. "Yes, you do," she says. "I know you took them. Oh, and you left some of your artwork on the bench, too. Maybe you'd like it back?" Maya smooths out the crumpled drawing with its cruel message and holds it up so that a good portion of the class gets an eyeful. The chatter in the room has stopped; all eyes are on the two girls.
"Um," Maya says. "I'm waiting.
Nicole looks around nervously, but no one, not even Paige or Shelby, come to her defense. Instead, Paige feigns interest in her English notes and Shelby fiddles with the clasp on her bracelet.
"Ha!" Nicole says in a voice that is higher than usual. "We were just pulling a little prank on you, Maya. Your shoes are totally in my locker. Got you good, eh?"
"Oh sure," Maya says. "That's a good one. But I need my shoes now."
Mr. Baker walks into the classroom carrying his briefcase. He settles himself at his desk and looks over the top of his glasses at the girls. "Everything okay here, girls?" he asks.
"Oh, yes," Maya says brightly. "It's just that Nicole stole my shoes for a prank and I need to get them back now. Apparently, they're in her locker."
Silence in the classroom. Nicole doesn't budge. Maya waits patiently, one hand on her hip.
"Nicole," Mr. Baker says. "Come on, then. Hurry it up. We need to start class now."
Nicole hops up and scuttles out of the classroom, avoiding the stares of the other kids as she passes by. Maya follows her, and when she gets to the door she says, "Sorry, Mr. Baker. We'll be right back."
When they reach her locker, Nicole turns around angrily. "What the fuck are you doing, Maya?"
"I'm not doing anything," Maya says. "I just want my shoes."
"How dare you embarrass me like that in front of everyone!"
"How dare you steal my shoes."
"Oh my God, you're such an idiot, Maya," Nicole says, furiously twisting the dial of the lock on her door. "Don't you even know what people are saying about you?"
"Oh, sure. I can probably guess," Maya says calmly. "Probably stuff like: I'm a slut, a whore, that I'm homeless. A loser. Things like that." She leans against the lockers and looks at Nicole. "You seem to be having trouble with that lock. Want me to give it a try?"
Who am I, Maya thinks? She feels as though she has super powers.
Nicole looks as though she might explode. The locker door flings open and bangs against the metal, prompting a teacher to stick her head out of a nearby classroom and shhhhhhhhhhh the girls.
Nicole reaches down, grabs Maya's shoes and throws them into the middle of the hall. She slams the door shut, spins the dial on the lock and storms back to class.
Maya replaces Cora's shoes with her own, slipping the old brown oxfords into her backpack to return later. Then she walks back into the classroom and calmly takes her seat.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
On Wednesday, the sun shines with a vengeance. The temperature jumps another ten degrees overnight, so much so, it makes people giddy. By Thursday, it's official: Bridgeman Lake is setting a heat wave record.
The temperature in the athletic hut climbs and Eddie can't sleep. Heat aside, he's still thinking about that punch he threw at Mark. And when he's not thinking about Mark, he's thinking about Jasmine Hammond and her dark brown eyes.
What if I could help you guys out? We're friends, right?
God, the way she looks at him with that earnest expression of hers. The way it feels like she is looking right inside him. It freaks him out. Why the hell would Jasmine Hammond care about him? And, Jesus, he acted like such a first-class asshole. She'll probably never speak to him again, and it would serve him right. She was right to say all those things she said to him. He'll find her today and, for what it's worth, apologize to her. It's the least he can do.
"Are you awake?" Maya stirs beside him on her yoga mat.
"Mmmph."
"What time is it?"
Eddie checks his watch—he must be the only teenager around with a watch—another thing his father left behind. "3:30 in the morning."
"Gawd!"
"Go back to sleep," Eddie tells her.
"You should take your own advice, Eddiot," Maya says, but ten minutes later, she is asleep.
Eddie, on the other hand, remains awake.
***
By mid-morning he can't stand the heat a minute longer, and when his spare block rolls around he decides to walk the 10-minute trail leading to Bridgeman Lake.
By the time he reaches the old public dock, he is sticky with sweat. He kicks off his shoes and lies down on his belly on the sunbaked wood.
A wasp circles an apple core near the edge of the dock, and a resident pair of resident loons swim past, their black and white bodies reflecting the bright yellow sunlight.
Eddie squints. Everything looks kind of lit up. He laughs to himself because he's just so used to the dark, literally and figuratively. He closes his eyes and lifts his face to the sun. It feels good. He feels good. He can't remember the last time he felt this good. Sure, there's Mark - shits gotta go down with that whole thing sooner or later, but not much he can do about that. At least, Maya seems a lot better, facing down those bitches in class. How about that, Eddie thinks. His little sister kicking butt like that. He wonders if Jasmine has something to do with his sister's new surge of confidence. He's seen them chatting a couple of times, and once more this morning down the hall. What's with that?
Eddie thinks about his no friend rule, the one he's been so diligent about enforcing for so long; the one that's allowed them to stay invisible. Maya isn't the only one who's breaking it. If he were smart, he'd push Jasmine Hammond out of his mind once and for all. And whether or not he apologizes to her, she isn't the sort of girl who is going to waste a lot of tim
e thinking about him for very long. Still, he loves the way she says his name in that poncy British accent of hers. Edward. Hullo, Edward.
And then, she is there.
"Followed you," she says, sitting down beside him.
"Stalker," Eddie says, his pulse quickening.
She's wearing one of her long hippy skirts and a T-shirt with the name of some obscure British band—Go Doolally—on the front. She is barefoot, carrying her sandals, and Eddie notices that three of her toes are adorned with tiny silver rings. He's not surprised. If he had to describe Jasmine, he would say she's the kind of girl who wears toe rings and t-shirts with obscure British band names on the front. And they say you can't judge a book by its cover. Yes, Eddie thinks, a lot of the time you can.
"Whatcha doing?" Jasmine asks. At least she doesn't sound mad anymore, Eddie thinks.
"Nothing," Eddie says.
"Can I do nothing with you?"
"It's a public dock."
"But it's your nothing moment," she answers.
"Was," Eddie says.
"Should I go then?"
"No."
They sit together, watching the sunshine light up the surface of the water and highlight the tops of the cedars on the mountains beyond the lake.
"Listen," Eddie begins. "About yesterday. I wanted to—"
"Forget it," Jasmine says, shaking her head. "I was riled up. It was the one-year anniversary of Amy's death yesterday. And I...well...I shouldn't have made that your problem."
Instinctively, Eddie grabs hold of her hand. She doesn't pull it away. Her skin is warm and soft. "Jasmine. I'm sorry. Really. Please, would you just let me apologize."
Jasmine nods. "Okay, Edward. I accept your apology."
Edward.
They watch the pair of loons, not saying anything. But it isn't an awkward silence. It's anything but, and it takes all Eddie's got not to reach for Jasmine's hand again. It would be so easy.
THE PICASSO PROJECT Page 16
