Bigger than a Bread Box (16 page)

We ate dinner, just the three of us.

I was doing the dishes while Gran made herself a cup of tea when we heard the front door open. I glanced up. Gran looked over at me and said quietly, “Be. Good.”

I nodded.

Mom stormed into the room, moving quickly. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She didn’t actually look at me, but she said to the room in general, “
I
will be taking Rebecca to school tomorrow before I go to work. I am the head of this family, and there will be
no
discussion about it.”

Gran said, “Yes, ma’am!”

I kept my eyes on the dishpan.

Mom picked up Lew and carried him off to take a bath, and I could hear them laughing in the bathroom together, all echoing and splashy, singing the rubber-ducky
song. I guess she was okay in general. It was just me she was mad at.

The next morning I couldn’t seem to get dressed. I woke up early and stared at my clothes, and nothing seemed like the right thing to wear. I could just imagine how this was going to go—Mom walking me into the school in person, holding my hand like a baby, marching me through the halls while everyone snickered behind my back. What was the right shirt for dying of embarrassment?

Eventually I settled on an old green sweater. It was a Rebecca sweater, not a Becky sweater. My dad had bought it for me at a yard sale last year. It made me feel better wearing something that had come from Dad. After I put it on, I pulled my locket outside the sweater so that it showed. I could imagine him saying, “Chin up, monkey!” I opened the locket and made sure that the scrap of paper was still inside.

In the bathroom, I brushed my teeth extra hard. I brushed my hair extra hard too, until it crackled. I washed my face with Ivory soap that stung my eyes, in the hottest water I could stand. Then I took a deep breath and marched down the hallway to the kitchen, where my mother was waiting for me.

“Ready?” she asked right away, though I obviously hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.

“I’m hungry.”

She handed me an apple. “Don’t want to be late on your first day back,” she snapped.

We stepped out onto the porch together, and I stomped down the stairs. So did Mom. When we got to the edge of the walk, there was a funny moment. Mom hesitated. She paused just a little too long.

“What?” I said, turning to look at her.

Her brow was creased and she said, “It’s just … I don’t know where the school
is
. Which way do we go?”

In all the weeks we’d been here, she’d never once walked me to school. That’s how little attention she’d been paying to me. Now that I thought about it, I realized that Mom and I hadn’t walked anywhere together since the day we went to the zoo.

For a minute I was tempted to take her on a wild-goose chase, head off in the wrong direction, but that would only make her mad and make me late. I’d have to walk in alone, after the bell, with my mom at my side, and that would be worse than getting there on time, when at least I could melt into the sea of bodies.

“This way,” I grunted, and turned right to trudge the four blocks to the school. She followed close behind.

Mom surprised me again when we got to the corner across from the school. She hung back.

“Aren’t you coming?” I asked her as meanly as I could.

“Won’t that just make it worse?” she asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll stay here,” she said. “You go ahead.” She nodded.

“But I thought the whole point was to—”

“The point was to make sure you
got
here, Rebecca. To make sure you didn’t run off, that you faced the music. I’m not trying to punish you any more than I have to. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true. I just didn’t want you to run away from this.”

That’s a laugh
, I thought,
coming from the queen of the runaways
. But I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her.

She sighed and said, “Honey, I mean this in a good way. If you have apologies to make, you should make them. If you have apologies to accept, I suggest you accept them. If you’re in the middle of a fight, finish it. Trust me—you’ll feel better once you do.”

Half of me could tell she meant well and wanted me to hear what she was saying. But half of me could only think what a huge hypocrite she was. I didn’t say goodbye. I just crossed the street quickly and walked up the stairs. I didn’t look back and I didn’t look around. I kept my eyes on my feet and moved fast. No good could come of eye contact.

Someone called out “Becky,” but I just kept going. I wasn’t Becky anymore. Becky was gone. I went straight to class. I didn’t stop at my locker. I kept my eyes down and my mouth shut and I just breathed, breathed.…

I made it through homeroom. I made it through math.

Of course, I wondered the whole time if people were staring at me, if they were passing notes about me, but I didn’t look up, not once. I didn’t see any point. I just had to get through the day. I could—I realized—suffer through just about anything if I didn’t look at anyone.

Then came Mrs. Hamill’s science class. I ran through the halls to be there first, figuring if I could get to my seat before Hannah got to hers, I might be able to avoid the painful moment of walking past her perfect knees. I could just imagine having to ask her to move her bag so I could get past—our eyes locking, her mouth in a mean smile, her eyelashes aflutter.

I was the first one to class. I walked into the room and murmured something like “Sorry” to Mrs. Hamill as I made my way past her desk. I slid into my seat and opened my book. I pretended to read, but the words swam, so I just sat there staring at the unreadable page, waiting for Hannah.

Then Mrs. Hamill decided to leave the room, just as everyone else filed in, so there I was, without a teacher to protect me, when Hannah marched over and stood above my desk with her little flock all around her. Maya was there, and Cat too. I could feel them staring down at my head. I could tell who they were by their feet, and that bothered me—the realization that I’d cared enough
about these people to memorize their shoes. I didn’t see Megan’s shoes in the circle. I tried not to think about what was happening. Instead I pictured Lew, because it was the only thing I could think of that I knew would make me feel better. Lew laughing. Lew with jelly on his nose.

It didn’t work. I could barely breathe. I reached for my locket, clutched it like a charm.

They stood over my desk, and I stared at the dirty tile floor for what felt like ten minutes before Hannah spoke. “Here’s the thing,” she said with a smug laugh in her voice. “I’m not even pissed you stole my jacket, Becky. I could forgive you for that and still be your friend, if only …”

I jerked my head up to look at her, confused. She stopped talking and stared at me, like she was waiting for me to say something.

