OyMG (19 page)

She stood a few rows up, talking with one of the other judges—an older man with a round, smiling face and a huge gap between his two front teeth. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I relaxed when I heard her laugh. She didn't sound mad. A second later, the man kissed her on the cheek, then headed out. And Doris Yeats turned to me.

In the split second it took for her to recognize my face, I knew.

CHAPTER 33

I'd always thought of hate as a feeling. Now, I realized it was also an expression. Her features turned rigid, like wet concrete hardening into stone. Only her eyes were alive, and those were an icy blue, so cold they burned.

I stumbled back a step, the warm triumph of the night burning into a layer of sweat on my skin. “I … I just wanted to explain.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I think you've said enough.”

“But I want you to understand.”

Her gaze swept over me like I was some kind of nasty bug. “Oh, I do. You're not who I hoped you were.”

I've only been slapped once in my life. I was five and Benny was three. We fought the way only brothers and sisters can. We pinched and poked and grabbed and yanked. I was older and bigger and I liked to win even back then. The fights always ended with me victorious and Benny in tears. Until one day, I reached for a chunk of his hair, and he slapped me. Hard.

It was a lucky hit. His flailing hand accidentally slid past my arm and landed smack on my cheekbone. I fell back, almost stunned with the pain. But worse than the sting and burn was the shock. I hadn't seen it coming.

That's exactly how I felt now. Doris's hands were still by her sides, but it felt like she'd slapped me. I wanted to fall back. I wanted to cry. Mostly, I didn't want it to hurt so much.

“I'm sorry,” I managed. I stepped back, needing to escape—and felt two arms reach out to steady me.

I felt the heat of his touch and nearly let out a cry.
Devon!

I turned and his eyes, those same eyes as his grandmother's, were guarded but warm. I swallowed, too full of tears to say anything.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Good-bye, Miss Taylor,” Mrs. Yeats said in a low voice. “And know that you go with nothing. Not my respect, and certainly not my money. Who do you think you are to lecture me?”

“Grandmother,” Devon said, a pleading note in his voice.

I blinked back tears and faced her. “I don't want your money.” An edge of the trophy dug into my palm, reminding me that what I'd won was more important than what I'd lost. I lifted the trophy to my heart and held it there. “That's what I came to tell you. I just wanted to change your mind—even a little.”

“Oh, you did,” she said. “I know now you're nothing like me. Obviously, it was all a lie for the scholarship. A Jew through and through,” she mocked.

“Grandmother, stop!” Devon stepped in front of me. “It's not right to say that. And Ellie didn't lie. She told me the truth from the beginning. I was the one who said religion shouldn't matter.”

“You've been fooled, Devon.” Doris's cheeks flushed red, but her eyes were still cold. “And make no mistake: whatever your friendship was, it's over.” She leaned past Devon to meet my eyes, her chest rising with her words. “Your connection with this family—all members of it—is over.”

Before I could say anything, Devon shook his head. His chin stuck out in a way I'd never seen before. “That's not up to you.”

Doris Yeats drew herself up. “You and I will speak about this later,” she said sharply. Then she turned her death stare on me. “Let me save you a trip back tomorrow for the awarding of the scholarship. You are the last student I would ever select.”

She started to push her way past, expecting us to move. But I wasn't going anywhere. I was done hiding. I shifted to block the aisle.

Her eyes flashed fire. “Get out of my way.”

“I've listened to you,” I said. “Now you can listen to me.”

“Do you see the arrogance?” she said to Devon.

I sucked in a breath—the air felt poisoned with her words. But I forced myself to go on, too angry to be afraid. “I was wrong not to tell the whole truth. And for that, I am really sorry.”

“I don't care.”

“I don't care if you care,” I retorted. “But in my religion, we're taught to admit our mistakes and to apologize for them.” I started to turn away, and then stopped. “Oh, and there's one other thing I'm sorry about,” I added. “I should've spit in your eye and called you a
szhlob
weeks ago.”

Then I stepped out of her way. When the door slammed shut behind her, it was just Devon and me.

Except … there was no more Devon and me.

CHAPTER 34

The hall was dark except for strips of emergency lights spaced along the ceiling. Devon raised the blinds around the window nook, and a nearly full moon gave the semicircle a pale yellow glow.

We sat across from each other like we had that first day. Like strangers. In the dark, I could barely see his eyes. Good. I didn't want to lose myself in a pair of baby blues ever again.

I didn't want to lose myself, period.

People were still sipping coffee and eating cream puffs in the lobby, but the noise didn't reach this far. It felt like we were the only two people left in the building. I'd found Mom to tell her where I was going. She stood with Jennifer Yeats, who grasped my hand and squeezed tightly when I walked up.

