This Girl Is Different (14 page)

“Shirting labels? That doesn’t even make sense!”

“
Shirking
labels. Pick up a damn book once in a
while and learn some freaking words! Words like
responsibility. Ever heard of it?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t tell Jacinda, it
would push her away so hard. She needs me right now.
I’m worried.” He reaches for me again, and again I pull
away. Looking at the straw, he mumbles, “And I can’t
jeopardize my apprenticeship.”

“Oh really.” I go from cold to frozen.

“Eve. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He rubs his
face. “I should’ve seen that Jay would blame you. And
Dr. Folger would too.” He’s weeping. “I’m sorry! I’m so
sorry.”

I pull air into my lungs. “I won’t let you treat me like
this.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

“That’s not good enough! You can’t have it both
ways.”

“Have what both ways?”

My ears buzz with foreboding at what I need to say,
but I say it anyway: “Either you stand up for me and tell
Jacinda the truth—that you did it, you alone. Or it’s over
between us.”

“Don’t give me an ultimatum! Jay’s my cousin.”

“You should have thought of that last night when
you were sneaking around behind my back. It’s a simple
choice, Rajas: Take responsibility for what you did
and face the consequences. Do what’s right. Don’t let
me take the fall. Or it’s over.”

“Jay’s family. It’s not an option to walk away from
her.” He glares at me. “And you’re a hypocrite to talk
about taking responsibility! You’re the one who made
PLUTOs and the lightning anonymous!”

“So you’ve already made your decision.”

His eyes go flinty. “No. You’re the one making the
decision.”

“It’s amazing, really, your ability to dodge blame. Or
own up to anything at all.”

“You should take a look in the mirror,” he says.

I point to the barn door. “Leave. Now.”

He tilts his head, looking angry and regretful. And
he leaves.

I slide the door shut, hard, behind him. It ricochets
off the doorjamb and lurches back open.

The Biohazard’s brake lights glow eerie red in the
dusk. The car rumbles down the driveway, scraping dirt
and gravel.

I disintegrate into the straw and try to breathe. I look
at my fingers. They are numb and tingling, as if I’ve been
electrocuted. Ha, the body electric. How appropriate.
Lightning has struck how many times now? And here I
am, back where I started: hurt and stranded, alone.

It is more difficult, and calls for higher energies of soul, to live a martyr than to die one.

—H
ORACE
M
ANN,
U.S.
EDUCATOR,
1796–1859

I now understand why they take attendance at The
Institution of School: if it wasn’t mandatory, who
would come day after day after day? Not me.
Especially after a break-up. Not that I can call it that. Not
that Rajas would. Does it qualify for heartbreak if the
relationship was never official? If a tree falls in a forest
and no one updates its status on Facebook, does it make
a sound? Deep, dire thoughts, these. Post-apocalyptic
thoughts.

I pull The Clunker over to drop Martha off at Walmart.
My eyes still don’t want to stay open, despite the ridiculous
amount of yerba maté I’ve consumed. I rub them to
try to get the sleep out. Martha and I stayed up all night
talking. Trying to ease the pain of Rajas’s betrayal and
his response to my ultimatum. Trying to get my heart on
the same page as my stupid, shortsighted, stubborn
pride. I can’t fathom what it will be like to see him today.
Added to Jacinda’s silent treatment.

Martha touches my hair. “Maybe he’s already come
to his senses, my love.”

Tears spill out of my eyes. “He would have called. Or
texted. Or something.”

She hugs me, dries my cheeks with her thumbs. “If
he’s stupid enough to choose anything over you, then
screw him.” Frowning, she adds, “Not literally.”

“He had his reasons. Maybe I shouldn’t have been
so adamant.”

She touches her forehead to mine. “Do not waiver,
darling. You did the right thing. You can’t let Rajas, or
anyone, take you for granted.”

I swallow.

She kisses me on the cheek. “Call if you need me. I’ll
be at your side in a heartbeat.” She forces the door to
let her out, singing James Taylor’s “You’ve Got a
Friend.”

I manage a small wave and pull The Clunker away.
Sipping my maté, driving slowly, I double-, triple-check
the clock. Fifteen minutes until first bell: the Bane of
my Existence, Global View. And three and a half hours
after that, lunch—without Rajas.

The tears start again, plopping into my drink, turning
it bitter and salty.

