The Humiliations of Pipi McGee Page 21

  Sarah shook her head. “No, Penelope. It’s not silly at all. Why is something our bodies biologically have to do treated like an embarrassment? It’s not right. I mean, we all know what happens; it’s part of health class.”

  “That’s what Ricky said,” I muttered. Sarah raised an eyebrow. “That day, I mean. He reminded me that everyone had health class and knew what periods were.”

  Sarah nodded. “Ricky was right. What happened to you wasn’t your fault. But how everyone reacted was their fault. It happened to you, and it was wrong. And it’s the beginning of a really great poem—”

  “Poem? No,” I said, backing up a little. “It’s not a poem. It’s too hard to even tell you, let alone anyone else. I just needed to say it.”

  Sarah nodded, her eyes locking into mine. “I know what that’s like. To have something you want to say, but you can’t figure out how to do it.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m really glad you trust me like this, because I need to trust someone, too.”

  I tried to keep my face smooth and my expression surprised. “Oh,” I said, looking at my hands. “You have a secret?”

  Sarah laughed. “Your innocent face is the worst ever. The absolute worst.” I glanced up, relieved to see Sarah’s smile. She fake punched my shoulder. “Kara told me she almost let it slip to you. You might even have guessed?” Sarah arched an eyebrow at me.

  I shook my head, this time not faking the unsure face.

  Her mouth wobbled a little and she took a deep breath. “That would’ve made it easier.”

  “It’ll make you feel better,” I said. “To say it, I mean.”

  Sarah nodded. “It’s funny—I’m hesitating, but the whole thing, the whole reason Kara and I are fighting, is that I want it to stop being a secret. I want it to be something that’s real, just something that is.”

  I didn’t say anything, trying to put together the pieces she had spread out in front of me. What she said about needing to be heard, about being told to keep quiet, something that Kara thought she had to protect, something that Jackson—who never took anything (his own poetry aside) seriously—could be trusted with knowing.

  “I… I know a lot of people assume that Jackson and me are sort of a couple. But we’re just friends. And we’ll always just be friends because the truth is…” Sarah paused, taking another breath. “I don’t like boys. I… I’m gay, I guess. I mean,” her shoulders squared and her chin lifted, “I’m gay.”

  “Oh.” I had figured out her secret moments before she spoke it. What I hadn’t yet figured out was how to respond.

  Say something! my brain screamed. Say something. Tons of words swarmed down to my mouth, but none of them tasted right.

  The strings of words crowding my mouth—words like: My uncle is gay. Or Gay people are great! Or Oh, wow! Gay!—were all just bad attempts at connecting.

  Maybe I didn’t have to say anything. Instead, I reached out and squeezed her hand. Sarah smiled, her shoulders drooping like she put down a heavy box. I smiled back at her.

  “I’m glad you told me,” I said.

  “I’m glad I told you,” she said, and then scooted to where her backpack was and pulled out a notebook. She held it up. “It does feel good to talk about it. I mean, I write about it in here. I think that’s why poetry is so important to me; it’s really helped me sort my thoughts.”

  “Does your family know?” I asked. I tried to imagine Mom, Dad, and Alec’s reactions if I told them I was gay. I knew they’d hug me. I knew they’d tell me they loved me. I hoped it was the same for Sarah. Her mouth wobbled a little, and I guessed it hadn’t happened like that.

  “They’re okay,” she said. “Honestly, they’re pretty cool about it. My dad especially. But I think my mom was more worried about Aunt Estelle finding out than anything. She’s Kara’s mom. She kind of is used to directing things, you know?”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t really.

  “I know she knows—my mom told her, and then Kara did, too—but she never talks about it. No one ever talks about it. It’s like they think it’ll go away, or I’ll outgrow it.”

  “Is that what your poem is going to be about?” I asked.

  Sarah shook her head. “No, there’s another idea I have, something really… I guess, important to me.”

  “Hey!” Jackson broke into the room with a literal bang as the door flew back on its hinges and hit the side of the wall. “You guys should’ve told me you could meet earlier! I have so much stuff. I’m going to read it all to you guys, okay, and then you can help me pick out which one to tell at the open mic.”

