Not That Kind of Girl, Page 3

  Autumn explained I could be a know-it-all sometimes, only she said it in a much more polite and gentle way. I didn’t deny it. My parents were both intellectual types, and that sort of thing permeated everything we did as a family. We had our kitchen radio always tuned in to NPR. We did brainteasers over dinner. We shared the Sunday paper. And family vacations were to science centers or fossil expeditions or historical monuments. Maybe it made me weird, but it definitely made me smarter than most people I knew. But smart didn’t necessarily cut it in junior high.

  I had invited Autumn to come with my family to a laser show at the planetarium. Her face fell, and she explained that she’d accepted an invitation from Marci Cooperstein’s family to visit their lake house for a week.

  I played it cool, but inside I steamed. Marci had been trying to edge in on my friendship with Autumn for months. Autumn had held Marci off, but I guess the promise of Jet Skis and barbeques and bunk beds were too much for her to resist. It was seven days of pure misery for me. I made my mom take me to the library about four different times, because all I did was sit in my room and read. By that time, the other kids on the block weren’t friends, only boys to feel awkward around. I had no one else.

  When Autumn did come back, tanner than I’d ever seen her, she slept over four nights straight and gave me a friendship bracelet she’d made especially for me, courtesy of Marci’s bead kit. She had used the nicest beads, too—lavender glass spheres alternating with iridescent stones shaped like tiny grains of rice. Every time Marci saw that bracelet, she seethed. I wore it until the string broke, and then I picked up all the beads I could find. I still have a few in my jewelry box.

  I guess that kind of competition should have prepared me for Chad, but it didn’t. Guys were not a part of our equation. We didn’t even talk about them. That probably sounds weird, but our friendship had this strange, timeless innocence about it. And though I knew I could compete with the Marci Coopersteins of the world, I was no match for Chad. Chad swept Autumn completely off her feet.

  Once I was at her house practicing a dialogue for our French project when Chad called and invited Autumn to meet him and some friends down near Liberty River. Autumn assumed I wouldn’t want to go, but I told her I would. It made me happy, how excited she was to have me go with her. Excited, until she gently urged me to change into one of her sweaters and to try some of her berry lip gloss.

  I had a weird feeling when Autumn took my hand and we veered off the sidewalk into a thin patch of woods. We followed a worn stretch of dirt, littered with trash and a few cigarette butts. I was pretty disoriented even though I could hear the river, but Autumn walked like she was both Lewis and Clark. After a few twists and turns, we came upon a big boulder, perched over the silvery water. A bunch of guys sat on it, drinking beers and blowing smoke into the night sky. We were the only girls there.

  Looking back, I definitely overreacted. But older boys and beers and dark, dark woods were so far out of my realm of experience. After about ten minutes, I pretended to feel sick. Autumn knew I was faking, and let me walk home by myself.

  She only invited Marci Cooperstein after that.

  I thought I’d lost her.

  Then the Fish Sticks incident happened, and I was the one person who stood by her. To everyone else at school, she was tainted. The boys were grossed out by her, and even some girls were snooty and snotty and suddenly too good for her. Marci actually laughed a few times at the jokes other people made. Right in front of Autumn.

  I told Marci that she was pathetic.

  And then I happily picked up the slack. I walked in front of Autumn, or struck up a loud conversation about absolutely nothing, casting the best friend force field to distract her from the sniffers and the stinky faces. I think some people were afraid of me. I became known as the nerdy girl with the scary intensity who’d do anything to protect Fish Sticks.

  A couple of weeks later, Marci apologized to Autumn in a note she’d written during chorus. Autumn showed it to me. It was full of grammatical errors. Your right to be mad at me, Marci wrote. Idiot.

  I thought Autumn would write Marci back, but she crumpled up the note and flushed it down the toilet. I’d never been more proud of her.

