from Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson
"It is my first morning of high school. I have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, and a stomachache.
The kids behind me laugh so loud I know they’re laughing about me. I can’t help myself. I turn around. It’s Rachel, surrounded by a bunch of kids wearing clothes that most definitely did not come from the Eastside Mall. Rachel Bruin, my ex best friend. She stares at something above my left ear. Words climb in my throat. This was the girl who suffered through Brownies with me, who taught me to swim, who understood about my parents, who didn’t make fun of my bedroom. If there is anyone in the entire galaxy I’m dying to tell what really happened, it’s Rachel. My throat burns.
Her eyes meet mine for a second. “I hate you.” she mouths silently. She turns her back to me and laughs with her friends. I bite my lip. I’m not going to think about it. It was ugly but it’s over, and I’m not going to think about it. My lip bleeds a little. It tastes like metal. I need to sit down.
The friendly momentum keeps Rachel/Rachelle and Andy walking all the way to the hall. I face a corner and pretend to study algebra. I figure that’s enough to make me unrecognizable. They sit on the floor, Rachel/Rachelle in a full lotus. Andy steals Rachel/Rachelle’s notebook. She whines like a baby and throws herself across his lap to get it back. I shiver with goosebumps. He tosses the notebook from one hand to the other, always keeping it just out of her reach. Then he says something to her. I can’t hear it. The hall sounds like a packed football stadium. His lips move poison and she smiles and then kisses him wet. Not a girl scout kiss. He gives her the notebook. His lips move. Lava spills out my ears. She is not any part of a pretend Rachelle- chick. I can only see third grade Rachel who liked barbecue potato chips and who braided pink embroidery thread into my hair that I wore for months until my mom made me cut it out. I rest my forehead against the prickly stucco.
Maya Angelou watches me, two fingers on the side of her face. It is an intelligent pose. Maya wants me to tell Rachel."
mine
It is not my first party. I had jeans that I liked, lipstick that made me look older, three temporary tattoos and a stomachache.
I still have a stomachache. And it gets worse. I’m not going to tell them.
Everyone is laughing behind me and having a good time. I pretend I’m busy, looking for the bathroom. When I find it I might slip inside, stay for a while, heave my insides into the toilet. I want Charlene to find me, but she’s too busy with her friends to notice I am gone. Charlene, my best friend forever, my xbff, we used to go to the bathroom together, did everything together, spent all the time together, until our first party together when she left for a couple minutes too long.
“You’re just different now,” she’d said a couple weeks later. “It’s like you’re no fun anymore.”
I tried to, I really did, but I couldn’t tell her, the one time something happened to me when she wasn’t there. I couldn’t tell her what happened in that minute she was gone. I closed my eyes and in another minute she was gone again.
I close my eyes now so hard it hurts. My eyelashes are glued together. I have to pry them apart to open my eyes.
Charlene is sitting with him now. He busts through her chain of friends like they are nothing. She does not mind, does not mind at all like she would if it were me. I know because she is batting her eyelashes at him, she has nice ones, not stuck together, long and thick. He runs his fingers through her hair. I hide in the bathroom doorway and have a stomachache. I draw my knees up to my chest, so they will not see me, taking up as little space as possible.
Charlene reaches for her soda. He grabs it first and holds it up in the air. She oohes over him like a baby and reaches up at him. He laughs and whispers in her ear. I can’t hear- my head is like a packed stadium. He holds the soda up to her lips and lets her drink, then she kisses him like he is the soda. He tickles her. My eyes burn. She giggles. I don’t see last year, all I can see is fifth grade and that same giggle when we listened to songs with swear words in them for the first time, and dressed up in our big sister’s clothes and walked home around the high school pretending we were teenagers.
I have a headache. I sink back into the bathroom.
There’s a girl in the mirror. She watches me and frowns. “You should tell Charlene,” she mouths silently, no words come out.
"It is my first morning of high school. I have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, and a stomachache.
The kids behind me laugh so loud I know they’re laughing about me. I can’t help myself. I turn around. It’s Rachel, surrounded by a bunch of kids wearing clothes that most definitely did not come from the Eastside Mall. Rachel Bruin, my ex best friend. She stares at something above my left ear. Words climb in my throat. This was the girl who suffered through Brownies with me, who taught me to swim, who understood about my parents, who didn’t make fun of my bedroom. If there is anyone in the entire galaxy I’m dying to tell what really happened, it’s Rachel. My throat burns.
Her eyes meet mine for a second. “I hate you.” she mouths silently. She turns her back to me and laughs with her friends. I bite my lip. I’m not going to think about it. It was ugly but it’s over, and I’m not going to think about it. My lip bleeds a little. It tastes like metal. I need to sit down.
The friendly momentum keeps Rachel/Rachelle and Andy walking all the way to the hall. I face a corner and pretend to study algebra. I figure that’s enough to make me unrecognizable. They sit on the floor, Rachel/Rachelle in a full lotus. Andy steals Rachel/Rachelle’s notebook. She whines like a baby and throws herself across his lap to get it back. I shiver with goosebumps. He tosses the notebook from one hand to the other, always keeping it just out of her reach. Then he says something to her. I can’t hear it. The hall sounds like a packed football stadium. His lips move poison and she smiles and then kisses him wet. Not a girl scout kiss. He gives her the notebook. His lips move. Lava spills out my ears. She is not any part of a pretend Rachelle- chick. I can only see third grade Rachel who liked barbecue potato chips and who braided pink embroidery thread into my hair that I wore for months until my mom made me cut it out. I rest my forehead against the prickly stucco.
Maya Angelou watches me, two fingers on the side of her face. It is an intelligent pose. Maya wants me to tell Rachel."
mine
It is not my first party. I had jeans that I liked, lipstick that made me look older, three temporary tattoos and a stomachache.
I still have a stomachache. And it gets worse. I’m not going to tell them.
Everyone is laughing behind me and having a good time. I pretend I’m busy, looking for the bathroom. When I find it I might slip inside, stay for a while, heave my insides into the toilet. I want Charlene to find me, but she’s too busy with her friends to notice I am gone. Charlene, my best friend forever, my xbff, we used to go to the bathroom together, did everything together, spent all the time together, until our first party together when she left for a couple minutes too long.
“You’re just different now,” she’d said a couple weeks later. “It’s like you’re no fun anymore.”
I tried to, I really did, but I couldn’t tell her, the one time something happened to me when she wasn’t there. I couldn’t tell her what happened in that minute she was gone. I closed my eyes and in another minute she was gone again.
I close my eyes now so hard it hurts. My eyelashes are glued together. I have to pry them apart to open my eyes.
Charlene is sitting with him now. He busts through her chain of friends like they are nothing. She does not mind, does not mind at all like she would if it were me. I know because she is batting her eyelashes at him, she has nice ones, not stuck together, long and thick. He runs his fingers through her hair. I hide in the bathroom doorway and have a stomachache. I draw my knees up to my chest, so they will not see me, taking up as little space as possible.
Charlene reaches for her soda. He grabs it first and holds it up in the air. She oohes over him like a baby and reaches up at him. He laughs and whispers in her ear. I can’t hear- my head is like a packed stadium. He holds the soda up to her lips and lets her drink, then she kisses him like he is the soda. He tickles her. My eyes burn. She giggles. I don’t see last year, all I can see is fifth grade and that same giggle when we listened to songs with swear words in them for the first time, and dressed up in our big sister’s clothes and walked home around the high school pretending we were teenagers.
I have a headache. I sink back into the bathroom.
There’s a girl in the mirror. She watches me and frowns. “You should tell Charlene,” she mouths silently, no words come out.
No comments:
Post a Comment