Twice As Nice (4 page)

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. As we were filling out this application, I was thinking how cool it would be if you were in the Junior Waves, too. You know, all of us together.”

“I'd give anything to be a Junior Wave, Lauren. It sounds so fun.”

“We're going to get to go to the Friday night football games at the high school and sit with the real Waves,” Jillian said.

“Once I sat in the high-school section at a basketball game,” Brooke added, “but I only got to because the General's brother is on the team and he snuck us in. Everyone there thought I was really in high school. It was the best.”

The General is Brooke's boyfriend, and if I do say so myself, they make a great-looking couple. Of course, his real name isn't the General, but everyone calls him that because he always wears camouflage cargo pants to school. It's his look. Her look is blonde, tan, and gorgeous.

“Who else are you asking to be in the Junior Waves?” I asked.

“Me, Brooke, Lauren, Lily, and you,” Jillian said.

“What about the guys?” I asked.

“At the high school, most of The Waves are girls,” Brooke answered, “except for a few weird dudes. I don't think Ben Feldman or Spencer want to be Junior Waves. And I one hundred percent know that the General would say no.”

“And we can't even ask Jared and Sean,” Jillian said. “Since they're on probation, they're not allowed to do anything . . . after . . . well . . . you know.”

She looked at me, and I lowered my eyes, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. Was I ever going to stop getting blamed for what happened to them?

“Listen, girls, let's not get into that again,” Lauren said. “There's no point in holding a grudge, is there, Charlie?”

“No, there isn't. I've been hoping you would come to see it that way.”

“Well, the point is, I think you'd make a good addition to the Junior Waves. Do you want to be included on the application? If you say yes, Charlie, we'll put everything that happened behind us and go back to being friends.”

I couldn't believe it. It was perfect. This is just the way the conversation between us had happened in my imagination the day before. But before I could answer, Ryan came galloping back from the kitchen, a plastic cup of orange juice in his hands.

“Nothing like GoGo's guacamole followed by a cool OJ,” he said. “Best snack in the world.”

He went to leap over the back of his chair, but one of his flip-flops got caught and he stumbled. The orange juice flew out of the cup and spilled all over Lauren.

“Oh no,” she squealed, jumping up and trying to shake it off of her white T-shirt.

“Oops,” Ryan said. “I guess I underestimated the size of my feet. Sorry.”

Lauren put her hands up to her head.

“Did it get in my hair, Charlie?”

“A little. I'll go inside and get you a dish towel.”

“Thanks. I don't want my hair to be all sticky and gross.”

I dashed into the kitchen. GoGo was putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Sammie, Alicia, and Sara were sitting on stools at the counter.

“I need some towels,” I said, heading for the drawer under the sink. “For Lauren.”

“What'd she do?” Sammie asked. “Smudge her eye makeup?”

I opened the drawer and took out a couple of clean towels.

“Charlie,” Sammie said. “They asked you to join the Junior Waves, didn't they? I just know it.”

“So what if they did?” I answered. There was irritation in my voice.

“Don't you see? They only want you so you'll make their application look good. Aside from Lily March, none of those girls have decent grades, or have ever done any community service. Your grades and our tennis titles will help them qualify. That's why they're asking you.”

“That's not true,” I snapped. “You don't know everything.”

“Principal Pfeiffer just turned down an application from our friend Etta to start an Electronic Dance Music Club,” Alicia said. “He said she had to prove that she could improve her grades and participate in other extracurriculars, too. Otherwise, starting a club could be too distracting.”

“I have to go,” I said.

“Just think it over before you agree,” Sammie begged.

Suddenly, I felt like I was going to explode. And I did.

“They're my friends, Sammie!” I yelled, surprising myself at how much emotion came pouring out all at once. “Don't you see? I don't have any other friends!”

My eyes filled with tears.

“You have us,” Sara said. “Come with us to Truth Tellers. You'll find a lot of friends there. Everyone is very accepting.”

