The Diamonds (19 page)

TOMMY PAYNE

THE BENNINGTON PRESS

Editor-in-Chief XXX-XXX-XXXX

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•
EXHIBIT M
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(personal information removed for privacy)

“What's this for?”

“If you change your mind.”

“I won't,” I said. “But thanks.”

Boys have the right to carry pepper spray for self-protection, and girls to carry condoms for the same reason.

—
The Diamond Rules

Two days after Tommy drove me home, things started to get a little more interesting.

I. S
HARON
W
U, ONE OF THE FEMALE TOP TEN FOR
I
CE
Q
UEEN
.

Sharon had a gentle elegance that I admired; she was the type of girl who proofread her papers twice before handing them in and always knew the right answer in class but would only raise her hand occasionally (to give other people a chance).

In some people, these qualities might come off as pretentious, but in Sharon they were charming. Which is why I found it odd when she sat with me at lunch. Now, I'd gotten over eating in my car after the first day I was put on trial—so uncomfortable—but I wasn't ready to eat in the same cafeteria as the Diamonds. Since the weather was still nice, the courtyard was open during lunch periods. That was where I
found myself eating: alone on one of the wooden benches (
In Memory of Zachary Drydan, Class of '74)
, watching a few freshmen play wall ball, leaves sprinkled at my feet.

“Do you mind if I eat with you?” Sharon asked. I could tell from the way her blouse was untucked and her sweater hung the teeniest bit lopsided that something was wrong. I motioned for her to sit.

We didn't say much at first. I ate my sandwich like a mouse, overchewing the bites until they were mush and swallowing them down with a bottle of Poland Spring. Sharon had a salad of some kind in a plastic container; she moved it around with her fork a few times before speaking.

“I'm sorry about what happened to you,” she said.

“Why are you sitting with me? Not that I mind or anything, but it's sort of social suicide to be seen with me these days.”

Sharon looked at me like I had something stuck in my teeth. “You didn't hear?”

I shook my head. I wasn't exactly on top of my gossip these days.

“Clarissa, Priya, and Lili put me on trial yesterday.”

I couldn't believe it. Sharon? What could she have possibly done wrong—gotten too many good grades?

“They claimed I embezzled money from Key Club, and also that I have terrible personal style.” She touched her neck. “They even made fun of my pearl necklace.”

I refrained from making a joke. “Did you steal?”

“Of course not! But Steffie Young, the treasurer, said there was money missing and that she saw
me
take it, which is a complete lie. And now Mr. Paulsen thinks it's true, and he asked me to step down as president, and I've
already
filled out my early application to Brown.” She wiped her eyes. “And now I have an appointment to see Dean Meyerson. What if I get expelled?”

“Why would Steffie lie?”

“I don't know,” she said. “All I know is that now
she's
going to be president and
I'm
the one who looks like a thief.”

“I'm not sure what to say, Sharon. I'm really sorry.”

“Oh, Marni, it was awful. Clarissa said I wasn't allowed to give my own testimony, and the jury—as soon as I saw that Emmy Montgomery was on it, I knew I was done for. She's hated me forever.”

“Gosh,” I said.

“Was it like that when you were part of the team?”

What could I possibly say: that I was majorly responsible for the current state of Bennington mock trial? That I had actually made up the Diamond Rules
myself
?

“I think,” I said, “things have gotten really out of control.”

Sharon nodded. “I went to see Mr. Townsen. Do you know what he said?
File an appeal.”
She laughed, but it sounded more like she was choking. “As if that
would do any good. He really thinks those girls are doing a great job. Someone needs to expose them for who they truly are.”

That gave me an idea. “Maybe you could come with me to Principal Newman,” I said. Surely he would believe
Sharon
, who had never been friends with Clarissa or the Diamonds. Surely—

“I don't think so,” she said, tilting her head so that her hair fell over her eyes like a veil.

“Why not?”

“I don't want to make life harder than it already is,” she said, sighing. “If those girls find out I went to the principal, who knows what they'll do to me?”

“But if nobody does anything at all, nothing will ever change.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period.

“You're right,” Sharon said, getting up from the bench and tossing her salad into the garbage. “But I'm not the girl for the job. Sorry.”

I could hardly blame her. The Diamonds had the support of the Bennington faculty and administration; challenging them was a nearly impossible, Herculean proposition. Nobody wanted to speak out against them for risk of being ostracized.

But
someone
had to do it.

2. T
HE MUSIC DEPARTMENT'S FIRST-SEMESTER CONCERT
,
S
NOW AND
B
LOW
!

In case you don't remember, Priya, Lili, and Clarissa all took chorus with me. Ever since life at Bennington
had turned into a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions (complete with lust, betrayal, and confusing language), the idea of spending time in close proximity to my ex-best friends had scared me.

The sad part was that I'd always enjoyed concerts in the past. The Diamonds would stand on the top riser and look cool—without even trying—while Priya made bets on how far she could hike up her skirt without anyone in the audience noticing. (Mid-thigh.) The orchestra would soar and the band would blast; everyone in the room was really making
music
. How exciting! Now it was more dreadful than an episode of
Everybody Loves Raymond
.

