LITMIR.BIZ

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up to her ear just in case anyone can hear over the loud bus engine, “get the bag of Crisco from Forsyth the minute you see her at your locker and then pass it to me when I come by after homeroom.”

      “Okay, okay, stop reminding me,” she hisses at me.

      “I’m just saying.”

      “I got it.”

      But after we pass three farms and the second flashing stoplight she leans over and whispers in my ear. “Where’re we meeting up again after?”

      “Jeez! We’ve been over this a million times! At the end of the hall that leads to the gym. You’re going to be the signal girl.”

      “Right,” she nods, remembering. “Got it.”

      “You sure?”

      “Yes. Sure as manure.”

      I smile, thinking about how I told her that Daddy always used to say that to me. He’d rhyme the words and it made me laugh every time.

      The bus lurches to the curb right in front of our school, squeaky brakes and smelly fumes. Emma hits my arm and I look to where she’s looking and sure enough it’s Sonny at the bike stand, pulling his books out of the trap that’s fixed over his back wheel.

      “Here we go,” I say to no one in particular, and we head in through the front doors just in time for the first bell.

      “Bye,” she calls to me, which is weird ‘cause we never say goodbye to each other at school—we just sort of walk away. But in a nice way. Yep. She’s nervous all right.

      Homeroom drags by so slowly now it’s me who can feel her hair grow. Miss Fullman calls attendance and everyone’s got to add their funny little thing they say back instead of “here” like boring old me. Mary Sellers: “Is the best!” (everyone laughs—she changes this every day). Liam Naughton: “Yell-oh!” (laughs). Darryl Becksdale: “Who?” (not so many laughs, but still better than “here”). The list goes slowly while Miss Fullman gives everyone the evil eye and says, “People. That’s enough now, people,” and waits for the laughter to die down before she calls the next one on the list.

      The second bell rings almost as loud as my heart is beating. It just occurred to me that this whole thing is riding on me. I cain’t chicken out now. I just cain’t. Forsyth would never speak to me again.

      First period goes by even slower than homeroom did, but the good thing is we’re right on track. Forsyth passed a slab of Crisco wrapped in plastic to Emma, who gave it to me just like we planned. Now I’m sitting here in second period with Crisco grease in the space between the snap and zipper of my pants and my stomach. I wore a looser shirt than I normally wear for this exact reason. Planning ahead works every time.

      Bzzzzzzz. Second period is over and as we file out of the room I bump into two desks because I’m concentrating on my heart, which is beating in my chest like a bird flapping its wings against a cage, trying to get free. Oh, Lord, please help me carry this out.

      Out in the hallway in front of the gym Forsyth is standing in front of the boys’ washroom like she should be but I cain’t see Emma over the heads of the other kids in the hallway. I didn’t think about how tough it’d be to see her in the crowd! Oh, God. Oh, God. Emma? Where are you?

      And then she appears—standing in between Betsy Rut-ledge and Collie McGrath, talking to Perry Gibson and … there it is … she scratches her chin! That means Sonny’s asked for the key and is about to head to the washroom. I whip around to see Forsyth shaking her head to someone who’s trying to go in but then turns away after she whispers to him. Just like we planned, Forsyth is telling anyone who wants to use the washroom—who isn’t Sonny, of course—it’s “out of order.” We practiced it dozens of times before we left the Phillipses’ last night.

      There’s no time to waste. I push past people I barely recognize because I’m so nervous and feel up under my shirt for the packet of Crisco. In front of the boys’ washroom I look over my shoulder quickly just to make sure Sonny’s not right behind me. The coast is clear so I rush past Forsyth, who’s mouthing something to me and waving her arms around, but I push through the door to the boys’ washroom so I can carry out our plan.

      Oh. My. Lord.

      I hear the door shut behind me and rest my eyes on not one, not two, not three, even, but about twenty—twenty—boys! Boys from every grade. Boys standing with their backs to the door. Boys facing the wall. Boys with their pants practically down to their ankles. Boys combing their hair. Boys leaning against the tiled wall. Boys in every nook and cranny of this washroom!

      “Lookee-lou, it’s Scary Carrie,” a hollow voice bounces off the tiled walls and mixes into all the laughing that breaks out like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

      Everything happens so fast I cain’t even tell you what I said or how I got out of there. I just know that as I fly out the door I see Sonny, smiling and sauntering up to the door without a care in the world.

      The girls’ washroom is right next door but I want to get as far away from here as I possibly can. So I run. I run down the hall, past Emma, who’s looking at me weird, past Mr. Stanley, past a million laughing kids I never want to see ever again, and out the double metal doors that lead to freedom. They can arrest me if they want, but I’m not going back into that school. I hear the door slam behind me and soon Emma’s beside me on the second step of the rickety old bleachers by the baseball diamond.

      “What happened?” she asks.

      “Forsyth,” I sob, “Forsyth …” It’s all I can manage to say. I’m crying too hard. I’m the laughingstock of the school.

      “Forsyth what? What happened?”

      Then it comes back to me … oh, Lord! Forsyth’s lips moving. Her arms swishing back and forth like windshield wipers. She was trying to warn me. She was trying to warn me.

      I wish I could disappear.

      “It’ll be okay,” Emma says. “Don’t cry. It’ll be okay. You’ll see. It’ll all be okay.” Her hand rubs circles in the middle of my back.

      “How?” I sniffle. “How will it be okay now?”

      But she’s quiet so I know she was just trying to make me feel better.

      “If anyone makes fun of you I’ll beat ‘em up, that’s how.”

      “You cain’t beat up the whole school. And that’s who’s going to make fun of me.” I wipe my runny nose on my sleeve.

      “We’ll think of something,” she says, “but we better go on back. Mr. Streng’s going to be after us if we cut out altogether. Come on.”

      The halls are empty when we go back through the double doors—everyone’s in third period, I reckon. After my eyes adjust, I head toward my locker and Emma pads alongside me. Even in echoey halls she doesn’t make any noise.

      “Here’s what you do when third period’s over.” She hurries up to in front of me so she can face me. “You pretend you’re deaf so when anyone says anything—or even laughs at you—it doesn’t make a lick of difference. Just pretend you can’t hear a thing.”

      What she doesn’t realize is I’ve been trying this all my life. It never works.

      “Caroline, you knew this stuff backward and forward yesterday.” Mr. Stanley’s mouth is all twisted up, like it’s fed up with talking to me altogether. “What I wonder is how on earth you could completely forget multiplication.”

      Am I supposed to answer him?

      “Young lady? Young lady, I’m talking to you.”

      “Yes, sir?”

      “If you forgot to do your homework, say so.

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