  With my help, Autumn turned her negative into a positive. Together we channeled our energy into school-work. Autumn was never a great student, and that first semester of freshman year, she’d nearly failed out from the stress of everything that had happened. But I helped her come around. We’d take our lunch in the library and study or do homework together. I even got her involved with student council. Autumn still didn’t do well enough to make it into AP classes, but she made regular honor roll, and so long as she didn’t royally screw up her SATs, she’d have her pick of colleges.

  After Chad Rivington, Autumn never had another boyfriend. It saved her from a lot of needless heartbreak. And me, well, the whole thing just let me be a good best friend. Which was all I’d wanted to do in the first place.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On Monday, I found one of my posters taped to the wall above my locker. The Friday before, it had hung near the main office, and my original pieces of masking tape were still stuck to the corners. The poster had a picture of me on it, holding a jacket in each hand during last year’s winter coat drive. It read, Vote for Natalie, A Leader with Experience.

  Mike (obviously) had taken a marker and done some doodling at my expense. He had given me a moustache, drawn two enormous penises (one for each of my hands) and a bunch of question marks hovering over my head. He’d crossed out leader and written VIRGIN on top of it. And squeezed the word NO in before experience.

  The hallway was empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. The classrooms were still locked from the weekend, so I couldn’t grab a chair. After jumping up a few times in a desperate and unsuccessful attempt to reach the poster, I headed straight for Ms. Bee’s office, walking so fast that my kneesocks slid down my calves.

  I had expected Mike Domski to retaliate for Friday’s pizza incident, of course. I knew he’d want to embarrass me like I’d embarrassed him. But his attack was worse than any grease stain. It was degrading.

  Ms. Bee sat at her desk, blowing through the cloud blossoming from the ceramic cup cradled in her hands. Even though she was in her early sixties, Ms. Bee was tan and fit and beautiful, in a loose black linen dress, a tangle of turquoise and red glass beads, and leather slides the color of honey. Her thick white hair curled off her forehead like the crest of an ocean wave and pooled at her shoulders. She had a stack of papers and folders before her. It took a few seconds, and a small fake cough, for her to notice me lingering outside.

  Ms. Bee looked up and said, “Natalie. Good. I wanted to talk with you today. Come in. And close the door behind you.”

  I was too angry to sit, so I stood just inside her office with the doorknob pressing into my back. “Mike Domski defaced one of my posters.” My voice quivered, and I sounded like a little baby. I hated that Mike could get under my skin so bad.

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Yes.” I glanced at the clock above her head. If we didn’t act fast, students would soon be arriving, looking at that poster, laughing at me.

  “You saw him do it?”

  “No.” My face burned. “But I know it was Mike. And he wrote terrible things about me.” I thought about telling her exactly what terrible things, only I was too mortified.

  “I see.” Ms. Bee set her cup down. “Is it true you threw a slice of pizza at Mr. Domski last Friday?”

  My chin hit my chest. “Yes, I did.”

  Each semester, I’d drive my guidance counselor crazy, shifting requirements around so I could take every single history class Ms. Bee taught, even her electives like Vietnam and the ’60s, which were way harder than electives like ceramics, but incredibly interesting. She supplemented her lectures with personal photos, memorabilia, even reading from her own diary. I had always wanted to impress her. And now, thanks to Mike Domski, I’d done th
e opposite.

  She took off her glasses, an angular pair of black frames, and slid them into a silk pouch. “Despite the fact that you’re upset, I must admit that I’m glad to hear about this poster issue. I was worried that I might have to discipline you, but since Mr. Domski has also chosen to take a less-than-dignified route in this campaign, these infractions can cancel each other out.” She leaned back until her wooden chair creaked. “Can I give you a little friendly advice, one girl to another?” I nodded. “Boys like Mr. Domski are intimidated by powerful women, Natalie. The only way he can think to belittle you is for simply being a female. But you must remain as strong and poised as you have been the last three years of high school. You must not let him beat you in this election.”

  A burst of energy flew through me. Ms. Bee was right. Mike could only resort to low blows because I out-matched him in every legitimate way.

