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At lunchtime, I got some chips from the machine and went outside looking for Lori. I went to the back of the parking lot and found her sitting in her car, listening to the radio, and getting ready to cut up some lines on her purse mirror. As I climbed into the front seat, she told me to watch for people, so I did.
I watched Calvin amble out of the building and then do sort of a jog over to his car. He started it up, backed out of his spot, and pulled up to the front of the school. Then he sat there waiting, slouched down in his seat and staring straight ahead with his ball cap pulled low over his eyes. I saw Corena come marching out of the building looking agitated, like she was in a big hurry. It was the first time I'd seen her that day. She climbed into the front seat of Calvin's car, slammed the door, and sat facing him, her mouth moving rapidly. I could hear bits of her staccato voice coming through the window. Without even looking at her, Calvin eased on the gas and drove away. I laughed to myself and thought bitterly, 'You're probably not gonna get any pussy today, Calvin.'
I watched Garrett and Andy run out of the building and hop into Garrett's car. The music came on with the car, drowning out the sound of the engine—thrash metal, speed metal or grunge—it was like the soundtrack for Garrett's life, as if he'd turned his car into a shining hate-mobile. The car jerked backwards, the tires spun, the car tore out of the parking lot in a cloud of dust.
Kids were hanging out by the front doors of the school and walking along the sidewalk that went to the elementary building. I watched kids in groups of twos and threes walking over to the ball fields which were across the parking lot from our school—going over to sit in the dugouts to smoke. They'd glance at Lori and me as they passed by, then look away. They'd whisper to each other, then turn and look again to see what Lori and I were doing. It was the same routine everyday at lunchtime. The kids with cars would leave to go have fun while everyone else tried to find a place to relax.
Watching people going this way and that, I felt a slow anger building inside me followed by a dull hatred. Everyone seemed so self-involved. It was the look on their faces and their attitudes—they seemed so satisfied. Even the rejects with their dirty clothes and pants cuffs dragging on the ground, playing games with junior high kids. They were smiling like they were sharing some inside joke—as if they were happy. As the wind blew gusts of dust off the parking lot towards school, I watched the kids turn and lift their jackets to block the dust from their hair, and I saw them laughing. They were laughing and having fun, like kids are supposed to do, and they were carefree.
It was because of Makayla that I was feeling that way. I knew no other kids were thinking about her. People didn't wanna think about stuff like that, about kids getting kicked out of school and the reasons for it. It was too unfair and unjust and downright scary. Kids would quit showing up for school all the time and for all kinds of reasons and no one thought much about it. One day a person would be there, and they'd be your class buddy, then they'd disappear, and you wouldn't think about them again until someone brought up their name, months later.
It was just like Lori and me. We were both thinking about Makayla, but we weren't talking about her. What was there to say? We both knew she wouldn't enroll in another school, and she'd lose all her credits for the semester. We knew, most likely, Lifegate would be the last school she'd ever attend. And we also knew why Tammy decided to kick Makayla out. Tammy was tired of being reminded of what those boys had done, what her precious Keenan had done. She was tired of seeing Makayla creeping around school pouting all day and figured it'd make things easier for Corena if Makayla wasn't there. It'd make it easier for Corena to come back to class—so everyone's not reminded that it was Corena who had Bobby beat to a pulp. Makayla was gone, and even though the kids were upset about it in Algebra 2, I knew that by the time lunch was over, most of them would've forgotten all about it. A few of us girls would notice she's not in class anymore, but in a week or so, most of the kids would forget she ever existed.
Lori had finished cutting the coke into three lines. She laid the mirror on the center console, got out her straw, and snorted two of them, one in each nostril. Then she held out the straw to me and said, "Here, do a line. It'll make you feel better." I thought about doing the line. Seemed like I was always snorting Lori's coke, and it made me feel like a mooch even though I never asked her for it. And I knew one line wasn't gonna make me feel better. It'd just make me want more.
I said, "No thanks…You don't happen to have any weed do you?"
She said, "Yeah, I got some in my one-hitter." She quickly snorted the last line, rubbed her finger all over the mirror and licked it, and threw the mirror back in her purse. Then she got her one-hitter out of the glove box and dug me out a hit. I looked around for kids that might be spying, lit it, and took a deep drag. I held it in for as long as I could, then blew the smoke into a jacket that was in Lori's car. Lori took a hit and dug another out for me. She said, "Wow, I'm high…I'm buzzing hard. I might not make it back to class, now." She cranked up the radio, lit a cigarette, and started bobbing her head to the music.
