The S-Word (31 page)

“Jesse.”

“But I couldn’t,” he says again. “I can’t hurt people. Even if they hurt me.”

“You shouldn’t,” I say. “You shouldn’t lower yourself to their level.”

“That’s the thing. That’s why I think we’re good for each other. You can help me stand up for myself and I can help you choose love over hate.”

It sounds beautiful. God, it sounds perfect. But nothing ever is. “You said before you couldn’t be a part of my life.”

“If you went through with your plans. But you compromised.”

“Yeah?”

“So I can compromise too.”

“What does that mean?”

He takes my hand. Finally. I feel warmth like I’ve never known. “It means I can’t walk out of your life. I’ve tried to stop talking to you; I can’t, Angie.”

“But you’re afraid?” I know it’s true because I’m afraid too. I swear we can feel each other’s emotions.

“Hell yeah.” He smiles but it vanishes almost instantly. “I’m terrified. Every time I think about love, I think about losing. Especially with someone who pulls away so hard.”

I lower my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” His hand goes to my cheek, just for a second. “But it’s true.”

“So you just want to be friends with me.” The words escape my mouth before my brain has fully realized them. They shouldn’t hurt as much as they do. Before this moment, I was certain I’d lose him, but I want more than friendship. I want so much more.

“For now,” he says. That vanishing smile returns. “I know it won’t be easy.”

“No, it won’t,” I agree, though it’s not what I want to say. I want to tell him I’ve tried to pull away from him but I can’t either. I want to tell him he’s the only thing I want and that I’ll fight for him. “We can just be friends,” I say instead.

“We can?”

“Of course.” I look at Lizzie’s gravestone when I say “I need you.”

Please, please know what that means.

“Just need?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, Jesse. I can’t say it. Not when it’s already clear I’ve lost you.”

“You haven’t.” He scoots closer. I shiver. His jacket comes off so quickly, I barely see it before it slides over my shoulders.

I lean into him because I really can’t help it. I can’t feel angry and I can’t feel alone. I’m tired of the darkness. “You promise?” I ask.

“I promise.” His arm goes around my shoulders. “I just need to go slow with this. To know you’re not going to hurt yourself.”

“I won’t make you save me,” I say. “Just be here for me and I’ll be here for you. Okay?”

“Okay.” He kisses my cheek.

I keep my face straight ahead, no matter how much I want to turn. To look at him. “What do you think she would think of us? Do you think she’d be angry?”

He shakes his head. I can feel it. “I think she wanted you to be happy more than anything in the world.”

“I should have been better to her,” I say softly.

“You can be better to you.”

“I want to be better for you.”

“One thing at a time, Princess.”

I close my eyes. I’m so warm now, I don’t want him to move away from me. Maybe ever. But I lift my head from his shoulder. “Can you give me a minute?”

“Of course.” His voice is soft like he’s not at all annoyed with my request. I don’t know why I expect people to get mad when I ask for what I want. “Take as long as you want. But I’m going to wait for you.” He stands and heads down the hill. He follows the little stone pathways, leaping from one to another when the first one ends. I could watch him play this game all night but I turn back to Lizzie. To the place where they put her body.

I still have so much to say.
I miss you. I should have been the
friend you deserved.
But only one thing matters now, for me or for her. For us.

“I love you forever.” The daisies rustle like they’re reaching out for me. I touch the petals with my fingers. I feel this electricity go through me, this warmth that is both outside and in. One of the petals breaks away in my hand.

You love me,
I think, remembering the game Lizzie and I used to play with the daisies that grew in her yard.
You love me not?
I pull another petal but end up getting two by mistake. I feel like she’s sending me a message from beyond.
Chase the love that is living,
I feel her say.
The love that warms you from inside and out.

I look down the hill. I can barely see Jesse below, a dancing shadow angel in the blue light of dusk. “I love you too,” I say, hoping the wind will carry my words along.

Tell him,
says the voice that is and isn’t me.

I rise on wings of my own and follow him down.

Final dress rehearsal. The energy in this room is indescribable. Jesse and I stayed up half the night putting finishing touches on costumes. Budgets being what they are, Madame Swarsky feared she’d have to use costumes from last year’s spring production. But we came to the rescue and now not an actor passes by without a wink or a kiss blown our way. I feel for the first time like I’m a part of something.

I feel for the first time like I belong.

When it came time for my character’s entrance, I swept across the room. I might have been walking on air. I might have been dancing. The whispers of my fellow cast members died in their throats as I emerged from a haze of gauze and moonlight. They held their breath as I sang my first note.

And then I was transformed. The Fairy Queen took me over until the last of my lines. As the stunned silence fell upon me I had a moment of doubt, a gripping moment where I feared I would be booed from the stage.

But there was no booing to be heard.

There was only wild applause.

The Players stepped out from their places to give me a standing ovation, the first I’ve ever had. (One of many, should I say? Should I be greedy? Should I feel hope?) I admit the moment was startling. I felt their acceptance as strongly as one feels an embrace. They cared for me. They wanted more.

I could do no wrong.

Tomorrow is opening night. My nerves are as frayed as a wire spitting electricity. Anyone who touches me will light up like the moon. (Oh, the moon! I shall dance in her light all the way home!) If I can contain this energy and pour it into my performance, maybe you’ll see me as I am. A Queen, a wild thing, a creature worthy of being loved. And if this endeavor does not bring love to my door, at least I can say I tried.

I gave it my all, heart and soul.

My body is filled with possibility. It’s filled with light and air. I am boundless, giddy, ecstatic. If I were to lift my arms right now, I might float to the ceiling and out into the night.

Honestly, I could fly.

T
HANKS TO MY
superhero of an agent, Sandy Lu, for your intelligence, your optimism, and for believing in my work from the start. Without you, none of this would’ve happened.

