I’d forgotten: in traditional Hmong homes, the men ate before the women. It was kind of weird to see. Dad and I always ate together.
“—And you can take some home.”
I hadn’t realized that Mee had been translating Grandmother’s constant talking.
“Sorry, what?” I asked.
“There’s plenty of food,” Mee repeated, “and you can take some home. Grandmother insists.”
Grandmother spoke loudly over everyone at the table. They all looked up and broke out into smiles. Those who spoke English, which was just about everyone, said “hello” or called out my name.
Grandmother patted my hand and all but forced me into a chair. She spoke again.
“You’re home,” Mee told me.
And the weirdest thing of all: it felt like she was right.
CHAPTER FOUR
SIX DAYS EARLIER
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 24
Home alone on Saturday night, I laid back on my bed, phone in hand, scrolling through Confessional discussion threads. The newest topics ranged from fairly tame—Which teacher would you banish from planet Earth?—to far racier stuff—Who is the nastiest cheerleader? The racy stuff way outnumbered the tame stuff.
Nastiest cheerleader. Skeeziest soccer player. Some senior named Wade Daniels had his own thread. It was filled with pictures of him on the football field, on the wrestling mats, and even one pic from behind, supposedly taken in the locker room shower. Wade himself chimed in, saying he couldn’t confirm if that butt shot really was him. But he also said he couldn’t deny it.
A number of girls who claimed to have slept with him were more than happy to vouch for the butt.
I spotted Shaniece’s HOTTIE ALERT about Mr. Ashbury. When I clicked on it, I found that lots of people had added their own snapshots: pics of him walking down the hall, sitting at his desk, getting out of his car in the parking lot. It was like a creepy ode to his beauty.
One of the pictures was black and white: a yearbook portrait of Mr. Ashbury in a wrestling singlet from about six years ago, when he attended Monona High.
“He went to Monona?” I said to myself. “No way ... ”
In between each picture, everyone was guessing if he was single. At the bottom of the screen, a live chat window ran through the latest comments. Everyone used a fake name, but most of their avatars gave them away.
TheQueen: no way something that tasty is single LOOK AT THOSE PECS!!
This was Ashley Peterson. Her avatar was the picture of her being named Homecoming Queen last year. The same picture in the display case at school. Why bother with the fake name?
MissThang: check his finger. no ring
My new bestie: Shaniece. Her avatar was a close-up of a raised middle finger. I only knew this was her because MissThang had started the thread and posted the picture of Ashbury.
HannahBanana: i heard his girlfriend teaches at madison north
No clue who this was. I’m guessing one of the four thousand Hannahs who went to Monona.
TheQueen: i wonder if he’s available after school to give “extra credit.”
MissThang: he won’t sleep with you ashley. you too nasty.
TheQueen: you think he’d sleep with you?
HannahBanana: you could ask him ashley. he’s probably sloppy seconds after shaniece
Well, I thought, I wanted to fit in. And maybe if I joined in, Shaniece would stop glaring at me from across the cafeteria. She’d know she could trust me to be quiet the next time she snapped a picture. And if I wanted her to know it was me, I couldn’t use a fake name. So I logged in and typed a response.
JennyV: Been there, hit that.
Nobody responded. Instead, one by one, I watched the girls all log out. Great. Now Shaniece was probably going to glare at me for daring to butt into her chat. I couldn’t win with her.
I spent a couple more hours sifting through the threads. I got the feeling DeShawn was right. Most of this stuff had to be made up, like me hinting that I’d slept with Mr. Ashbury. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to offend the others. Probably jealous, I decided. They wanted to fantasize about Mr. Ashbury on their own.
He’s mine, girls, I thought. In Fake Boyfriend Land.
I heard a knock at my bedroom door, just before Dad poked his nose in.
“Done with homework?” he asked.
“Did it last night.”
He shook his head. “They didn’t give you enough for the whole weekend? Teachers are a bunch of slackers these days.”
