League of Strays (5 page)

“What a jerk,” I whispered.

“That’s the truth,” Richie said.

“She moved away a month later,” Kade said, staring hard at the wall over my head.

“Good riddance,” Zoe offered.

“She left because of me,” Kade said.

I wanted to know why, but I didn’t ask. Kade had laid his heart at this girl’s feet, and she’d stomped all over it. If it had been me, I would’ve loved to get a poem like that, to have someone care enough to write it.

I guessed that was the end of his story, because he reached for a square pillow on the bed and tossed it to Nora.

NORA STARED AT THE PILLOW AS IF SHE’D NEVER SEEN ONE
before in her life. Adjusting her John Lennon glasses, she said, “So what do you want to know?”

Her blond pageboy haircut framed a sulky face. I still wasn’t sure I liked her, but Kade had made the call. I had to trust it was for a good reason.

When he didn’t answer, she forged ahead. “Well, as you know, I was a definite for valedictorian until a few months ago. I don’t think anyone really appreciates the intense amount of work it takes. I’m the one who studies for tests while everyone else has a life. I’m the one who has to give up extracurricular activities to carve out more time for schoolwork. If I get a lousy grade, I’m screwed. Valedictorians can’t afford mistakes.”

A part of me admired Nora for her hard work. The other part thought she was crazy for trying. I’d made a resolution to get
straight A’s once. It lasted about two weeks until I realized that sleep deprivation wasn’t my thing.

“I used to have a 4.375 GPA. Then came the ludicrous PE requirement. I rearranged my schedule so I could get Mrs. Cunningham. She gave A’s to anyone with two feet. But the first week of class, she tripped over a soccer ball and broke her leg.” She groaned dramatically. “So they brought in her replacement. A frustrated, wannabe dancer to teach jock sports, can you believe it?
Madame
, she called herself. No last name, just
Madame
.”

“I bet she’s from Detroit, not
France
,” Richie mumbled. His head jerked up in surprise when I laughed.

“Madame Detroit. A good name for a poseur,” Kade said.

“Yeah, well, Madame Detroit had it in for me from the beginning.” Nora paused, waiting.

I was the one to give in. “Why?”

“She assumed I picked the class because it was an easy A.”

“You did,” I said. She shot me a look and I backtracked. “But that doesn’t give her the right to pick on you.”

Nora forgave me with a smile, then tucked a lock of hair behind her silver frames. “I tried, believe it or not. When she said run, I ran. When she said shoot, I shot. I always showed up, which was better than some of the other kids in the class. But I couldn’t get my grade above a C minus. When I went to see her, she had the nerve to say, ‘Try harder,
dahling
. Athletics is about zee effort.’”

Richie laughed at the imitation, then covered his mouth with his hand.

Nora frowned. “It wasn’t funny. I’m waiting to hear from Stanford. Do you know what a C minus could do to my chances for admission? I mean, my mother went to Stanford, my dad’s father, my aunt. It’s a family tradition. I’ve gotten a pair of Stanford PJs every Christmas since I was born.”

Wow, talk about pressure. Her parents had her future all wrapped up with a shiny bow before she was old enough to say thank you.

“Now it’s just up to me,” she added.

Kade shook his head in disbelief. “After six AP classes, including physics and British lit, it must’ve really sucked that something as stupid as a gym class could pull you down.”

I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed his familiarity with Nora’s academic history, but they didn’t seem fazed. Or maybe they’d already accepted that he knew everything.

“That stinks,” Richie agreed. He drew his legs to his chest, echoing Kade’s movements.

“My parents were horrified with the grade and even more disgusted when I couldn’t get it changed.”

“It’s just one bad grade,” I said. “I’m sure Stanford doesn’t expect perfection. It was only a dumb gym class, right? Not something important like calculus.”

Nora gave me a look that seemed to say,
What do you know about getting into a top-notch college?
“It’s more than that, OK? My parents are busy people. They don’t have time for high school drama. As long as I follow the program, everything’s copacetic.”

“Will they love you less if you don’t do well?” Kade asked.

Nora looked disturbed by his question. “That’s not what I
mean. It’s complicated, with my sister’s suicide and all. I don’t see any reason to add to their unhappiness.”

“But it wasn’t your fault,” Richie said.

Nora rolled her eyes. “Of course not. It was
her
idiotic decision. But now it’s my job to keep things smooth around the house. My parents are hardly ever around, anyway, but when they are, we don’t waste time arguing over report cards.”

“That’s because you do well,” Kade said.

Nora nodded. “Exactly.” Then she blinked twice, her mouth pulling into a frown. She looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she picked up the pillow and flung it like a Frisbee. It spun through the air, landing at my feet.

ALL EYES WERE TRAINED ON ME. I HUGGED THE PILLOW TO
my chest and dove in, with no clue where I was going to land.

“It was hard leaving my friends when I moved …” I let the last word linger for Kade’s benefit. The common factor among all of us, as far as I could see, was that we were loners. I wanted Kade to know that at least for me, it was by circumstance only.

“Do you guys know Tiffany Miller?” I asked.

Groans and somber nods all the way around.

“She used to go to my old school, about an hour and a half from here. The only good thing about moving was leaving Tiffany behind. Except she followed me to Kennedy. Well, not really, but her family moved here right after mine. Pure nightmare coincidence.” I cleared my throat. “It started when I was six, I think. She and her friends used to follow me home from school. They talked behind my back like I wasn’t there, and it just got worse.”

