it all the time," I say.
"Do any photo shoots lately?"
I press my lips together and wait for the bell to ring so that he will Shut. Up. Already. Tayari Smith, gorgeous Tayari Smith, gives me a sympathetic look across the table, and in my reptilian brain I remember a story from eighth grade, something about how Tayari did some- thing to or with some boy in the back of the bus on the
121 way home from school and got suspended for it. I sud- denly, desperately, want to be her friend. Maybe she can teach me what to do with my new dark hair. Maybe she can show me how to twist it and braid it and curl it into crazy corkscrews, a new do every day. Maybe I'll learn how to give other girls sympathetic looks over tables in study periods, I'll see how to get my dignity back.
"I was thinking," says Chilly. "You should send that picture in with your college applications. Might be the deciding factor. I know! You could take more photos. I can help."
Something about the way he says this makes me think. Did Chilly have a camera at that party? I don't remember a camera, but what if he did have one? What if he stole a camera and followed me upstairs? What if he snuck up behind us in the bedroom and . . .
"Was it you?" I say. My voice sounds like someone else's, like an echo from a radio.
"Me? What are you talking about? You can't even remember who you blew?"
"Did you take the picture?"
Chilly smiles. "What do you think?" He lifts his hands and makes like he's pressing a button.
I wasn't mad before, I wasn't, but that was the old Audrey, not the new, fierce coffee-haired Audrey. I hate Chilly, I hate him, and maybe he hates me, too, maybe he hates me more, but this is someone I went out with,
122 someone I made out with. He was the first guy I let up my shirt. How could he do this to me?
Before I know it, I've leaped out of my chair and smacked him as hard as I can across his face. Someone grabs my arms from behind. Chilly keeps laughing. Mrs. Sayers shouts, "Audrey! What is going on here? What is going on?"
I'm sent to the office. You can't have girls hauling off and smacking guys around. No, that is not done. Could set a bad precedent. Could be lousy for morale.
"Audrey, I'm surprised," says Mr. Zwieback, the vice principal.
I look at my feet. Of course you're surprised, I want to say. You have the name of a cracker they give to babies. "I'm surprised, too," I tell him.
"Can you tell me why you decided to hit Mr. Chillman in study period?"
Well, gee, uh, I wanted to wait until lunch, but I was all booked up. "I don't know. He made me mad."
"Does this have anything to do with a certain picture that's been making the rounds?"
"What?" I say. Mr. Zwieback's seen the picture? Mr. Zwieback? Mr. Zwieback has a basset-hound face and long sideburns--no, not the cool kind. He wears plaid-- also not the cool kind. Mr. Zwieback grew up some- where in the South and occasionally says "y'all." It's impossible that he's seen the picture. Impossible.
123 A red flush creeps up Mr. Zweiback's neck. "Several copies were found on the computers in the library, though we had trouble identifying the, uh, subjects. But your father did call me to discuss the picture," he says. "He told me that it's been sent from student to student. He was quite upset."
I close my eyes and hope for death.
Mr. Zwieback clears his throat. "I understand that something like that could make you angry. I would be angry. Now, if you're sure that Mr. Chillman was, uh, involved in the situation somehow, I can talk to him. I can make sure he's punished for it."
Of course I want to punish him. I want him drawn and quartered. I want him burned at the stake. But if I make a bigger deal of this, then everyone will be reminded all over again. I don't want any more copies of that picture pasted to my locker or in my e-mail box or on my phone. I want it over. "Chilly likes harassing me. He's been doing it forever. I got sick of it."
"I don't want to
"Do any photo shoots lately?"
I press my lips together and wait for the bell to ring so that he will Shut. Up. Already. Tayari Smith, gorgeous Tayari Smith, gives me a sympathetic look across the table, and in my reptilian brain I remember a story from eighth grade, something about how Tayari did some- thing to or with some boy in the back of the bus on the
121 way home from school and got suspended for it. I sud- denly, desperately, want to be her friend. Maybe she can teach me what to do with my new dark hair. Maybe she can show me how to twist it and braid it and curl it into crazy corkscrews, a new do every day. Maybe I'll learn how to give other girls sympathetic looks over tables in study periods, I'll see how to get my dignity back.
"I was thinking," says Chilly. "You should send that picture in with your college applications. Might be the deciding factor. I know! You could take more photos. I can help."
Something about the way he says this makes me think. Did Chilly have a camera at that party? I don't remember a camera, but what if he did have one? What if he stole a camera and followed me upstairs? What if he snuck up behind us in the bedroom and . . .
"Was it you?" I say. My voice sounds like someone else's, like an echo from a radio.
"Me? What are you talking about? You can't even remember who you blew?"
"Did you take the picture?"
Chilly smiles. "What do you think?" He lifts his hands and makes like he's pressing a button.
I wasn't mad before, I wasn't, but that was the old Audrey, not the new, fierce coffee-haired Audrey. I hate Chilly, I hate him, and maybe he hates me, too, maybe he hates me more, but this is someone I went out with,
122 someone I made out with. He was the first guy I let up my shirt. How could he do this to me?
Before I know it, I've leaped out of my chair and smacked him as hard as I can across his face. Someone grabs my arms from behind. Chilly keeps laughing. Mrs. Sayers shouts, "Audrey! What is going on here? What is going on?"
I'm sent to the office. You can't have girls hauling off and smacking guys around. No, that is not done. Could set a bad precedent. Could be lousy for morale.
"Audrey, I'm surprised," says Mr. Zwieback, the vice principal.
I look at my feet. Of course you're surprised, I want to say. You have the name of a cracker they give to babies. "I'm surprised, too," I tell him.
"Can you tell me why you decided to hit Mr. Chillman in study period?"
Well, gee, uh, I wanted to wait until lunch, but I was all booked up. "I don't know. He made me mad."
"Does this have anything to do with a certain picture that's been making the rounds?"
"What?" I say. Mr. Zwieback's seen the picture? Mr. Zwieback? Mr. Zwieback has a basset-hound face and long sideburns--no, not the cool kind. He wears plaid-- also not the cool kind. Mr. Zwieback grew up some- where in the South and occasionally says "y'all." It's impossible that he's seen the picture. Impossible.
123 A red flush creeps up Mr. Zweiback's neck. "Several copies were found on the computers in the library, though we had trouble identifying the, uh, subjects. But your father did call me to discuss the picture," he says. "He told me that it's been sent from student to student. He was quite upset."
I close my eyes and hope for death.
Mr. Zwieback clears his throat. "I understand that something like that could make you angry. I would be angry. Now, if you're sure that Mr. Chillman was, uh, involved in the situation somehow, I can talk to him. I can make sure he's punished for it."
Of course I want to punish him. I want him drawn and quartered. I want him burned at the stake. But if I make a bigger deal of this, then everyone will be reminded all over again. I don't want any more copies of that picture pasted to my locker or in my e-mail box or on my phone. I want it over. "Chilly likes harassing me. He's been doing it forever. I got sick of it."
"I don't want to
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