Shrinking Violet (18 page)

Okay, then why is my hand shaking as I open the classroom door? And why is my heart playing ping-pong with the rest of my insides? I rush to my seat and try to savor every moment before Ms. Peters makes my death sentence official and we're forced to start class.

I summon Sweet T by writing my radio name over and over in my notebook. I write it in bubble letters, cursive, and 3-D. I figure if I do it enough times, then maybe I'll become Sweet T . for the performance.

"Hey, Tere. Are you ready?" Gavin sits down next to me.

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I flip my notebook over. "I just have to put the dress on. I'll sneak out last minute to do that. I don't want to wear this thing any longer than necessary."

"I hear you." He nods and leans in closer. "But it's kind of sexy! A woman in full floral gear." He grins.

This is not funny. I will be the one sporting the floral number in less than twenty minutes! "I'm feeling ill." I grab my stomach.

"It'll be fine." Gavin reaches for my hand and squeezes.

His grip is strong. It's soothing to be holding hands. I don't want to let go. I look over at him. He smiles. I'd give anything to kiss those soft lips again, to finish where we left off.

"Just promise me that if I have a mental breakdown, they don't send me to the loony bin in the floral dress," I whisper.

Gavin laughs. "You're going to be great."

Does he know something that I don't know? It seems like he has more confidence in me than I do.

"Okay, class, settle down." Ms. Peters breaks up our party for two.

Gavin and I instantly drop our hands. Kayla plops down next to me. "Where's the dress?"

she whispers.

In the incinerator. "Here." I point to my bag.

"Well, hurry," she says frantically.

I nod in Ms. Peters' direction, who is still talking.

Kayla waves her hand back and forth like a drowning swimmer stuck in the middle of the ocean until Ms. Peters stops talking and nods at her. "Can Tere go change?"

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God, could Kayla be any louder? I try to sink down in my chair, but there's nowhere to go. The girl in front of me is barely five feet, hardly a boulder of protection.

"Yes, quickly, while the first group sets up," Ms. Peters says.

I grab my bag and rush to the door. When I'm halfway down the hall, I hear footsteps behind me.

I turn around. It's Kayla. "What are you doing?"

"Thought you might need some help."

"Getting dressed?"

"No, just thought you might . ." She looks away from me. "Spaz? Ditch? Puke?"

"Yeah," she admits.

Does everyone think I'm a freak? I can handle this. I won't see these people after next month and if need be, I'll move far, far away. I can broadcast my own after-hours radio show for freaks--
Live From the Dungeon,
I'll call it.
"Tune in if you dare ..."

"I'll be fine," I tell Kayla and myself.

I quickly change in the stall. I throw on the dress and Audrey's cardigan. I do up the first three bottom buttons, which hides the granny lace around my waist. I'm so glad Audrey gave me this, but if she had given me a garbage bag, I would've thrown that over the dress, too.

"Hurry up," Kayla calls from the door. "We don't want to miss the first group."

I close my eyes. I try not to think about how I look. Instead, I think about how this will all be over in less than an hour, about

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the same time it takes to get a cavity filled. I hear Kayla tapping her foot restlessly and realize I better open the door before she has someone break it down.

I avoid the mirror and rush out of the bathroom. If Helen couldn't see herself, I don't need to see what I look like either.

When we get back to the classroom, the first group is still setting up. I catch Stacy's empty seat out of the corner of my eye. It would be sweet if she ditched class today.

I take out the script that Kayla printed for us and mentally run through the movements.

After the first group starts, I hide the paper half under my notebook. Every so often I glance at the sheet. I know the order by heart, but there's something comforting about having it right in front of me. I peek over at Stacy's seat. Still empty. I breathe a sigh of relief.

I try to focus on Alex and Carrie. They are both writers from the seventies, with funky outfits, too. Although, they're dressed much cooler than me. Part of their presentation is a slide show, so Ms. Peters dims the lights. Why didn't we think of that? Then people wouldn't have to stare at me the whole time. Maybe we couldn've done the whole thing in the dark. It could be like a radio show, voices only. Helen was always alone in the dark of her world. She couldn't even find solace in the radio. I'm sure she would've given everything to be part of the classroom chatter. I wonder if she ever felt nervous in front of a group. Before I know it, there's a round of applause for Alex and Carrie. Then Ms.