  Sarah smiled and raised an eyebrow. “We’ll talk later,” she said. To Jackson, she said, “We’ve still got plenty of time to prep for the open mic.”

  “I’m not so sure about this open mic thing,” I muttered.

  “Friday night, JV Bookstore in Collinsville,” Sarah said. “You have to be there, Pipi! Promise me!”

  Collinsville was the next town over, at least a half-hour drive from my house. Jackson nodded. “My pop is up for driving us. He loves the bookstore. Even promised not to listen to the open mic to respect my privacy, even though I’ve read him my poems about a dozen times.”

  Sarah and I exchanged a quick glance and then looked away.

  “I’m not ready for that,” I said.

  “I’m not sure I am, either,” Sarah responded. “But I hope I will be. I hope when I get there, I’ll be able to share this poem I’ve been working on a really long time.”

  Jackson put down his notebook and looked up at her. “Let’s hear it!”

  Sarah shook her head. “I want to do it there. Share it there for the first time.” She nudged me. “Maybe there’s something you want to say?”

  Quickly, I shook my head. “No, but I’ll be there. For you guys. The thing is? I don’t think I’m really a poet—”

  I held up my hand as both Jackson and Sarah started to protest.

  “Really, I don’t.” I lifted my chin. “But I am an artist. And I was thinking I’d be in the talent show, but for my artwork instead.”

  Jackson said, “You mean, like your portrait?”

  I blinked at him. “My bacon portrait? The picture of me as bacon with boobs? The one I drew when I was five?” I blinked again. “No, Jackson. Not like that.”

  Sarah coughed, but it sounded a lot like a laugh. “What kind of art, Pipi?”

  I stared down at my lap. “I make these birds? Out of papier-mâché?” Everything I said came out like a question. “Anyway, I was thinking about it. About maybe creating something, a display or something. It was just an idea.”

  Sarah smiled. “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said, “birds. They, like, take flight. Take our imagination to flight. On… feathers. Feathers of flight.” He snapped his fingers and then picked up his notebook to write a new poem.

  When Mom and I got home from the gym that night, it was pretty late. She had stopped to pick up chicken salad and hoagie rolls from a deli. “Lazy dinner tonight. I am wiped out,” she said. But when we opened the door, the amazing garlicky scent of Alec’s homemade spaghetti sauce wafted toward us. We floated into the house like those cartoon animals that sail into a kitchen on scent alone.

  “Hey,” Alec said and came around the table, which was set with garlic bread, spaghetti, and salad. He kissed Mom. “Welcome home!”

  “What’s the occasion?” Mom asked.

  Eliza came out from the kitchen with Annie just behind her, both of them bringing salad dressings. “Annie and I had a great day. Alec did, too. So, we made a feast!”

  Mom and I looked at each other and just about ran to sit at the table. It was dark outside, the wind blowing, but the dining room was warm and bright. Everyone told stories about their day, and all four of us sucked in our breath when Annie casually called Eliza “Mom.” (“Mom jumped higher than anyone on the trampoline! She even did a flip!”)

  Between the amazing food and the endless laughter a
round the table, I barely thought about Vile Kara Samson and her slippery eyebrows. At the end of the meal, Mom grabbed Eliza’s hand and squeezed it. She and Alec exchanged the kind of smile that makes previous conversations transparent, and then she said, “We love you so much and are so proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

  Alec nodded and ruffled Annie’s hair. “Aren’t you proud of your mama, about to graduate at the top of her class?”

  Eliza’s hands flew to her mouth. “I didn’t think you knew.”

  Mom wiped at the corner of her eyes. “You’ve done so much, love. I admire that you’ve wanted to do it on your own—from scholarships and student loans—”

  “Mom,” said Eliza, clenching her hands on her lap, “you’ve given us a place to live, rent-free, you’ve practically raised—”

  Mom reached over and pressed her fingers to Eliza’s mouth. “I’ve raised my daughter, who is raising her daughter. And we love you and would do it all again in a heartbeat. Please, let us in. Let us help you.”

