Ready or Not (14 page)

Top ten reasons I hate my school:

  10.   The people who go to it totally judge you by what you wear. If, for instance, you like to wear black, you are called a freak—to your face—by nearly everyone who passes you in the hallway.

    9.   If you happen to have dyed your hair black, you are not only called a freak, but a goth or punk freak as well. Some people also might ask you where you parked your broom, assuming you are a practitioner of Wicca, not, of course, realizing that Wicca is an ancient religion pre-dating Christianity that is based on the appreciation of nature and the celebration of life forces and has little if anything to do with brooms, which are only used as ceremonial tools in a few Wiccan rituals.

Not that I have ever studied Wicca. Much.

    8.   All anybody ever talks about is who won on
American Idol
or which school athletic team is going to which final. No one ever talks about art or ideas, just TV and sports. This seems exactly the opposite of what school is supposed to be about, which is opening the mind to new things and embracing knowledge (NOT of the latest Juicy Couture designs).

    7.   People totally litter. Like, they just throw their gum wrappers wherever. It's sick.

    6.   If, for instance, you happen to mention that you like a certain kind of music that
isn't
Limp Bizkit or Eminem, you are routinely shunned and called a ska-lovin' skank.

    5.   One word: P.E.

Or is that two words? Well, whatever. It sucks. I hear in some school districts, they've started having cool things like self-defense classes and Outward Bound–type adventures in lieu of endless games of dodgeball.

I so wish I could go to a school like that.

    4.   Everyone thinks they have to know everyone else's business. Gossip is practically a
religion
at Adams Prep. All you ever hear in the hallways is, “And then she said…and then he said…and then she said….” It's mind-boggling.

    3.   Even though everyone is so sanctimonious and holier than thou, it seems like the raunchier a reputation you have, the more popular you are. Like the football player who got drunk at that one party and Did It with a girl who turned out to be in Special Ed. He got voted Prom King that year. Yeah. Real nice role model.

    2.   The main hallways are filled with case after case of sports trophies, with only
one
case devoted to students who have won art awards, and that case is in the basement by the art room where no one goes but other people taking art.

And the number-one reason I hate my school:

    1.   My parents wouldn't let me stay home from it the day after I announced on MTV that I've said yes to sex.

Theresa had to drive us to school the next day, because there were so many reporters outside the house, my parents wouldn't let us take the bus.

Which was probably just as well, since, judging by the kinds of questions the reporters were shouting (“Sam! Were you and David ever intimate in the Lincoln Bedroom?”), the kids on the bus weren't exactly going to be super understanding of the situation, if you know what I mean.

Theresa, of course, was blaming herself.

“I should have known,” she kept saying. “All those times he came over, and you told me you were studying. Studying. HA!”

“Theresa,” I said. “David and I really
were
studying all those times he came over.”

But it was like she wasn't even listening.

“What kind of example are you setting for your baby sister?” Theresa wanted to know. “What kind?”

“For God's sake,” Rebecca said disgustedly. “I've got an IQ of one seventy. I know all about sex. Besides, it's not like I've never seen Showtime After Dark.”

“Santa María!” Theresa said, to this.

“Whatever,” Rebecca said. “It comes on right after
National Geographic Explorer.
”

“I don't want to hear any more about it,” Theresa said darkly, as we pulled up in front of the school and saw Kris Parks there, holding court by the Adams Prep Minutemen sign. “You girls meet me here when school is out. And no skipping class to have sex!”

“For God's sake, Theresa,” I said. “I'm not a nympho.”

“Just making sure,” Theresa said. Then she drove away.

As long as it isn't raining, people usually hang around outside on the steps of Adams Prep before the first bell, talking about whatever was on TV the night before, or who's wearing what. Generally, if you aren't meeting someone on the steps leading to the school, you have to shove your way through the crowd to get up them.

Not today, though. Today, the crowd parted as if by magic to let Lucy and me through. As we trudged up them, clutching our books to our chests, conversations ceased, and voices fell silent, as everyone stared….

Stared at the freak and her sister.

“This,” I whispered to Lucy, as we made our way inside school, “totally sucks.”

“What are you talking about?” she wanted to know. I saw her looking around the hall and knew she wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to what was happening around us. She was just looking for Harold.

“
This
,” I said. “Everybody thinks David and I Did It.”

“Well,” Lucy said, “aren't you going to anyway?”

“Not necessarily,” I said, through gritted teeth.

Finally, Lucy glanced my way. “Really? I thought you'd decided to.”

“
I
haven't decided anything,” I said vehemently. “Everybody ELSE seems to have decided for me.”