She thought I still wanted to be friends? It hadn’t occurred to me she’d think that. As embarrassed as I was by everything that had happened, I didn’t care in the least about her anymore. Hannah was such a small part of what was going on, such a tiny little part, but she didn’t know that. She had no idea what was happening in my crazy life, and I was so far inside it that I hadn’t thought about what it looked like from the outside.

“I guess I
am
sorry for stealing your jacket,” I said. “I guess I
should
say I’m sorry. I wish it hadn’t happened, anyway. Now can you leave me alone?”

“Well, the thing is … you just aren’t
normal
, Becky.”
Hannah shook her head, and her sheep shook their heads too. “You try really hard to be, but you aren’t, are you?”

When she said that, I noticed that behind her back, Coleman rolled his eyes. And maybe because of that—because of the eye rolling, but maybe also just because everything felt so tense and insane—something happened that I never could have predicted.

I laughed! I laughed out loud, too loud, so that all around the classroom, people turned to look at me. The day before I would have been embarrassed, but I didn’t care anymore. All my fear and embarrassment faded away, and I laughed and laughed.

Hannah looked confused.

“What? What
is
it?” she asked, smoothing her perfect hair down instinctively. “You weirdo.”

I just kept laughing. I saw Mrs. Hamill step back into the room, and Hannah didn’t even notice. I didn’t even care or stop laughing until Mrs. Hamill said, “Hannah, Maya, Cat—take your seats, girls,” and they all turned around, surprised, and slunk to their seats.

Hannah sat down beside me, carefully, and then she looked over at me in a sideways kind of way. She looked funny, less sure of herself without her flock. I was still giggling. “What
is
it?” she hissed when Mrs. Hamill turned back around to write on the board. “What’s so funny?”

I didn’t answer her. Less is more.

“You’re insane, you know that?” she whispered again.

I just sat there, smiling to myself, and it was like everything was better for a little minute. I felt like if I never said another word, she’d be afraid of me forever, but the thing was, I didn’t even want that, not any more than I wanted to be
normal
, whatever that was.

I was smiling because I’d figured something out.

“What is it?” she whispered one more time. “What?”

“It’s just …,” I said. “I don’t think you have any idea what
normal
really is, Hannah.”

She stared at me through her glossy fall of hair. “
What
did you say?”

“It’s true,” I said. “I’m as normal as anyone. We’re all normal, and we’re all afraid of you, maybe because you’re mean, and pretty, and you have fancy stuff. So we play along; we follow you like morons. But …”

“But what?” she hissed.

I looked her dead in the eye. “But just because we follow you doesn’t mean we
like
you. Followers aren’t the same as friends. I don’t think you even know what a friend is, really.”

When I said that, Hannah looked startled, like I’d slapped her in the face.

I didn’t know I was going to say it until I said it, and I didn’t expect her to be so upset, but I guess what I’d said was the truth, because I can’t think of any other reason it would have bothered her so much. She looked like she might cry.

I guess I was louder than I meant to be too, because when I looked around right afterward, I saw that everyone else was staring at us. Except Mrs. Hamill, who was still scribbling on the board.

Hannah stood up, walked to the front of the room, and whispered something to Mrs. Hamill. Then she grabbed the hall pass and left the room. When I turned to look behind me at the back of the room, I saw Megan’s mouth hanging wide open.

I settled back into my seat and returned to staring at my desk.

The rest of the day wasn’t as bad as I’d expected it to be. I ate lunch alone, of course, and in gym we had to play volleyball, which I’m truly terrible at, but it was a normal kind of bad day at school. For the most part, nobody seemed to notice me very much. During sixth period, Coleman got in trouble for refusing to sing “Winter Wonderland,” which we were all learning for the holiday show that was coming up in a few weeks. That was interesting.

“I know you’re Jewish, Coleman, but it’s not a Christmas song or a Christmas show,” sighed Mrs. Ogundele, the choir instructor. “It’s a
winter
song and a
holiday
show.”

Coleman shook his head and sat back in his chair. “It doesn’t feel like that to me,” he said. “
Snowmen?
It feels like Christmas.”

I knew exactly what Coleman meant, but I was
surprised. I hadn’t known he was Jewish. I watched him pout in his chair and made a mental note to tell my dad about the whole thing. He’d think it was funny too.

The best part of the whole weird day was the poem Mr. Cook had written on the board when we got there, about a guy who couldn’t read, and so kept a letter all his life without ever finding out what it said. It ended like this:

I didn’t understand the whole poem, but it seemed like maybe the guy liked the letter because since he couldn’t read it, it
might
be anything at all. The unread letter in the poem reminded me a little bit of the scrap of paper in my locket—how it
might
be something wonderful or nothing at all. The poem made me think about how I liked having the address with me, because the spoon
might
be something I could still fix. Though if I kept it like the man kept the letter, I’d never know.…

At the end of the day, I headed home alone. I walked fast, strong.
Dad would be proud of me
, I thought,
if he could see me right now
. I hadn’t cried or run away. I had only said
what was true. I knew I could go back to school the next day and survive it again, even though I didn’t want to.

Technically, I supposed everything was pretty much as awful as it had been before—with my mom and dad, and all the things I’d stolen, and not having any friends. A lot of things were still royally messed up, but making it through the day made something feel better
inside
me, made me feel like something had been lifted or freed.

As I was walking along, kicking through some dry leaves and thinking about that, I heard a voice call out, “Becky!” I turned around. There was Megan, racing to catch up with me, panting and out of breath. I stopped and waited for her.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” she gasped, bending over like she had a cramp from running.

While she was still doubled over, I said to the back of her curly red head, “Hey, actually, this is a little weird, but would you mind calling me Rebecca? Nobody ever called me Becky at home. That was kind of an accident the first day.”