Nice and Mean (16 page)

“But there's no proof that Marina planned to show this around,” she continued, “and I can tell that many of the photos were taken in these girls' homes, not on school property, or using school equipment, so I think that answers the questions of the assistant principal. Still, I do want you to rest assured that nothing like this will ever happen again.”

Oh, really? Because the way I saw it, Rachel still had something coming to her.

“I'll be discussing this further with the assistant principal,” said Ms. Avery. “In the meantime, Marina, I want to
be clear.” She leaned across her desk and stared me down. “The video you made is unacceptable, and you will no longer have a place in Mr. Phillips's video class.”

Oh. Well, whatever. I should have expected that.

“In addition,” said Ms. Avery, “this type of behavior has to stop now. Not with the next incident, or the one after that. No more videos or websites that tell people what you secretly think of them, or not-so-secretly think. I don't even want to hear about any gossiping. You need to turn over a new leaf—a new, positive direction for the year—and you'll start that with a week of detention, where you will spend some serious time thinking about what you did.”

More detention? That office had no windows. Fifteen minutes in there after school and you forgot what your life was like. But hey, it wasn't like I could do anything to change their minds. Would they let me go now?

“I also want to ask . . .” Ms. Avery scooched in closer. “Marina, this is not the first time this year you've been called in for an incident involving Rachel. The online poll, the vocabulary test . . .”

Was I supposed to say something? “Uh-hunh?”

Ms. Avery continued, “There's a real history there, and probably some strong feelings on both sides, and I think it's worth talking about: What were you trying to accomplish
when you did this? Aren't you and Rachel friends?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Did you two have a fight?”

Fight?
“No.” More like
war
.

“She's always been like this,” my mother burst in.

“Like . . .?” Ms. Avery seemed to want her to say more.

I held my breath. Like what? An evil brat?

“Intense,” my mother said. “Ever since she was born. Her reactions to things . . .” My mother shook her head.

Intense
? What was
that
? I wasn't intense. I was just mad because things were the way they were. Stupid. Wannabe-like. Plebeish. Squeegee. People shouldn't have to take all that. They should do something about it. Maybe some people were happy to sit back and watch it happen, but just because I wasn't didn't mean I was intense.

I couldn't believe my mother would say something dumb like that to Ms. Avery, so I pulled an Addie. As Ms. Avery talked about detention and apology notes, I nodded like I cared so the meeting would end fast. The video was my property, and they had no right to look at it or tell me I was bad or anything. And I would make sure to get it back.

The meeting with Ms. Avery lasted through all of math, and next up was lunch. I waited at my locker until I saw Sachi at
hers, then walked slowly to where she stood, her olive green sweater practically blending in with the lockers. Those two friends of hers started coming toward her, their arms linked together oh-so-cute, until they saw me and swiveled back toward the stairs. Well, excuse me. Not like I wanted to talk to them, either.

Sachi, who was spinning her locker combination, hadn't seen any of this. I licked my lips and came up beside her. “Hey.”

She looked up at me, then pulled down on her lock, hard. “Hi.”

If anyone could say “I hate you” with a lock pull, she had just done it. Had the other night really been that bad? Okay, maybe she had been jealous about the Bar Mitzvah, but that was the weekend—get over it. “Can I ask you something?”

She curled her backpack around to her front and unzipped. “I guess.”

“So . . .” I decided to dive right in. “I basically got kicked out of Video because someone didn't like the video I was making, and that's actually great for you, because now you can do your video on your own. But I was wondering: Could you maybe get my video back for me? I did all that stuff on it, and I sort of feel like it's mine, so . . . do you mind? Like, next time you're up there, you could just burn a copy for
me? I can give you a blank CD if you need one.”

The words came out so quickly that when I was done, I wasn't sure they made sense. Especially with the way Sachi was staring at me.

“Wait,” she said, “why did you get kicked out?”

