Status: Active. (Based on the novel by Laurie Halse Anderson.)
Twisted
Fifteen
The bus let us out in front of the building. Aaron was about to burst with excitement, which would have been disgusting because he would have sprayed blood, guts, and AXE in every direction. He was an innocent, a freshman, one of the sad believers who thought high school was where they would be popular and smart and happy- above all, happy.
My brother had watched too many movies.
The enlightened ones- the wounded sophomores, jaded juniors, and wise seniors- we trudged to the door, a prison gang so beaten down that we didn’t need ankle shackles.
A pearl-white XK8 convertible was parked in the primo visitor’s spot at the front. Sean Caine and his mom were inside it, arguing like cats in a bag.
Knock on the window. Offer to help walk Sean inside. Offer to wash the car with your tongue.
Mrs. Caine was screaming and waving her long, bony mom-finger back and forth in front of her son’s face. Sean crossed his arms over his chest and slumped against the seat.
Maybe later.
We trudged some more. As we got closer to the front door, Aaron poked me.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Why are people staring at us?”
They weren’t staring, exactly. They were… watching. All the social radar systems were on alert.
Aaron faked a little smile to a total stranger. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
---
He was right, of course. People had ignored me when I was Chipmunk Girl, but that changed after I was arrested. A third of my fellow students kept their distance, like I might be wearing a bomb strapped to my waist. Anther third looked down their noses at me because I had to work with the (gasp) custodial staff. The other third was all thumbs-up and “Yo, Elise!” because spray-painting a couple thousand dollars worth of damage to the school and getting my very own probation officer made me their hero.
A lot of kids would tell you that being taken away in a squad car was the coolest thing I had ever done.
---
“You’re hallucinating,” I told my brother.
Mr. Hughes stood in the middle of the lobby with a bullhorn in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. He stopped mid-bellow to give me the evil eye.
“Miss McCready,” he growled.
“Mr. Hughes,” I spoke back.
He tapped the corner of his eye with a finger. “Remember,” he warned.
---
I was supposed to remember the little talk we’d had in his office a couple weeks earlier. Except it wasn’t so little. Hughes lectured me so long about consequences and responsibilities that my butt fell asleep.
I was supposed to remember that this was a privilege. I was back in school because so many people- my parents, my probation officer, a couple teachers- had gone out on a limb for me.
I was supposed to remember that I was on thin ice.
I was supposed to remember that I was on a short leash.
(Quite a vision, all those folks standing on a quivering tree branch, with me at the end in a dog collar, skating on a thin layer of frozen pond.)
While he lectured, I had shifted back and forth from one butt cheek to the other, trying to get the blood flow back.
Mr. Hughes had pointed out that I wasn’t listening. My father agreed with him, nodding energetically. Dad’s head bounced up and down do much during the one-hour little talk I thought for sure he’d get a concussion. After we left Hughes’s office, Dad yelled at me for being disrespectful. Then he made me mow the lawn.
---
Mr. Hughes finished tapping the corner of his eye. “Have a good day,” he said.
I was overcome by the urge to do something profoundly stupid, like pee on the flagpole or throw myself under a bus, just to see the look on his face.
But my little brother, wide-eyed and fifteen, tugged at my elbow.
“That was the principal, right?” he asked as soon as we were out of earshot.
“The one and only,” I sighed.
He dragged me out of the flow of traffic and into an alcove. “Here, hold these.” He handed me his books and his backpack to adjust his shirt before taking them back from my hands. “I never knew you had a reputation, Lise.”
“It’s not a good reputation,” I pointed out.
“Are you kidding me? The principal hates you. That rocks. How do I look?”
“Like a boy?”
“Oh, shut up.”
My eyes wandered to a freshmen girl with dyed golden-orange hair that looked almost identical to Abigail’s, except shorter and in a sort of pixie cut. She wore a low-cut top, revealing a bellybutton piercing that looked infected and the hem of her mini-skirt was pulled down, revealing too much skin. Way more than needed to be shown.
I mentally gagged.
Aaron linked his arm through mine. “It’s the attitude, Elise, all about the attitude. If you act like ‘Elise McCready, emo chipmunk who is always screwing up’, your life- and mine- is going to suck. You have to be positive. Be the reborn metalhead you and I both know you are.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t let metalheads on the wrestling team.”
“They should. They might win for a change.”
He turned his smile back on, and we rejoined the crowd streaming towards the cafeteria, the worst place in the world for freshmen. A pack of dogs was prowling at the doors, senior guys and girls looking for virgin or semi-virgin freshmen to devour.
