Quite an Undertaking - Devon's Story (4 page)

I said, “See ya,” right back. See ya. Yeah, I wanted to see her. I wanted to go out with her. What was the difference between seeing someone and going out with someone? I’d have to ask Missy.

I threw Seymour in the air again and then held him tight when I remembered about Jessie. Rebecca’s friend Jessie had been waiting for her right outside the door to our French classroom. How she had gotten there so fast was beyond me.

I threw Seymour in the air again just as Missy walked into our room.

“Hey, Squirt,” she said smiling. “Why are you torturing Seymour?” I moved over, so she could sit on the edge of my bed.

“He’s okay with it. Really.” I grinned at her, but hugged Seymour to my chest instead of throwing him.

“How was school today?”

I sighed. “Long.”

“I’m sure, but you have the whole weekend to regroup.”

“That’s true. When are you going back to Plattsburgh?”

“Sunday. After dinner.” Missy usually went back right after lunch, but I think this time she didn’t want to leave the family. We all had a lot of “regrouping” to do.

“Cool.” We sat in silence for a moment. I wanted to ask her so many things, but I didn’t know where to start. Then I remembered Mrs. Gibson in first period Journalism. “Mrs. Gibson was on my case today.”

“Uh, oh. Was she in one of her moods?”

“Yeah.” I laughed. “She had those moods when you were in her class?”

“Oh, yeah. No one was safe. Not even Missy Raines, editorin-chief.”

“Really?” That I could not believe. Mrs. Gibson thought the sun rose and set around Missy.

“Yeah, even me, but whatever she’s on your case about probably isn’t too earth shattering. What did she say?”

“My environment article was due Wednesday—”

“The one about Dad’s company?”

“Yeah, and I still hadn’t finished it. You know because...” I gestured toward Grandma’s room.

Missy’s eyes softened. “Um hmm.”

“Mrs. Gibson came over to me during class while I was working on it and said something like ‘Let’s talk about your future with the newspaper.’” I used air quotes around the word future. “Can you believe it? I’ve never been late with an article before. In fact—” I poked the air with my finger, “I’ve even rewritten articles that other people have messed up. It’s not fair.”

“She sounded serious? Never mind, I’m sure she was. I know how she is when she gets something in her head. Well, you should finish your article and make sure it’s absolutely pristine. Make a point of uploading it right at the beginning of the period on Monday.”

“Yeah, I will. I have no life anyway. I’m home on a Friday night, aren’t I?”

“What’s Gail doing?”

“Oh, she has Travis now, so she doesn’t need me tagging along all the time. Fifth wheel and all.”

“Oh, Devon. There’s somebody out there for you.”

“Pfft.” I rolled my eyes. “Sure there is.”

“Devon!” She smacked my leg playfully. “Stop that. With that attitude, no one will ever be interested. Is there anybody on your mind?”

How could she ask me that question? She had radar better than Mom’s. She couldn’t know, could she? I felt myself blush.

When I didn’t answer she said quietly, “Devon, look, whoever they are would have to be crazy not to want to go out with you.”

“Thanks, but you’re my sister. You’re not qualified to judge.” I stuck my tongue out at her in a most mature manner.

She didn’t go for the bait. “Listen, you’re a beautiful girl. Smart and funny. Have you called them?”

That was the second time Missy used the plural pronoun. They. Them. As a journalist, Missy knew the difference between the words “them” and “him.” Missy knew grammar. My eyes got wider when I realized that Missy knew. Missy knew I was gay. Somehow, she had figured it out.

I stammered, “Uh, no. It’s just a new thing.”

Missy pulled the scrunchie out of her hair and shook her head to let her hair flow free. We had the same parents, but Missy got the great hair, the great looks, the great everything. I got nothing. I didn’t mean to, but I sighed.

“What’s the matter, Squirt?”

“My hair sucks.”

She reached over and looked at the ends. “Your hair looks great. No split ends. Nice and shiny.”

I laughed. “You mean I have a nice coat?”

“No!” She smacked my leg playfully again. “You take care of yourself, and it shows, dufous.”

I hadn’t thought about this in a long time, but I mustered up the courage and asked, “Missy, can you put those highlights in my hair again?”

“The auburn tint? Oh, like we did last summer?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure, I think I still have a box around here. C’mon.” She got up and practically ran to the bathroom.

