The File on Angelyn Stark (7 page)

Genius
, I think.

“I’ll get her for you, Angelyn. She’s yours!”

He’s not serious. “Too late!” I shout.

“For what?” Steve is at my shoulder.

I break from him. “For us.”

The action on the field dies. The coach and teacher turn.

“Coslow!” the teacher calls. “Down, now.”

The coach points at me. “This is off-limits for student lunch.”

Hands at my elbows, Steve sets me to one side. “We’ll talk later.”

“We will not!” I call, watching as he trots down.

I follow at a distance. The detention crew is massed on the track. I step into them, and they part for me, barely. Someone smacks his lips. I flinch. The kid laughs, and the rest take it up.
Kiss-kiss
all around, from lips I’d never touch. I push through. From the field, a catcall—
oww
—and then another. The sound goes on, stretching like taffy, pulled from many mouths. The coach’s whistle doesn’t dent it.

Steve stands between the groups. Our eyes meet. He turns his back. Hands raised, he makes like he’s conducting.

I pass him and all of them, my arm raised, a finger to the sky.

Against the sunbaked gym, I am seeing, hearing, and feeling it again.

Lunch is still on. Kids eat at picnic tables under the awning. The breezeway swarms with people all the way up to the street.

The girls come charging around the corner.

“The coach made us leave too.” Charity’s voice is high and breathy.

Jacey asks if I’m all right.

I peel myself from the wall. “Now do you believe me?”

“Believe what?” she says.

“Steve
really
wants you back,” Charity says.

“Oh yeah.” My throat catches. “Did you see what just happened?”

“I saw you guys talking.”

“Talking. Yeah. Steve sold me out.”

“Don’t get dramatic,” Jacey says.

“Angelyn is all about the drama,” Charity says.

I point toward the field. “I did not make that up.”

They look at me like the problem is mine.

“And what is this
crap
about listening to
my side
? If we’re friends, there is no side. You’re with me.”

Jacey scratches her arm. Charity says, “You don’t deserve him.”

I look at her closely. “Oh my God. You think you have a chance.”

She flushes pink. “No, it’s just that Steve’s a friend, and you’re not being fair.”

“Steve’s a friend?” I say. “Then why’d he call you
skank
?”

“He did not!” Charity says.

I nod. “He did. Don’t know
why.
”

Her face shades to red. “Yeah, everyone knows you’re the skank.”

“Because I’ve actually done stuff with a guy.”

Charity’s mouth twists. “One guy? Try twenty. I hear anybody’ll do.”

I look at Jacey. “She can’t say that to me.”

“Charity, shut up,” Jacey says. “Angelyn, forget it.”

“I can’t forget everything!”

Things get quiet around us.

“Girl fight,” someone says.

“Walk away,” Jacey says.

I nod. “I’ve got no reason to stay.”

A hard look at Charity and I weave off through the watchers.

“Trash!” she calls after me. “Welfare witch!”

I swing around. Kids arc out of the way, clearing a path.

Charity’s chest heaves. I look her over, head to toe.

“All that money and nothing to spend it on.”

“You never should have been our friend.” Her voice snaps like a loose wire.

“Who’s
your
friend?” I ask. “Jacey’s busy and Steve don’t go for fugly.”

Charity runs at me.

I throw my backpack down. She rumbles around it, banging into my chest, pinning my arms as I stagger backward.

A ring forms around us, kids yelling.

I piston my shoulders but Charity holds me like iron. We circle in a crazy dance.

“Stupid,” I say, and she growls something back.

I lift a boot and bring it down on her sandal. She yowls and hops, and I work an arm free and smack her shoulder. Charity spins off.

“Enough?” I ask, shaking out my hand.

She runs at me again. I sidestep, grabbing a fistful of product-heavy hair. I yank it. Charity kicks at me, missing by inches as I work to stay behind.

“Stop now?” I ask, close to her ear.

She elbows my gut. I jerk back and my feet tangle with hers. We fall, landing hard, Charity on top. I stare at the circle above. Laughing faces—most of them. Yelling. Happy. Jacey, silent. Pale as milk.

Charity shifts and straddles me, and I shut my eyes, taking her sissy slaps like I deserve them. She’s crying. I’m not. I hear her sobs and the roar above. It rises and falls, and rises and falls again.

