This Girl Is Different (18 page)

Women are never stronger than when they arm themselves with their weaknesses.

—M
ARIE
A
NNE
V
ICHY-
C
HAMROND,
M
ARQUISE DU
D
EFFAND, PATRON OF THE ARTS,
1697–1780

Looking at the stars visible through its translucent
roof, I try to find some solace in the beauty of the
Dome Home. Martha pulls my hair out of its elastic
and runs her fingers through it. We are sitting crosslegged
on her bed. “I’m sure you can make Jacinda see
the light, darling.”

“Not without a thousand-kilowatt bulb and some
major retinal damage.”

“She’ll come around. Push a little, then back off and
give her more time.”

“There’s no more time to give. The pep rally’s tomorrow.”
I rub my face in misery. “I can’t do this, Martha. I
thought I could, but I can’t.”

“Of course you can. You’re strong, my love.”

“I don’t feel strong.” I close my eyes. “It’s going to be
brutal, like the massacre at Wounded Knee. Except
minus the ethnic cleansing.” I sigh. “I just wish I had
someone on my side.”

“Well, you should’ve known not to count on The
Man for support.” She
tsks
. “Too bad. That one almost
had me fooled.”

“Dr. Folger won’t help me, but he won’t stop me,
either. That’s what he was trying to say.”

She snorts. “That’s quite an endorsement.”

I blow out a big breath. “Man, Jacinda would be perfect.
Everyone would listen to her.”

“I’ll come with you, darling. I can be your cheerleader.”

“Showing up with my mom in spanky pants won’t
help the cause. I’m already universally despised.”

“Surely you exaggerate.” She begins to braid my hair.

“Surely I do not exaggerate. When will you comprehend
I’m the school untouchable? Everyone, and I
mean everyone, teachers included”—I shiver at the
thought of Ms. Gliss and her duct tape—“hates me.
We’re not talking mild disapproval here. It’s elemental,
vampire-versus-slayer hate.” I take a deep breath and
feel Martha do the same. The tugging while she braids
feels good.

“Yowza, you’re tense.”

“Comes with the territory. Of being hated with a fiery
passion—”

“Of a million burning suns? Of a thousand-kilowatt
bulb? Of vampires? And Colonel Forsyth?”

“Finally, you’re appreciating the magnitude of the
situation.”

She drops my braid over my shoulder. “Lean forward,
I’ll rub your back.”

We are quiet awhile, thinking.

“It’s the hard thing to do,” Martha says eventually,
“but it’s the right thing to do.”

“I know.” I set out to create justice, not ruin the
school. “I just hope it works. We have to bring some
sunlight back.” I swallow hard.
Sunlight
. There’s something
else that needs to be brought into sunlight: a final
piece of the puzzle. My heart squeezes at what I need
to ask Martha. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

“Martha, why aren’t you going to HSP anymore? Or
meeting them for coffee?”

She sniffs. “I’m through with the Horny Singletons,
my love.”

“You wore out your welcome, you said?”

“C’est vrai.”
Kneading my shoulders, she starts humming
an Ani DiFranco song, the one about goldfish having
no memory.

I take the plunge. “Why don’t you just tell me the
truth?”

Her hands freeze for a moment. “What do you mean?”
She runs her thumbs down the grooves along my spine.

“I figured it out. It was you, not Dr. Folger.”

Another pause. “I’m still not following.”

“I’m shining light on the fact that you haven’t been
forthcoming with me.”

“Darling—”

“Know how I put it together? Brookner said something
about why he broke it off with Jacinda. He said, ‘a
mutual friend paid me a visit.’ I figured he meant Dr.
Folger. And then it hit me: you recognized Jacinda’s
name, way back when I sprained my ankle and she and
Rajas brought me home.” Saying Rajas’s name feels
like needles jabbing my throat. “Jacinda had put up a
flyer for baby-sitting. A flyer you saw at HSP.”

Silence.

“Jacinda knew Brookner before she had class with
him. From baby-sitting. Brookner found her the same
way you did: the flyer at HSP. He’s one of the Horny
Singletons.”

“Darling.”

I turn around to face her. “Why all the secrecy?”

“We don’t do much with last names at Horny
Singletons—at HSP. It’s not the kind of place where you
give out business cards. And there’s a lot of Johns in
the world.”

“You must have known he was a teacher.”

Her hands drop to her lap. She doesn’t answer.