I threw my pillow at him and got a rare smile. “There’s some curry in the fridge. Got it from Grandmother. Help yourself.”
Sure enough, that’s all it took to invite back the Stone Face. “How did that go?” His face might have been a mask, but his voice told me just how curious he was.
“Great. Fine. I like Mee. We’re going to study together next week.”
Dad leaned on the door frame. “At my mother’s house?” Ladies and gentlemen, meet the man who can frown with just his voice.
“Yeah,” I said. “Is that a problem?”
He stood there a long time, taking this in. Then he nodded. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
I put my phone down. “So, I know deep, meaningful talks aren’t really our thing ... but are you ever going to tell me why you hate your family so much?”
“I don’t hate them. We just don’t always ... agree.”
“They seemed pretty nice.”
“I’m sure they did.” Then he tilted his head toward the living room. “Wanna stream a movie?”
Dad could change a subject with the stealth of a lion on the hunt. I got up. He worked so much, it was rare when we got a chance to just sit and chill. “Sure. But don’t think this means I’m going to stop asking what your beef with the family is.”
“Honestly, Jenny,” he said, Stone Faced and sad-voiced, “I really hope you never find out.”
CHAPTER FIVE
FOUR DAYS EARLIER
MONDAY, OCTOBER 26
Monday was like the slowest train wreck in the history of the world.
I should have seen it coming. I’d been at the school two weeks, and no one had given me a second glance. Monday, all eyes were on me. Some people tried to hide it, glancing at me from behind books. Others just outright stared. I’m guessing the looks continued after I went past because of the whispers and giggles that followed me.
First period—Calculus—I glanced over at Glenn, the guy across the aisle from me. The top page of his notebook said EASY in big letters with an arrow pointing right at me. When I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to ask what it meant, he just laughed and licked his lips.
Then homeroom—Contemporary Lit with the Gargoyle. Every time Mrs. Krause buried her nose in her copy of The Chocolate War and read aloud, random guys would turn to face me and waggle their tongues. None of the girls even bothered to look at me.
When I got to history, the first thing I noticed was Mr. Ashbury wasn’t there. The sub told us to take out our books and read chapters seven and eight. It was the most normal class I had all day. Until the bell rang. The sub hightailed it out, and when I tried to leave, two guys in football jerseys blocked my way.
“Hey, new girl,” the taller one said. “We heard you like jocks.”
Everyone else was moving past us and out the door. “What?” I said. “I think you’ve got the wrong—”
“Are you why Ashbury isn’t here today?” the shorter one asked. “Is he too sore?”
Just then, Shaniece stepped in between me and the football guys. She looked the tall one right in the eye. “If she is, it’s none of your damn business.”
The guys laughed and left. Before I could say anything, Shaniece grabbed her bag and walked away. With only five minutes between classes, I didn’t have a lot of time. I ran through the halls until I found Grant, DeShawn, and Lia next to Grant’s locker.
“Guys,” I said, “the weirdest thing just—”
That’s when
I noticed them all looking at me like I’d grown a third eye.
“Chica,” Lia said, “we heard.”
“About Shaniece standing up for me?”
DeShawn shook his head. “No. About you ... and Mr. Ashbury.”
Grant won’t even look at me. He just keeps fumbling with the lock on his locker. “I told you to stay off that site.”
I couldn’t believe it. That’s what this was all about?
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked. “The Confessional is full of people bragging about who they hooked up with. Why am I getting all the attention?”
Grant groaned. “You need to know about some recent history. Last year, there was a big scandal. Mrs. Reynolds, the algebra teacher, was fired for sleeping with a student. It made national news. She’s in jail now.”
“Did you really sleep with Mr. Ashbury?” Lia asked, her face dead serious.
“Of course not!” I said. “Everyone was talking smack. I just joined in.”
“Well, I heard the police escorted Ashbury out of school this morning,” Lia said.