“How?” Nora asked.

“I had to wear this back brace in the seventh and eighth grades, and I could only take it off in—”

“Scoliosis,” Nora said. “Three out of a hundred teens get it.”

I rolled my eyes just a bit, but she caught it.

“I read too much,” she admitted.

“I know where you’re going with this,” Zoe told me. “I had a feeling the girl was a loser.”

“She called me Hunchback every day,” I said.

“What did your parents do?” Nora asked.

I paused at the unexpected question. “I don’t know. I didn’t tell them.”

If I had, they would have said something lame like, “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but names will never hurt you.” When that didn’t work—because it didn’t—Mom would have set up a meeting with the teacher. After that, she’d call Tiffany’s parents. Then the principal. Adults were hung up on bullying, but in the end, they usually made things worse. At least, my mother did. She could chop my social life to bits faster than a wood chipper.

Zoe patted me on the back, imitating the generic parent. “Don’t worry, dear. Tiffany behaves that way because she’s jealous of you.”

“They forget how hard school is the second they graduate,” Nora added.

Kade looked unimpressed. “What else did she do?”

I hesitated, afraid that if I gave more examples, it would only show that I was a coward, unable to stand up to Tiffany. I didn’t
want them to think of me as the victim type, whatever that was. Besides, reliving these memories was like pouring rubbing alcohol on a skinned knee. But Kade wanted to know more. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him.

“You can tell us anything, Charlotte.” His fingers brushed against my knee, light as a fallen leaf.

I rooted through my memory for something more dramatic. “There was one time in fifth grade when Tiffany sent this boy a letter, begging him to be my boyfriend. She signed my name to it. The next day he told me he’d rather eat maggots than get near me.”

Back then, I thought I’d never be able to face school again. But here, right now, it seemed like nothing more than an immature stunt. Not bad enough to qualify for lasting-humiliation status. Maybe it
had
been kid stuff. I probably should’ve let it go a long time ago.

My eyes drifted to Kade’s hand, resting on my knee. He didn’t want to hear kid stuff.

“Then this other time, she stole my sneakers out of my locker and rubbed them in dog crap. I threw them away and told my gym teacher I’d forgotten them. He made me pick up trash around the jogging track for the rest of the period.”

Kade returned his hand to his lap. His face said,
Come on, Charlotte, is that all you’ve got?

I glanced around. Everyone was waiting for the climax: my dark, untold secret. But what was it? The truth felt childish. I had to come up with something big, something that would make them feel sorry for me.

Kade’s eyes skirted over Nora, who was staring into her cup, deep in thought about something other than my boring story. She was probably thinking about her tragic family. Workaholic parents, academic pressure, suicide—bigger stuff than my childhood teasing.

I wanted Kade’s hand back on my knee. I took a breath and, like any good story, started with a seed of truth. “Tiffany and I were in orchestra together at my old school. She played clarinet, but only because she had the hots for this French horn player.” Details make a story leap to life, my ninth-grade English teacher used to say. “Derek Logan,” I tacked on. I hadn’t known the guy’s real name, but the made-up one popped into my head as if it had always been there. “We were at an audition for All-State Orchestra. I knew if I landed principal chair, my application to Barrymore would be a lot stronger.”

Kade sighed, a little puff of air that urged me to get to the point quicker, whatever the point was. I closed my eyes, transporting myself back to the practice room, to the chaotic mix of scales leaking through the supposedly soundproof door.

“Right before my audition I got thirsty, so I looked for a vending machine. Tiffany was on the floor in the hallway, draped over the guy.” All true. But still, uneasiness sat in my stomach at the detour coming up.

What really happened was that the boy’s French horn had been lying on the floor, discarded, not even in its case. Tiffany was spelling out words on his palm with an insanely long fingernail. She’d glanced up and said, “Here comes our virginal viola player. I wonder what she uses that bow for?”

It was a stupid comment, and I’d stood there, searching my brain for a retort. Angry at my stalled thoughts. Why did she have to be in
my
space,
my
world, spoiling everything? She shouldn’t have even been at All-State auditions; she couldn’t pull more than a gurgle from her clarinet.

Then they called my name, which meant it was my turn to audition. Without saying anything, not a word of defense, I’d skidded down the hallway, back to the practice room to get my viola.

“And?” Kade asked. “What happened?”

They all leaned forward like flowers bent to the sunlight. Richie, with his arms squared on his knees; Nora, eyes drifting up like she was visualizing scenarios in her head—ones much worse than reality. Zoe, shaking her head as if Tiffany had already let her down. And Kade’s almond-shaped eyes, gliding across all our faces, taking it in.

I wondered what they would think if they knew the truth; that my emotions had swirled through my head, then sunk like a boulder to my hands, making my vibrato heavy and unbalanced; that I couldn’t latch on to a reliable rhythm; that the notes had come out sharp and flat and everywhere in between. All because Tiffany had glanced at me wrong.

I couldn’t admit this to the League of Strays. I had to come up with
something
recruitment-worthy. Enticed by the captivation in their faces, I invented a different ending. “I was confident and prepared when I went into the audition, but a few measures in, my tuning pegs slipped. I asked if I could start over, but it kept happening. Again and again.”