Ballads of Suburbia (6 page)

C
HEMISTRY CLASS, TWO DAYS AFTER
C
HRISTMAS
break: I zoned out in my usual spot in the back row by the cabinet of beakers, chemicals, and lab equipment. Like everyone else, I was thoroughly disinterested in the long chemical equations that Ms. Bartolth scrawled across the blackboard, her flabby arms jiggling with each stroke of chalk. Instead, I watched Maggie Young and Alexandra Kennedy play with their hair. They repeatedly let it down and twisted it back up into a stylishly disheveled bun, which somehow stayed in place with the aid of a mere pencil.

I wondered if my hair would've been capable of that if I hadn't recently given myself a jagged bob with the kitchen scissors. Stacey had reluctantly helped me bleach the front of it white-blond and dye the rest black. The whole time she muttered that it would look a lot prettier if I got highlights and let her even out my cut. No one appreciated my new look as much as I did. Maggie and Alexandra nicknamed me “Skunk Girl,” so I spent chemistry fantasizing about experiments gone awry that would leave them bald.

Suddenly a voice drifted into the classroom like cigarette smoke, interrupting Ms. Bartolth's drone: “Hey, is this chemistry with Ms. Bar-tolllll-th?”

Everyone turned to look at the waifish girl in the doorway.
She only stood a couple inches over five feet, but her flame-colored hair made her appear bold and big enough to challenge even Ms. Bartolth.

After a moment of infuriated silence, Ms. Bartolth responded, “Yes, can I help you?”

The girl stuck a crumpled schedule in the back pocket of torn jeans covered with black ink sketches. The holes in the knees were so big that they exposed her legs from lower thigh to mid-shin. She wore black fishnet tights beneath them and a faded Ramones T-shirt. “I'm Maya Danner. Just moved from Florida and assigned to your class.”

“Take a seat,” Ms. Bartolth replied, her mustached lip pulling tightly around her teeth in a fake smile. “Talk to me after class, so I can catch you up.”

Maya waltzed to the back of the classroom, slouching into the seat beside me. As she approached, I saw that she was as stunning as her fiery hair. She had perfect china-doll features that Alexandra and Maggie would envy, but she wore her makeup like mine, eyeliner smudged across her thunderstorm gray eyes. Maya smiled at me, indicating my purple-and-black-striped tights and giving me the thumbs-up.

When Ms. Bartolth finished explaining the lesson of the day and told us to pair up for lab, Maya turned to me and asked, “Wanna be my lab partner?”

“Sure,” I agreed quickly. Pairing up for lab was often as humiliating as gym class. I always got picked last. “My name's Kara,” I added as we carried our equipment to an open lab table.

“Lucky for you, Kara, I'm a whiz at chemistry,” Maya informed me.

It proved to be true. She chatted away while effortlessly mixing chemicals. “Your hair is fucking awesome. And I love your tights. If you let me borrow them, I'll bring you some Manic Panic to color your bangs. I have purple, blue, and red, of course.”

“Cool, I'd love to try the blue.”

“I'll bring you the jar tomorrow.” Maya put a few more drops of something into our beaker and it began to smoke like it was supposed to.

“Good job, girls,” Ms. Bartolth said approvingly. “Now you can start on your homework.”

Maya rolled her eyes as our teacher trotted off. “Pfft, that's what study hall's for. So,” she asked me, “do you like the Ramones? They're my favorite band.”

“Definitely, and PJ Harvey's my favorite.” I pointed to the sketch on the left leg of her pants, where she'd written “50ft Queenie” in pretty lettering beneath a sketch of the songstress wearing a crown. “Those jeans are a work of art.”

“Wanna see my sketchbook?” Maya asked enthusiastically, pulling it out of her backpack before I could reply. We flipped through pages of lizards and sorrowful mermaids and beach scenes, Maya pointing out the ones she was most proud of.

Then Maggie and Alexandra approached our lab table. “Oh, look, Skunk Girl made a friend,” Maggie taunted. Turning to Alexandra, she added, “Do you think we should warn New Girl that Kara's, like, the biggest loser in school?”

My face flushed as red as Maya's hair and I rubbed my scabby arm through my sweater. I wished that for once I could think of a witty retort to put Maggie in her place.

Maya came up with something for me. “My grandmother has a saying for girls like you.” Her lips curled into her signature smirk. “No brains, no headaches.”

“Yeah, that's the truth.” I laughed.

Maggie huffed and muttered “bitch” before flouncing away.