“So…that night when Jacinda was baby-sitting and
Javier the snake got loose, you ended up coming home
early. Were you out with him? With Brookner?” I start
to unwind the braid Martha started. “You know what?
Don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know.”

“Evensong Sparkling Morningdew. You know I
would never, ever, in a million years, knowingly do
anything that might hurt you. But you are always
encouraging me to have a social life.”

“But Brookner is crap nasty!” I make a face. “Okay. I’ll
admit, at first he sucks you in with his smarts and his
stupid meta-ironic nerd glasses. But the man is a toad.”

“Preach it, sister.”

“Why did you keep it a secret? It’s just plain weird of
you not to—”

“You’ve been so amazing, darling. Creating PLUTOs,
making new friends, sticking up for yourself, taking a
stand. I’ve just been in awe.” Unaccustomed to tears,
Martha’s eyes become a roadmap of veins. “When I put
it together that John Horny Singleton was John
Brookner, when I found out what he was up to—”

“You went to him yourself. You told him to stop with
Jacinda, or else.”

“Yes, darling,” she murmurs, smoothing a finger
under her eye. “I did.”

“Why not just tell me everything? We always tell
each other everything.”

“I didn’t want to interfere! I was—I am—spitting
mad at him. I couldn’t let that jackass continue to be a
predator!” She stops mid-rant, shaking her head. “I
wanted to do it quietly, without focusing attention. This
isn’t about me, darling. This is your fight. I didn’t want
to steal your thunder.”

“Funny. This whole thing started out with lightning,
not thunder.” I slide off the bed.

“Evensong—”

I hold up a hand. “I’ll be okay. I get it. I forgive you.
I just need some air.”

Outside, I lie down on my favorite little hillock.

The cold air is dappled with wispy stratus clouds,
haloing the thin sliver of moon. A barred owl’s plaintive
hoot—
Whoooo, whoooo, who cooks for you all?
—reminds me to breathe. Hannah Bramble’s bell clunks
faintly as she lows in the barn. I hug myself to keep off
the chill. Above me, Vega shines huge and powerful, the
earth speeding toward her at twelve miles a second.
How is that possible? How do we not get blown off the
planet by the sheer force of the universe?

I breathe and breathe. What if the earth could stop
moving? Would time stop? I long for it to let me go
back. Let me stay homeschooled, let me get into
Cornell. Let me trust Martha to tell me everything. Let
me meet Jacinda, let me fall in love with Rajas without
all this. Let me not be alone and shunned.

I tremble from cold, from tears I’m sick of crying.

I’ve come this far. I’m a part of this world, as much
as the owl and the moon and Hannah Bramble. And
I’m not going down without a fight.

Real courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.

—H
ARPER
L
EE, AUTHOR, B.
1926

You know, this would be a whole a lot easier if
Jacinda didn’t hate me so much. With her help,
a speak-out would be manageable. Maybe
even successful.

I’ll give her one more try. I have to.

In Global View, Ms. Bemis might as well be a kitten
stuck up a tree, she seems so ineffectual. The whiteboard,
once a site for controversy and provocation,
now bears the forlorn suggestion,
Silent study, please
review chapters 20-21.
Half of the class has vanished.
Did they change their schedules, or are they permanently
skipping? Who knows? The remaining students
rearranged the seating chart. Now I sit alone.

Without allowing hope to creep into my heart, I trek
over to Jacinda. Marcie and another member of Cheer
Squad sit to her left and front. They are in uniform for
the pep rally. They chant softly, practicing cheers,
inspecting the hems of their skirts. Jacinda is touching
up her nail polish. It’s a scene from a movie—cheerleaders
being shallow and cliquey. Before I came here, I
thought that’s all there was to them. Jacinda taught me
there’s more. But right now, that’s pretty hard to see.

As I take a seat, my book slams onto the desk, a
nervous accident. Heads lift like startled deer interrupted
from grazing. Ms. Bemis frowns and marks
something in her roster.

“Jacinda, can we talk?”

Jacinda dips her nail polish brush into the pot, twists
the top shut. She blows on her fingernails and nods at
something Marcie is whispering.

It’s a united front. How good must it feel for so many
people to have your back? My heart bristles with envy.

I try again. “Can we talk…alone?”

Jacinda looks at me, her dark eyes wary. “Anything
you want to say to me should be something you can
say to the whole squad.” Hmm. A clever way for her to
curtail any talk of Brookner? Or is she feeling so vulnerable
she needs her team?