I should have known she would ask. “It's just this stupid thing with one of my friends,” I said, stumbling as some squeegee knocked into me. “They thought I was trying to make them look bad . . . it was just a big misunderstanding, but, yeah. I'm out.”

Sachi turned back to her bag, sliding out the textbooks and workbooks and placing them on her shiny little shelf. “Wow.”

What was that supposed to mean? “Yeah. So, I mean, do you think you could do that? Help me get my video?”

Her hand paused on the shelf, and then she zipped up and said briskly, “I'm not in Video anymore either.”

“What?” I thought of something horrible. “Mr. Phillips didn't think you had anything to do with
my
video, did he?” Why hadn't Ms. Avery asked me before kicking Sachi out? “Do you need me to go talk to Ms. Avery? Because I totally will.” Not that I wanted to go back in there, but that wasn't right. Sachi had had nothing to do with it.

“What? No, it's not about—” She turned to face me. “My
parents didn't know I was in Video. When
you
came over the other night, they found out, and now I can't be in the class anymore.” She shoved her backpack into her locker, smushing it down to make it fit.

“Oh my God.” They really
were
strict! “Wow. I had no idea.”

She pulled the lock off the shelf and stuck it through the loop. “I'm not saying you did.”

Something in her voice made me take a step back. “I mean, if I had known, I never would have shown up like that.”

She snapped her lock shut. “Whatever,” she said, and headed for the stairs. I followed her, wondering if I should say something else, but she was so mad, I didn't think she wanted to talk about it.

We were pretty much the only people on the stairs, and it was creepy. Above us a door creaked and slammed, and I heard every clack of my flats against the floor below. By the time we'd gone down an entire flight without talking, I felt like I had to say something.

“How weird is it that we both got kicked out in the same week?” I said. “I mean, who gets kicked out of an after-school activity?” It was almost funny.

Sachi just kept walking. Okay, I could see how she didn't
think it was funny.

“But wait,” I said, getting a genius idea as we opened the door to the basement, “this could totally work. Because I bet you want your footage too, right? I'm sure Mr. Phillips isn't mad at
you
. Maybe you could get yours, and you could get mine, too.” I could not deal with the idea of kissing my video good-bye. “You know there's editing software on the homeroom computers, right? Not as good as the stuff in the video lab, but better than nothing. So you could work on your video.” Maybe that would make her want to do it.

Sachi didn't say anything until we got to the lunch line. “You still want me to get your video?” she asked, plucking a tray from the pile.

“Um . . .” She didn't get me a tray the way my friends always did, so I stepped around her and took my own. “Yeah?”

Her hands were almost a blur as she grabbed fork, knife, and spoon. “I'm not in Video because you came over to my house without asking,” she said, “and now you're asking me to get something that was so bad, you got kicked out of class?”

Whoa. Why was everything today such a drama? “I know you're upset because you got kicked out,” I said, “but don't take it out on me. You didn't exactly tell me you were keep
ing it a secret from your family.”

She turned on me, her face all twisted. “Of course you couldn't have known,” she said. “But you could have at least said you were sorry!”

I felt myself flinch. She was right. I hadn't said I was sorry.

I couldn't look at her, so I slid my eyes toward the floor. Her sweater had a little hole near the seam, which for some reason made me think of her crowded apartment, and all the dishes she'd had to carry, and—

“But no,” Sachi continued. “Of course you didn't apologize. You're just too—wrapped up in everything.” She thumped her tray on the ledge. “Do you have any veggie burgers left?” She practically shouted at the lunch lady.

Sachi breathed out through her nose. “Then I'll have carrots.”

The lunch lady ran her spoon once, twice, three times whapped the container. The water was a cloudy green, with pools of oil floating on the surface. We'd come so late, there were only a few carrots left.

“I'm sorry,” the lunch lady told Sachi, handing the tray back. “We didn't know anybody else was coming down, so we gave most of it away.”