I was high too, but I wasn't in the same mood Lori was in. I thought to myself, Makayla had to go so Corena could feel more comfortable. That's what was really getting me and making me feel bitter towards all those kids. It was the one thing no one was gonna talk about. But when you don't talk about something, you're accepting it. Then I realized—It was just like the book! Animal Farm, the one Mrs. Garrison lent me. That book was cold. And there was a reason why I hadn't given it back to Mrs. Garrison. It was about these animals that take over the farm. At first they were happy because no one was gonna get slaughtered, but then the pigs put themselves in charge and started making life hell for everyone. You see, the pigs were all about control, so they were always making up stories and changing the history to suit themselves and trying to get the other animals to believe things that simply weren't true—and that's what Tammy was trying to do.
Makayla had to go so Corena could feel more comfortable. I could see it already. First they remove Makayla, then they start spreading lies about her and making up stories so that by the end of the year, no one will remember what really happened. That is, if they're thinking about her at all. They were trying to erase Makayla. And as this thought worked its way through my mind, I suddenly felt a tremendous need to tell someone about it. Because it seemed so real and true. It was just like the book! I thought, if people could just see it, see what Tammy was trying to do, then they'd understand and see how evil she really was.
I reached over, turned down the radio, and asked, "Lori, have you ever read Animal Farm?" She gave me a blank stare and shook her head.
"Well, what about last year? Didn't you read it in English?"
She said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
So I tried explaining it to her. I told her the story as best I could about the pigs, and how they got corrupted, and how they kept changing the rules. I told her about this one pig that ran away and how they blamed all their problems on him because they were always looking for someone to blame. And the more I talked, the more urgent it seemed that she should understand, and I could feel myself getting anxious and excited. I don't know if Lori was following me or not, but I could see that when I started explaining how it was just like Tammy and Corena, she wasn't interested. She got this real sour look on her face, and I knew I was ruining her buzz. I kept talking because I wanted to tell someone, and it seemed to make so much sense. But the more I talked, the more Lori seemed to be staring off into space like she was just waiting for me to finish. I was getting angry, and I wanted to stop, but I also wanted her to be able to see. So I started telling her about Makayla, and how they were trying to erase Makayla—erase her from the history of our school.
Then Lori turned and looked at me real seriously like she couldn't believe what I was saying. She reached out with both hands and grabbed me by the hair on the sides of my head. She put her face real close to mine and
said, "Why are you always tripping on Tammy, Corena, and Makayla, and this fucked up school? Why are you always talking about it? You used to be fun, Macy. Don't you remember when we used to have fun?" She let go of my hair and slumped back in her seat. "God! I can't even get high anymore without you trippin' about some…Shit! Can't you just get high and forget about it? Come on!"
I felt terrible when she said that, and I wondered why I tried to explain anything to her. I always hated talking to people on coke, anyway. It was so irritating. Now she was pissed, and I was feeling hurt and stupid, like I was being uncool. She was right. I wasn't fun any more. All I was doing was tripping about the bad things that'd happened and probably making too big of a deal out of them. I wondered how I'd gotten like that, how I'd gotten so hung up because I didn't used to be that way.
I watched Lori light another cigarette and blow the smoke out the window. She put her head back on the seat, closed her eyes, and said, "I'm sorry, Macy. I just don't want to think about it anymore."
I didn't wanna think about it anymore, either. I thought to myself, Maybe Lori's right. Maybe I should just get high and forget about it. I was wishing I could, but around that time, it seemed like getting high just made me think about it more. I was dwelling on things, and I couldn't let go. I felt like all that crap I was going through had broken me apart in places where I didn't even know I could be broken and exposed weaknesses I didn't even know I had. The worst part was that I knew I'd never be put back together to the way I was before. I knew I'd never feel strong again, or carefree, or bullheaded the way I did only six months earlier. Maybe I didn't completely know it then, but I sure felt it. I was changed, and for the first time I can remember, I felt depressed.