I park The Clunker and make my way into school. I
keep my head down, hiding behind a long brown curtain
of hair, hoping no one will notice I’ve been crying. But as
I walk, students grow silent, eyes averted, only to burst
into whispers after I pass. Down the hallway to my
locker, a commotion. Like a replay of yesterday, a crowd
has gathered, growing larger, snickering, muttering.

My stomach plummets.

The crowd is at my locker.

A murmur. Heads swivel to look at me. Silent,
watchful eyes. Phones light up. People swing out to give
me a wide berth. Just like yesterday, with Brookner.

Oh, no. No no no.

At my locker, I drop my bag. It tips over. My heart
stops.

A student locker has been struck with lightning. My
locker.

Deep red marker: EVENSONG SPARKLING MORNINGDEW
is a HYPOCRITE! HYPOCRITE! HYPOCRITE!

Oh God.

What should I do? What should I do? Disappear? Say
something? Scream? Run away?

I look around for an ally. Someone to help me. But I
don’t have anyone. There is no one to help or defend
me.

I reach for my bag. My stuff has spilled out.
Tampons, pens, papers, all over the cold floor.

—Is that really her name?

—It says hypocrite!

—I told you she was a homeschool freakazoid.

—Nicki told me that she heard that Jacinda said—

Just get me out of here! Where are my keys? Damn
it! My hands are shaking. Martha. I need to call Martha.
I fish around my bag. My phone! It drops from my hands
and clatters across the floor. I kneel to get it—

Someone is here, handing me my things. Next to her,
someone else is helping. Did Jacinda have a change of
heart? I look up.

It’s Marcie. She gives a sad smile, along with a girl I
don’t know.

Hands press gently on my back. Rajas? Please be
Rajas! No, it’s a woman’s voice: “Come on, hon. Come
with me. Marcie and Sarah will get those for you.”

I stand. The arm encloses me and leads me away,
behind the two girls carrying my stuff. “Everything will
be okay,” soothes Ms. Franklin. I watch the floor.

Quiet settles over the busy main office when we
walk in. Along with some other teachers, Ms. Gliss
looks up from her cubbyhole mailbox. Her eyes are cold
but I think I detect a hint of pity.

Ms. Franklin deposits me in Dr. Folger’s empty office.
Marcie and the other girl—Sarah, Ms. Franklin said?—
put my things in the other chair. They slip away without
a word. Ms. Franklin says something to one of them. I
stare at Dr. Folger’s Slinkies. I can’t even think.

Sarah comes back in. “Here. Hot chocolate.” She sets
a mug on the edge of Dr. Folger’s desk. It’s got a cartoon
of a kid pushing on a door that says pull. Sarah tucks
her hair behind her ear. “It might seem like it right now?
But it’s not the end of the world, trust me.” She leaves.

For some reason I think of Hannah Bramble: her
calm energy, her softly swishing tail. Hannah would
agree this isn’t the end of the world. But everything
else—the Cornell diploma on the wall; the lightning
on my locker; my heart, aching for Rajas; the echoes
of laughter in the hallway—screams that this is
Armageddon.

Tapping on the door. “Knock-knock, mind if I come
in?” Dr. Folger dips his head. “Hello, Evie.”

I put my head in my hands. “This just keeps getting
worse.”

“Indeed.” He sits and lowers his voice. “Are you all
right?”

“No. Yes.”

“Mr. Heck is already working on your locker. I’m
sorry this occurred. Do you know who did it?” He
sounds like he already has a theory. “Someone who
knows your full name?”

“Or who knows someone who does.” Like Jacinda
knows Brookner. The cold sweat on my forehead is
making my hair stick to my face. I run a hand through it
and sweep it over my shoulder. “Yes. I’ve got a pretty
good idea.”

He taps a miniature Slinky on his desk. Neither of us
speaks.

Dr. Folger shifts and clears his throat. “The difficulty,
of course, is the anonymous nature of the postings. The
uncoupling, if you will, of the responsibility that should
accompany freedom of expression.”

I regard him a long moment. My involvement in
PLUTOs is clearly an open secret between us, but if I
want any hope of going to Cornell, I cannot confess.
Especially now that things are devolving into such a tar
pit hellhole. I take a deep breath and choose my words
carefully. “Maybe…maybe the PLUTOs people thought
anonymity would actually help. It can be hard for students
to speak out against authority. It can be scary,
especially when their future is at stake.”

“I have no doubt that’s what she—” he pauses meaningfully—“
or he, or they, had in mind. As it happens—”

“It’s like voting,” I interrupt. I feel a little panicked, yet
I want to make my point. “People don’t have to sign
their names on their ballots, because then they might be
intimidated into not voting their conscience. Or maybe
not voting at all.”

