“
Let me out
!” she screamed. “
Let me out let me out let me out let me out
!” The lead singer says the exact same thing in the middle of a Q.E.D. song. I stood up. My half-unclasped bra was piercing my back and it hurt like hell,
like hell
. Carr opened the door in one swift move. It didn’t look locked; maybe he could say that, later: that it wasn’t locked. I stood up and my hands were shaking against my legs, which felt so
fat
. I’d never felt fatter. No one would think that Carr would do this to someone so
ugly
. I saw a splotch of wet stain on his pants as I backed through the door. In a perfect world I would have thrown up on him right then, but it wasn’t a perfect world. Instead I threw up in the middle of French and Millie let us out early to drive me home. She didn’t say anything the whole way there and I sat upright in my seat, afraid to lean back because I still hadn’t adjusted my bra and it still hurt like hell, I already said that. I was crying the whole time and I think I still am.
It was Natasha who took off my shirt and unclasped my bra. It had broken my skin and she took a cotton ball and poured a little of her flask on it. “You have a little red dot, that’s all,” Natasha said. Our eyes met in the mirror on my closet door. I was lying down in my bed and she was applying a cotton ball, I already wrote that.
She looked like a masseuse, standing over me like that with my shirt off. “Just a little red dot. It’s very Hindu, which I understand is
in
this year.” When I saw myself smiling at her in the mirror I suddenly felt my life back within my grasp, like your foot brushing the bottom of the pool when you’re small and you realize you’re back, safe in the shallow area.
My eyes, chlorinated, refilled. “Watch it–” Natasha warned. “Put a shirt on and come downstairs and let’s have some tea.”
“I’m not sure we have any,” I said, putting on a shirt. “There’s milk though, and water.”
“Water,” she said. “Yummy. Anything else?” “The rest of the absinthe.”
“I think your brain is addled enough,” she said, tossling my hair. We sat on the couch and I stared into space while Natasha got us water. “Watch it–” she said again when she handed it to me, and I followed her gaze and saw my hands were shaking. She put down both glasses on the coffee table and gave me a big long hug. I was out of tears, apparently, but shook like one of those animals they keep outside supermarkets. Put the quarter in and centrifuge your kid. I felt centrifuged.
“My back hurts,” I said, finally.
“It’ll be OK,” she said. “It’s just a little cut. The real question is–” She took a sip of water. “The real question is, did it damage your spine?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are you going to do?” Her eyebrows were raised, casu- ally, but the eyes were sharp.
“Um.”
“Because you’re going to do
something
. Or I am.” She stretched her legs out and kicked off her shoes.
“I don’t think there’s anything to be done,” I said.
“Baker’s Rule,” she said sharply. “I just don’t think–”
“
Baker’s Rule
,” she snarled. “
Baker’s Rule. Baker’s Rule. Baker’s Rule
. Do
something
.”
“What could I–”
“Do
something
!” She stood up and pointed at me. “Do
something
!
If you don’t do
something
–”
“
Please
!” I yelled. “
Please
! Don’t shout at me!”
Everything stopped for a second. I felt the quiet of being alone in the house.
“Sorry,” Natasha said. I held my hand out to her and she took it, and sat down. “I guess I’m just–” She gestured nowhere.
“Tomorrow I’ll tell the principal,” I said. “Bodin?”
I couldn’t picture talking to Bodin. “Maybe Mokie.” We both smiled like they do in books, what’s it called:
mirthlessly
.
“You need something stronger than water if this is all you can think of.” She pulled out her flask and waved it toward my water but my stomach turned and I shooed it away.
“I can’t think of anything,” I said, but it sounded too casual so I said it again. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Look, if you complain to the principal nothing will happen. Remember when you tried to get transferred out of his class? You had to fight Medusa just to get in to see him.”
“They wouldn’t believe me anyway,” I said. “The door wasn’t locked. I could have left at any time.”
“That’s
bullshit
,” she said.
“Plus, look at me.” I looked down at my own body. “I’m
fat
.” “You are not
fat
.”