Lori and I sat there for about twenty minutes, not saying anything. Then it was time to go into school. I got out of Lori's car and, in a daze, started walking across the parking lot, my head in a cloud of thoughts. Was it me? Was I being a drag? Was I being like Hope, always depressed, always finding something to worry about? Or was Lori just being her insensitive self? Was she not able to see what I was seeing, or did she not care? But when you don't talk about something, you're accepting it. I was floating towards the school on autopilot, so lost in my own mind that even when I got this tingling feeling on the back of my legs, a feeling that one of the cars pulling in had almost hit me, I didn't turn around to look. Now I was on the sidewalk that led to the school, surrounded by kids. Someone said something to me, but I didn't hear them. I began feeling claustrophobic as I pictured myself going inside into that hot, dusty computer lab. I was considering walking home or wandering out into the tall grass and finding a soft spot where I could sit down to think. Then, just as I was about to follow some kids through the front doors of the school, I saw Hope standing off to the side.
I stopped walking and somebody bumped into the back of me. I could feel kids pushing their way around my body. Hope didn't see me; she was staring out over the parking lot like she was waiting for someone. She doesn't wanna go inside either, I thought, so I went and stood by her. She turned to look at me and her eyes were wet—not like she was crying but like she was about to. Then she looked away.
I said, "Hope, what's up?"
She said, "I'm going home," still staring into the distance.
"You having a bad day?"
"Yeah…"
"What is it?"
She said, "I don't want to talk about it," and bit her lip. I figured, being her second day back, it had to be pretty rough with the kids treating her like a ghost and all the things that must've been going through her head.
I said, "Will you give me a call later?" She nodded yes, but I knew she wouldn't. I told myself I was gonna make sure and call her, though.
I walked into school and went past the closed door of Tammy's office. Mrs. Bouchard was in her usual spot by the double doors, chatting with the kids as they went by. She made eye contact with me and made a point of saying hi, but I ignored her and continued down the hall. I went straight into the computer lab and sat down in my chair, stuck the keyboard back behind the monitor, and then rested my head down on my folded arms. I didn't want to talk to anyone and was still considering leaving school. It was only after I put my head down that I remembered I was still high—but not the kind of high I wanted to be; it wasn't enjoyable. It was the kind of buzz where you keep asking yourself what you were trying to think about, but the thought keeps slipping away. Did it have something to do with Lori, or was it Hope? And why was I so upset? Was I depressed? Is this what it feels like to be depressed? And why was I so mad at myself, right then? Because I was trying to talk to Lori about something? Lori couldn't make me feel that way. It was something else. What was it? Something Hope said?
Then it hit me, and I realized why Hope was going home. Makayla had just gotten kicked out of school, and Hope was blaming herself. Because it was Hope who told us about Corena, how Corena had caused Bobby to get stomped. If Hope hadn't told us, then no one would have known it was Corena's fault, and Tammy wouldn't have felt the need to remove Makayla from our school. And that's exactly how Hope would think about something like that. She'd blame herself.
I was just starting to mull this over, wondering if Hope was still standing out there, when Ms. Strauss started talking about our assignment. I heard her clear her throat and say, "Okay…I know how you guys like to complain, and I know you like to tell me how you think I should be teaching this class. Believe it or not, we teachers like to hear these things, especially when it's constructive and not just about how I should assign less work. So here's your opportunity to tell me everything you've always wanted to about this class. What I want you to do is write a 500-word essay telling me what you've learned in Computer Concepts. And feel free to tell me all those other things you've been so kind to share with me in the last couple months—but I want you to start off by telling me what you've learned…"
What a bunch of bullshit, I thought. I could hear kids starting to complain as soon as she was done talking, and I was wishing I would have just skipped class. I wanted to get back to what I was thinking about, so I kept my head down and pretended I was asleep.
"Macy," she said, "are you with us? You've got a writing assignment to do. Wake up."
I kept my head down. I didn't want to write about anything, just wanted to figure some shit out. I wanted to get back to my feelings—get back to feeling bad. What was it?…
I heard Ms. Strauss say, "She can't be asleep. She just got here."
Cecil said, "Aw, she's just drunk," and a bunch of kids started laughing. I was so fucking angry. No, I was irritated. Why won't they shut up? For a moment, I thought I might lose it and jump up and start snapping on people…But why? Why did I feel this way?
I heard Calvin come into the room, his voice booming, "Whaaaazzz up daaaawwwwgs?" He was being his fool self, not giving a damn that he was ten minutes late for class. Kids were yelling at Calvin as he made his way to his seat, but Ms. Strauss didn't say anything to him.
"Well, somebody wake her up," I heard Ms. Strauss say. She was still focused on me. What's her problem? Can't she see that I want to be left alone? I felt somebody shake my arm a few times. It was Chelsea.
