The Black Kids(79)
“Not nothing,” Jo whispers back.
CHAPTER 21
THE FIRES ARE out, but the city’s suffering from third-degree burns, pink and raw and bubbled and exposed, which I guess is kinda exactly where I am with Kimberly and my friends.
On the outside of my locker, Kimberly has written WHORE in big black Sharpie. On the inside of my locker, Kimberly has written SLUT in red Sharpie—like it wasn’t enough to write one or the other; she had to write both for emphasis. And in two different colors at that. Pictures I’d taped up of the four of us through the years have been torn into emphatically small pieces. An egg has been cracked over my textbooks, the pieces of shell left on either side of my calculus book. The whole thing already smells rotten, which I guess she means as a metaphor for our friendship. Kimberly’s always had a flair for the dramatic.
Courtney appears at the locker next to mine. She rests her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m not supposed to be talking to you now.” She sighs.
“Yeah. I figured.”
“What Kimberly did wasn’t right.…”
I use a napkin from my backpack to try to clean the egg off my calculus textbook.
“God, that smells.” Courtney leans against the locker. She holds the book while I pick up the little bits of shell.
“So, Heather and Trevor hooked up.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. But they’re both trying to say it was the drugs. Everybody knows it wasn’t the drugs.”
She takes a pocket pack of Kleenex from her bag and passes several to me to use on my locker.
“Here. And did you hear I made prom queen?”
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah. It was cool… I got to wear one of those stupid tiaras and the sash and everything. Except I had to dance with Anuj, and he was so sweaty. Omigod, Ash, there were, like, buckets and buckets of sweat. Anyway… Kimberly kept venting about you and yelling at Michael. Heather and I had to keep calming her down, and she didn’t even once say congratulations to me. The entire time, I kept thinking how nice it was to have something of my own, you know?”
“I get it,” I say. And I do.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Courtney leans in closer. “I’m happy we’re going to different schools. So much of my life has been in Kimberly’s shadow. Soon I’m gonna get to be my own person and see what that feels like.”
The bell rings, and Kimberly walks past. She and Courtney have homeroom together.
“Skank,” Kimberly hisses under her breath at me. “You coming, Courtney?”
Courtney squeezes my hand twice before she joins her.
* * *
In physics, Mr. Holmes is happy as hell, which makes me wonder if he and Ms. Garcia hooked up on prom night. But then I get the image of the two of them slapping their middle-aged bodies against each other, which is gross and very distracting, so I miss what he’s talking about when he calls my name to ask a question.
“What?”
“Fifteen kilograms!” Trevor yells from across the room. Michael’s not in his usual seat next to him.
“I believe I asked Ms. Bennett the question. But yes, Trevor. Thank you for your contribution.”
“Are you okay?” Mr. Holmes asks me as I’m packing up my stuff to go to the next class.
“It’s been a shitty week,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “Things will get better, though. A change is gonna come, right?”
He smiles and squeezes my shoulder. He means well. He’s a very kind man, I think. I hope he did get some on prom night.
Outside the classroom, Trevor waits for me atop his skateboard. He moves from side to side like a pendulum, his hair flopping this way and that.
“I’m sorry about your dad’s car,” I say.
“My parents are gonna call your parents today. I tried to cover for you, but they were gonna make me pay for it with my own money.”
“I’m really sorry, Trevor.”
“Don’t worry about me. I had a great night.”
“So I heard.”
“I swear, people got some big-ass mouths at this school. It’s too small,” Trevor says. He keeps rolling his skateboard from side to side. “Michael’s an idiot.”
“Where is he?” I try to ask nonchalantly.
Trevor shrugs. “Fuck him.”
“That’s what got me into trouble in the first place,” I say, and fake laugh.
“Don’t do that. Whatever that is. That’s not you,” Trevor says, and places his hand on my shoulder.
* * *
Rumors have a funny way of taking on a life of their own. First I was the one starting one, and now I’m on the receiving end. Rumors are stories we tell one another at other people’s expense. This is what I have to keep reminding myself. It’s a story; it’s not me. I’m not that story. That’s just a little bit of poetic justice.
LaShawn was a thief, a looter, a thug, and now I’m a slut, a whore, a man-stealer.
I slept with Trevor.
I slept with Michael.
I slept with both of them at the same time.
I slept with Lana Haskins.
I left prom to sleep with LaShawn.