As the bell rang and Maya walked to Ms. Bartolth's desk, she promised, “I'll bring the dye tomorrow.”

“Can't wait!” I replied, and practically skipped to my next class.

When I got up the next morning and tucked a few pairs of
tights that I thought Maya might like into my backpack, I was excited to go to school for the first time since Stacey'd moved. I wished that Maya and I had more classes together or shared a lunch, but at least chemistry was a double period.

Over the next few months, Maya and I acted as not only lab partners but partners in crime. She brought out my mischievous, goofy side the way Stacey once had. But while Stacey and I had always avoided Maggie and her friends, Maya and I antagonized them: “Is that mixture supposed to be turning pink?” Maya had asked Maggie, interrupting the story Maggie was relating to Alexandra about some kegger in Thatcher Woods. “Let me go get Ms. Bartolth for you.”

Before Maggie and Alexandra could screech a synchronized “No!” Maya and I shouted “Ms. Bartolth!” and relished the dirty looks we got as the teacher hovered over them for the rest of the period.

But as much fun as we had, we didn't actually hang out outside of the classroom. I had no idea how to broach the subject. Should I invite Maya to my house? What would we do there, watch MTV with my brother? I quickly concluded that I was too socially awkward to have a real friend and forced myself to forget about it, but apparently it simply hadn't dawned on Maya yet.

One afternoon in mid-April as we were sneaking a cigarette between classes, Maya slapped her knee and declared, “Oh my god, Kara! Why haven't we hung out? Why don't we even call each other? I mean, we have so much fun in class, don't we?” A look of doubt darkened her perfect features.

“Yeah, we do.” I grinned, as surprised by her insecurity as I was by her outburst.

“Let's do stuff, then. You want to come over after school?”

“Okay.” I rubbed at some ash that drifted onto my gray corduroys, trying not to act too exuberant. I didn't want her to know I had no life.

“I live at the Write Inn. Do you know the place?”

I nodded, a little confused because the Write Inn was a hotel. Not like a Marriott; they didn't have those kinds of hotels in Oak Park. The rooms at the Write had kitchenettes and the feel of a studio apartment, but still, it was a weird place to live.

“It's only temporary,” Maya explained. “My dad's searching for the perfect house, but his job started in January and I guess he thought it would be easier to stay at a hotel than rent a place. I've got my own room, so it's almost like living alone, which has its perks.” She flashed me her patented troublemaking grin. “Like we could go there, smoke a bowl, and then meet up with Harlan, this kid from my art class. He's always talking about the park down the street from me.”

“Scoville?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Does that sound fun?”

“Sure,” I told her, because if there were good times to be had at Scoville, Maya would be the person to have them with.

M
AYA AND
I
CUT THROUGH THE
tennis courts at the north end of Scoville Park. There were quite a few people on the other side of the hill, but Maya easily spotted her friend Harlan near the main entrance.

“There he is, with the purple hair.” She pointed to a kid in an orange jumpsuit, not unlike something a prisoner would wear.

Even though he now had violet liberty spikes instead of shaggy blue hair, I recognized him as the “Penile augmentation!” guy from the party Stacey had dragged me to. This made me slightly nervous, but that evaporated once we were properly introduced.

Harlan threw his arms around Maya like they had known each other for years. Then Maya pushed me forward. “This is Kara. Kara, Harlan.”

I waved hello, but that wasn't Harlan's style. He screamed, “Kara, welcome to the park! Maya talks about you
all
the time,” and enveloped me in a big bear hug. Harlan's personality was overwhelming but endearing. I appreciated the way he immediately accepted me. He kept one arm around my shoulder, confiding, “Okay, the main reason I've been trying to get Maya to hang out with me is because I want to introduce her to my friend Christian. I think they'd make the most adorable couple.”

Maya sighed, shaking her head, and a blond girl standing beside Harlan rolled her eyes. “You and your matchmaking. I wouldn't send any girl near Christian. Mary wants him. She and Jessica will destroy anyone who gets in her way.”

Harlan dismissed the girl's concern. “Pfft, she's been trying to hook up with him all year. He's not interested.”

Harlan's friend extended her hand to Maya. “Hi, I'm Shelly. Excuse him, he's crazy.” Shelly's blue eyes shone with laughter as she turned to me. She studied me quizzically. “Weren't you at one of my parties last summer? I live on Kenilworth.”

“Maybe.”