“Well,” Lucy said, suddenly seeming to spy someone in the crowd she needed to speak to. “Good luck with that. See you.”

Then she bolted…straight toward Harold, who was just coming out of the computer lab, his head buried in a copy of a book called
Algorithms for Automatic Dynamic Memory Management.

The last book Lucy had left lying around in the bathroom had been called
She Went All the Way
. It was kind of hard to believe these two were a match made in heaven.

Sighing, I went to my locker and fumbled with the combo, aware of how all around me, the usual cacophony (SAT word meaning “a combination of discordant sounds”) of the hallway had hushed as people dropped their voices to talk about me as they walked by. Eyes narrowed to heavily mascaraed slits as cliques of girls moved past me, and folders were raised over people's mouths as they whispered about me to one another. I could feel a million gazes boring into my back as I twisted the dial on my combination lock.

Why hadn't I faked sick today? How could I have forgotten that, fond as the American public might be of me on account of saving the president and dating his son, my fellow students at Adams Prep have never liked me all that much….

And now they have a brand-new reason to despise me.

And could I blame them? I mean, what had I done last night, really, except make their school look like a joke by announcing on TV that I'm no different than any of the public school kids they spend so much time looking down on?

God, it's no wonder none of them was speaking to me…that they were all whispering
about
me instead….

“So. Were you ever going to tell me?”

I jumped, startled by the soft voice, and whipped my head around to find myself staring into the soft brown eyes of Catherine.

“Catherine,” I said. “Oh my God. Hi.”

“Well?” Catherine's eyebrows were raised. “WERE you?”

“Was I what?”

“Ever going to tell me,” she said. “About you and David. YOU know.”

I felt my cheeks heating up redder than ever.

“There's nothing to tell,” I said. “Honest, Catherine. That whole thing last night—David and I have never—I mean, it was all a big misunderstanding.”

Was it my imagination, or did Catherine's face fall a little?

“You didn't?” she said, sounding disappointed.

“No,” I said. “I mean, well…not yet. I mean—” I broke off and stared at her. “Would you have
wanted
me to tell you? If we had, I mean?”

Catherine's eyes grew wide. “OF COURSE I would,” she said. “Why WOULDN'T I?”

“Because,” I said. “You know. On account of me having a boyfriend, and you—not having one anymore.”

“I don't care about
that
,” Catherine said, looking hurt. “You should know that. I mean, come
on
. Dish the dirt. Let me live vicariously!”

She was teasing me. I couldn't believe it. Catherine was
teasing
me.

I had never been so happy to be teased in my life.

“I wanted to tell you,” I said. “I mean, that David and I were…you know. Talking about it. But I just felt like it might be…I don't know. Like I was bragging.”

“BRAGGING?” Catherine grinned. “Are you kidding? You're like Amelia Earhart, Sam.”

I stared at her. “I am?”

“Yeah. You're blazing a trail for nerdy girls everywhere. You have to tell us all about it. Otherwise, how else are we going to know what to do when it's our turn?” She snaked an arm through mine and said, “Now, start from the beginning. When did you first know he wanted to? How did he bring it up? Have you seen his you-know-what yet? And was it bigger than that Terry guy's?”

I laughed. And was surprised to hear myself doing so. I'd pretty much been convinced since last night that I'd never laugh again. Because who would be there to
make
me laugh, if no one was speaking to me?

I'd forgotten about my best friend, though…and in a way she, I knew, would never have forgotten about me.

“I'll tell you everything,” I said, “at lunch. Not that there's a lot. To tell, I mean.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I said. And slammed my locker closed.

“So,” Catherine said, as the first period bell rang. “See you at lunch.”

“See you then,” I said. Then added, to myself,
If I make it that long.

Because I really wasn't sure I would. Make it until lunch, I mean. I am used to people poking fun at me on account of my clothes and hair. I mean, you don't go around dressed all in black in a sea of Izod and plaid without attracting comment, you know?

But this. This was different. People weren't calling me a freak or asking me what time the rave was. They were just…ignoring me. Really. Looking right past me, as if I weren't even there.

Only I knew they'd seen me, because the moment they thought I was out of earshot, I heard them whispering to their friends. Or, worse…laughing.

The teachers, at least, tried to make out like it was just another normal day at Adams Prep. They went on teaching as if completely unaware that the night before, one of their students had announced on television that she'd said yes to sex. In German, Frau Rider even called on me once…not that I'd raised my hand. Thankfully, I knew to say
“Ist geblieben”
to her
“Bleiben bliebt, und denn, Sam?”

But still. It could have gotten ugly.

And then, at lunch, it did.