  Ms. Bee pulled open a desk drawer and rooted around. “I wish I could say that you won’t meet a million more Mike Domskis in the course of your lifetime, but I’m afraid that simply isn’t true.” She handed me a glossy pamphlet. “There’s a leadership conference for young women in Boston during our spring break. It’s going to address exactly these sorts of challenges. The woman who runs it was my roommate during my master’s program, and I might be able to work out some kind of discount for you. Or at least the opportunity to network directly with some incredibly inspiring women at the very top of their fields. If you haven’t already packed your bikinis for Cancun”—she grinned—“I think it could be a formative experience for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. But really, those two words didn’t even come close.

  I walked back to my locker with my head held high. The hallway was starting to get thick with students, the height of the morning rush. I found an empty trash can I could flip over and climb on, to be tall enough to rip the poster down. But I didn’t need to. Someone had beaten me to it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On election day, I sat between Mike and Kevin in the front of the library. Kevin was a couple of inches away, but Mike was so painfully close that the arms of our chairs were touching.

  His left leg bounced up and down in a khaki blur, and the floorboards creaked sharp sounds that stabbed straight into my forehead. He did it on purpose, of course. Anything to rattle me. My pleated skirt crinkled up underneath my thighs, itching me like crazy, but I wouldn’t move. Not an inch. I didn’t want to risk touching Mike by accident. I didn’t even want our uniforms to touch.

  What seemed like the entire school had gathered to hear the results. Connor Hughes sat in the front row, his tie loose around his neck, turning when someone behind him started chanting, “Dom-ski Dom-ski Dom-ski.” A bunch of other voices joined in the chorus. The whole room got loud, and I suddenly had trouble swallowing the syrupy dissolve from my peppermint Life Saver.

  In a perfect world, this would be no contest. The most qualified candidate would win. But Mike Domski had a lot more friends than I did. A lot more.

  I quickly tried to prepare myself, in case things didn’t go my way. I envisioned myself having to smile, to shake Mike’s hand, because that’s what a gracious loser does. I wiped my palms against my bare legs. They felt clammy. Cold.

  As tough as that would be, I refused to give Mike the satisfaction of humiliating me on top of everything else. I forbade myself to cry if I lost. I’d drown my insides before I let a single tear roll down my cheek. That’s exactly what he’d want. Natalie Sterling, crying over a student council election.

  Losing wouldn’t even be the worst part. The worst part would be quitting student council. I didn’t want to, of course, but what else could I do? I decided it was best to write a resignation letter to Ms. Bee instead of telling her in person, so she wouldn’t try to convince me to stick it out. I couldn’t do that to myself. And as much as I knew Ms. Bee would be disappointed, she wouldn’t want my participation to come at the price of my dignity. I knew what would happen—Mike would get bored with all the responsibility and work, and push everything on my lap. He’d try to make me into his personal secretary, someone he could boss around. And there was absolutely no way I could deal with that.

  Ms. Bee sat inside the library office. I watched her through the glass, her head down as she counted ballots. Her forehead seemed more wrinkled than usual, which worried me for obvious reasons. I sat up tall and tried to make eye contact.

  “Nervous?”

  Mike smugly stared me down, thick-as-caterpillar eyebrows touching over his nose. I pressed my lips together tight and ignored him. A smirk spread across his face, and he rubbed the dusty black of his stubbly chin. Of course Mike didn’t bother to shave for election day. “I have to say, Natalie, your level of intensity is pretty hot.” He gently patted his lap. “I’m actually getting a chubby.”

  I glanced over at Kevin Stroop, his eyes burning holes through the floor. It could have been a campaign strategy. Let Mike and me duke it out, while Kevin cleaned house. Though I doubted it. More likely, Kevin feared Mike Domski, or he just didn’t care if a guy said such disgusting things to a girl.

  Not that I needed Kevin to stand up for me. I could handle this myself. “Stop talking to me,” I declared, which fell far short of the sharp retort I’d hoped to conjure up.

  “Hey! Come on, Natalie. I’m only kidding with you.” His smile lengthened to a sneer. “You could never give me a hard-on. You’re like…dick repellant.”