When I got into the bathroom, Missy looked at me with a hand on her hip. She narrowed her eyes, shook the box of hair color, and asked, “Does this have anything to do with your
new thing
?”

I know I turned red because I felt my cheeks getting hot. “Shut up, Missy.”

She laughed and opened the box of hair color.

I HATED WALKING to school in the dark, but since I only lived a half mile away, the walk wasn’t too bad. I pulled my hood up against the morning cold and didn’t want to think about having to walk to school once winter hit for real. If I ever got a car I’d pick up Gail on the other side of town, and then we’d go get Travis. We’d get to school warm and dry every single day, but, then again, Travis already had his license which made me wonder why he and Gail didn’t come pick me up every morning. I’d have to talk to Gail about this oversight.

The sky lightened up as I walked through the main doors of the high school. Mother Nature had great timing. I didn’t stop at my locker, which I usually do, but went straight to my journalism class with the environment article ready to upload into the November/December folder. Missy helped me edit the final copy over the weekend before she went back to Plattsburgh, so at least Mrs. Gibson wouldn’t be able to give me grief about bad copy. If she wanted me to drop the course for second semester then at least I had tried my best.

I held my head up high, yanked off my hood, and readied myself for Mrs. Gibson’s assessment of my future with the newspaper. I dropped my backpack on the table next to my assigned computer and got out the flash drive that held my article. Mike sat at his computer logging in. At least he had a future. As the boys’ sports editor, Mrs. Gibson was probably grooming him for editor-in-chief for next year. She rarely appointed juniors as department editors, so she must have had a lot of faith in him. Too bad she had it out for me. I sighed and turned on my computer.

I copied the article to the school’s network just as the bell rang to start the class. Mrs. Gibson clapped her hands twice for attention. I swiveled my seat around for our weekly Monday morning staff meeting.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Mrs. Gibson waited until the twenty or so students turned in their chairs to face her. Her gray hair was pulled back into a power bun, and she was all business.

She held the clipboard in front of her and peered down through her bifocals. “Your articles that were due last Wednesday will be edited, as usual, by the Journalism III class this week. On Thursday, you can start your rewrites. In the meantime you each need to pick out another topic from the list posted on the bulletin board.”

I didn’t know if it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that Mrs. Gibson glared at me over her glasses when she mentioned the Wednesday deadline. The deadline I had missed.

Mrs. Gibson put her clipboard down and continued. “Our upcoming issue will be jammed packed. The sports reports will take up a lot of space because not only do we have the fall sports wrap-ups, but the winter sports previews as well.” She looked at Mike. “Mike, I assume you’ve received the fall wrap-ups from your boys’ sports reporters?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve already started editing.”

She shot him an approving glance. “Now on to a more serious matter.” She turned to look at me. “Devon—” She looked down at her clipboard as if trying to find her place. Maybe she didn’t want to make direct eye contact with me when she kicked me out of the class. I felt the other students looking at me. I swallowed hard to dislodge the sudden lump in my throat and held my breath waiting for the axe to fall.

“Oh, here it is. Devon, I hinted on Friday that we needed to discuss your future.”

I waited.

“Melissa Cox is moving, uh...” she looked back down at her clipboard. “...oh, at the end of the week. I didn’t realize it was so soon.”

I had no idea what Melissa Cox had to do with me, but I kept my eyes on Mrs. Gibson and had to remember to breathe in and out.

She peered at me over her glasses. “I want you to take her place as girls’ sports editor.”

My eyes flew wide open. Editor? I wasn’t getting dropped from the class? I’m sure the relief showed on my face, but before I could answer, Mrs. Gibson held up her hand to stop my response.

“Devon, I don’t want your answer yet. Talk it over with Mike. He can tell you what the job entails, but I would like your answer first thing tomorrow morning. Fair enough?”

Fair? Absolutely. I nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am,” way too enthusiastically. How could I not take an editor position? So what if I had never played a single sport at Grasse River High School, that wouldn’t stop me. Three minutes earlier, I thought I would need to find another class to take during first period, but all she wanted to do was promote me. Why didn’t she just say that on Friday?

When she ended the staff meeting, I slumped back in my chair with a sigh of relief. I didn’t have a moment to let my promotion sink in because Mike whipped his chair next to mine, so close, in fact, that our arms touched.