“Whatever. I’m
large
, I’m
fat
, it doesn’t matter. I’m
ugly
. Carr wouldn’t have picked me. I mean, they wouldn’t believe that. I’m ugly–” Natasha yanked me to my feet and dragged me into the bathroom. “
What
?” I said. “
What
?” I was terrified; I still wasn’t ready for people to make sudden movements around me. “
What
?” “Look in the mirror,” she said, and slammed the bathroom door shut. There was a full-length mirror on the back of it, but a light blue towel was blocking the view. Natasha grabbed the towel and threw it to the floor. “
Look in the fucking mirror, Flan
!”
“
Don’t yell at me
!”
“I am
so
sick of this,” she said. She grabbed my head and turned it to the mirror. “Look in the goddamn mirror
right now
,” she said, “and tell me what you see. You’re
fat
, are you? Show me where!
Look in the mirror
!”
I blinked and then looked in the mirror, down to my feet and back up again. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection but Natasha grabbed my head again. I looked in the mirror.
“Are you fat?” I shook my head. A little figment in my head just melted away. I looked fine. My eyes were splotchy from crying and I was wearing an ugly shirt, but what the hell I was just lying around the house with Natasha and besides, I’d had a shitty day. So I wasn’t a perfect toothpick. So I was bigger than Natasha. At least I was–
“I’m thinner than
Kate
, anyway,” I said, and Natasha threw her head back and laughed loud. Cackled. I laughed too. Tears rolled down my face, and I laughed, right to the mirror. I laughed so hard I started heaving and had to lean against the sink. The air was getting thin. Natasha opened the door of the bathroom–my reflection, alone amidst porcelain and towels, swung toward me for a second only
to bang against the wall. Leaning on her, I went up the stairs and got right into bed. I wanted to keep my clothes on. I kept my eyes open for a while and Natasha was watching me. She watched me until I closed my eyes, and kept watching me then, because I woke up twice more during the night and she was there, watching me, though in the morning she was gone.
Friday October 15th
It’s incredible how many crucial details I forget to warn my readers about: I mean, today is Festival Internationale and what with being assaulted and everything I forgot to let you know. Today is Festival Internationale. “That roughly translates to Inter- national Festival,” Lawrence Dodd was saying as I came into homeroom. Nobody cared that I was late; everybody was running around doing last-minute things. We’d had to have an adjunct Grand Opera Breakfast Club meeting to help Millie prepare everything for crepes. I had sweet, sweet batter in my hair.
All the different languages were already setting up their booths after homeroom; the Chinese classes seemed to be going all out this year, lanterns, paper dragons, blah blah blah. During Poetry I concentrated on Whitman, rereading each line as Hattie led discussions. I kept catching my hands trembling, and after class Hattie asked if I wanted to talk. “The last thing I want to do is talk,” I said. Hattie always refused to talk to the press afterward, and for that I love her, even though she also refused to talk to me.
I was of course dreading seeing Adam, so I was straggling to choir looking for an excuse not to go when I literally ran into Millie, who needed people to chop fruit for the fruit fillings. I didn’t want to think about anything.
I rolled up my sleeves and got to work and told Millie that I was feeling much better, thank you. I pity the cutting board, I chopped so hard. Soon all the fruit was done but signs needed hanging, menus needed to be written in large felt-tipped letters. I kept giving myself Robinson Crusoe pep talks: If you concentrate on getting your work done you don’t have time to look up and realize you’re alone on a desert island. When I did look up Jim Carr was in front of me.
“Hello there,” he said. Festival Internationale was in full effect; like always, afternoon classes had sort of drizzled out and everyone was wandering around eating cuisine
internationale
. Salsa music blared on the intercom. My
pal
Mokie was wolfing down shish kebab. In a few minutes some gym teachers were going to do some mortifying belly dancing. Why wasn’t there anyone there to help me? “Flannery?” he asked.
“Just tell me what kind of fruit you want,” I said, surprised at the fury in my voice. Too bad it wasn’t the best thing to say furi- ously; Carr just smirked.
“Whatever’s good,” he said, smiling at the crepe chefs standing behind me. In a low voice he said, “Have you told anybody about yesterday?”
“Leave me alone,” I stammered. It seems I wasted all my fury on the fruit sentence. I looked at my trembling hands; I had clenched one so tightly I was leaving little half-moons of finger- nails in my palm. “Just leave me alone.”