“It’s private.”

I search Jacinda for the girl I used to know. What
happened to all the love and goodwill that used to tumble
out of her? Where’s the slow burn of her generous
wit? I long for the friend who came to my rescue/nonrescue
at the creek, who giggled with me about Rajas,
who helped start PLUTOs. But that Jacinda is gone.

I lower my voice. “I’m planning a speak-out, for
after the pep rally. I think it could help bring the school
back together, and still give students their free speech
rights. But without hurting people, you know?” I swallow.
“I really need your help.”

Jacinda’s toe starts tapping. “I have to—” Her eyes
pop wide, looking past me.

I turn to look. Ms. Bemis is crossing the room to
open the door for Ms. Gliss. Ms. Gliss, who smiles at her
Cheer Squad. Then, catching sight of me, her smile
degenerates into a scowl. Frost lines my stomach.

Ms. Bemis looks glad of the interruption. “How can
I help you?”

Ms. Gliss recovers her smile. “I need my Cheer
Squad. Dr. Folger excused them so we can finish
preparations for the pep rally.”

“Oh.” Ms. Bemis turns to the cheerleaders. “Okay
girls? Go ahead.”

“Please!” I whisper. “I really need you.”

Jacinda flicks a glance at Ms. Gliss. As she tucks her
things into her purse, she says, “I just…can’t.” Then,
louder, “We’re not buying what you’re selling.” She lifts
a shoulder and turns. “Come on, girls. Let’s go.”

The door clicks shut behind them.

So that’s it. It’s official. I’m on my own.

Maybe I depleted my tear allotment for the week, or
maybe I’m too tired for sadness, because all I feel is
nothing. I open my textbook and stare at it, but the
words won’t arrange themselves into any meaning.

The bell rings.

In the hallway, eyes down, heading to my locker, I
bump into someone.

“Sorry,” I mutter, but I don’t bother looking up. I
know who it is. I know the feel of the chest, I know the
warm, spicy smell.

Rajas brushes a finger down my arm. “Eve. Are you
okay? Talk to me.”

“You made your choice.” What else is there to say? I
push past him.

How much worse can this day get?

I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

The idealists and visionaries, foolish enough to throw caution to the winds and express their ardor and faith in some supreme deed, have advanced mankind and have enriched the world.

—E
MMA
G
OLDMAN, WRITER AND ANARCHIST,
1869–1940

The pep rally is period seven and eight combined,
so it can go on interminably, until the end of
school. Or perhaps till the end of time. I crack the
gym door and peer in. Everyone’s here. The place is
teeming, the walls seem bowed outward like they will
burst. In full spanky pants regalia, the Cheer Squad has
whipped the entire school into frothing paroxysms of
pep. All the athletes have their purple jerseys on. The
student jazz band is playing. The collapsible wooden
bleachers, expanded down to the court lines, vibrate
with all the cheering and yelling. They look on the
verge of collapse under the stomping feet.

Dread slams into me, hard. This was not a good
idea. It isn’t going to work.

With trembling fingers, I pocket my keys and put
down the posters I’ve brought in from The Clunker, the
ones Martha helped me make.

Students speak out!

Speak truth to power!

Freedom isn’t free!

They seem flimsy and pathetic now.

The Cheer Squad has its own signs, stiff and perfect-looking,
which are propped against the gym wall. One
has tipped over; I can make out a few of the stenciled
words.

Oh God. Unbelievable.

Jacinda didn’t want to help me, isn’t ready to be
friends again. Fine, I get it. But this?

The tipped-over poster has my name on it!
Evensong, you—
I can’t see the other words. A replay of
the lightning struck against me, no doubt. Which one?
Hypocrite? School-wrecker? Or worse.

Backing into the hall, I close the door and sink to the
floor. My puny signs slump down next to me. I can’t
bear to go in.

Deep breath.

I’ll just wait out here. For now. The hall clock says
2:13. I’ll go in at 2:15. Two more minutes. Two minutes
before I confront the entire student body. And faculty,
including Dr. Folger. Two minutes until I lead myself to
my own slaughter.

One minute thirty seconds.

Breathe.

The big hand ticks to 2:14. One more minute.

The doors rattle from the noise of the crowd, the
brewing storm.

I’ll go straight to the microphone in the middle of
the gym. I’ll say what I have to say. I’ll start a speakout.

