A Heart Divided (17 page)

“Dad!” she protested.

“Friends are important,” my mom continued. “But grades are—”

“More important,” Portia finished, rolling her eyes. “You’ve said it like a million times. You know, you should try using reverse psychology, and say that
boys
are the most important thing in the universe, so that I’d say they
aren’t.”

“Would that work?” my mom asked wryly.

“I suppose not,” honest Portia replied. “And studies have shown that repetition reinforces behavior.”

My mom chuckled. “Well, good for me then, for staying on message.” She raised her eyebrows at me, a not-so-subtle reminder that regardless of what was happening with Jack, the Life of Purpose thing still applied to me, too. “How’s your play coming, Kate?”

“Oh, you know …,” I said evasively.

The truth was—it was excruciating to admit, even to myself—I still had not written a single scene. At my angriest, I blamed Marcus. He’d accused me of writing fast-food theater. I’d internalized the message. Now, not only were my efforts not good, they weren’t even funny. I was starting to suspect that I didn’t have enough talent to write what Marcus would consider a real play.

I wasn’t ready to give up, though. Disgusted by my own lack of progress, I pushed back from the table with new determination and went upstairs to gather my laptop and bulging folder of interview transcripts. Hoping for inspiration, I drove over to the brand-new Starbucks and set up at an outdoor table in sight of the Civil War monument.

And I tried. I really tried. But an hour later, when I stopped to read what I’d written, I wanted to cry. Because it was dreadful.

“Hi.”

Startled, I looked up. Standing by my table was the last person I’d expect to see greeting me: Sara Fife. She took in my coffee, my computer, my notes. Then she ignored them. “Mind if I sit down?”

“I’m kind of busy, actually.” I closed the scene I’d been writing without saving it to my hard drive. It didn’t matter. It was hardly worth saving.

“I won’t stay long.” She sat across from me, hands wrapped around an oversized plastic cup. “It is a sad fact of life that Redford, Tennessee, is the last place on the planet to get a Starbucks.”

“I thought you loved Redford.”

“I do. It’s a sadder fact of life how pathetically happy I am about it. I’m addicted to these.” She picked up her Iced Caffè Mocha and smiled. “So, working on your play?”

I took a mental step backward. “How did you know about that?”

“My friend Pansy is in your drama class. She said you’re writing about the flag. It’s not a secret, is it?”

“No,” I said warily.

“You aren’t going to make all of us sound like Jared Boose, are you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Good. Because he is quite the singular sensation.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that. I’ve been interviewing people on both sides. Trying to learn …”

“So, what’d you learn?”

What
had
I learned? I thought a moment. Even Mrs. Augustus had admitted to me that though she no longer flew that flag, she still loved it. And Mrs. Augustus was no racist. “I guess what I’ve learned is that while racists may love that flag, not everyone who loves it is a racist.”

“Good for you.” I thought I saw a new respect in her eyes. “Can I read what you’ve written?”

Which would be exactly nothing. “I don’t like anyone to read my stuff when it’s still in progress.”

She nodded and sipped her drink. “Especially not me, right?”

I decided to go for honest, because what the hell. “Right.”

“Yeah. I don’t blame you.” She stared into her cup. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you.”

What? You stole my boyfriend? I waited for the grenade I was certain she was about to lob.

“Jackson was my first love,” she said softly. “I thought we’d always be together. Then he met you, and everything changed.” She finally raised her eyes to me. “I despised you at first. I admit it. But not anymore.”

“You don’t?” I asked cautiously.

“I will always care about Jackson. I guess what I learned about myself is that I care about him enough to want him to be happy, even if he isn’t happy with me. Does that make any sense?”

“In a way-more-mature-than-me way, yeah.”

She laughed ruefully. “Maturity hasn’t been my strong suit in the past. I’m sure I have a ways to go yet.”

God. Like so much else about Redford, I had completely misjudged her. “I’m so sorry,” I blurted out.

“For what?”

“For all the mean things I thought about you.”

“Ditto.” She held her hand out to me. I shook it. She pushed out of her chair. “Well, good luck with your play. I admire writers so much. Every time we get a creative writing assignment, I just wilt. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye.” I watched as she walked to her car, a white BMW with a
GO REBELS!
school bumper sticker near its rear license plate. Sara Fife was nice. And gracious. Okay, the Crimson Maidens thing still made me cringe. But clearly that was only one small part of who she was. I had to face it: I’d only seen Sara’s negative qualities because that’s all that I’d wanted to see, so that I could go for her guy. Lillith had been wrong. It turned out the Sorority Queen Exception didn’t apply to Sara Fife at all.

close encounter of the Sara kind at Starbucks, conveniently leaving out the part where she called him her first love. I said how nice she’d been, how she’d offered me her friendship. It made him helium-balloon happy, even more than the fact that at the event the night before, his mother hadn’t said a word about their fight. If Sara Fife had come around, Jack said, it meant everyone else would, too.

Jack’s words proved prophetic. It was as if Sara was a CEO who had signed off on liking Kate, so now it was company policy. Everyone was friendly to me. Crystal sat with me at lunch to say she was giving a Halloween
party, would Jack and I come? Pansy Clifford, with whom I’d never before had an actual conversation, invited me and Jack to join a bunch of her friends at her family’s cabin at Land Between the Lakes. At last, I had truly become a part of Jack’s circle of friends, and I hadn’t compromised my beliefs to do it.