I was standing in the lunch line with Catherine, pointedly ignoring all the people walking past us with a smirk—or, worse, a fit of the giggles—when Kris Parks and her gang showed up.

“Right Wayers,” Catherine murmured, tugging on my sleeve. “Heading toward us. Four o'clock.”

I felt my back stiffen. Kris wouldn't dare say anything to me. I mean, sure, girls like Debra, who are basically defenseless, she'll rip into without a second thought.

But someone like me? No way. She wouldn't dare.

She dared.

Oh, she dared, all right.

“Ssssslut,” Kris hissed as she and her fellow zealots passed by.

I had endured a lot already that day. The whispering. The snickers. The voices falling suddenly silent in the ladies' room the minute I walked in.

I had taken a lot. I had taken
more
than a lot.

But this?

This was just one thing too much.

I stepped out of the lunch line, and directly into Kris's path as she walked by.

“What did you just call me?” I asked her, my chin exactly level with hers.

There was no way Kris would ever say something like that, I knew, to my face. She was too big a coward. Not that I supposed she thought I'd hit her. I've never hit anyone in my life—well, except for Lucy, of course, when we were little. Oh, and that guy who'd been trying to shoot the president. But I hadn't hit him so much as jumped on him.

Still, Kris couldn't imagine I was going to hit her.

But she had to imagine I was going to do
something
to her.

If so, however, it apparently didn't bother her enough to keep her from folding her arms across her chest and, leaning on one hip, saying, “I called you a slut. Which is what you are.”

Amazingly, loud as the Adams Prep cafeteria usually was, at that particular moment, you could have heard a pin drop. Just my luck that every single person in there chose that moment not to speak. Or rattle a fork. Or chew.

Or breathe.

That's because—as I should have realized—every single person in there had noticed Kris and her posse coming toward me. Every single person in there knew there was about to be a smackdown. Every eye in the place was on me and Kris. Everyone in the vicinity had drawn in a breath when Kris called me a slut—“Oh, no, she di-n't!”—and was waiting for my answer.

Except that I had none. I really and truly had none. I had expected Kris to back down. I hadn't thought that, knowing she had such a large audience, she'd actually say it
again
.

I could feel heat rising up from my chest, along my neck, and into my cheeks, until I was sure that the blush suffusing (SAT word meaning “to fill or cover”) my face was visible all along my scalp as well. Kris Parks had called me a slut. TWICE. TO MY FACE.

I had to say something. I couldn't just
stand
there in front of her. In front of
everyone.

I was sucking in my breath to say something—I don't even know what—when Catherine, next to me, went, “For your information, Kris, it was all a misunderstanding. Sam has never—”

But even as the words were coming out of her mouth, I knew—I just knew—that the truth didn't matter. Whether I'd ever had sex or not was so not the point.

And it was time to let Kris know it.

So I went, completely interrupting Catherine, “What gives
you
the right to call people names, Kris?”

Which is possibly one of the lamer comebacks in history. But hey, it was all I had.

“I'll tell you what gives me the right,” Kris said, making sure she was projecting (SAT word meaning “to throw or cast forward”) her voice strongly enough so that the entire caf could hear her. “You went on national television and not only made a mockery of the president and the American family, but you also made a laughingstock of this school. This may come as a surprise to you, but there are people here who don't want to be associated with a school that allows people like you to attend it. How is it going to look now on our college applications when admissions officers see that we attended Adams Prep? What do you think they're going to associate our school with from now on? High academic achievement? Superior sports performance? No. They're going to see the name Adams Prep and go, ‘Oh, that's the school that skank Sam Madison went to.' If you had any respect for us or this school, you would drop out now, and let the rest of us try to salvage what reputation we can for this place.”

I stared at her, hoping she wouldn't notice the tears that filled my eyes. Which were, I told myself, tears of anger.

“Is that true?” I asked. Not Kris. But the rest of the cafeteria. I turned and looked out at all of the faces staring back at me. They all looked carefully blank.

Was this what the first lady had been talking about last night? Was this teen apathy at work?

“Is this really how you all feel?” I demanded of those blank faces. “That I've ruined the school's reputation? Or is that just how KRIS PARKS feels?” I whipped my head around to glare at Kris. “Because if you ask me, Adams Prep's reputation was never that great to begin with. Oh, sure, everyone
thinks
it's a great school. I mean, it's one of the best ranked schools in D.C., right? But that's the problem. Adams Prep ISN'T a great school. Maybe
academically
it is. But it's filled with people who mock you if you wear anything that isn't J. Crew or Abercrombie. People who don't hesitate to call you a slut to your face, whether you are one, or not.”