What? “That’s crazy. The police should check out The Confessional. Everybody was saying stuff like that.”
DeShawn shook his head. “Nuh-uh. They all talk about sleeping with each other. Nobody else was claiming to sleep with a teacher. That was all you.”
I slumped against the lockers. “What do you think they’ll do to Mr. Ashbury?”
Grant shrugged. “If what you said is true and nothing happened, they’ll let him go.”
Two girls from Calculus passed by, looking at me and snickering.
“Great. In the meantime, everyone thinks I’m the class skizz.”
“Don’t worry,” Lia said, patting my arm. “You’ll never be the class skizz as long as Shaniece Burton will do it with anything that moves.”
Was that why Shaniece drove the jocks away? She was grateful I was taking the heat off her?
“Besides,” Grant said, trying to sound optimistic, “you didn’t do anything. You’re fine.”
“Jenny Vang,” the loudspeaker nearby croaked. “Jenny Vang, please report to the office.”
We all looked at each other. “It’s a coincidence, right?” I asked. “It has nothing to do with ... you know.”
Grant shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
•••
Two police officers were waiting in the principal’s office. My first thought was Dad. He’d been hurt at work or something. But the officers’ faces weren’t sympathetic, like they were about to break bad news. They looked ready to haul me off to Alcatraz.
“Jenny,” Principal Boyle said. “We’ve gotten a report about something you posted on a website this weekend. Something about Mr. Ashbury.”
I felt my face flush. If I’d had lunch already, I probably would have lost it. “No, it wasn’t ... I just ... ”
Boyle raised her hands. “It’s okay. We just need you to tell us the truth. You won’t be blamed if Mr. Ashbury—”
“Nothing happened!” I blurted out.
One of the officers—a woman with blonde hair done up in a bun—scribbled onto a note pad. “You’re saying you didn’t have sex with your teacher?”
“Yes,” I said. My cheeks were burning. “Is Mr. Ashbury okay? I heard he was taken from school.”
The other officer—a guy in a tan trench coat—leaned across the principal’s desk. I think he was trying to be comforting, but it came across as creepy. “Are you saying nothing happened because he threatened you?”
I started crying. I told them everything. That I made it up just to fit in. That I was still a virgin. Most of all, I repeated over and over and over that Mr. Ashbury and I never hooked up.
Principal Boyle and the police officers looked to one another for a long time. Finally, the principal said, “Jenny, we called your father and asked him to come pick you up. You should probably go home while we talk about this.”
I wanted to die. What had they told Dad? As if she could read my mind, Boyle said, “He doesn’t know about this. Yet.”
I felt a bit of relief. “Am I in trouble?”
But no one answered. Instead, they asked me a few more questions. The whole group was trying really hard to make sure Ashbury hadn’t threatened me not to tell anyone about our love affair that never happened. Then they let me wait outside for Dad.
He showed up a few minutes later. I muttered that I felt sick, and we walked to the car.
He didn’t ask any questions. He just drove me home. I went to the bathroom and threw up.
CHAPTER SIX
THREE DAYS EARLIER
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 27
Listening to Grandmother speak was like magic.
Mee and I had spread our school books across Grandmother’s kitchen table. But I couldn’t focus on homework. Grandmother was telling me stories about life back in Laos as my dad’s brother, Uncle Ger, translated.
“You’re kidding!” I said, amazed. But Uncle Ger said it was true: Grandmother worked for the CIA during the Vietnam War. That sounded cool. My grandmother, the spy.
Every so often, Uncle Ger would stop to teach me some words in Hmong. He taught me how to say grandmother: “niam pog.” Her eyes lit up when I spoke her native tongue.
After an hour, Mee chased Grandmother and Ger away, saying we had homework to do. Grandmother left the room, grinning like a devil.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know that about her,” I said, turning back to my books.