Sachi stared at the tiny orange pile. “Thanks,” she said quietly. And maybe it was the fact that her entire lunch was
just a few soggy circles, or the way she looked like she never had any fun in her life, or knowing that someone I hadn't even meant to hate me now hated me anyway, but I knew I couldn't stand there another second. I mumbled, “I'll see you later,” threw my tray into the trash, and headed for the bathroom, where, for the first time all school year, I burst into tears.

SACHI'S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #14.0


INTERIOR. JANE JACOBS MIDDLE SCHOOL CAFETERIA—DAY


Sachi and Marina stand on the lunch line.


SACHI


(furiously)


Of course you couldn't have known! But you could have at least said you were sorry!


MARINA


Why would I apologize to


you? You're nothing.


Sachi bursts into angry tears.


“Sachi!” Across the lunch table, Flora and Lainey were giggling.

I snapped to attention. “What?” My heart was still hammering from what had just happened with Marina.

“We were just wondering what happened to your lunch.” Lainey took a bite of her hot dog. “Did you eat it on line?”

I looked down at the puddle of carrot water. “Oh. No.
They ran out of veggie burgers.”

“Oh, that stinks,” Lainey said sympathetically. She knew I didn't eat beef. “Do you want some of my hot dog roll?”

I shook my head. I didn't like to eat anything that had even touched red meat.

“Sachi.” Flora leaned across the table, looking even more dramatic than usual. “Did you hear about Marina's video?”

Still this? “Not really.” I wiped my mouth. “What happened?”

“Trouble city,” said Flora. She pushed back a runaway hair, her hand covered in sparkly plastic rings. In between bites of hot dog, which I truly could not look at, she told me about the mean video Marina had made about Rachel Winter. “People were mean to Marina in math,” she added, “and I say, good. She's been terrorizing everybody for years. She'd better learn her lesson.”

I wished I had something to concentrate on besides my tiny pile of carrots, because I could hardly look at either of them. Marina had had a perfectly good chance to be in Video, and she'd ruined it! Why did I have to be the one stuck with her? If I'd worked with anyone else, I would still have been in class, making a perfectly fine video, and my parents wouldn't be ashamed of me.

“What's wrong?” Lainey asked. “I thought you'd be glad
that you don't have to work with her anymore.”

“Oh, yeah.” I peeled open my water. “I am.”

“Sachi probably feels sorry for Marina.” Flora tipped back her milk carton.

“No, I
don't
.” Even to me, I sounded sour. “I'm happy.” Darn—I should have said that when they'd told me. I wasn't even
in
Video anymore, and I still had to keep track of all my lies! Who else in the school had to do that all the time? I loved my parents, but sometimes I wished I had been born into a different family.

The bell rang, and the cafeteria thundered with people pushing back their chairs.

“Ding-dong, the witch is dead,” said Flora as we headed over to the conveyor belt. She folded her tray into quarters and threw it toward the trash can. “Score!”

My aim was terrible, so instead of folding my tray, I waited behind the hordes for my turn at the trash. But then I thought,
Why wait?
Not to play Styro-basketball, but to do what Marina wanted to do herself: get my video from Mr. Phillips and finish it on my own. He hadn't said anything about my lying. How much did he know?

I set my tray on a nearby table, pulled my parents' envelope out of my back pocket, unfolded the letter, and read.

Dear Mr. Phillips,

Due to an unforeseen change, we feel it is important that Sachi take Test Preparation instead of Video Elective. We apologize for the inconvenience and express our gratitude for your teaching her.

Sincerely,
Tanish Parikh

I shoved the letter back into the envelope. Thank heaven for keeping your business from strangers—they hadn't told him what I'd done. Marina was right: The teachers wouldn't be mad at me. Mr. Phillips would give me my DVD. Ms. Avery, who sometimes let me work on the computer during lunch, would let me edit. For once, things could go as I wanted them to.

As I threw my tray into the trash with a flourish, I thought,
Bye-bye, Old Sachi. Hello, video maker.