She had to be talking about the party Stacey had taken me to, but I didn't remember seeing her there. Normally a girl like Shelly would stand out—she was drop-dead gorgeous, with dirty-blond curls that spilled out of a purple bandanna—but her house had been packed with at least sixty kids. I'd been stuck with Stacey and her metalhead friends. Shelly and Harlan definitely weren't part of that crowd. I'd only noticed Harlan because—well, he made sure he was the center of attention.

He threw his other arm around Maya and pleaded, “Come on, won't you at least meet the guy?”

Maya patted his spiky head. “I'll let you introduce us because it means so much to you, but like I've told you a million times, I don't want a boyfriend.”

“We'll see what you think after you meet him. Or maybe Kara will like him.” Harlan gave me an exaggerated wink. I just shrugged as he led us over to a circle of kids sitting on the dead grass near the bushes. But when Harlan said “That's him,” gesturing to a boy wearing a ratty thrift-store cardigan, my stomach flip-flopped.

I'd seen him before on one of my trips to Scoville with Stacey. We'd stopped at the Amoco station along the way because the clerk there didn't card for cigarettes. Christian stood in line be
hind us, noticeable immediately with his scruffy, apple-red dye job, which stuck up around big, black headphones. While the clerk had his back turned to get Stacey's Marlboros, Christian grabbed a carton of Winstons that someone had forgotten to finish stocking. He grinned at me as he stuck it inside his leather coat and tossed me a pack before running to catch up with his friends.

“He likes you!” Stacey teased.

My cheeks grew hot. “Shut up, I don't even know him.”

“Christian Garrickson. We had history together in eighth grade. According to his T-shirt collection, his likes include Nirvana, Sonic Youth, and the Cubs. According to his performance in class, his dislikes include history and homework.”

“I hate the Cubs” was all I told her, though I mentally dissected the way Christian looked at me for days.

Much to Harlan's disappointment, Christian barely nodded at Maya and me, though this could have been because Mary was hanging all over him, trying to distract him. When Christian looked up at us, she sullenly crossed her arms over the enormous boobs that dominated her bony frame and scowled in such a way that it emphasized her underbite. Meanness spoiled all of her features. She didn't even fake a smile when Harlan introduced us to her.

Mary's best friend, Jessica, looked disinterested in everyone. She stared around the park, continually fussing with her dyed black pixie cut. She was cheerleader pretty, but wore a hipster uniform of Converse sneakers, faded jeans, and a thrift-store-chic Smurfette T-shirt. She did flash a big smile that dimpled her cheeks and wrinkled her cute-as-a-button nose, but her green eyes were stamped with the same judgmental expression as Mary's and she didn't deign to speak to us either.

Craig sat on the other side of Christian. When Harlan intro
duced him as Mary's older brother I did a double take. They didn't look related. Craig was on the pudgy side, had much lighter hair, and his plump cheeks were spotted with freckles. Upon closer examination, I noticed that Mary covered her freckles with a thick layer of makeup and Craig bleached his hair. His dark brown roots matched his sister's shade. Craig had a bit of an attitude, but at least he spoke, flicking his chin in the air and mumbling, “What's up?”

The last in their circle was Quentin. His skin and blue eyes were so pale, he seemed albino, but his hair was inky black and braided into the teeniest braids, which hung down to his chin. He hardly spoke, and when he did it came out in a near whisper, but he was the only one who kept smiling at us genuinely.

Within fifteen minutes, I really wished he would talk, because everyone else cracked inside jokes, chatted about band rehearsal, and ignored Maya and me. I felt just as left out as I had on the other side of the park with Stacey's metalhead friends. I even squinted in their direction, thinking that if Stacey was there, I'd take Maya over and introduce them. I figured Maya could overlook Stacey's embarrassing boy-craziness since they shared the same sense of humor. But I didn't see Stacey.

I was relieved when Maya announced, “Kara and I are going to take a walk.”

Harlan and Shelly were the only ones who said good-bye.

We wandered up the hill and sat down. Gazing out at the entire park, Maya remarked, “I don't know about Harlan's friends. Besides Shelly and the kid who didn't talk, they weren't very friendly.”

I studied Christian. His apple-red hair color was washed out, almost pinkish with crimson streaks. Cute, sure. Cute as I remembered, except his face was set on permanent glare. The more Mary touched him, the more irritated he grew. Even though
she didn't seem like the nicest person, I felt kind of bad for her. I told Maya, “I can't believe Harlan wanted to get one of us mixed up in that drama.”

“I know.”

We lit cigarettes and watched as Christian stood abruptly and stalked over to a bench. Mary trailed him. Observing the heated argument that ensued and ended with Mary fleeing the park, Maya cocked her head and smiled. “I guess it's as good as TV.”