“Ah. The flaw in your analogy is that, with a ballot,
speech is constrained. One must adhere to the choices.”

“But you can write in whoever you want.”

“One is still limited to a name. And ballots, by
design, are not inherently hurtful. They cannot be
directed
at
someone. I’m afraid this blog, and the lightning
strikes—”

“Are hurting people.” I study my hands.

“Yes.”

I close my eyes. “But that doesn’t change the fact that
students have a hard time speaking up. This school is
not a good democracy.”

“Indeed, Evie. You’ve put your finger on it: this school
is
not
a good democracy. And I’m not convinced that it
should be.”

“But it’s— that’s—”

“Heresy?” He holds up a finger. “What if a school, by
necessity, cannot be a democratic institution? Does that
necessarily negate the good we do here? Open your
mind to the question. That’s all I ask.”

Ms. Franklin knocks on the doorframe. She hands me
a pass. “Good luck, hon.”

Dr. Folger tilts in his chair, a bow of dismissal. “Come
back if you need respite, Evie.”

“Thanks.” I gather my things and get going.

When I arrive at my locker, Mr. Heck is scraping off
the last bits of lightning. “Thank you so much,” I tell him.

“Just doing my job.” He closes his toolbox and collects
the curled scraps of cardboard. I wait for him to turn the
corner before I dig a pen out of my bag and get to work
on the hall pass Ms. Franklin wrote. Luckily, her writing
is a lot like mine.

When I’m done, I take a deep breath and open
Brookner’s classroom door.

Textbooks are open on each desk. Stiv is reading
aloud. Brookner’s not here. In his place, at his desk, sits
a young woman. Frowning, she places a pen on her
book, as if to mark her place. Stiv stops reading.

There’s a message on the board, but not in
Brookner’s writing. Elegant cursive loops announce,
My
name is Ms. Bemis, and I will be filling in for Mr. Brookner
while he is on administrative leave. I cannot comment further,
so please don’t ask me to do so.

I hand Ms. Bemis my pass.

Jacinda is staring at her textbook like she expects it to
come to life at any moment. Marcie gives me a tiny, pitying
smile.

Ms. Bemis squints at the pass. “And they wish for you
to return as well?”

I nod.

“Very well. Let me check you off. Evie…” She runs a
finger over the roster in front of her.

“You mean Evensong!” says someone in the back of
the room.

“Morningdew!”

Chortles from the last row of desks.

Jacinda and Marcie keep their eyes glued to their
books.

Ms. Bemis does not respond to the comments.
“Jacinda Harrod?”

Jacinda’s head whips up.

“Your presence is requested in the main office.”

The class goes dead silent. Jacinda peels her gaze
off Ms. Bemis to lock eyes with me. She looks like she
will kill me the moment we are alone in the hall. I set
my jaw. This won’t be pretty.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

—M
AX
E
HRMANN, LAWYER AND WRITER,
1872–1945

“Rat out your friends much?” sneers Jacinda as
soon as I shut Brookner’s classroom door. She
checks the hallway to be sure we’re alone. “Dr.
Folger already gave me the third degree yesterday. I
don’t know why I didn’t just tell him it was you.”

“Because then you would have been admitting your
own guilt.” I grind my teeth and keep walking.

“Um, hello? The main office is that way.”

“The Clunker is this way.”

“So? I thought—”

I whirl around and point a finger at her. “Listen. I did
not rat you out. And I didn’t strike Brookner’s lightning,
got it? We need to talk.”

“I’m not getting in your smelly car.”

“Fine.” I spot an empty classroom. It’s unlocked.
“We’ll talk in here. Keep your voice down.”

Confusion seems to muddle her anger as she follows
me into the classroom. “Where’s Dr. Folger?”

“He’s not coming. I doctored the pass Ms. Franklin
gave me. I made it look like they were requesting you.
But really, it’s just you and me.”

She glares at me. “What, no Raj? I’m surprised you
have the courage to—”

“We broke up.” There. I said it.

“You did?” Seeing the look of shock on her face is
like taking a bullet to the chest.

Unable to speak, I nod.

“Why?” She seems so surprised that she’s forgotten
her rage.

“We had a fight.” I swallow down the lump in my
throat. “About the Brookner lightning.”

