This Girl Is Different (7 page)

“Ohmigod, Marcie, you are not fat.” Still holding on
to her, Jacinda walks Marcie toward the door where
Rajas and I are standing. The other girls follow. Jacinda
pulls her shoulders back and straightens up to address
the group. “I think that we just need to practice our lifts
more. Work up our strength and balance, right, squad?”
Jacinda smiles gratefully at her cousin as he holds the
door for them.

“But—but Ms. Gliss—” Marcie tries to say; it comes
out as a sob.

“Ms. Gliss bullshit,” Jacinda spits. Wow. I’ve never
heard her swear. Judging from Rajas’s shocked look,
she must not do it often. “She can be mean when she’s
stressed. But, still! That was out of line! Don’t listen to
her, Marcie.”

I touch Marcie’s shoulder. “Jacinda’s right. She can’t
do this to you. We won’t let her.”

Rajas brushes my hand with his, like he doesn’t
want to interrupt. “See you later,” he whispers.

I nod.

Marcie watches Rajas go and wipes her eyes. “Ms.
Gliss is right, I am so fat.”

“Bullshit!” Jacinda lets out a big breath. “Here’s what
you’re going to do. Go to Ms. Cleary and fake a migraine
so she’ll send you home. Take the rest of the day off.
That is, like, captain’s orders. And don’t you dare start
starving yourself!”

Marcie dabs her nose with her sleeve. “Okay.”

Jacinda turns to the rest of the group. “Everyone
else? Let’s take a break from after-school practice today,
but we’ll definitely meet tomorrow as usual. Just put
this behind you, have a healthy dinner, and come back
better than ever. We are strong, we are a team. We are
the fricking Tornados Cheer Squad!”

Murmuring agreement, the group disperses toward
lockers and classrooms. I hang back with Jacinda, walking
slowly, turning the corner into a more crowded hall.

“You okay?” I ask.

“That fricking witch!” she explodes. “God! She’s
always been high-strung. But lately she’s getting worse.
I mean, you saw that! That was out of control, right?”
Jacinda bumps into someone, a first-year student I
think, but doesn’t apologize or break her cadence.
“She’s always been totally overboard about ‘fitness’”—
Jacinda makes quotation marks in the air—“which we
all know what that means! Like it’s some sort of secret
code? Please. It means be skinny or else. I mean, it’s a
lot of pressure, you know? But she’s never, ever singled
someone out like that before. Saying those things to
Marcie? Isn’t that, like, illegal or something?”

“It’s definitely harassment.”

“We should tell Dr. Folger.” Jacinda picks at her nail
polish while we walk. For once she isn’t greeting by
name every person we pass. “Principals can fire teachers,
right?”

“You’re asking me?” But she’s too upset to see the
irony. I say, “From the very little I know of school
bureaucracy, I doubt a principal can fire a teacher. Not
easily, anyway.”

“We have to do
some
thing.”

Wait. The quote about the internet on Brookner’s
board. Our conversation after his lifeboat game. Forget
trying to change things through the student newspaper…
or student government…but what about…

Jacinda looks at me, bewilderment screwing up her
forehead. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because. I have an idea.”

I want to live in a society where people are intoxicated with the joy of making things.

—W
ILLIAM
C
OPERTHWAITE, EDUCATOR AND BUILDER

After school, Jacinda comes home with me. We
stop at Walmart for Martha on the way. When
we get home, Jacinda and I set up camp in my
loft with the computer and a notebook.

Martha bangs around the kitchen as she starts
cooking supper. “Why don’t I skip my thing tonight?”
she calls up to us.

“The co-op?” I lean down over the ladder. “You
should go.”

“Not the co-op. It’s a Horny Singletons thing.”

“Again? Didn’t you just go?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says a little too breezily. “A
couple of the Singletons are getting together for coffee.
It’s extracurricular.” She waves her hand. “But I think
I’ll skip it. I’ll just hang out, keep you two company.”
She twists the top off a jar of fresh milk and takes a
swig. I don’t have to look to know that next to me,
Jacinda is wrinkling her nose.

“Martha!” I scold. “One, pour yourself a glass, you
heathen. And two, you should go. Have a life.”

“I have a life—”

“Have a life with grown-upicals.”

Now it’s Martha’s turn to crinkle her nose. “Yes,
Mother
.” She brings the back of her hand to her forehead.
“Your authority is too strong for the feeble likes of
me. I suppose I’ll just disappear and go do the chores.”

I laugh. “Poor Cinderellie, mayhaps the mice and
bluebirds will help you.”

Martha squints and shakes a finger at me. “You owe
me an evening of weeding, darling. That ankle’s all
better and you know it.” Martha breaks into a chorus of
Bob Dylan’s “Maggie’s Farm” as she puts the milk back,
turns the stove to simmer, grabs the garden basket,
and clomps out the door.

I open the computer and type in some notes as we
brainstorm ideas. Jacinda taps her fingers against my
Eco-Village model, wiggling her foot as she thinks.

