Punk Like Me (24 page)

“Boyd, please stand,” Sister requested, and I complied quickly.

“Let’s all welcome Boyd back today, shall we?” And she started to clap, indicating with a nod that the class should follow suit, which they did, but with no enthusiasm. They had to; the consequences would be dire if they didn’t—this, what was happening to me, could be one of them.

And it already had been. My ears reddened with embarrassment.

“And,” Sister said, “let us also hope that Boyd performs better in tonight’s swim meet than she did on Friday’s exam, much better in fact, since if her grades are any indication of her performance, she should probably drown. But,” she continued, and held up a Þ nger, “at least

• 155 •

she’s healthy—dumb, but healthy. I suppose then she could be thought of as stupid—pretty, but stupid. Which is probably how the term ‘pretty stupid’ was coined.” Sister let the words echo in the classroom while I felt the warmth of my ears spread to the rest of my body.

Don’t ask me how I felt, because I could never describe that combined anger and hopelessness, as well as silent pity, for all of us in that classroom, forced to suffer individually and collectively.

“Well, Boyd, you are not alone in being pretty stupid. You have plenty of company. Since I have reviewed your exams and saved the corrections for today,” she spoke to the class at large, “I have a list of fellow idiots for you, Boyd.” She looked at me again, then down at the papers on her desk. She began to go through them. “Bissel, Chin, Garcia,” she read out, and as she called each one, the girls stood.

Thinking she was done with me, I went to sit, but…

“No, Boyd, keep standing. There are more idiots to keep you company,” she said conversationally, and read on. “Marks, Pieta, and it certainly is a pity,” she interrupted herself to peer at us, then went back to the exams.

The names kept coming, and forty minutes never lasted as long as they always seemed to in that classroom. There’s absolutely no mystery as to why my group was so quiet and busy during each and every lunch—we were each and every one of us terriÞ ed.

The rest of my classes passed in a blur, between trying to get notes and homework from the day before, thinking about Kerry and the swim meet, hoping she’d understand, and just generally being uncomfortable in my seat. I think I was growing again, or rather, still. I wiggled and shifted, tapped and chewed on my pen, until Mr. Fender, the chemistry teacher and a kindly man who looked like everyone’s favorite uncle, warned me about getting ink in my mouth.

“Ms. Boyd, blue Papermate ink is not on the list of basic foods for a very good reason, and should you insist on providing such capillary action to the tubule, forcing the ß uid to rise, upon ingestion of said ß uid, you will most certainly discover why,” he lectured, and I took my pen out of my mouth. I examined my pen—it wasn’t blue, it was black, but the point Mr. Fender had made was well taken, no pun intended. So I doodled instead.

End of day at 2:29 (okay, technically, two thirty, but those who rushed out were called members of the 2:29 club) didn’t come soon

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PUNK LIKE ME

enough, and the very moment the bell rang that announced incipient freedom, I dashed to and from my locker and hit the ground running, speeding down the corridor to the door and out to the parking lot.

A couple of girls called out, “Slice it, Razor!” and “Slice and Dice!” meaning they expected Samantha and me to bring in a couple of Þ rsts and seconds, and I held out my hand in a thumbs-up and yelled back, “Thanks!” as I sped along.

Out the door, down the walkway, and up the hill, I ran the whole way to Samantha’s car and there she was, leaning against it casually, cigarette in hand, and acting like she’d been there forever. She’d changed out of her uniform again.

“Been here long?” I asked her with a smile as she unlocked the door for me, and I threw my book bag in the back and jumped in.

“Nah, just a little bit,” she answered as she got behind the wheel and ß ashed me a quick grin of her own. “Sister Theodocia let us out a little early, so I decided to slip into something a little more, um, comfortable.”

“Lucky you,” I told her enviously. “I have a lab partner who thinks two hundred percent error is acceptable and keeps trying to set the lab on Þ re. We never get out on time,” I added darkly, more than a little annoyed. And it was true. This time, Danielle forgot to watch the Bunsen burner, and there was a dark spot on the ceiling—right over our desk. Dammit. I’d probably have to paint that next week.

Samantha laughed as I told her about it, and we settled into her car, closing the doors and adjusting our seat belts. “You’re going to like being a senior, I think,” she said, while tilting the side and rearview mirrors to her satisfaction. A few more microscopic alterations, and they were as close to perfect as she could get them. She nodded in satisfaction. Checking her seat belt for the Þ nal time, she turned to me and asked, “Ready?” She wore an evil smirk.