At the mention of his name, Jacinda’s rage resurfaces.
Her cheeks flush a dark crimson. “John didn’t do
anything wrong. We were in love! And now they are
investigating him! He’s an innocent man. And he…”
She convulses into sobs, hugging herself. “H-he said
we had to end it! He said it’s over.”

“Because of the lightning?”

She doesn’t answer. She doubles over, crying. I put
my hand on her shoulder. Well, thank God. Brookner
broke things off. Still, I hate to see Jacinda so upset.
Jerking away from my touch, she dabs at her eyes and
looks up, angrier than ever. “You! You got what you
deserved.”

“I didn’t post the lightning, Jacinda. I wanted to.” I
press my hands to my heart. “I thought about it, but it
wasn’t me. I swear.”

“Oh really.” She narrows her eyes. “Then who was it?”

“Does it matter?” A question Rajas asked me yesterday.
At that time it did. But now…what would be the
point in tearing Rajas and Jacinda further apart?

“Ohmigod!” Flustered, angry. “Yes! It matters!” She
flops onto a chair.

I sit next to her. “I wanted to talk to you about…” I
study the pocks marring the smooth surface of the desk
in front of me. “Maybe we should think about shutting
down the blog.”

She snorts. “Now that it says something about you,
you want to shut it down? No. I don’t think so.”

Crap. The lightning was bad; what if the blog is
worse? “I haven’t seen it,” I say.

“Well, there’s nothing on it that isn’t true. It says that
you are a hypocrite, because you promised not to do
stuff without telling your friends first, but you did anyway.
And it says that you think you’re smarter than
everyone at this school. You think you’re above it all.”

I put my head down on the desk. “How do you know
what it says? Brookner wasn’t here to show—”

“I just know!” she snaps.

But it’s too late. Her phone isn’t in sight, so she
can’t say she checked the InterWeb. We both know
she wrote it.

I roll my head from side to side on the desk, just
wanting everything to go away. “I think we should shut
down the blog. But, despite what you think about me,
I’m not a hypocrite. I won’t change my promise. I won’t
shut it down unless you agree.”

“Well, I do not agree.”

Head still on the desk, I massage my scalp. My brain
hurts. So does my heart. “Just think about it. That’s all I
ask.”

She doesn’t respond. The quiet lasts so long that,
after a while, I look up to check whether she’s still here.

She’s staring at me, arms crossed, foot waggling. “I
hope you know that it won’t take Raj long to move on.”

Oh man, she’s going for the jugular.

“I mean, no one even knew you guys were together.
Raj, like, didn’t want people to know. Did you ever wonder
why he always took you to the shop room?”

“Fine, Jacinda. You’ve made your point.” Tears leak
out of my eyes. I think I liked it better when she wasn’t
talking to me.

“You seriously had me fooled. I thought you were different.
But you’re not. You’re the same as everyone
else. You’re just as mean and backbiting, and you—”

“Jacinda.”

“What.”

“How would I have gotten in? To post the lightning?
I don’t have a key. Have you thought about that?”

She blinks rapidly. Her lips purse. “I—um—”

“Maybe you should give me a little more credit.”

“I think that you already give yourself more than
enough credit,” she mutters. She’s lost some steam.

I stand to leave. I’ve said everything I can.

“And to think I was sticking up for you.” Her voice is
quieter but still thick with anger. “I, like, defended you
to everyone. Everyone thought you were a know-it-all
and a total weirdo. Raj and I? We vouched for you. We
said you were cool. Well, not anymore. Now you’re on
your own.”

“That’s okay. I’m used to it.” I grab the doorknob.

“Everyone hates you for making Brookner leave.”

“I’m sure.” I open the door.

“And Ms. Gliss knows it was you who did her lightning.
She told me. She said—”

That’s it. That is
it
. I close the door and turn back to
Jacinda. “I take it you didn’t bother to tell her
you
were
involved with that one? God, Jacinda! We were a freaking
team
when we started PLUTOs! You knew Ms. Gliss
was out of line. You wanted to do something good for
the school! You went on and on about the sexism and
sizeism Cheer Squad has to put up with. And what?
Now you’re back to Ms. Gliss, kissing your coach’s ass
like a good little cheerleader?” My hands are fists. “You
don’t think I’m different? Fine. But you should do some
soul-searching if
you’re
posting lightning calling
me
a
hypocrite.”

Without waiting for her response, I open the door,
wishing that, instead of the school’s main corridor, this
doorway led to another world—a peaceful homeschool
world, a sustainable community of my own design. Far,
far away from here.