Charity’s weight lifts off. I breathe in, opening my eyes. Mr. Rossi is there. He sticks out a hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet.

“If it weren’t for bad luck,” he says, “would you have any luck at all?”

Mr. Rossi walks Charity and me to the vice principal’s office.

“There,” he says, pointing to a row of chairs outside Miss Bass’s door.

Charity slumps into the closest one, sniffling.

I take the one at the end.

“Be ladies,” he says, a smirk as he knocks and enters.

I shift to find a soft spot, my butt sore where I landed.

“Hate you,”
Charity slings over.

“You want more?” I ask. “Here?”

“No,” she grumps.

Mr. Rossi walks out. “Miss Bass is calling your parents.”

Both of us groan.

“You girls take it light,” he says. It’s dumb, but I smile at him.

Charity’s mom shows first. I hear her in the hall asking people which way.

Charity sits up straight and sober.

I almost say,
Trade you
. I wouldn’t. But I think it.

Mrs. Flint walks in, dressed like she’s been to lunch somewhere.

“Charity.” She stops. Hands on hips. “What happened?”

Charity opens her mouth. She looks at me. Shuts it.

“Never mind.” Mrs. Flint pushes into the office.

“My daughter does not fight,” she says, voice soaring.

“Better get in there,” I say. Charity drags herself up.

“This is all about Angelyn Stark,” Mrs. Flint says.

I lift my head, listening.

“I have told my daughter and
told
her to stay away from that girl.”

Like Charity never does anything wrong.

Miss Bass tells Charity to shut the door.

As it closes: “Angelyn is pure trash,” Mrs. Flint says. “Like her mother.”

I stand. Gut aching.
Bitch
.

Mrs. Flint was a room mother. Every year. And Mom was
—Mom
.

The front-desk ladies are watching me.

When Mrs. Flint and Charity come out, I point.

“
She
jumped
me
. Truth.”

Charity scoots like I’ve booted her. Mrs. Flint huffs after.

Miss Bass curls a finger.

The visitor’s chair inside Miss Bass’s office is a mile more comfortable.

“Mr. Rossi’s story supports yours,” she says at her desk.

Warmth spreads through me. “Really?”

Miss Bass nods. “He said Charity had the best of you.”

Not sure I like that. “We fought, but it wasn’t my idea.”

“What did you fight about, Angelyn? It would help me to know.”

“She’s been on me all day. I can tell you that.”

“Charity says you’ve been on her.”

“She would.”

“I’m inclined to believe you,” Miss Bass says.

“You are?”

“I’ve heard good things, lately.”

“Wow,” I say softly to myself.

“That must be your mother,” Miss Bass says.

Mom is outlined in the frosted glass, hand up to knock.

“Good things?” I say. “She won’t believe them.”

“You work for us, Sherry,” Miss Bass says. “We appreciate that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mom says. “What exactly did Angelyn do?”

“Ask me,” I say.

Mom says, “Quiet.”

Miss Bass clears her throat.

“Angelyn had a physical fight with another girl. Charity Flint. A teacher intervened. It appeared to him that Angelyn was not the aggressor.”

“Angelyn knows she’s not supposed to fight at all.”

“Yes,” Miss Bass says. “But this is a change. This girl is one of her friends.”

“It was probably over some boy,” Mom says.

“Charity can’t get close to any guy,” I say.

“You’d be better off if
you
couldn’t.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Dressed like that.” She flips her hand to me. “Skin-tight everything.”

We’re dressed alike. T-shirts and jeans.

“On me it looks good,” I say. Just above my breath.

Mom leans to Miss Bass. “She’s got a history with boys. Scratch any problem with Angelyn and that’s what you’ll find.”

“This fight was not about boys! Mostly not,” I add.

“You see what I deal with?” Mom says.

Miss Bass taps a pen. “Mr. Rossi says Angelyn’s work has improved.”

“I thought I was here because of the fight,” Mom says.

“Mr. Rossi is the teacher who brought the girls in.”

Mom looks stumped. “Why would he say that?”

“Because it’s true!” I almost shout it. “You’ve seen me do the work.”

“Angelyn did bad,” she says past me. “She needs to learn how to get along in this world.”

“Well, yes,” Miss Bass says, “but—”

“Can I hear Angelyn’s punishment?”