“Congrats, Devon.” He held out his hand. “You’ll make a great editor.”

I shook his hand and hoped he couldn’t feel mine trembling. “Thanks. I had no idea.” I let go of his hand, but he held onto mine longer than necessary. I pretended to scoot my chair a little closer to my computer, but all I really wanted to do was move my arm away from his.

“You’ll be fine. Do you want a rundown on what you have to do? If you take the job that is.”

I knew in my heart of hearts that I’d accept the position, but I would take the day to weigh the pros and cons. Cons? What cons?

“Sure, tell me what I’m in for, but don’t scare me off, okay?”

He winked at me and then smiled in such way that was supposed to melt my heart or something. How could I tell him that somebody had already beaten him to it? What sucked big time was that I couldn’t tell her how I felt. And now Mike seemed to be turning into another problem for me. Why was life getting so complicated all of a sudden?

He outlined the many and varied duties of a sports editor. First, I had to find out who the girls’ sports reporters were and what sport they covered. Most would come from the Journalism I class—the sophomores—not our class. Next, I had to get their fall wrap-up articles, which were probably in Melissa’s network folder, and then edit, edit, edit. Mike told me that fixing bad writing was a tough gig, but he also told me to ask him if I needed help being diplomatic. Apparently, I had more articles to edit than he did. The girls had seven sports in the fall— volleyball, soccer, tennis, golf, cheerleading, cross-country running, and field hockey while the guys only had five— football, golf, soccer, volleyball, and cross-country running. Just when I thought the editor’s job wouldn’t be too taxing, Mike complicated matters by pointing out that each sport had a junior varsity team, too. He moved his seat closer to mine again, and then reminded me that all varsity winter sports teams needed previews for the upcoming issue.

I took a deep breath and subtly moved my chair away. The girls’ sports editing job sounded colossal, and with the boys’ sports editor coming on to me big time, I wondered what I was getting myself into.

I OPENED THE door to the cafeteria courtyard, but shut it fast when a gust of cold air made me shiver. We’d probably have to eat inside from now on until the earth thawed out again in April, so I claimed a table inside.

I bit into my turkey sandwich while I kept an eye out for Gail and Travis. I stood up and waved my arms when they walked into the cafeteria holding hands. Gail waved back when she saw me. Travis headed to the food line while Gail made her way to me with her brown bag lunch.

“Too cold?” Gail gestured to the courtyard.

“Yeah.” I pushed my backpack closer to the wall, so she could pull out the chair next to me.

“Devon, your hair! I love it!”

At first, I didn’t know what she was talking about, but then I remembered the auburn highlights. I reached up and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Missy helped me.”

“Oh, Missy came home?”

I tried not to let my heart react. Gail had forgotten that my grandma died eight days ago.

“Oh, God. Devon,” she put her hand on my forearm, “I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean...”

I watched her face turn scarlet. “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, but I’m sorry.”

And she
was
sorry. I knew it. I felt the familiar knotting of my stomach again. No, I thought to myself,
there will be no more crying in public.
At home in my room, that’s where any and all crying would happen.

I sighed and unwrapped my sandwich. Gail sighed, too when she opened yet another peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I pushed half of my sandwich toward her. “Halvsies?”

The smile on her face told me she knew she was forgiven. “Yeah, thanks.” She picked up the half sandwich and took a bite.

She slid half her PB and J over. I gulped down a sugary peacemaking bite and then took a long drink from my water bottle.

When Travis showed up at the table, Gail grabbed his arm, relief clearly showing on her face.

I looked away from them and scanned the cafeteria for Rebecca. The black kids usually sat together on the same side we were, but closer to the front doors about four tables away. I saw Jessie first. Well, the back of Jessie, that is. Her solid frame and dark braids were hard to miss. She stood up and looked my way for an excruciatingly long time before heading toward the food line. It was as if she knew that I was looking at her. I shook off my paranoia and looked at Rebecca. Now that Jessie was gone, I had a clear view of her. The noisy cafeteria held no distractions for me as I drank in her smile, her high cheekbones, her soft eyes, her dancer’s grace. Her hair fell in wisps in front of her shoulders. She usually wore her hair tied back, but seeing her hair down made my insides twist around in a tickly sort of way.