“It’s like, I’m shocked on the one hand? But then
again I’m totally not surprised on the other.” She lies
back to stare out the huge skylight. “Ms. Gliss has always
had a thing against Marcie. And it is hard to hide a few
pounds under our uniforms and spanky pants.”

“What-y pants?” I ask as I move Eco-Village to a
safer location.

“Spanky pants. The granny panties we wear over
our real undies?” She shakes her head. “It’s, like, you
get more sexism when you’re on Cheer Squad. Like
Ms. Gliss and Marcie today, obviously.” She shivers, as
if she’s remembering Marcie’s sobs. And Ms. Gliss’s
rant. “I mean, in what other sport do they pick on you
about your weight?”

“Gymnastics?” I answer. “Wrestling? Figure skating?
Boxing? Swimming?”

“Okay, true. But that’s not what I mean. With Cheer
Squad, it’s not just about what you weigh, it’s about
how you look. People ogle you, and they think you’re
stupid or superficial or backbitey, just because you’re a
cheerleader. Like you’re straight out of
Bring it On
or
something.”

“So why do you do it if it’s so much trouble?”

“Why do you go hiking if it’s so dangerous?” she
snaps.

“Good point.” I backpedal. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to offend you. You must really like it.”

“I used to love it. Now it’s just a lot of stress. But the
dance routines still make me happy.” She chips at her
nail polish. “Then again, I think it’s complicated, you
know? Because it’s good being in Cheer Squad. We
can get away with more than other kids. Like how
many detentions have you gotten? I cannot relate. I
never get in trouble, even when I should.”

“That’s the trick, though.” I pull my ponytail elastic
out and twirl my hair into a loose bun. “Oppressors—
people in power—do that on purpose so you lose your
motivation for change. They’re especially careful with
natural leaders. They put you in charge of something to
give you a stake in the system. That way, you buy into
the status quo instead of leading a revolution.”

Jacinda hugs her knees. “Like being captain of Cheer
Squad instead of fighting sexism?”

“Maybe.”

Her bottom lip starts to quiver. “You think it’s stupid.
Cheer Squad. Like I’m some tool of The Man.”

“No, Jacinda. I don’t.”

“Don’t lie.”

I take a breath. “Okay, truth? At first I thought it
was”—what word won’t sound too harsh?—“um, different…
than what I’m used to. But that’s
my
problem.
You’re a fantastic person. You’re smart and capable
and a great friend. If anyone should be Cheer Squad
captain, it should be you. You shatter the stereotype,
but all stealth and sneaky-like.”

“Ohmigod, you really think that?”

“I really do. You can be the cheerleader revolutionary.”

She sinks into my bed, a lumpy futon mattress. “I’m
so relieved. I was afraid you thought it was silly or
something.”

“No.” I prop my head on my hand. “Look, it’s most
definitely not my kind of thing. You couldn’t pay me to
put on one of those little skirts. It wouldn’t cover half of
one butt cheek.”

“Oh, come on now, you know you want to rock
some spanky pants,” Jacinda laughs.

“How do you know I don’t have them on right now?
Maybe Rajas can’t get enough of my spanky pants.”

Jacinda slaps her hands over her ears. “Ew! Shut up!
I do not want to hear about my cousin’s sex life.” Her
eyes go wide. She sits up. “Wait!
Is
there a sex life?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear!”

“I need details. I’ll just pretend he’s not related to me.”

I pick at the tapestry on my bed. “It’s not a sex life.
It’s a kissing life. So far.”

“That’s so cute! Raj and Evie sittin’ in a tree, K-I-SS-
I-N…” She trails off. “What’s wrong?”

I pull my hair around so I can hide behind it. I don’t
want to know, but I have to know: “Is Rajas…has
Rajas…?”

“Is he experienced?”

I pretend to examine my hair.

Jacinda sighs. “He’s not a virgin, let’s put it that way.”

My stomach churns. I keep quiet.

“Ugh! I can’t believe I know all the girls my cousin’s
been with! It’s not like we talk about it. But I
am
friends
with, like, everyone.” Apparently I’m not hiding my devastation—
all the girls he’s been with!
—because when
she peeks through my hair to see the look on my face,
Jacinda waves her hand. “But whatever! Pish-posh. I
mean you’re not worried about it, are you?”

With zero conviction, I shake my head.

“You’re a virgin?”

I nod. “Are you?”

She scrunches up her face. “Sort of yes, sort of no.
I’ve, like, hooked up with Stiv—”

“What! Global View Stiv? Newspaper Stiv? You didn’t
tell me that!”

“It’s so not a big deal. We hooked up a couple of
times last year and again over the summer.”

“Does Rajas know?”

Her mouth curls into a pretty frown. “I think that he
kind of knows. He, like, maintains denial about my sex
life.” She sighs. “Or lack thereof.”