“We're having our regular meeting tomorrow after school,” Alicia said. “Just come and see what it's like. You'll be surprised how much fun it is.”

“And we don't want you for your credentials,” Sammie said. “We want you just because you're you.”

It was a sweet offer, it really was. At the same time, though, I knew that deep down I was not a Truth Teller type.

I looked over at GoGo for advice. She had stopped dishing out the chips and was listening carefully.

“What do you think I should do?” I asked her.

She just shook her head.

“I can't make these decisions for you. That's what growing up is all about. Sometimes you make the right decision. Sometimes you make the wrong one. You learn from both.”

That was no help. Clearly, I was on my own.

I grabbed the towels and headed out to the deck, letting the door slam behind me.

“Welcome, Truth Tellers, one and all,” Ms. Carew said. “Please gather in our acceptance circle.”

It was the next day and I was standing at the door of Ms. Carew's room. She's my English teacher, but also the sponsor of Truth Tellers, which meets every Monday at three fifteen. Sammie and Alicia and Sara were already inside, hanging out with about ten other members of the club. I had arrived five minutes earlier but just couldn't get myself to step over the threshold into the room.

I had stayed up late discussing my situation with GoGo. She knew that Sammie wanted me to reject the SF2s and join Truth Tellers. GoGo told me that it was my decision who my friends should be, and no one else's. When I went upstairs to get ready for bed, Sammie kept hammering me with her view that the SF2s were using me to get what they wanted. She wouldn't quit.

In desperation, I called my mom in Boston. She suggested that I try going to Truth Tellers with Sammie and then decide how I was feeling. So, I promised Sammie that I would try it, that I would be open and accepting. But already I could feel myself closing up at the thought of entering the room.

Ms. Carew walked over to the doorway.

“Charlie, are you coming in?” she asked. “You are more than welcome, but I need to close the door for privacy.”

That sounded like an easy enough question.
Are you coming in or staying out? Yes or no.
But I didn't answer. What was my problem?

I hadn't told anyone except Sammie that I was going. I certainly didn't mention it to Lauren. All I told her was that I had to ask my dad if it was okay to join the Junior Waves and that I would let her know today. At lunch, I went to the one place you'll never run into Lauren: the library. When I saw her in PE, she asked if we could meet at the Sporty Forty after school and work on the application. I told her I had a dentist appointment.

“Charlie?” I heard Ms. Carew saying. “Are you in or out?”

“I'm in,” I said, stepping into the room and shutting the door. “At least, for now.”

“That's fine,” she said. “We all welcome you. Come be part of our acceptance circle.”

The chairs in Ms. Carew's classroom had been pushed back against the wall so there was room for everyone to stand in a big circle. They joined hands and started to hum. I stood between Will Lee and a girl named Etta, who had spiky green tips on her short black hair. Will gave me a big smile as he took my hand. His hand was pretty clammy.

“You're very attractive,” he whispered.

“You're only in sixth grade. You shouldn't say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It's what I feel.”

He might have winked at me, but I'm not totally sure because I quickly turned away and focused my eyes on Sammie, who was standing between Alicia and a redheaded boy named Bernard. Everyone, except me, was humming.

“We hum to get used to hearing the sound of our own voices,” Ms. Carew explained, as if she could sense my confusion. “The human voice is powerful when it speaks the truth. More powerful than any weapon in the world.”

I gave the humming a shot. I wasn't sure what song I was supposed to hum so I did a little version of “Happy Birthday” until I realized that I was the only one humming a song. Everyone else was just humming a single note.

After we were all hummed out, Ms. Carew gave an introduction to the meeting.

“We welcome everyone here into our acceptance circle,” she said, “where each of us is free to be exactly who we are and know that no one will judge us. In this circle, in this room, we are free to speak our truths without fear.”

I had to admit, that sounded pretty good.

“The subject today is Secrets,” Ms. Carew said. “Who here has a secret?”