I had a great talk with Lillith that night. I told her how happy I was, in love with Jack, in love with life, and finally, at least in like with Redford. I also gave her the blow-by-blow on Sally Redford v. Jensen Pride. (Her Lillith-esque response: “Your mom rocks. Now, send Mrs. Redford a little note and suggest that sexual release would do wonders for her tension.”)

A month earlier, if someone had told me that I’d have fun at a party thrown by Crystal Evans, I would have asked that person what they were smoking. And if they’d told me that Sara Fife would loan me an antebellum dress (complete with hoop petticoat) so that I could attend as Scarlett O’Hara to Jack’s Rhett Butler, I would have been deeply concerned for their mental health. But both of those things happened, and Halloween night was one of the best times I’d ever had in my life.

Compliments of Crystal’s parents, there was even a hayride. A farmer drove up in his John Deere tractor lugging a load of hay. We all tumbled in, hay and costume pieces flying, breathless in a night as crisp as a perfect apple. Jack and I lay back in the straw, my hoop skirt sticking straight up like a funnel. Above us, a blanket of stars went on forever.

As long as I banished all thoughts of Sally Redford from my mind, life was rosy. But roses can bloom over hidden land mines—and you only find out when one blows up in your face.

I felt it the moment Jack and I walked into school on Thursday. Everything looked and sounded the same. Lockers were slamming; kids were flirting and jockeying for social position. But the air felt different, darker. I thought it had to be because of the vote on the flag, which was set for the next day. It seemed as if the
JUST SAY NO
and
REBELS FOREVER
leaflets had bred and multiplied overnight. They were everywhere—on walls, bulletin boards, and lockers.

My foreboding increased as we walked toward Miss Bright’s classroom. But now it felt personal. People were definitely staring at us, as if through some distorting fish-eye lens. “Something’s wrong,” I told Jack.

“Naw,” he drawled, looping an arm around my shoulders. “You worry too much.”

Maybe. But when he called a friendly greeting across the hall to the girl who was stage-managing
Living in Sunshine
, she pointedly turned her back. “I’m telling you,” I repeated, “something is wrong.”

We stopped at his locker to stash some books, then continued down the hallway. Outside the main office stood Principal McSorley, scanning faces. His eyes lit on us. “Miss
Pride, I’d like to see you in my office,” he said. “Jack, please get to your first-period class.”

When I was eleven, we took a family trip to France. I remember that I felt nauseous when we passed through French customs, as if the officials would think I’d done something wrong, even though I hadn’t. I felt the same way now.

But that was ridiculous. I refused to give in to Dread of Authority Figure Syndrome. “It’s okay, I’ll see you later,” I assured Jack with a smile. Then I followed Mr. McSorley into his office. He sat behind a battered oak desk. On the wall was a framed photo of him with the governor of Tennessee and a four-year-old plaque naming him Middle Tennessee Principal of the Year.

He nodded me into a hard-backed chair, then sighed. “I hardly know what to say. I’ve supported open debate on Friday’s vote. I encourage the students of this school to freely express themselves. But you, Miss Pride, have crossed the line.”

I had zero idea what he was talking about. Which is exactly what I told him.

He looked disgusted. “We both know that’s a lie.”

I was getting mad, which felt a lot better than giving in to terror. “No, Mr. McSorley. One of us doesn’t know anything. So why don’t you fill one of us in?”

With a forefinger he pushed some papers in my direction across his desk. “I’m going to leave you alone for a few minutes with this. I want you to give some serious thought to the
harm you’ve done to this school. And then I’d like to hear what you believe would be an appropriate punishment.”

I didn’t hear him leave. Because I was too busy gaping at the title page of something I had never seen before in my life.

BLACK AND WHITE AND REDFORD ALL OVER
A new play by Kate Pride

ACT ONE
SCENE 1

A drama class at Redford High School in the small town of Redford, Tennessee. Drama teacher
MISS DULL
stands before her class. She has Tourette’s syndrome and has body jerks, facial tics, and uncontrollable hand movements. Kids laugh at her behind her back.

MISS DULL:
(ticcing wildly)
Soon we will be voting on whether the Confederate flag should remain the emblem of Redford High, so we’ll do an improvisation to help get you in touch with your feelings on the issue. Let’s all close our eyes. Now, you are the flag.
Be
the flag. You’re waving in the breeze—

The bell rings. Kids gather up their stuff to head out.

MISS DULL: Excellent work! Remember play practice after school. If you don’t work on my wonderful, fabulous play, you flunk!

Students and Miss Dull exit. Three students stay behind: TIA,
CINDY, and DAN; all good-looking, popular, the in crowd that rules Redford High.

TIA: “Be the flag?” She is such a loser.

DAN: I’m surprised some black kid didn’t go,
(imitating someone illiterate)
“Miz Dull, I ain’t gonna beez no racist flag.”

CINDY:
(imitating both Miss Dull’s voice and tics)
Students who find this assignment offensive can pretend to be an African American flag: stupid and on welfare.

They all laugh together in a mean way.

DAN: They just want free handouts from white people.

TIA: Because they’re all lazy and on welfare.

DAN: Right. No matter how much we give them, they want more.

CINDY: Maybe we should burn a cross on someone’s front lawn.

DAN: I’d do it if I thought I could get away with it.