“Grandmother’s an amazing woman,” Mee said. Then she eyed me closely. “So ... are you feeling okay? When your dad answered the door, he said you were sick and might not be able to study.”
I tried to picture that uncomfortable scene: Dad answering the door when Mee showed up. I was surprised he’d said anything at all to her. I wondered if she’d spoken to him.
“Just a stomach bug yesterday,” I said. “I’m good now, thanks.”
Throwing up the day before had turned out to be a good thing. It convinced Dad I was sick, and he insisted that I stay home. Which was fine with me, because I didn’t want to face anyone at school. I figured this would give them time to verify with Ashbury that nothing had happened and then everything would go back to normal. Almost everything. When I came back to school on Wednesday, I wouldn’t be the class skizz anymore. I’d be the class liar.
I could live with that.
Mee smiled brightly. “Whew. I couldn’t tell if you were sick or if ... something else was bothering you.” When she brought up “something else,” she quickly looked down at her notebook.
“No, it’s all cool,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”
She buried her nose in the notebook but kept sneaking glances my way. It got to the point where I wanted to make sure I didn’t have FREAK tattooed on my forehead. After the tenth sneaky glance, I said, “How about you? Everything okay?”
Mee swallowed hard and tucked her hair behind her ear. “No. Not really. I mean, I don’t know.”
“What is it? School problems? Boy problems? Girl problems?”
“Listen, I hate to ask this. I feel stupid but ... Well, there’s this rumor going around my school. A rumor about you.”
I felt my stomach demanding an encore of yesterday’s vomit attack. Mee went to school on the other side of Madison. How did anyone there know about all this stuff with The Confessional?
“It’s not true,” I said quickly, not looking up from my calculus. “None of it. It’s just ... it’s just stupid.”
Mee sighed. Her shoulders slumped and she sat back. “I’m so glad to hear that. I’ll tell Grandmother.”
“What?”
Mee shook her head. “No, I mean, if it comes to it. You see how fast the rumor spread from one school to the next. I figure it’s only a matter of time before the rumor makes the rounds at the Hmong Community Center. Grandmother’s got friends who work there. They tell her everything.”
I was just getting to know my family. The last thing I need
ed was for them to think bad things about me. Why hadn’t I said I’d slept with Wade Daniels like everyone else?
“Don’t worry,” Mee said, taking my hand. “I can head off any trouble. I’ll explain to her it was a lie someone started to make you look bad. She’ll be angry for you, not at you.”
I managed a meek smile. I wanted to correct her. It wasn’t a rumor someone started. I’d started it. By accident (sort of). But if I was lucky, this would all blow over soon. People would stop talking about it. Maybe the rumor would die before it ever made it to Grandmother.
“Thanks, Mee,” I said. “That means a lot.”
“We’re family,” she said. “You don’t know what that means yet. I hope you’ll give us a chance to show you.”
I’d spent the day in my room, trying to figure out how I could show my face at school on Wednesday. With Mee standing up for me, it suddenly felt very doable. Screw trying to fit in with a bunch of strangers. I had a family. Finally. That seemed more important than getting anybody at Monona to like me. I liked Mee. I’d always wanted a sister. But a cousin would do just as well.
“You know,” I said, “maybe I could come with you to the Hmong Community Center sometime. I just feel like ... I’m missing out on something, you know? I want to know more about our culture.”
You’d think I’d just given her a million dollars. She squealed. “Grandmother will be so happy to hear that,” she said.
•••
When I got home, I found Dad waiting in the living room.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I said, slinging my backpack in the corner.
“Is something going on at school?” he asked.
My heart jumped up into my throat. As usual, Dad was calm. He could just as easily have been asking if I’d had a good evening.
“Why?” I asked.
My mind raced. Had he found The Confessional himself? I wished more than ever that I’d used a fake name online.
“I got a call from school after you left with Mee,” he said. “They want me to come in for a meeting on Friday.”
The Confessional Page 2