“Two days’ suspension,” she says quietly.

Mom sits back. “Thank you. I’ll bring her to work with me.”

“There’s no one to watch her at home, Sherry?”

“No.”

“Can I go to the bathroom?” I ask, already standing.

Miss Bass nods. “Be sure you come back, Angelyn.”

Mom says, “She damn well better.”

I race-walk down the hallway, wanting—needing—OUT.

“Angelyn!” someone calls as I pass Attendance.

I duck back. Jeni and Nathan are mixed in with the line of kids for late passes. They cross to me, Nathan first.

“You okay?” he asks.

“We weren’t sure where to go,” Jeni says.

I stare at them. “Where to go for what?”

“We saw the fight,” Nathan says.

“You saw the fight. So?”

“That other girl started it,” he says.

“We want to tell—whoever—what we saw,” Jeni says.

“That’d be Miss Bass,” I say. “The vice principal. But why—”

“You shouldn’t get in trouble, Angelyn,” Nathan says.

“Stop it,” I say.

The attendance clerk cranes around. “You three! Get in line or get out.”

Nathan and Jeni follow me into the hall.

“So, you don’t want us to say anything?” Jeni asks.

I look toward the exit. “I don’t know. You can. Whatever!”

Then it hits me.

“My
mom’s
in with Miss Bass. Nathan, did she see you?”

He looks back blankly. “Your mom? I didn’t see her.”

I take a pinch of his moldy army jacket. “Let’s go.”

Leaving the building is like coming up for air. I stop, and stumble when Nathan bumps me. I pull him across the courtyard to a windowless wall.

Nathan is grinning at me.
Grinning
. I drop his sleeve.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I say.

“You’ve got dirt on your face.” He touches his cheek. “Here.”

I rub the spot with the heel of my hand. “Stop
noticing
, all right?”

“Jeni and me were coming down the hill when we saw you.”

“Whose idea was it to go to the office?” I ask.

“Mine.” Nathan sounds proud.

“I don’t need your help, or hers. I’ve got things under control.”

“Your mom isn’t blaming you?”

“Yeah, she is. She’d do it worse if
you
showed up.”

“That’s not fair,” he says. “She’s not fair to both of us.”

“Nathan, the best thing you can do for me is
leave me be.
”

I whip away from him.

“I was right to tell,” he says. Not loud but it goes through me.

I walk back. “You were right to tell what?”

Nathan blinks. “About your stepdad touching you.”

I fall away. “Don’t say that here. That lie.”

“It’s not a lie.”

I want to scream at him.
Scream
. I look around. No one.

“You wrecked us with it. My whole family. Done.”

“Grandma said I was right to tell.”

“You lied to
her
too. Yes, you did!”

Nathan shifts his weight. “Naw.”

With a look I pin him to the wall.

“You see one thing—
one thing
—you don’t understand, and that’s it. Time to—tear down the walls. Break everything. Did it make you feel special?”

From a distance Mom shouts my name. I catch my breath.

“I’ve got to go.” I jab a finger at him. “Do not follow me!”

“I didn’t see it once,” Nathan says.

“What’s that?”

“Your stepdad and you. I didn’t see it once. I saw it a bunch.”

“Freak.” I whisper it.

“I
told
once.”

“You were wrong.” The words come out cracked.

“I was right. I never lied, Angelyn. You did, about him.”

“Shut up.”

Nathan searches me. “I hear he’s still around. How can that be?”

Mom calls again, closer.

“Go,” I tell him.

“She ought to know,” Nathan says.

“Go.”

“Did you ever tell her? I mean,
you
telling her?”

I look toward the office. “Go, all right?”

“You should tell her, Angelyn.”

I grit it out: “Please.”

“Tell her the truth.”

“Then I’ll go.” I push myself forward.

Mom comes around the building.

Each of us stops short.

“Well,” she says. Red-faced. Sharp-voiced.

“Mom.” I’m heavy, waiting.

“You know Miss Bass meant for you to use the bathroom in the building.”

“Oh.” I nod after. “Sure.” I stare at Mom. Her eyes stay on me.

“We’re not done in there, Angelyn. Now, come on.”

Following, I look back. Nathan is gone.

Monday after the suspension, I start up the steps of the Humanities Building.