“Your speech was amazing, Ellie.”

“Thank you,” I said, sounding as stiff and wary as I felt. Maybe she was like Doris. Maybe I was Public Enemy #1. But if I was, what was she doing squeezing my hand?

“I was saying to your mother it's a little startling to hear your children speak, and realize it's not your words they're repeating anymore.” She sighed. “But I'll let Devon explain that.”

Something else for us to talk about, I guess. And it had been his idea for us to talk. But neither of us seemed to know where to start. The silence felt thick around me. I'd put my jacket back on, and now I wrapped it around me, stretching the material like a blanket.

Devon had come to my defense, and even though that meant the world to me, I didn't know what it meant to him. All the ugly things I'd said to him at the hospital floated in front of me like dust in the air. I swallowed, gathering my courage. “I guess it's my night to apologize.”

“No,” he said. “I'm the one who's sorry.”

His words made it easier for me to breathe. “I never meant it to turn out like this,” I said, looking out the window at a clump of bushes, gray green in the moonlight. “I kept rationalizing why it was okay to hide my religion.”

“I'm the one who told you to.”

“But I did it.” I traced a finger over the glass. “I shouldn't have blamed you.” I finally met his eyes. “At the hospital.”

“You were worried about your grandpa.”

“I still shouldn't have done it.”

“It's okay.”

“It isn't.”

His lips suddenly twitched into a smile.

“What?”

“You,” he said. “You're arguing again.”

I had to smile a little at that. “Thank you for tonight, Devon. For standing up for me.”

“I should have done it sooner.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You were right, all the things you said at the hospital. And during your oratory. It felt like you were talking to me.”

“I thought I could get through to your grandmother.”

“I should have helped.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It was my fight.”

“Maybe it should be all of our fights.”

I picked at a thread on my jacket. “That's a really cool thing to say. But I'm guessing it's not so easy when it's your grandmother.”

“I told myself it was just a business thing, you know? Not a racist thing.” He shrugged. “Then you basically called me a wimp at the hospital.” He glanced up at me. “Totally pissed me off, by the way.”

He sat back, stretching out his legs. “When I got home, my mom had made meat loaf for dinner. She'd put a plate in the fridge for me, and she wanted to warm it up. I started yelling at her about meat loaf, how I hate meat loaf. She makes meat loaf all the time, and I always eat it, but suddenly I'm shouting that it looks like a slice of dog poop and doesn't taste much better.”

I made a face. “Bet that went over well.”

“I didn't care about the stupid meat loaf,” he said. “I was mad because of you. Because you were right. I don't speak up for myself and I'd been eating meat loaf forever because it was my dad's favorite, and I'd let my mom think it was my favorite, too.”

“So what did your mom say?”

“She stared for a really long time at the plate of meat loaf and then she asked, ‘You don't like Caesar salad either, do you?' ”

I smiled at the dryness in his voice. “Another one of your dad's favorites?”

He met my eyes, smiling with me. “It got easier after that. We worked our way from desserts to dad's favorite kind of socks, and finally to oratory.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And?”

“She cried.”

“Oh, Devon—”

“No,” he said, interrupting me, “it was actually okay. In a weird way, it was good it happened. She still wishes I'd follow in my dad's footsteps, but she's cool with some detours.” He grinned. “I've already talked to Mrs. Lee about doing radio broadcast at Benedict's.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I owe you for that.”

“I figured you must hate me.”

“No.”

He said it so fast, my heart thumped quicker. “You never called,” I said.

“I didn't know you wanted me to.” He sighed. “Besides, what could I say? That you were right and I wasn't?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Who wants to say that?”

I smiled.

“Camp didn't feel right without you. Nothing did.”

I blushed so hard, I could feel my ears tingle. “What about your grandmother?”

“She's still my grandmother. But she's not telling me who I can be with.”

I looked back out at the night. “You won't see me once school starts, anyway.”

He leaned closer. “You deserve the scholarship, Ellie. You were awesome tonight.”

“Well.” I smiled, a teasing note in my voice. “At least I finally did it.”

“What?”

“Kicked your butt.”

“Don't get used to it.” He grinned back. He shifted around the nook until he sat next to me. “I've always wanted a long-distance girlfriend.”

“Is Canyon View long distance enough?”

He reached for my hand. I let him slip his palm in mine, loving the tiny sizzle that lifted the hairs along my neck. Then he kissed me. I lifted my arms around his neck and I kissed him back, and I knew maybe not everything was right in the world. But it felt pretty dang close.