Everyone's hand shot up into the air, including mine. She looked over at me and smiled.

“Sometimes we keep secrets because we want privacy; that is, we want to keep something all to ourselves. And that's fine,” she said. “But there are other kinds of secrets we keep out of fear. We are afraid to show this part of ourselves, for fear we'll be made fun of or appear to be different. What I have learned,” she went on, “is that when we share these kinds of secrets, we find out that we are not that different from one another. Deep down, we're all afraid of—and want—the same things.”

Ms. Carew sat down on the floor cross-legged in her beautiful African-print skirt, and slipped off her sandals. As the rest of us sat down, I noticed that her toenails were painted the same lime green as my fingernails, which looked really beautiful against her brown skin. You don't often find a teacher with hot-green nail polish on her toes. From across the circle, Sammie watched me check out Ms. Carew's fashionable feet and flashed me an amused smile, as if to say, “
I told you she was cool
.”

“Today, I'd like to ask if anyone is willing to share a secret,” Ms. Carew said. “Know that whatever we say in this room stays in this room, and that your secret is safe with us.”

The first one to raise a hand was Bernard.

“I keep my weight a secret,” he said, “because I weigh more than anyone thinks I do. I have this roll of fat around my middle that no one knows about. When I go to the beach, I keep my shirt on and when my family asks why, I tell them that I don't want to get sunburned. So I guess you could say that everything between my chest and my hips is a big fat secret.”

I was amazed. First, because he was so willing to just put it out there. And second, because I never thought boys worried about their weight or how they looked in a bathing suit. It was news to me.

“I know exactly how you feel, Bernard,” Sammie was saying. “I worry all the time about my weight. I'm always wondering if everyone is looking at me and thinking how fat I am.”

“You're not fat,” I responded immediately. “You look fine. Dad's just made you feel fat because you're heavier than me.”

Ms. Carew held up her hand.

“Charlie,” she said gently. “I know Sammie appreciates your remarks, but we're not here to talk people out of how they're feeling. Whatever they feel is their truth, and we have to listen with open hearts and accept their feelings as real.”

That seemed crazy to me. I mean, just because you feel something doesn't make it true. But everyone else was nodding in agreement. Suddenly, I felt so stupid sitting there.

The next person to talk was Will Lee.

“My secret is that I like older women,” he said. “I'm only in the sixth grade, but I'm always falling in love with seventh-graders.”

Was he looking at me out of the corner of his eye? Oh no, I hoped not.

“Recently, I had a crush on one of my sister's friends, and she's in the eighth grade,” he went on. “I asked if she wanted to hang out with me some weekend, and she rejected me. Made up some phony excuse about having a boyfriend, which I happen to know she doesn't because I hear her talking on the phone with my sister.”

“You need to pick on people your own size.” I chuckled, giving him a friendly little poke in the ribs. It was hard to take him seriously. He seemed like such a little kid.

“I'm uncomfortable with the way you're acting,” a girl named Keisha said. I looked around to see who she was talking to—it was me!

“I was just making a joke,” I said.

“Will was opening up about a secret he has,” Keisha said. “I don't think he was looking to be laughed at.”

I felt myself flush with anger.

“I wasn't laughing
at
him,” I said in a voice that sounded snappier than I had intended. “I was laughing
with
him. There's a big difference.”

“Charlie is new to our group,” Ms. Carew told the others. “She's just learning to listen and accept.”

Boy, that made me feel even more idiotic. How hard is it to listen? I have ears and Dr. Hartley checks my hearing every year at my annual checkup. I
was
listening. I truly didn't understand what I was doing wrong.

“I just want to support Charlie and say that I'm glad she's here,” Alicia said. “She's been going through some tough times, and she could use all our support.”