I comb my fingers through my hair. “What do you
mean ‘lack thereof’? Surely you, of all people, could
have anyone you want.”

She gives me a reserved smile. She looks sad.

Realization dawns: “Oh. Right. Who you want is your
InterWeb Lover.”

She shrugs. “I’m kind of waiting for him.”

“Who is he, Jacinda? Just spill it.”

Nothing.

“Does he live around here?” I ask. “Is he worthy of
you?”

She stares through the skylight, her foot wiggling so
hard it shakes the bed. “Let’s, like, change the subject.”

“You never want to talk about it. What’s with all the
secrecy?”

She doesn’t respond. She’s so open about most
things that it’s jarring when she does keep something
hidden. Maybe she just needs more time?

Jacinda rolls on her side and smiles. “Anyway. Raj?
He, like, really likes you. I mean he
really
likes you. I’ve
never seen him so into anyone. He talks about you
all
the time.” She sighs dramatically. “Honestly, it gets a little
boring.”

My cheeks get hot; birds fly around inside my body.
I am freaking out with happiness.

She grins. “He’s my cousin and all, so I’m biased?
But he’s the best. He’s so cool. You know how some
people need attention at all costs? He’s the opposite of
that. He’s so comfortable with who he is. He has no
need to, like, broadcast his status.”

“On Facebook?” I’m kind of joking and kind of not.

“Right.” She laughs again.

“Like his relationship status?” Which hasn’t changed
despite our hanging out together.

“Exactly. I would fall over if he ever put ‘In a relationship.’”

“Why? He doesn’t like labels?” I’m suddenly craving
Jacinda’s perspective on this.

“I guess. He’s never been boyfriend-girlfriend with
anyone. Like nothing serious.”

“So he’s not serious with me? But I thought you just
said he really likes me? I’m confused.”

“I’m confused too!” Another laugh, but with less
mirth. “Maybe he wants to keep you all to himself?”
Wrinkling her forehead, she adds, “And seriously, don’t
worry. Just because he’s done it before doesn’t mean
he expects it from you.”

Even though I’m still not comprehending all of this,
I dissolve into lake of relief. I hadn’t realized I was so
stressed about sex, about my total inexperience. “Are
you really sure?”

“I think that you should talk to him if you’re worried
about it. But yes, I’m sure.”

We are quiet awhile. “He does love my spanky pants
though,” I say.

She whacks me with a pillow. “Ew! Do I want the
details of my cousin’s—
ew!
I don’t think so. Come on.
Let’s get back to work.”

Over the course of the evening, I manage to shift my
focus off Rajas. Jacinda and I brainstorm: We decide on
a name for ourselves, for our plan. We create a blog so
people can add comments.

Martha leaves for her HSP coffee thing and still we
are working.

We fine-tune our manifesto, a team effort between
Jacinda and me, with a little help from the much-underlined
book,
Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center
, by
bell hooks.

We read, we talk, we bounce ideas off each other.
We take turns typing, and we are laughing and thinking
and raging and finishing each other’s sentences all
night. Jacinda calls her parents and we have the dinner
Martha set out. I spoon out extra helpings onto
Jacinda’s plate. “
Mangia
. Eat.”

Much later, Jacinda yawns and stretches like a cat.
“What time is it?”

“12:45.”

“Does Martha always stay out this late?”

Seeing Jacinda stretch makes me need to stretch. I
rotate my ankle to strengthen it. “Sometimes. She
finally seems to be making some friends.” I twist to
crack my back. “Okay. Break for lemonade, and then
post it on the InterWeb?”

Her eyes go wide and she grins. “Are we really going
to do this?”

“Yes, we’re really going to do this.”

“Holy cow. This is so going to rock!”

“I’ll call Rajas. You really think he’ll risk it?”

“For us? For you? Totally!”

“Lightning strike. Like a scarlet letter!” I’m practically
jumping up and down. If my ankle wasn’t still
sore, I
would
be jumping up and down.

“Okay, but you’ve got to, like, speak his language.
Tell him it’s a prank; he’ll like that better than a scarlet
letter.”

“Let’s call him now so he has time to start working
on the lightning.”

She can’t stop giggling.

I stand on the futon, stooping a little so I don’t bump
the ceiling window. “InterWeb manifesto! We shall
take the fight for justice into our own hands!”

She stands too, and we wrap our arms around each
other’s shoulders.

“Blogs and glue and lightning forever!” she shouts.

We jump around, me on one foot, chanting
“PLUTOs! PLUTOs! PLUTOs!” like a couple of little
kids until we are out of breath. Then we climb down
to the kitchen and pour lemonade into two clean
mason jars. We hold them up high and clink them. “A
toast,” I say, “to friendship.”

“To trust,” she says.

“To keeping each other out of trouble!”

“Yes!” she agrees. “All for one and one for all!”

We can hardly drink for laughing. At last, a way to
shake things up! I can’t wait to see the reaction at
school tomorrow.