“I can’t believe I’m graduating with these people.” I muttered through my teeth.
“Don’t worry,” Aaron said reassuringly. “I’ll be there for you.”
School was back in session. Let the mind control begin.
---
My brother had watched too many movies.
The enlightened ones- the wounded sophomores, jaded juniors, and wise seniors- we trudged to the door, a prison gang so beaten down that we didn’t need ankle shackles.
A pearl-white XK8 convertible was parked in the primo visitor’s spot at the front. Sean Caine and his mom were inside it, arguing like cats in a bag.
Knock on the window. Offer to help walk Sean inside. Offer to wash the car with your tongue.
Mrs. Caine was screaming and waving her long, bony mom-finger back and forth in front of her son’s face. Sean crossed his arms over his chest and slumped against the seat.
Maybe later.
We trudged some more. As we got closer to the front door, Aaron poked me.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Why are people staring at us?”
They weren’t staring, exactly. They were… watching. All the social radar systems were on alert.
Aaron faked a little smile to a total stranger. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
---
He was right, of course. People had ignored me when I was Chipmunk Girl, but that changed after I was arrested. A third of my fellow students kept their distance, like I might be wearing a bomb strapped to my waist. Anther third looked down their noses at me because I had to work with the (gasp) custodial staff. The other third was all thumbs-up and “Yo, Elise!” because spray-painting a couple thousand dollars worth of damage to the school and getting my very own probation officer made me their hero.
A lot of kids would tell you that being taken away in a squad car was the coolest thing I had ever done.
---
“You’re hallucinating,” I told my brother.
Mr. Hughes stood in the middle of the lobby with a bullhorn in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. He stopped mid-bellow to give me the evil eye.
“Miss McCready,” he growled.
“Mr. Hughes,” I spoke back.
He tapped the corner of his eye with a finger. “Remember,” he warned.
---
I was supposed to remember the little talk we’d had in his office a couple weeks earlier. Except it wasn’t so little. Hughes lectured me so long about consequences and responsibilities that my butt fell asleep.
I was supposed to remember that this was a privilege. I was back in school because so many people- my parents, my probation officer, a couple teachers- had gone out on a limb for me.
I was supposed to remember that I was on thin ice.
I was supposed to remember that I was on a short leash.
(Quite a vision, all those folks standing on a quivering tree branch, with me at the end in a dog collar, skating on a thin layer of frozen pond.)
While he lectured, I had shifted back and forth from one butt cheek to the other, trying to get the blood flow back.
Mr. Hughes had pointed out that I wasn’t listening. My father agreed with him, nodding energetically. Dad’s head bounced up and down do much during the one-hour little talk I thought for sure he’d get a concussion. After we left Hughes’s office, Dad yelled at me for being disrespectful. Then he made me mow the lawn.
---
Mr. Hughes finished tapping the corner of his eye. “Have a good day,” he said.
I was overcome by the urge to do something profoundly stupid, like pee on the flagpole or throw myself under a bus, just to see the look on his face.
But my little brother, wide-eyed and fifteen, tugged at my elbow.
“That was the principal, right?” he asked as soon as we were out of earshot.
“The one and only,” I sighed.
He dragged me out of the flow of traffic and into an alcove. “Here, hold these.” He handed me his books and his backpack to adjust his shirt before taking them back from my hands. “I never knew you had a reputation, Lise.”
“It’s not a good reputation,” I pointed out.
“Are you kidding me? The principal hates you. That rocks. How do I look?”
“Like a boy?”
“Oh, shut up.”
My eyes wandered to a freshmen girl with dyed golden-orange hair that looked almost identical to Abigail’s, except shorter and in a sort of pixie cut. She wore a low-cut top, revealing a bellybutton piercing that looked infected and the hem of her mini-skirt was pulled down, revealing too much skin. Way more than needed to be shown.
I mentally gagged.
Aaron linked his arm through mine. “It’s the attitude, Elise, all about the attitude. If you act like ‘Elise McCready, emo chipmunk who is always screwing up’, your life- and mine- is going to suck. You have to be positive. Be the reborn metalhead you and I both know you are.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t let metalheads on the wrestling team.”
“They should. They might win for a change.”
He turned his smile back on, and we rejoined the crowd streaming towards the cafeteria, the worst place in the world for freshmen. A pack of dogs was prowling at the doors, senior guys and girls looking for virgin or semi-virgin freshmen to devour.
“I can’t believe I’m graduating with these people.” I muttered through my teeth.
“Don’t worry,” Aaron said reassuringly. “I’ll be there for you.”
School was back in session. Let the mind control begin.
---
♠ ♠ ♠
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