Peters makes the dreaded call: "Kayla's group is up."

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My legs are wobbly, but surprisingly enough, I don't feel as bad as I had expected. Still, I clutch my stomach and breathe deeply so I don't hyperventilate. I steal one quick glance at our script but all the words are a blur. I really only have to say a few lines; most of my performance is mute. I have to be brave for Helen. I can't let her down. She went through too much for me to freak out over a thirteen-minute presentation.

Kayla hangs up the poster board, explaining who we are, while Gavin and I arrange the chairs and table. After everything is set up, I peek at the audience.
Please don't laugh at
me.
Then I close my eyes for a quick second and imagine that I'm alone with the mike in the studio. When I open up, I glance over at my seat. Stacy? When did she sneak in? And what is she doing sitting at my desk? I swear she's snickering at me. I try not to look at her, but it's not easy. It's like her contempt is thickening the air. I have to ignore her. She can't ruin my performance.

I plead to Ms. Peters with my eyes.
She can't sit there; why is she sitting there?
Okay, so I'm closer to the front, but why, all of a sudden, during my presentation, does she feel the urge to show up and take over
my
seat?

My eyes lock on Stacy again as Kayla introduces our group. Her stare cuts into me like razor blades, making me shudder. She flips my notebook over with a bright pink acrylic nail and mouths, "Lesbo." I know I read her right, but what's her problem? Ohmigod, she's talking about my Sweet T doodles. Does she listen to the show? Does she think I'm in love with Sweet T?

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"No," I mouth back.

She throws her head back and laughs. What am I thinking-- who cares? Stacy's in my seat, touching
my
things. But I can't let her ruin our performance, all we've worked for. I focus my attention on Kayla, who's skating around me in circles with the biggest fake smile ever plastered on her face.

After Kayla finishes her tricks, it's Gavin's turn to read a passage from Stephen King's
It.

He places a large skull with deep-set light-up eyes, undoubtedly left over from Halloween, next to his seat. He opens the book and pretends to read to it. He uses a deep throaty voice, and every time he gets to a scary part, he makes the skeleton's eyes flash green. The class quickly catches on and ooohs and ahhs each time they see the light. It's a pretty comical combo, and together with Kayla's performance, they definitely fit the bill as a vaudeville show. Kayla would make a great horror movie victim where the evil slasher sneaks from behind and knocks her to the ground.

Next, Gavin pulls out his guitar and jams for a few minutes. All eyes are locked on him.

Even Stacy's. He looks so cool up here, just like a rock star. I'm so mesmerized with his playing that Kayla has to whisper for me to sit down at the table. We are supposed to be having a conversation where Kayla talks and I feel the movement of her lips. Kayla holds up a sign as the music dies down that reads
Welcome to Helen's World.
All I can picture in my head is Stacy whispering
lesbo
as I feel the creases of Kayla's well-lubricated lips. I should've told her to lay low on the ChapStick

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because my fingers are sliding all over the place with the grease. I'm so happy when this part is over.

Now I'm supposed to hold up a prop, then spell the word in the air. I want to spell
Stacy,
get the hell out of my seat,
but instead I'm gripping a bright yellow umbrella and spelling umbrella to the class. How this is entertainment is beyond me. People are actually watching. I focus on the poster in the back of the room-- it's a little girl on the beach building a sand castle. I wish I could trade places with her.

Stacy flashes my Sweet T doodles to the class, then gives the page a big smooch.

Laughing, she tears the paper from my notebook and holds it up in front of her like it's pirates' booty. I scan the class to see if anyone is looking at her. Thank God, no. Not even Ms. Peters. For once Stacy is not the center of attention.