CHAPTER 35

The last day of camp was ending the way the first day had started: with a general assembly. Mrs. Clancy stood onstage, lips still pursed, face frozen into a look of disapproval as we slid into the rows.

I followed Megan just like on the first day—only now, Anna Hernandez was leading the way and Devon was following me, holding my hand. That first day, I'd dreamed of winning the oratory event. But I'd never dreamed of everything else that had happened.

Last night, and Devon.

This morning, and Mrs. Lee.

She'd asked me to meet with her a few minutes before class started. We'd settled into two chairs in the back of the computer lab. “I have something for you,” she said. She slid a yellow manila envelope in front of me.

“What is it?” I asked. “A certificate?” But it felt too thick and heavy for that. I turned the envelope over in my hands, but there was no writing on it.

“Go ahead,” she urged. “Open it.”

I slid my finger under the flap and ripped it open. I pulled out some papers and recognized my handwriting. They were the admission forms I turned in when I applied for the Benedict's Scholarship. “Oh. I guess they don't need these anymore.” I flashed her a smile and slid the papers back in. “Thanks.” She probably didn't want to risk passing these back in class and watching me burst into tears.

“You will need those,” she said softly, “along with the tuition-waiver forms.”

I frowned, sure I'd heard her wrong. “What do you mean? What tuition waiver?”

“It's not a full scholarship,” she said. “You'll need to cover books and other fees.”

I shook my head, still not believing what she seemed to be saying. “I researched it, though. There are no tuition waivers.”

“Not for incoming freshmen,” she agreed. “But there are opportunities for exceptional transfer students.”

A tremor raced through me. “Transfer students?”

“You would start high school at Canyon View, and then apply for a transfer. Tuition waivers are awarded at the discretion of the board,” Mrs. Lee added, “which is why I spoke to a few members last week. I explained your situation and invited them to attend our final tournament.”

I stared at the envelope that held my future. “You did this?”

“No, Ellie,” she said seriously. “You did this. You're the one who took the stage last night. You won the tournament, and you won a great deal of respect. That's why I'll be recommending you for this waiver, and why the board will agree.”

“I don't believe it,” I whispered.

Her eyes met mine. “When you speak up, you never know who might be listening.”

I pulled the envelope closer, curling my fingers around the edge. “What about Mrs. Yeats? Isn't she a member of the board?”

Mrs. Lee waved a hand in the air. “Mrs. Yeats's involvement and influence only extend so far. Especially when her actions fail to reflect the mission of the school. I can promise you, Ellie, that Jewish people feel very welcome at Benedict's.” She smiled. “At least, I do.”

I gasped. “You're Jewish?”

“I sure am.” She patted the envelope. “So go through the packet with your parents. If you work hard and maintain at least a B-plus average, you can start Benedict's after Christmas break.”

“You mean Hanukkah break,” I corrected.

We both laughed.

“Thank you,” I finally said, my throat tightening up. I opened my mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “I don't know what else to say.”

“I'm sure that won't last for long.” She grinned.

I still could hardly believe it. I'd told Megan, Anna, and Devon. I couldn't wait to get home to tell Mom, Dad, and especially Zeydeh. There'd be a short delay, but I was going to Benedict's—me, Eleanor Jane Taylor. And I was going to make that name mean something.

Mrs. Clancy quieted everyone, and began with a round of thanks to all the team leaders and administrators. “And now, I'd like you to give your attention to Mrs. Doris Yeats, who will announce the winner of the Benedict's Scholarship.”

She strode to the podium, wearing a gray suit with a red blouse. I could hardly look at her, so I didn't. I looked at my lap, where my hand was circled in Devon's. I couldn't block out her voice, but that was okay, because after a lot of garbage about the talented crop of students, she said, “I am proud to award one scholarship this year to a most deserving student: Miss Anna Hernandez.”

Anna jumped up, her hands clapped over her mouth. Megan and I glanced at each other, then burst into loud applause as Anna ran to the stage and accepted the certificate with a bow. Then she pretended to faint. I laughed. Megan was going to have some competition for the title of Drama Queen.

“And now,” Mrs. Clancy said, “let us bow our heads.”

I watched everyone bow their heads, and then I tilted up my face. Somewhere up there, God was looking out for me. So was Bubbe, and Great-Grandma Eleanor, and everyone else. Which was good, because I was going to need some help. I'd have a lot of butts to kick as a member of the Benedict's speech team.

I grinned, closed my eyes, and sent up my own prayer.
What a day, huh, God? I still can't believe it all. But I know I couldn't have done it alone. So thanks for being you. And thanks for making me … be me.