There were footsteps in the brittle grass behind us. Maya and I turned slowly to find a teenage girl dressed in a heavily starched white blouse and a long, itchy-looking gray skirt. She said, “I'd like to talk to you about Jesus.”

I stifled laughter and Maya raised her eyebrows, asking, “Who? Does he hang out here? 'Cause I don't think I've met him.”

The girl remained composed. She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled. “That's why we've come today, because we've noticed that Jesus does not
hang out
here.” She said “hang out” carefully, as if translating it from a foreign language. “This park seems to be a place of…” She paused as if to measure her words, but apparently decided to be firm. “A place of sin.”

“Sin?” Maya snorted. “Are you a sinner, Kara? 'Cause Ah come from a fine family of Flor-dah Baptists, so Ah know Ah ain't no sin-nah,” she continued, conjuring up a southern drawl.

This was going to be even better than screwing with the kids in chemistry class. I focused on the white bra strap that I could see through the girl's blouse and dramatically pulled my lipstick-stained cigarette from my mouth. “I'm really more interested in learning about Satan than Jesus.”

The girl's cheeks flushed. “Your mockery is foolish, but Jesus will forgive you and only He can save you on Judgment Day.”

Maya got to her feet and dropped the exaggerated accent. “Listen, lady, I heard about you people coming by busload every
month to try to convert the heathen kids at the park and I've been looking forward to it 'cause I want you to explain something to me. The Ark. I mean, come
on.
How the hell did that work? Two of every animal in the world and just some old guy and his wife taking care of them?”

While Maya ranted, I glanced down the hill and noticed at least fifteen more people dressed similarly to our proselytizer roaming the park.

Ours struggled to keep her voice pleasant. “I'm not here to debate with you. I'm here to explain the joys of Jesus. If you let Him into your life—”

“Okay! But before we get to that, tell me how big the damned boat was!”

The girl pulled two tracts from a cardboard box and shook them in front of us. “If you read these, you'll learn about faith. Faith will settle all of your doubts.”

“Gimme those!” Maya grabbed the box and sprinted down the hill, her shoulder-length scarlet hair streaking through the air behind her. The stunned girl backed away, dropping the two tracts she had in her hand. I picked them up, laughing at the title, “Rock and Roll: A Tool of the Devil,” and tore down the hill after Maya.

She stood in the center of Scoville, dumping the box of tracts into a messy pile. I tossed the two I had on top. We stared at the pile, trying to figure out what to do next. In a flash of inspiration, I picked up a handful of booklets and lit them on fire.

“Yes!” Maya exclaimed, and began to flick lit matches at my growing inferno.

The sparks caught everyone's attention. Harlan snatched the box from the hands of the man who was lecturing him and Shelly, and ran over to add more fuel. Others quickly joined suit. A metalhead who Stacey had thought was “soooo cute” doused the fire with Zippo fluid, and the flames leapt high, sucking
down the soaked paper like a fourteen-year-old with a stolen bottle of booze. Soon there were twenty of us whooping and cackling and joyfully slamming into one another as we danced around the flames like a pagan tribe, or maybe more like a circle pit at a punk show.

The God freaks ran toward one another for safety from what surely was a sign of Armageddon. When their bus sped away, a cheer arose, but the celebration was short-lived. The bus had been blocking the ever-present eye of Youth Officer Robbins, stationed in a squad car across the street. He dropped his coffee out the window and screamed into his radio.

Since we were all caught up in the destruction, hardly anyone noticed the cop's approach, but Maya did. She grabbed my hand, and we retreated back up the hill. As sirens wailed, we strolled innocently into the Write Inn, and then hurried upstairs to Maya's room.

Collapsing on Maya's bed, out of breath, I asked her, “Aren't you afraid someone will tell the cops we started it?”

A dark grin spread across her doll face. “Nah, they had way too much fun. No one will ever forget the day you came to the park, Kara.”

“But you're the one who started it by taking the tracts from that girl-” I began, ready to add that it wasn't the first day I'd been to the park.

“No,” Maya interrupted. “I grabbed the box, but you started the fire. Everyone's going to love you tomorrow, girl. We
are
gonna go back, right?” Her eyes gleamed, and I could still see those flickering flames reflected in them.

Feeling as exhilarated as I had the first time Liam helped me to crowd surf, I matched Maya's twisted smile, my dark red lipstick giving it my own signature. “Sure, we'll go back tomorrow. It's better than TV.”