Thanks to my amazing editor, Adam Wilson, whose wit and insight have made this a wonderful experience. You are the kind of editor a writer dreams of working with. To the brilliant Julia Fincher, for understanding what I’m trying to do even when I can’t articulate it, and for referencing Brian Krakow in a professional correspondence—because you can’t beat that. To everyone at Gallery Books, for your hard work and creativity. You’ve truly humbled me with your awesomeness.

Thanks to my family: John, Sheri, Sarah, and Jordan Pitcher for supporting me, encouraging me, and, let’s be honest, entertaining me. If anyone asks where I got my sense of humor, I can always say “I learned it from watching you.”

Thanks to the Hauths: Debbie and David for their never-ending support, and Crystal and Kiona for putting up with weird,
random texts like “How many minutes do you have between classes?” and “Do people your age say ‘filched’?”

Thanks to my readers Selene MacLeod and Brigid Kemmerer, for being the wizards who lent my characters heart when they needed it most.

Thanks to Rachel Schingler and Sunny Williams, for supporting my artistic endeavors from the start—even the melodramatic teen poetry. Sorry about that.

Thanks to Megan Pflum, Stephanie Garis, Ryan VanDordrecht, and Alex M., for being there when I needed a little help from my friends. Or a lot.

Thanks to Sarah Fairchild for telling me the story I couldn’t get out of my head, and to Dan Ward for inviting me to the party in the first place.

Thanks to the mysterious Double E, Phoenix Sullivan, the Minions, Hellions, and Critters, for helping me spin straw into gold—or, at least, into straw that glitters in the right kind of light.

And massive, unending thanks to Chris Hauth, my common-law husband, my partner in crime, for
knowing
this would happen when I only ever believed.

Thank you.

   GALLERY READERS GROUP GUIDE

the
s-word

CHELSEA PITCHER

I
N
THE S-WORD,
Chelsea Pitcher delivers an unflinchingly acute look at the world of high school students today. Seniors Angie and Lizzie have been friends since they were five, but when Angie walks in on Lizzie and Angie’s boyfriend, Drake, together in a hotel room on prom night, their worlds fall apart. Shattered by betrayal, Angie stops speaking to her once best friend, and it seems the entire school is backing her up when they cast Lizzie as a “slut.” When Lizzie then commits suicide, strange things start happening: incriminating pages from Lizzie’s diary show up in the lockers of the students who harassed her, and the words SUICIDE SLUT show up on Lizzie’s locker—in her own handwriting. Angie decides to punish the guilty parties and will stop at nothing, even when her vendetta threatens to consume her. With razor-sharp wit and keen sensibilities, Pitcher illuminates and explores some of the most pressing, deeply relevant issues for modern teenagers.

1. 
Angie refers to getting a dose of “high school,” a term Kennedy used, to justify why “SLUT” was first written on Lizzie’s locker
. How does the high school environment portrayed in the story compare to your experience? In what ways is it less or more restrictive?

2. Labels at Verity High are powerful and prevalent: prude, slut, queerbait, easy, Drama Queen, Homecoming King, white-trash royalty. Angie contemplates,
“I suppose it’s hard to treat someone appropriately if you don’t know what her classification is”
. Which characters seem to embrace their labels, and how are they treated by their fellow classmates? What happens to those who reject their assigned labels?

3. Early in the story Angie ponders the fallout from Drake and Lizzie’s prom-night encounter, explaining,
“while Drake got off with a boys-will-be-boys slap on the wrist, Lizzie became the Harlot of Verity High”
. Why do you think some people are judged more harshly for their actions than others? Is it simply based on gender, or are there other factors? Have you ever been judged for things you’ve done by people who didn’t know the full story?

4. Jesse explains that he’s an outsider because
“I’m Mexican and I’m wearing a skirt. The kids that
don’t
want to beat the queer out of me want me deported”
. The students at Verity seem to feel entitled to condemn the sexuality of people like Jesse and Gordy, and then treat them badly because of it. Were you ever in a situation where you judged someone for his or her sexuality, even when it had nothing to do with you? Why do you think people feel the need to go from maybe being uncomfortable with something, like homosexuality, to outright attacking it?

5. In a conversation with Angie, Jesse says that when he was growing up, people treated him
“like stilettos were going to show up on their feet without their permission”
, simply because
he
dressed differently. In your experience, has anyone ever challenged your idea of how people “should” dress? Have you ever used clothing in a way that challenged people’s perceptions?

6. Angie dismisses her mother as
“the parent who doesn’t want me,” while her father is “the one who can’t support me”
. How do her very different relationships with her parents affect her and inform her choices? Does she share any characteristics with either parent?

7. As her quest for justice progresses, Angie finds out there is more and more that she didn’t know about Lizzie—things her own best friend didn’t tell her. Angie thinks she would have accepted Lizzie if she had known the truth, but do you think she would have? Have you ever discovered something surprising about someone you thought you knew well? How did it affect your relationship? Were you able to be as understanding as you thought you’d be
before
you found that thing out?

8. When Angie begins to seek justice against those who wronged Lizzie, she feels righteous as a vigilante. Is Angie right to seek this type of justice, or is she merely sinking to the level of the bullies, as Jesse suggests? When bringing wrongdoers to justice, at what point do we cross the line? When, in your opinion, does Angie come near, or even cross, that line?

9. Throughout the course of her investigation, Angie uncovers many of her classmates’ secrets. Kennedy’s secret, in particular, seems to require further action. What is Angie’s responsibility in this situation? Have you ever discovered something that made you feel like you had to intervene, even if you knew people would be angry with you? How would you have handled things if you were in Angie’s shoes?