Everyone in the circle turned to me. I felt like they were expecting me to spill my guts about what I'd been going through, but I could feel myself closing up like a clam shell. I hate it when I'm expected to do something that I'm not comfortable doing. Like, when we were little, our Mom would always want Sammie and me to sing “Oh Susannah” at family gatherings so everyone would see how cute we were. I remember one year pretending to zip my mouth shut, refusing to open it for the whole party. Call me stubborn, but I don't perform like a trained dog.

“Do you feel like sharing with us, Charlie?” Ms. Carew said.

“Maybe some other time,” was all I could muster.

“We're okay with that,” she said. “It takes a while to build up trust. Does anyone else want to share a secret? Take it out in the open and let it breathe.”

Sara Berlin put her hand up tentatively.

“This is something I've never talked about to anyone except my mom,” she began. “And it's going to be really hard to share. It's kind of similar to what Bernard was saying about being afraid to take his shirt off.”

I wondered what it could be. It certainly couldn't be her weight. Sara was tall and slim, with not an extra ounce of fat on her.

“So Bernard was basically saying that he was ashamed of his body,” she began. “I am, too.”

“This is a very common theme we all share,” Ms. Carew said. “No one's body is perfect, and yet we all feel that we have to keep our imperfections a secret.”

“Is it about your hair?” a guy named Devon asked. “It's obviously really different than most girls' hair, but I think it's awesome the way it sticks out all over the place. It's like it's saying, ‘I will not be ruled by you.' That's awesome.”

“Well, it is about my hair, but then again, it's not,” Sara said. Everyone just sat there quietly, while she actually wrung her hands with nervousness. Wow, why didn't she just spit it out? This hinting around at everything was driving me crazy. As far as I was concerned, it's either about your hair or it's not.

Sara took a deep breath and then suddenly reached up with both hands and pulled her hair up behind her ears. It was so thick and curly that when she pulled it all together on top of her head, it looked like a fluffy black cloud was hanging over her.

“See,” she said. “There's my secret. Now it's out. Or I should say,
they're
out.”

As I stared at her, I realized that I had never seen Sara with her hair up. Now that there was no hair surrounding her face, the thing you noticed were her ears. It's not like they were deformed or anything like that. But they were really big and stuck out far from her head. And when I say ‘far from her head,' I mean
very
far from her head.

“Kids have been teasing me about my ears ever since I can remember,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Even when I was in preschool, one of the kids told me I looked like Dumbo.”

Ms. Carew sighed. “Children can be cruel,” she said. “That must have been very hard for you, Sara.”

She nodded. When she spoke again, her voice sounded like she had that lump in your throat you get when you're trying really hard not to burst into tears.

“Ever since I realized I had protruding ears, I've covered them up with my hair. Thank goodness it's thick and curly. But I'm always afraid that on windy days, my hair's going to blow back and everyone will see what I really look like.”

“Have you tried really strong hair spray?” I asked.

Bernard looked at me, put his finger to his lips, and said “Shhhh.”

What was his problem? I was just trying to offer a helpful suggestion.

“Go on, Sara,” Ms. Carew said.

“My parents know how much this has affected my self-esteem,” she said. “And there is a surgery that can correct it. It's called otoplasty, and they actually operate and pin your ears back so they're closer to your head.”

“Oh cool,” I said. “Like an ear tuck. You should get that right away.”

“Charlie,” Ms. Carew said gently. “Please let Sara express herself without interrupting.”

I wanted to tell her that I was just trying to be helpful.

“It's really expensive,” Sara said. “At least five thousand dollars. And we don't have the money because my little brother is autistic and has to have a special tutor, which costs a lot, too. So I'm stuck looking like this, until I can earn enough to have the operation.”

She let go of her hair and let it fall back down around her face. It was like a signal for everyone in the room to gather around her in a group hug. Everyone but me. I didn't want to be snuggling up with a bunch of people I barely knew.

“Thank you for sharing that with us, Sara,” Ms. Carew said, joining in the hug. “We're all here for you. I think everyone understands the relief of getting your secrets out in the open.”