How to Be Brave(12)

Me and three other girls, all freshmen, are cut. When Avery says their names, she’s all nice and friendly and sympathetic, but when she comes to mine, she’s cold and bitter. I look up at Liss, but seeing her frown and her hands pressed over her heart almost makes me cry.

After we’re all released, I make my way to the locker room, trying not to run to be the first one out of there. The other little freshman girls are devastated and they’re all hugging and crying and wiping their running mascara in the mirror. I feel bad for them, too.

I open my locker and pull out my bag. I reach inside, my fingers feeling for my Be Brave Do Everything list. I take out a pen and cross out #7. Try out for cheerleading. Time for something else, I guess.

Liss runs in and wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry. That totally sucks. You did great, though. So great.”

“Yeah.” I sigh, folding up the paper. “I can’t believe Oreo Cupcake is still in the running.”

“Oh, her. She’s related to Avery’s number two.”

“Who? Chloe?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Mary. She’s a freshman, and she’s Chloe’s cousin. Gregg told me. He lives down the street from them.”

“Shit. It’s totally rigged.” Where’s the Positive Thought in that?

“I know, right?” Liss says. “She didn’t even do a cartwheel or anything.”

“And she’s just as fat as me.…”

“Georgia, you’re not fat,” Liss chides me, her nostrils flaring, which they do when she’s being totally, utterly honest. “So stop it.”

“Thanks.” I shrug. I change the subject. “Well, I guess that’s that.”

“Shall we look at the list? Do you have any clue about what’s next? There’s so much more to do!”

She’s right. This was just one stupid idea. I’ve got like fourteen other stupid ideas left to try. Positive Thought #9.

“Let’s do it,” I say. I throw my bag over my shoulder and slam my locker shut. “Let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”

We head out into the city, leaving the herd of artificial perkiness and nepotism behind us.

*

There’s this one painting I love:

It’s small and faint and hidden among the others,

she made so many.

She covered our walls, ceiling to floor,

with paintings and drawings

nudes and figures

oils and pastels

circular mounds of golds and greens.

Abstracts—

figurations, she called them—

all of it obscure

and subtle

and profound.

Or at least that’s what the pamphlets

at her gallery shows read.


But then there’s this one.


She painted it when I was seven.

She said, Sit there, at the kitchen table, and look out the window,

as though you’re looking toward the future.

I sat with her for hours,

a little each day for a week,

trying hard not to fidget,

just like she said.

She took her time,

and when she was done,

she didn’t like it.


In the painting,

my profile is soft and clear,

my eyes serious and distant.

I was only a child.

I made you look too old, she said.

But she saw something in me,

something no one else ever has.


I’m trying to see it, too.





4

The next day, we cut class. It’s the most logical item on the list, and it’s by far the easiest to accomplish. Not that I’d ever done it before. I’m too much of a Goody Two-shoes. Well, that, and my mom would have killed me had I cut school and wandered the city without telling her where I was.

And it’s not like it’s a big deal. We just meet up at the bus stop, and instead of walking south, we walk east, toward the lake. It’s a perfect day for a day off, too. Fall is on its way in. It’s breezy and clear and beautiful in every way.

“What should we do today?” I feel more buoyant with every step that we take away from Webster.

“I don’t know … we could do anything, really. Movie, shopping…”

“Eh, I don’t know,” I say. “That sounds so boring.”

“Well, what, then? It’s your day.”

“How about the zoo and a museum? Maybe the Art Institute?”

Liss teases me, “You can take the dork out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the dork.”

“Hey!” I nudge her, but she’s right. I’m a big dork. I can’t even cut class correctly. What the hell do people do when they cut class? They always seem so badass, and now here I am not knowing what to do first.

We end up wandering the streets in the direction of the zoo, looking in the windows of closed shops and trying on sunglasses at CVS. We get hungry, so we duck into a Starbucks for a venti Caramel Frappuccino with extra whipped cream (we split it), a slice of pumpkin bread (for Liss), and a heated chocolate croissant (all mine).

Next stop, Lincoln Park Zoo. It’s empty compared with other times I’ve been here, but then again it’s a Thursday morning and they only just opened and the only people interested and/or available to spend hours gazing at gorillas and polar bears are stay-at-home moms, small-town tourists, and wannabe-delinquent teenagers like us.