She said, "Hey, Macy, they want you to get up, baby," then sarcastically, "We all gotta do our work you know." I still didn't move. I was afraid if I did, I might just storm right out of the room. Then I smelled her—Ms. Strauss. She smelled like that funky food she was always eating, and she was standing right next to me.
She said, "Macy. Macy, what's wrong?"
I had my eyes closed tight. Through clenched teeth, I started to say, "I don't want to talk about…" But when you don't talk about something, you're accepting it…
"Macy?"
…and when you accept something, something that's not right, something that's really wrong, you feel ashamed.
"Macy, don't act like you're asleep."
And that was it! You feel ashamed! And I never wanted to be ashamed of anything, Ever
—not the sex I've had, or the people I had it with, or the drugs I took, or the fights I got in, or the people I chose to be my friends. I wasn't ashamed of any of it, not one bit…
"Macy?"
…But it didn't matter, because there are other things you can be ashamed of. Like when you let people push you around or take advantage of you. Or when you allow people to make your life miserable or treat you like a something instead of a someone, it can cause you to feel ashamed. And you can feel ashamed for the way you let your parents treat you.
I felt Ms. Strauss walk away, but now the kids in the room had joined in, thinking it was a game in trying to get me to put my head up. They were taunting me and saying in sing-song voices, "Macy…it's time to wake up, Macy…"
And there's one more way you can feel ashamed. It's the worst kind of shame you can feel because there's not damn thing you can do about it. It's the shame you feel for other people when you see them standing by, watching people get hurt. When you see them turn their heads and act like it's not happening, or when they pretend not to notice, or when they say there's nothing they can do about it, anyway. It's feeling ashamed for other people's weakness—for the way they seem to lay down and accept injustice when it's right in front of their eyes. That's why it was impossible for me to quit talking about the things that were happening, because I refused to accept the shame!
They'd quit taunting me to wake up, but when I finally lifted my head off the computer table, a few kids gave a little cheer and started clapping. I held the up the finger to let them know where I stood. Then I pulled the keyboard out from behind the monitor and set it in front of me. I opened up Word and began typing. It was a dumb assignment. I hadn't learned enough in computer class that year to justify 500 words, and I didn't think Ms. Strauss read these essays, anyway. I thought she just assigned them so she could keep us busy and get her own work done, and that she probably just ran a word count on them to make sure we hit our quota. And right then, I really didn't care. I titled the essay What I Learned in Computer Class This Year, but that's not what I wrote about.
I wrote for the entire period, putting into words everything that was in my head. Every time I got something down, seemed like I had ten more things waiting to be written and coming out way faster than I could type. It wasn't organized, not like an essay should be; I was too busy trying to make sure I said everything I wanted to say. I talked about mean and hateful things that'd been building up in me for a long time—stuff I knew no one wanted to hear but I thought needed to be said. I wrote about our school, and parents and the way they behave, and about kids and teachers. I wrote about power and what it does to people, and fear and the shame it causes. And of course, I wrote about Tammy. I blamed her for everything.
I said that her power had made her weak, caused her to do despicable things, and that our whole school had suffered because of it. I said she was corrupting kids, teaching kids to accept injustice, and teaching kids to lie. I talked about how she'd spoiled the entire school by playing favorites, and because of that, no one had any respect for her. I called her a bully and said she was the worst kind, the kind who goes after the weak and picks on kids who can't even defend themselves. Some things I wanted to write but didn't. I wanted to talk about how she'd put her kids on the school's payroll, or about the pills she took, or her getting arrested. I was angry, and I wanted to show just how weak she could be. You see, I knew stuff about Tammy that only a couple of other people in the school knew about—dirty things that showed just how sick and disgusting a person she really was…but then I remembered somebody else might actually read this, and decided to leave it out. It was also the end of the period. Ms. Strauss hadn't come around yet to grade my essay, probably because I was still writing. I told her it was saved under My Documents and left class.
When I stepped out into the hall, I felt a whole bunch of emotions rushing through me. I felt relieved and lighter, like I'd set something down and let go of things that were tearing at me. At the same time, the stuff I was upset about all of a sudden seemed stupid and insignificant. I felt guilty for the things I'd just written and embarrassed for letting myself get so worked up over it. I wrote the essay because I was tired of thinking about those things and dwelling on them, and I was ready to be done. I knew writing it down wasn't gonna change anything. But I was determined to not let it bother me anymore.