  Alec got up and moved closer to Mom, putting his hand on her shoulder. Mom said, “Your dad and I saved for college tuition for you and Pipi. But since you did it all yourself, we invested your portion. Alec found some amazing stocks and we’ve had a bit of a return on it. We’d like you to have it as a nest egg. Something to help you feel more secure.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a check.

  “Is this for an apartment? Do you need room for the baby?” Eliza asked, her voice soft and her face unreadable.

  “No!” gasped Mom, shaking her head. “No, we’ll figure that out. This is your home, always.”

  Mom held out the check again. After a long pause, Eliza took it. Her eyes widened at the number. “Are you sure about this? What about Pipi’s college?”

  “We have a separate account for Pipi,” Mom said, and I quashed the part of me that had been worried for just a second. “This is yours.”

  “But I didn’t… I don’t…”

  “It’s yours,” Mom said. Alec nodded.

  The warmth at the table, the carb-loaded fullness in my belly, the radiance of Eliza’s nearly forgotten smile—all of it filled me up so much that for a while, I forgot all about Kara Samson’s slippery eyebrows or Frau Jacobs’s smug pig-dog smile.

  But Kara hadn’t forgotten about me.

  The next morning, Alec offered to drop me off at the primary school so I could sleep in instead of taking the bus to kindergarten volunteering. I felt a small pang of guilt at the idea of Ricky being the only teenager on the bus—I even pulled out my phone to text him—but then I remembered the notebook. Ricky had given it to Jackson. I still couldn’t picture it; it was so much easier to hate Kara, who had never been nice to me, who didn’t make me laugh, who hadn’t been there when I needed someone.

  I got to the school just in time to take everyone’s lunch orders. About half of them still ordered croutons every day. “Penelope?” Ricky said from his spot in the coat closet, where he was helping the kids get out of their jackets. (This was a surprisingly difficult task. Somehow Narrator Boy ended up wearing his jacket again, only backward, after Ricky helped him slip one arm out.) “I missed you on the bus today.”

  “Yeah, I slept in,” I said, keeping my eyes on my chart, counting up all of the lunches to make sure I had twenty-four to match the number of students.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.” But even I could hear how cold my voice was. Only twenty-three. I looked around the room. Piper was missing.

  “It’s just…” Ricky helped Narrator Boy out of his jacket for a third time. (“And now my jacket is upside down. Look at that, upside down.”)

  “I’m trying to count, Ricky,” I snapped, even though I had already finished. I went to mark Piper as absent, but then saw she wasn’t on the attendance list anymore. In fact, her cubby in the cloak room didn’t have her name or picture anymore.

  “Miss Gonzalez,” I called, “what happened to Piper?”

  “Oh,” Miss Gonzalez said. She had been passing around morning work coloring pages. “Piper’s family decided she needed another year before pursuing kindergarten. They’ve pulled her out for the remainder of the school year and are going to re-enroll her next year. We all agree that she wasn’t quite ready.”

  “Oh.” My heart thumped. Was this because I had pushed her so much?

  “Besides,” Miss Gonzalez said, “they said she made a really great connection with another incoming kindergartener. So, we’re going to give it another shot next year.” And I couldn’t even help it, I smiled at Ricky knowing he’d be smiling back, both of us thinking of Annie and Piper taking over kindergarten next year.

  Ricky hung Narrator Boy’s jacket on his hook and stood beside me. “Pipi, I talked with Tasha. She says you’re almost done with The List thing?”

  I nodded, the smile wiped from my face. “Tasha was talking about me?”

  “Not about you,” he said. “I just mentioned you, and she said you were kind of taking a break from each other until this List thing is done.”

  “Only one thing left,” I said, still not looking at him. I concentrated on moving all of the lunch orders into the folder to send to the office.

  “Only one… so you finished with sixth grade?” Ricky’s hands were at his sides. I noticed they were shaking. We were standing so close—only a couple inches between our arms. I could feel his breath on my shoulder. It was a little shaky, too. Something dislodged in my chest.