“Totally.” I smirked back and Þ rmly snapped my seat belt across my shoulders and hips.

She started the car and pulled out a tape from her pocket and slid it into the deck mounted in the dashboard. “Tally-ho, baby,” she answered, gunning the engine. She turned the stereo on, and we peeled out of the lot, laying more rubber down on the much-abused tarmac. “Real Wild Child” broke sound barrier rules and neighborhood ordinances as the car ß ew forward. I brieß y wondered how Samantha was able to keep

• 157 •

herself in tires.

We sped down the hill to the exit, Samantha honking madly and scattering groups of students and teachers as they walked down. After they scrambled out of the way, some of them noticed whose car it was and who was in it, and they screamed “Go Blade! Slice and Dice!” and

“Razor Blade, Slice and Dice!”

Samantha grinned madly, screaming “Yahooooo!” out the window, and we both waved and called out “Thanks!” to our fellow classmates.

Still driving like madwomen, or rather, one madwoman and one madwoman’s passenger with a cast-iron stomach, we passed the student bus stops, Samantha honking the horn like she was the Philharmonic Automotive Orchestra, to the same cheers and gestures.

Finally, we passed the last group of students, and Samantha looked over at me with a huge smile. “Having fun yet?” She eased back a bit, but just a tiny bit, on the gas.

I smiled back. “Hey, yeah! That was pretty cool. Thanks.”

“
No problema
.” She grinned. “You wanna do it again?” Samantha ß ipped the turn signal as if she was going to turn around.

I grinned, too, and shook my head in the negative.

She laughed. “Just kidding. You are so going to love being a senior, Nina.”

I quirked my lips a bit at that. “Guess so, I’ll Þ nd out soon enough,” and we drove down the local main strip, Hylan Boulevard, toward my house in a contented silence.

To be a senior, to graduate, to leave and never come back. To be of legal age and to have control over my own life, to be able to say yes or no as I chose and not be forced into doing things that I felt wrong about, like clapping at another student’s misfortune or face even worse for the whole class. To not wake up every morning hearing how I should have never been born. To be able to drive, just drive away. Samantha didn’t know just how much I was looking forward to that. Or maybe she did.

After a while of watching the local stores and homes pass by as colorful blurs, I turned to Samantha. “By the way, you do know where I live, right?” I grinned and lit two cigarettes while waiting for her reply.

“Um, I’ve got a general good idea. Light me one, too, by the way?” She waved her hand in the direction of my cigarette. “I know you’re on

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PUNK LIKE ME

Richmond Avenue, not far from Eltingville train station.” She grinned right back at me. “How about you just tell me where to turn when we’re near it, okay? Cool enough?”

“Step ahead of you, chief,” and I handed her a lit cig. “Yeah, cool enough,” I agreed, and settled back in, both of us enjoying and singing along to the U2 tape Samantha popped into the deck.

As we neared my neighborhood, I pictured landmarks in my head that I could point out to Samantha so that she’d know where she was.

Let’s see, there was the Burger King, otherwise known as the “BK

Lounge,” the train station, Universe, shit! Kerry! She got out earlier than I did and was going to wait for me there, except that’s not where I was going to be. An idea hit me. “Hey, Samantha, can I ask you a favor?”

“You mean, other than the one I’m already doing?” she drawled and glanced at me sidewise, then looked back at the road. “I’m just yanking your chain, by the way. I wanted to hang with you a bit.”

“Um, yeah,” I replied, absorbing that. Her statement had thrown me a bit off track, and I had to collect my words again. “I promised someone I was going to meet them at Universe, and I don’t want them to wait for nothing. Do you mind if we stop there? I promise I’ll only be, like, a minute.”

“Isn’t that the comic book place you told me about? Right by the train station?” she inquired as she focused on driving. The car had turned onto Richmond Avenue, and we were less than three minutes away, if that.

“Yeah, that’s it. It’ll be short.”

“Okay, we’ve got a few minutes to spare,” Samantha agreed. “Is that it?” She sighted down the block and pointed across the street.

Samantha glanced at me and I nodded. With luck that doesn’t always happen when you’re in a hurry, Samantha found and slid into a parking space right across the street from the store.

