by Melody Dodds
ignore everyone
until I get to school where there’s Alexis.
ALEXIS
meets me,
eyes a-sparkle.
Guess who dropped a new beat?!
Santa Claus.
Not till December.
The Great Pumpkin.
Close!
Oh my God just tell me.
Yes!
Sizzy!?!?
Ah-YUP!
Candy!!
She pretends to eat it.>
We head to home base,
our first class of the day.
When I used to read, I used to like it.
Now that
reading is treason,
I kind of despise it.
Think Sizzy
will ever
play
here?
Nope.
He’s
too big
now.
But he’s from here.
Doesn’t matter.
Did you do the homework?
Chemistry yes,
English no.
She raises an eyebrow at me.
This is
a thing
she can
actually,
physically
do.
And I’m jealous
about it.
Serrrrious? She rolls the R
which is
from Lekker,
another band
we like.
And
is extra funny
because
we’re from
Maine
where,
as Sizzy
will tell you,
“R’s get skipped like
gym class in middle school.”
What’s with
you and English
lately?
I snarl at her and go cross-eyed.
What’s with
*you*
and chemistry?
Chemistry
is way easier
to make up.
I just laugh
at this.
Not for me!
THE TROUBLE TWINS
That’s what
they call us
at school,
me and Alexis V.
What they mean
when they say that
is
Alexis Valcourt & Charlotte Navarro
smart
smart
smart
trouble
trouble
trouble
What they don’t know:
How bad Alexis’s house stinks
of cat pee,
drunk stepdad,
dirty dishes,
and rotting trash.
How she stays with me
without warning,
just shows up
with her purse and a change of clothes
or sometimes
just a change of underwear.
How the police come
once or twice a month
and take one
or the other
of the adults
away.
How Child Protective Services
has taken
her little sister away
twice.
My mother may never
be home.
My stepfather may never
get out of bed.
But at least they’re not
drunk and high and
beating on each other
and throwing
my kid sister
down
the
stairs
for wanting dinner.
LUNCH
Hallway fights are usually planned.
But lunchroom fights just happen.
Once a month we have one,
and it’s usually a bad one.
It’s seldom juniors,
sometimes seniors,
usually sophomores,
or it’s freshmen.
Alexis can’t stand fighting.
She tries to get the attention
of whoever is about to brawl.
It doesn’t work all
the time.
Sometimes she ends up in the middle,
then I have to save her.
Sometimes it’s me that’s brawling.
She’s learned not to try to save me.
NOT MY SISTER
It’s Alexis who points her out.
Did your sister cut her hair?
But then the girl
turns around.
Oh that’s not your sister.
I thought it was
because
she’s wearing your clothes.
And she is!
I mean it’s Maine,
everyone wears L.L. Bean boots.
And flannels.
But her T-shirt has a cartoon crow wearing a crown,
and the pants are flared jeans
with a “vintage” checkerboard pattern.
Hand-painted,
I know,
in a studio near Portland
called Bones and Soda.
No one in this school dresses like that.
Except me.
And now,
Mia.
DETENTION
Fighting gets you in detention,
sometimes even suspension,
it doesn’t matter if you’re smart.
There’s an art
to getting out of trouble
Alexis knows it.
I do not.
Same kids every week:
fights, late, mouthy streak.
Bad students, troublemakers,
risk-takers.
We are all always in trouble.
We may be smart but
we can’t be taught.
But today
there’s someone
*different.*
A boy I don’t know but wish I did.
Really wish I did.
This is the boy
I think about in the bathroom.
This is the boy
I gloss my lips for.
This is the boy
I haven’t admitted to liking.
Not even to Alexis.
This is Johnnie C.
He sees me and I freeze.
I look down,
he looks away,
as if to shrug,
as if to say,
Alright I’ll let you be
alone.
But that’s not what I want.
I still can’t move.
It’s like I’m caught.
This is my chance,
I’m about to blow it!
And then I see him
take something from his pocket
where he stowed it.
Something
round
and white
and very
small.
And then it hits me—
Johnnie C.
is as scared
as me.
Of course he is,
he’s never been here.
I’m here twice a week.
I’m the queen of detention.
I strut right over.
Sit right down.
That little pill,
no water.
He just swallows…
His face goes from mean to normal.
His eyes go from normal to pinpoint,
but also from glassy and scared
to It’s cool, I don’t care.
This is a thing I know,
makes me not scared to say hello.
I’m Charlotte, most people call me Char.
He says, Johnnie Clark.
Most people call me Johnnie C.
because there are so many
Johnnies, see?
I smile. Yes, there are.
A
nd we talk like this.
Like we are friends or regular people or something.
JOHNNIE C.
is lean (but strong) and tall and blond.
His hair is in his eyes.
His eyes are brown and velvet, like a puppy.
Johnnie C. hunts, fishes, ice fishes, and snowmobiles.
His father owns a lobster pound.
Johnnie’s worked at that lobster pound since junior high.
I know
he knows nothing
about me.
What are you in here for? I ask him.
I got edgy with Mr. Davis.
Edgy?
I didn’t feel well. I had a flu or something.
Mr. Davis kept asking me the same question
over and over
like I had the answer but wouldn’t tell him.
Other people in the class started
to laugh about it,
which made me mad
at Mr. Davis.
Dude, drop it!
I said I don’t know.
Finally I told him…
well…
You told him where to go?
We laugh.
We get shushed.
We take out books and pretend to be studying together.