  “I know about the notebook. I mean, about you being the one who gave it to Jackson.” Ricky swallowed, and I looked up at him. His dark eyes were serious and eyebrows peaked. “It was a long time ago, huh?”

  His mouth tightened into a line. “I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I’m really sorry. I’m, like, really sorry, Pipi.” He mopped a hand over his face, clutching a handful of hair behind his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking then. I mean, I really thought you liked me, which was so daft. Kara kept saying stuff like, ‘Look, she’s wearing white. That’s because I told her you like white.’ And I didn’t believe her. She said she was going to tell you I liked short hair. I didn’t think you’d do it—honest, I didn’t! I don’t even know why I was talking to her.”

  He sucked in another breath, all of his words coming in too fast. “But it felt so good to have someone to talk to. And then Jackson started being my friend, too, since Kara always wanted to talk to me and he was always around her. So, when I found that notebook, when I saw what you wrote in it, I…” He scrunched his eyes shut. “I messed up.”

  “It was a long time ago,” I said again.

  “Not to you. Not to me.” He pulled in another breath. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  I nodded. “I know.” I took a small step sideways and he winced. “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” I admitted. “I know that’s not really helpful. But I don’t think I’m mad at you, Ricky.”

  “We’re good?” Ricky asked.

  I shook my head. “You lied to me. And then you let me be mad at Kara. You could’ve told me every single time I brought up The List. You could’ve—”

  Ricky nodded. “I know. I should’ve told you everything. I messed up, bad. I was… I guess I was so…”

  “Hurt?” I said.

  “Yeah.” He took another deep breath. “Did you hear Miss Gonzalez talking to the class after Piper said she didn’t like anyone?”

  I nodded. “She said, hurt people hurt people.”

  “It’s not an excuse. It was wrong. And I wouldn’t do it today. You know I wouldn’t.” Ricky’s eyes met mine for a long time. Then he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and shoved it toward me. “Just take this.”

  “What is it?” I crossed my arms.

  “Come on, Pipi.” Ricky stretched out his arm with the paper toward me. With the other, he rubbed the back of his head again. “Please.”

  I searched his face. Usually, Ricky was calm, steady. This Ricky? He was s
tone soup, just like me.

  “You weren’t the only one who had a notebook,” he said. “I’ve… I’ve held on to this for too long.” He drew in another breath. “Like, literally. I started carrying it around in sixth grade, and now it’s two years later and I still had it on top of my dresser. Just in case.”

  I took the paper. He winced and then went into the classroom to help the kids with their morning work. The paper was wrinkled and folded five times to be in a pocket-sized square. I smoothed it out on my leg before lifting it up to read. In careful, just-learned cursive was:

  I think you’re smart, and you’re pretty, too.

  I want to hold your hand and laugh when you laugh.

  If I owned a band, they’d only play your favorite song.

  I want you to be my girlfriend.

  But I’ll always be your friend.

  I read it again and then again. Then I folded it carefully back up and slipped it into my pocket. It was the most beautiful poem I’d ever read.

  “Are we good?” he whispered when I sat down next to him for the morning announcements a couple minutes later.

  “We’re good.”

  But I wasn’t good a few hours later.

  My first sense that anything was wrong happened at lunch when Ricky and I sat at our usual table. Sure, it was a little bit awkward around Ricky. We were both smiling way too much, but soon we were talking and it was normal.

  Tasha wasn’t there, of course, but her eyes met mine briefly from where she sat across the cafeteria when Vile Kara Samson got up from her table and stomped toward me. Tasha smiled and rolled her eyes, but it was quick as a flash and then she turned back to her new crew.

  Kara stood in front of me with her arms crossed and a surprisingly wide smile on her face. I stared at her. Somehow her eyebrows were magnificent. I mean, they were entirely drawn-in—but they were perfectly shaped and dark. “Surprised?” she said and pointed to them. “I watched your sister’s tutorial on YouTube.”