Everyone's staring at me holding up my sandal. I turn the shoe around in my hand and touch the leather, then rub it against my face. I start to spell the letters in the air when I step forward with my bare foot and skid on a piece of paper. The paper from my notebook with Stacy's lipstick marks on it. I look up just in time to see a huge grin on Stacy's face, right before I land flat on my butt.

Ouch, that hurt. I know I come with my own padding, but this floor is concrete. A few soft laughs break out.

I'm hot and cold at the same time. My face flushes red, but my hands are icy. Here I am, sprawled on the floor in front of

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the entire class. But I will not vomit. I will not cry. Instead, I bite my lip.

"Helen, let me help you up." Judy Blume reaches for me.

Before I latch on, I ball up the piece of paper in my hand and stick it in the pocket of Audrey's sweater.

Somehow I manage to scramble to my feet. My butt aches, but other than that I think I'm okay. I look down at the dress and straighten it out.

"Helen sustained many falls throughout her life." Kayla hands me my sandal. "But as you can see, she steps right up and keeps on going. Falling to her is as natural as sneezing is to us."

A few more laughs erupt. I slide on my sandal and stand there, stiff as a frozen Popsicle.

Kayla elbows me in the ribs. I have to go on; I have to say something. I spell the words
thank you
in the air.

"Helen wants to thank you all for coming to see us perform today, but before we go, I'm handing it over to Stephen King for the song finale."

The laughs have stopped. All eyes have moved from me to Gavin.

Gavin tightens the guitar strap across his shoulder and moves his fingers up and down the strings. I love watching his fingers, especially the way his thumb ring clanks against the wood on certain notes. He seems so at peace, rocking away. He doesn't make eye contact either, but somehow it's okay. He looks like he's one with the music. That's how I feel when I'm listening

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to my iPod. I know I'm not the one making the music, but I'm definitely receiving it.

Gavin's sound is unique: alternative rock, a bit of soul, and a funky beat running through the song. He was really good with his impromptu preview the other day at Kayla's, but this performance is amazing! This instrumental piece would make great "background music," for the station--we could talk right over it, but the listeners would still be entertained.

He finishes off with a short riff. Everyone's silent for a second, then the room breaks into applause. Just like me, Gavin is not used to all this attention and his cheeks quickly turn pink. He looks so cute. He bows and the clapping dies down. It's my cue to blow a kiss and for Judy to thank the audience. Then we move into the group hug.

Finally, it's all over. I want to rip off this dress and run all the way home. At this point being naked sounds more appealing than looking like a 1950s housewife. Plus, I wiped out in front of the whole class--nothing could be more embarrassing. Kayla did a good job saving my ass, but I'm sure people will forever have that image of me landing on my butt in the ugliest dress known to mankind.

I look over at my desk. Stacy's still sitting there. The mere sight of her makes me want to strangle her. How dare she throw a piece of paper on the floor like a stray banana peel in one of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons? Too bad I can't pull a frying pan from out of thin air and flatten her with one flick of the wrist.

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"Two wonderful performances so far. I can't wait to see what Juan and Chad have prepared for us." Ms. Peters motions for them to set up.

I slide closer toward Stacy. I will not react. I know that's what she wants.

I take a deep breath and grit my teeth. If I got through the performance, I can get through this confrontation. "You're in my seat."

"What's that, lesbo?" She runs her finger up and down the spine of my spiral notebook.

"Move."

She looks up at me. Her blue eyes are wide and piercing. "Sweet T would never like a loser like you."

"You mean a loser like you," I blurt.

"What?" Stacy was so not expecting me to answer. She looks like one of those wax museum statues. I'm stunned that I said something, too.

She quickly snaps back to reality. "Even your comebacks are lame, lesbo."

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Tere. That was a great portrayal of Helen," Ms. Peters says.

Stacy gets up from my seat and huffs back to hers. I hope Ms. Peters gives her an F.

I survive in my costume for the next presentation. I can't fully relax because I don't know if Stacy will strike again. But she managed to snag someone else's seat next to Frank and is now

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cuddling up to him. Hopefully he'll be able to hold her focus and keep her out of my hair.