Which is impossible.
He is in none of my classes. For one thing, he’s a senior. For
another, he goes to CTE.
But he thinks up a good one. He says, Library day?
It’s the one class we might share.
I tell him why I’m there.
I got edgy, as you’d say,
with Ms. Jordan.
Real edgy.
His pinpoint eyes go wide.
You’re the girl who—
Yeah.
I’m here a lot, I admit.
You fight a lot. I know that.
I break up a lot of fights and end up in the middle.
I thought that was your friend Alexandra?
Alexis. Yeah, her, too.
We laugh again.
We get shushed. Threatened with another day in here.
Wouldn’t be the worst thing.
And Johnnie C.
WINKS AT ME.
I think I’ll die.
But I don’t.
CTE
stands for:
Career and Technical Education.
Johnnie goes for construction engineering,
which beats working
at the lobster pound, I’ll bet.
He’ll get out that way.
My brother Leo went for automotive,
meaning car repair,
which is exactly what he’s doing
in the army.
But I guess he got out, too.
In a way.
Somehow, though,
Maine still sends a lot of us
to college.
And if you don’t want college?
They set you up for a trade.
Maine tries to take care of its kids.
I wanted to go to CTE,
but Rupert said, No way.
You’re college bound.
You’re smart enough,
you can get scholarships
and you can
get out.
This is how you raise kids
when you live in a mill town
and work in a mill town
and one day
they start
shutting mills
down.
But I didn’t argue.
He’s probably right.
Besides,
CTE doesn’t offer
a program
in music production.
MOST AFTERNOONS
Mia is in my sister’s room
when I get home.
Which is also
my room.
Mia says:
We can go somewhere else.
Isabella says:
We’re staying here.
I say:
I don’t care what you do.
It isn’t true.
I STAY
in their way,
deciding
what I want to do.
I figure
I’ll just play it cool
until Isabella blows a fuse.
Then I get up.
Mia asks:
Where are you going?
My sister asks:
Who cares?
I just say:
Away.
I LEAVE
Go to Leo’s room.
I keep
some pills
in here.
He had
some of
his own.
I leave
them
alone.
His
are not real
Oxy.
At least
they might
not be.
His script
ran out.
There were
none around.
He headed
for Main
Street
in town.
Street drugs
kill.
I take one
of mine
(of Gramma’s)
and wait.
Lie on his bed
until that state
of relaxing hits me
and I’m away…
…except today
it’s been
20 minutes and
hey,
I still feel the same!
Well, dinner was big.
and I’ve been really uptight.
Maybe that’s why it’s not working right.
Probably I need more tonight because
I’m really stressed…
it’s Friday tomorrow and there are no tests.
And my homework is done.
So why not take a second one?
I do.
RUMORS
There was a librarian
who swallowed a pill.
I don’t know why
she swallowed a pill.
Guess she was ill.
There was a librarian
who swallowed some liquor.
(Oxy is fine, but with liquor it’s quicker.)
She swallowed the liquor
to wash down the pill.
But I don’t know why
she swallowed the pill.
Guess she was ill.
There was a librarian
who smoked some weed.
She smoked the weed
to chase the liquor.
(Oxy is fine, but with liquor it’s quicker.)
She swallowed the liquor
to wash down the pill.
But I don’t know why
she swallowed the pill.
Guess she was ill.
There was a librarian
who rode the white horse…
There was a librarian
who rode the white horse…
she’s dead,
of course.
LIES
All that stuff they say
about Mrs. Schiller
isn’t true.
Obvy!
Liberians
don’t do
heroin.
BUT
there are
quieter stories,
too.
About
operations
and pain prescriptions
and overdoses
and ambulances
that came
too late
to be useful
and so,
the funeral.
A GOOD EXCUSE
I don’t think
those
are true
either.
Not
deep
down.
And Alexis says
Mrs. Schiller
just left town.
Moved
somewhe
re warm
and safe
down south.
But
those rumors
were
a good
excuse
for
self-pity
and self-medication
and memorials
and dedications
that soothed
right away.
Shooed away
the sadness
and so,
the habit.
THE HABIT
Brown bottle,
see-through.
White wrapper
tells you
the contents
and
how many
and
how often.
Six pills,
nine days.
Then
they were
gone.
I went to school,
I carried on.
I went to Gramma’s
to help her clean
and
cook with her
and
mow her lawn.
Brown bottles,
in a row.
I’d forgotten,
but I know,
Gramma doesn’t
take them
but
she bought them.
No,
I didn’t
steal them.
I wouldn’t
steal
from Gramma.
I asked her:
Why don’t you take these?
They make me drowsy,
fog my head.
I only take them
if I can’t sleep.
I asked her:
Why do you have so many?
They send them
in the mail.
I don’t know
how to
stop
them coming.
Maybe
one day
I’ll decide
I’m done.
Ready to go.
I’m eighty-three
you know!
Maybe
one day
I’ll just take
all
those
little
pills.
I said
I didn’t think
that was
a good idea.
And that maybe
I should
get them out
of her house
so she wasn’t
tempted.
And she said:
Okay.
180-some pills—
nine months’ worth!
It was like
Christmas came early.
I left Gramma’s
with all
those bottles,
to keep
her
safe,
and keep
me
happy.
HAPPY
means different things
for each of us.
For Alexis,
it means
good grades
and a scholarship
to a music school.
It means
getting away from her mom
and stepdad
and taking
her little sister, too.