  Anger burned hot through my body, and I gripped the sides of my chair. Mike Domski wanted to hurt me, and the best way he knew was to call me ugly. I hated that, despite the fact that I would rather eat vomit than touch a hair on Mike’s head, it worked. It took all my self-control not to hock the biggest, wettest ball of spit right between Mike’s eyes. And I would have, too, if not for Ms. Bee weaving through the thick crowd, waving a slip of paper over her head. “Okay! Thank you for your patience! Here we go!”

  Spencer lurked near the doorway, huddled with a couple of other girls. When our eyes met, she gave a big wave and blew me a kiss, which was a gesture more baffling than comforting. I tried to find Autumn’s face in the crowd, but when I couldn’t, I settled on the wall to my left, where the senior portraits of former Ross Academy student council presidents hung. Most were boys in blazers, wearing grins dripping with unabashed, unapologetic ambition. There were only a handful of girls, all stern-faced with set jaws. I felt the kinship straight away.

  Ms. Bee joined us in the front of the library. The smell of her peppery perfume comforted me, just a little. “It’s wonderful to see so many of you interested in student council this year,” she said. “Our first meeting will be on Monday, and I hope you’ll parlay this enthusiasm and sign up for one of our many committees.”

  I waited, a hollow smile frozen on my face, and listened to the names of the winners. David Goss won secretary. Dipak Shah won treasurer. Martin Gedge took vice president. I smiled at Martin to congratulate him, and he gave a worried look that cut right through me.

  The stuffy library air fluttered with the tepid applause of people waiting for the main event. Ms. Bee cleared her throat and the room went quiet. All except for my heart, which pounded rapid and crazy.

  “And in the election for your new student council president, we may have had our closest results in my history as an adviser. The winner, by just a handful of votes, is…Na—”

  Somebody in Mike’s crowd booed, and I never heard the rest of my name. Not that it mattered.

  From somewhere in the back of the room, Autumn barreled through the crowd toward me, knocking people aside with her huge book bag. Her hair flopped all in her face, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. I rose to my feet, smiling so hard it hurt. Autumn wrapped her arms around me tight, and we swayed with such force that we almost fell on the floor. We jumped up and down, over and over, both of us screaming and laughing.

  I noticed Mike standing with his friends. Connor grinned at me. He thought my celebration was funny, I guess.
But Mike could barely conceal his disgust.

  I broke free from Autumn and pushed myself in front of him. I knew I had huge damp spots in the armpits of my white shirt, but I didn’t care. After pulling up my hair into a quick ponytail, I stuck out my hand and waited for Mike to shake it. “Don’t you want to congratulate me?” I said in my most sarcastic voice. His friends were all listening. Connor Hughes. Everyone. And I loved every second of it.

  Mike looked down at my hand and scoffed. “Congratulations on being the kind of loser this stuff actually matters to.”

  Before I could say anything back, Autumn pulled me away. “You okay, Miss President?” she asked, and massaged my shoulders like a boxer and his trainer after a long fight. The library had begun to empty out, but there were still lots of students who stuck around to congratulate me. The moment felt so right, so beautiful. Like destiny. Like all those life-changing moments should feel. Easy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I picked up Autumn later that night. It was supposed to be, at least to her knowledge, our typical Friday—renting whatever movie was next on our list (we’d been working our way through the AFI Top 100 Films list, which I’d cut from the newspaper and dutifully laminated at my mom’s office), followed by snacks, followed by either face masks or new nail polish, followed by whatever lame show was on television until we fell asleep.

  Except I had heard on NPR during breakfast that A Streetcar Named Desire was playing at a little independent movie theater a few towns over. It wasn’t actually the next film on our list, but the chance to see one on the big screen was too exciting to pass up. Plus, it would make for a more special night, considering I’d won the election a few hours before.

  Even though my air-conditioning was on, everything still felt sticky. September weather always left you guessing, with some days hot like summer and others chilly like fall.