“Are you bothering my kid?” Millie asked jokingly, putting an arm around me and wagging a finger at Carr.
“Never,” he said, and leaned in and tapped a finger on my nose. Millie laughed and turned back around.
“I’m putting extra whipped cream on yours, Jim!” she called to him.
“You know,” he said quietly, looking elsewhere. He seemed preoccupied. “Nobody would believe you.”
“Jim!” Natasha called out. She was wearing a skintight top made of a sort of chain mail, with each piece being a different flag. Where does she find these things? “Jim,” she said. “
Flan
!” I watched Jim peer at her chest as she leaned over and gave me a kiss on each cheek, pausing between them to give me a direct but unreadable look in the eye.
“Well, how are you?” he said, and she stood on tiptoe to give
him
two kisses.
“I’m feeling
internationale
!” she sang out, stepping back and twirling around to show off her top. “Are you chaperoning the dance tonight? Because I was hoping you’d give me a dance. Last time it was all
business
, Jim.” She battered her eyelashes. Before he could reply she went right on. “Have you tried any of the food yet? It’s so
good
!” Her voice was so high she sounded on the verge of hysteria.
“I was just about to try a crepe,” he said, looking at me. “Oh, those old things!” she said.
“Which you’re supposed to be helping make,” I said pointedly. She dismissed us both with a little wave and then took Jim’s arm. “You have to come try these Mexican fruit drinks the Spanish class is making. Aqua fresca. There’s a kiwi-flavored one that
tastes
so strange
. Let’s go get one, Jim.”
“Jim?” he said, raising his eyebrows. He was…dazzled that Natasha was paying him so much attention.
“Everybody’s friends for the Festival Internationale, aren’t they?” she said, and led him off.
I finally exhaled. Unclenched my scared hand. I had
been standing there with a ladle full of peaches in midair and was way behind on filling crepes.
“Flan?” Kate said for the third time. She was with Adam and snapping her fingers in my face like a hypnotist.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just, um, dreaming of world peace.” Adam had his mouth full and was wiping salsa off his chin with a navy- blue handkerchief.
“I’m sure we’ll achieve it through Festival Internationale,” she said, rolling her eyes. “At least we get out of class, huh? Listen, would you mind taking my turn at crepe making? I promised Ron I’d help with stage crew stuff.”
“No problem,” I said. She and Adam shared a brief glance. “And I wanted to tell you that it’s all set for the Sculpture
Garden on Saturday night.”
“Kate’s told me all about it,” said Adam, finally swallowing his bite.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to find Natasha and Carr in the crowd. “It’ll be great. Won’t I see you guys at the dance, though?”
“Of course,” Kate said. “We’ll be there. I just wanted to tell you.”
“Well, thanks,” I said. “Gotta run.”
“Me too.” Adam wouldn’t look at me.
They were off and I was behind on fruit filling again. The courtyard was getting very crowded. The salsa music was off and something Arabic was on. Did we even have Arabic classes? I was amusing myself watching the Frosh Goth spill chow mein on her black sweater when Natasha and Carr returned. Carr was
looking oddly at his bright green drink.
“This is
very
strong,” Carr said uncertainly.
“Well, finish it off so you can try the strawberry,” Natasha said, sipping hers.
“What is this sudden interest in Mexican fruit drinks?” I said, eyeing her. She shook her head at me, barely. I put strawberries in a crepe and passed it down to Flora Habstat, who was doing the folding.
“I don’t think I can finish this,” he said, grimacing. “Chicken,” Natasha said quietly, and downed hers in one gulp.
“I’ll just go find myself a suitable drinking partner.”
Carr took the bait. He smirked at her for a second and drank it all, choking on the last bit. “What is
in
this?”
“An aphrodisiac,” she said. “Now go get me a strawberry one.
I have to say something to Flan. Girl talk.”
“OK,” he said. He winked at her and turned around, almost running into Principal Bodin in a sombrero. When he was gone Natasha turned off her smile and stuck her tongue out.
“Asshole,” she said. “What is going on?” I said.
She smiled at me. “I have a present for you,” she said, and took out a small paper bag. I reached for it, but she held it out of reach. “Not here. Come with me to the lake,” she said.