Applause erupts, echoing into the empty hall.
Rhythmic shouting from the Cheer Squad, a stampede
of foot stomping in the bleachers. I put my head in my
hands. Dr. Folger was right. I must have been crazy to
think that a pep rally was good timing. They’re going to
chew me up and spit me out.

No. I won’t be cowed. It’s the hard thing to do, but
it’s the right thing to do. I will be strong.

This girl is different.

Breathe.

Twenty-five seconds.

The storm swells.

2:15.

It’s now or never.

I gather up my signs but they slide out of my hands
like they’re scared of their fate. I shuffle them together
and bump them along into the gym.

The screaming batters my eardrums. In the bleachers,
students are shouting, standing, leaning into each other,
pumping fists. Teachers and staff are seated in the first
rows, clapping along with the Cheer Squad and jazz
band. Ms. Gliss is standing in a far corner. Near her, a
man in a suit is scowling importantly. Is he an observer
from the school board? Ms. Gliss tucks her hair behind
her ear and follows the cheerleaders with her eyes. She
looks pleased. Jacinda and the rest of the Cheer Squad
sweep down the sidelines, wiggling their fingers and
yelling at the crowd to
Show your spirit!

My pulse pounds. Sweat stipples my forehead.
Forget yoga breathing; the best I can manage at this
point is to pull in enough air to stay alive. I put my signs
aside—I can barely walk as it is.

As I make my way to the middle of the gym, people
start to notice. Little by little, decibel by decibel, the
noise dwindles.

A cord snakes to the microphone at center court, set
up for the girl who warbled
The Star-Spangled Banner.

I walk. The crowd quiets. I’m at the half-court line.

Is the microphone on? I give it a tap; it lets off a
piercing shriek. Students clamp their hands to their ears.
A groan ripples through the bleachers.

I clear my throat. “Let’s—let’s thank the Cheer
Squad for such a fantastic pep rally!”

A moment of absolute silence, followed by a faint
smattering of applause.

So furious you can almost see steam coming out of
her ears, Ms. Gliss is stomping toward me. Until someone
catches her by the elbow. It’s Dr. Folger, standing
near the man I assume is from the school board. Dr.
Folger whispers something to her, and her eyes go wide.
She steps back.

A screeching wolf whistle emanates from high in
the bleachers. Jacinda grimaces. Sexism against Cheer
Squad, like she’d said. In a nanosecond, she regains
her composure with a smile and a high kick. She keeps
looking at me, but her glare doesn’t seem as hateful as
it was in Global View. Wishful thinking? Stress-induced
hallucinations?

Where is Rajas? I don’t see him. Maybe he ditched
the rally. He’s not the pep type. My heart contracts.

Deep breath. “You’re probably wondering why I’m
out here. There’s been a lot of—”

—Shut the hell up!

—Get off the mic!

“I just want to—” The microphone squawks feedback
again.

Jacinda turns to her squad. Index fingers pointed at
the ceiling, she cocks her thumbs like pistols. A signal.
The cheerleaders run to fetch their signs, marching
back single file. Marcie is behind Jacinda. They hold
their posters close to their bodies, words facing in.

So. It’s sabotage. She knows my plan because I
asked her for help. Rookie mistake on my part. She’s
about to stone me in front of hundreds of people.

I lean into the microphone again. Not looking at
Jacinda, not looking at Dr. Folger, not looking for Rajas.
I close my eyes and speak. “They say that sunlight is—”

—Go back home, homeschooler!

“I wish I could.” I laugh, a frail cackle that the mic
broadcasts. The sound of public humiliation.

Yoga breath. Be strong. “I thought if I—”

—Freak!

Squaring my shoulders, I say, “James Garfield said,
‘The truth will set you free, but first it will make you
miserable.’”

The Cheer Squad lines up behind me. When will
they show their posters? As soon as everyone sees the
Evensong
one—whatever it says—my public stoning
will commence.

I talk fast. “I just…I think it’s important to speak out.
We should all do it. But we have to be responsible. I
made some mistakes, and I apologize to anyone I might
have hurt—”

Jacinda gives four sharp claps. “Cheer Squad! Ready?
Okay!”

“Truth is important,” I press on. “But I’m starting to
think that what’s even more important is kindness.”

Jacinda hollers, “Five, six, seven, eight!”

I have to hurry. “And I think we should have an open
mic, for a speak-out!”

“Go!” The Cheer Squad flips the posters and lifts
them high.

The crowd surges.

I’m toast.