Every day since I'd been punted to the bottom of the Bennington social scene, the Diamonds had done something new and cruel to me (or instructed their minions to do so). It started off with leaving rotten fruit in my locker and ice cream sandwiches that melted and destroyed nearly all my notebooks. They quickly enlisted helpers in each of my classes who would volunteer me to read out loud, write my name on the board before the bell rang (in calculus, for example, each day there was a new equation with my name next to the equals sign plus the words “fat whore,” and each day Mrs. Friedman would get flustered, demand to know who wrote it, and erase it with a sigh when nobody fessed up), and leave unidentified sticky substances on my seat that I would have to clean up with paper towels from the bathroom.

What would they try next?

The night of the concert, the chorus room was totally nuts—sopranos flirting with basses, altos gazing over their sheet music, tenors flirting with tenors—and in the center of the room were the Diamonds, gorgeous as usual, sitting by themselves and barely speaking at all.

Instead of making any unnecessary drama, I waited in the bathroom (for nearly ten minutes); my plan was to miss the lineup and then, at the very last moment, slip into my spot on the risers. The concert would have already begun. Clarissa and the girls would never make a scene in front of an auditorium full of parents and school administrators.

At least, that's what I'd thought.

The whole thing went down like this: the choir filed in row by row until the risers were filled with knees and elbows and torsos. Ms. Ariana stepped onto a tiny wooden platform and tapped her baton on the music stand in front of her.

It was time to begin, and I made my move.

While Ms. Ariana shuffled through her binder, I crept down the side aisle of the auditorium and hopped into place, brushing Clarissa's shoulder with my own and startling her.

“What are
you
doing here?” Her skin looked air-brushed underneath the white-hot lights. The Diamond pendant around her neck sparkled, a painful reminder of all I had lost.

I ignored her, staring into the audience as though someone I knew were there.

“Clarissa just asked you a question,” Priya said, breathing sticky air onto my cheeks. “Or has your skankiness taken over your hearing and made you, like, deaf?”

I tensed my shoulders and pretended not to notice them. Lili narrowed her eyes until each was as small as the slit you deposit change into at a public telephone.

Ms. Ariana raised her jiggly arms, which was our cue to begin the first selection, Fauré's Requiem. I listened to Clarissa's voice—airy and hollow, like a flute—and thought,
Everything is fine. You're standing next to Clarissa and nothing bad has happened. Yet
.

At the end of the requiem, Clarissa poked me with her index finger. Hard.

“Ow,” I said, turning. “What was that for?”

She poked me again.

“Okay,” I said. “You've made your point. You can stop now.”

But she didn't. “Oh no,” Clarissa said, pressing her lips together. “This is only the beginning.”

Before I knew it, while the audience was clapping and Ms. Ariana was preparing for our transition into an eight-part version of “Shenandoah” in which Jeremy Baxton and Michelle Wang had featured solos, I felt Clarissa's hand on the small of my back.

A slight push was all it took.

I tumbled forward, my hands jetting out to brace my fall, smacking into the girl in front of me. My necklace, a string of freshwater pearls my grandmother had given me for my fourteenth birthday, came loose and
broke apart, flying everywhere and hitting the floor in a crescendo of tiny clinks.

I remember staring at the ceiling, bathed in light. All I could see were dozens of colored circles; when I blinked, they didn't go away. My head ached and so did the back of my neck.

Eventually, with the help of Ms. Ariana, I rose to my feet. There was a buzzing in the audience, like hundreds of tiny fireflies were trapped inside the seat cushions. When I looked up at the Diamonds, smiles had devoured their faces, the whiteness of their teeth magnified and overwhelming.

For the first time since my relationship with Anderson had been exposed, I felt neither sorry nor regretful. I felt angry.

I didn't finish the concert. I left the auditorium and never looked back. After two or three minutes, I found myself out of breath, walking down the hill toward the main road that ran parallel to Bennington's property. My car was parked at school but I felt like being outside, surrounded by fresh air and open space. It was nighttime. The sky was dark and heavy.

Within moments, I heard the distinct crunching of tires. I turned my head to see a familiar car rolling alongside me, a familiar face at the wheel.

“Need a lift?”

The car came to a halt. I placed my hands on the roof, palms flat, and ducked my head inside. The
interior smelled like chamomile and raw ginger and dirty socks. “I was told never to take a ride from strangers,” I said.

“Oh?”

I studied the driver and felt the urge to jump inside. “But it's a good thing I don't listen to everything I'm told.”

Anderson's smile was like the tide; it washed over me until everything I felt was clean and new. My life would never return to what it once was. No more Café Bennington or midnight phone calls or texting during class. No more hugging or gossiping or laughing or having a life more perfect than that of anyone else I knew. Clarissa, Lili, and Priya were serious about hating me. There was no going back. Only forward.

It was then that I let the Diamonds go, feeling them rush through my fingers like tepid water from a faucet.

Later that night, I was about to go to bed when I saw light peeking out underneath the door to my dad's study.