“I’ll be right back.”

I rounded the car and stood in the street, waiting for an opening in trafÞ c to run across. One Þ nally did and I dashed across, feeling my coat ß apping out behind me. I hurried the few steps to the store, opened the door, and stepped in.

“Hey, Nina,” Robbie greeted from behind the counter.

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“Hey, Robbie, you see Kerry?”

Robbie ß ushed red to the roots of his hair. “Uh, yeah.” He looked at me strangely. “She’s in the back there, by the video—”

“Hopey girl!” Kerry rushed up to me and threw her arms around me excitedly. “I missed you!” she exclaimed and kissed my neck. I hugged her in return and kissed the top of her head.

“Hello to you too, missed you.” My low tone was for her ears only.

“C’mere, come on,” Kerry urged, disentangling herself from our embrace and grabbing my hand. She started walking into the back of the store, where the video games were in a narrow alcove.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” I said, allowing myself to be led into the back and coming to stand in front of a row of machines. “I can’t—”

“It can wait another second,” Kerry told me, “but I can’t.” And with surprising strength, she pushed me into the narrow space between two of the arcade games and laid an enthusiastic kiss on my lips, which I returned.

A minute passed, another went by, and I broke off our kiss, breathless. “I hate to tell you this, but I can’t stay,” I told her. “I’ve got a swim meet tonight.”

Kerry stared at me in wordless surprise.

“It’s a big-deal event at Brooklyn College, and I have to be there.

The team’s counting on me, I’m anchoring the relay,” I started to explain, “and I’m also doing my Þ rst—”

Kerry interrupted me. “Your school can wait another minute,” she told me, and closed in on me for another kiss.

“I’ve got,” I tried to speak between kisses, “to go.”

“Okay, Þ ne, you’ve been properly greeted, you can go now,” Kerry informed me with a smile, releasing me and the lapels of my coat, which I had only just become aware that she’d been holding onto, and she reached for my hand.

I took it, and we emerged from between the machines, red-faced and rumpled. Just then I noticed a Þ gure making a purchase at the counter. It was Samantha. Paper bag in hand, she turned and saw me standing there, hand in hand with Kerry, and we just stared at each other, the look on Samantha’s face unreadable. “You ready?” she asked, with a look of polite interest toward Kerry.

“Who’s that?” Kerry asked softly in my ear.

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PUNK LIKE ME

“This is my friend I’ve told you about.” I stepped forward with Kerry to make introductions, “Samantha, my partner in the destruction of stupidity and also a captain of the swim team, and this…” I turned to Samantha, “is Kerry, the one I, um,” I hesitated uncertainly, “the friend I was telling you about,” I said. Okay, so I sounded a little retarded. I didn’t know what else to say.

Samantha’s face went from polite interest to absolutely blank.

“Pleased, I’m sure,” and she nodded a bit dismissively. She folded both hands over her purchase.

Kerry nodded back at Samantha, ß icked her eyes past her to look through the glass door to the street, then back at Samantha. “Nice car,” Kerry commented in an equal tone. Her expression was bland, and Samantha responded with a noncommittal shrug.

Whoa, okay. Back up. What the fuck was going on? It’s not like I expected them to instantly become bosom buddies or anything, but this, this weirdness, was unexpected. I think I had just witnessed an instant, mutual loathing—how bizarre was that?

“We ready?” Samantha asked me, turning on her heel. “You coming?”

“Not with you, she’s not,” Kerry muttered in an angry undertone I hoped I was the only one who could hear. “Wait a second.” Kerry grabbed Samantha’s coat sleeve. “You taking Nina Cherry here for a ride?” she asked in a loud voice and challenging tone.

As Robbie choked and ducked under the counter and I stared at Kerry in shock, Samantha, who had turned back when Kerry’s arm had reached out, stared at Kerry’s hand on her sleeve until Kerry dropped it.

“Good,” Samantha breathed out, and she leaned over and down, until her face was mere inches from Kerry’s. “Now, her name is Nina,” Samantha hissed at her. “Should you choose to call her any other, she has earned ‘Razor.’”

I placed a hand on Samantha’s arm. “Sam, Sammy, it’s okay, she didn’t mean anything by that.” Well, all right,
I
knew what she meant, but I wasn’t going to explain it to Samantha.