If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period (8 page)

Matteo said he did Open House last year and it was boring; he just sat around. None of the parents said much. The prospective parents were the only ones who wanted to know stuff.

Sylvia is ironing up a storm. Even ironed Walk's socks. "Can't have you lookin' like something the cat dragged in," she mutters.

As soon as they get to school, she's all over him about his essay. "None of the other kids' essays are handwritten."

"It's up on the wall. Only the best ones are up there," Walk tells her like she's stupid.

She doesn't answer.

"Gotta get a new printer if you want me to type everything."

"It works."

"It doesn't," Walk snorts, but Sylvia is already moving on.

Parents come and go. None of them ask Walk and Matteo anything. They ask the girl all their questions.

"Your parents coming?" Walk asks Matteo.

Matteo shakes his head. "My mom has to work."

"What about your dad?"

"Not his, you know"—Matteo shrugs—"kind of thing."

A man starts reading Walk's essay. So far no one has read all the way through, but this guy puts one hippie-sandal foot on a chair and settles in like he's doing his own word count, spell-check, fact-check, and grammar-check, too.

Hippie Sandals nods his head. "Nice work," he says.

"Thanks," Walk says.

"Anything else yours?"

Walk points to the current events board. Walk has his paper up there.
WHY DO WE STUDY HISTORY?
the bulletin board asks.

"Why do we study history?" Hippie Sandals's blue eyes are straight on him.

"Otherwise you don't really understand the context of what's happening today." Walk can't help smiling at this. He knows he sounds good.

"I like the way you think," the man says. He seems satisfied and moves on.

"Who was that?" Matteo whispers.

"Beats me," Walk says.

Then Brianna shows up. Figures she'd come without an invitation. A guy in a suit that looks like it must have cost more than Sylvia's new 350 is walking with her.

Walk nods at her.

"Hi," Brianna says, glancing down quickly at Walk's project. "Oh, that one," she mutters, grabbing her father's arm and hurrying him along.

"Where is your work, Bree?" Brianna's father asks.

"Didn't put it out." She glances back at Walk. "I'm not the right color," she whispers. "I mean who are they going to ask ... me ... or some inner-city kid?"

Walk's stomach churns. His mouth tastes like dirt. If he does well they say, "He's black, they lowered the bar." He messes up and it's "I told ya so."

Walk kicks the table leg. But he can't get angry. Sylvia will kill him for that.

Now Sylvia is back in Balderis's face, asking him a million questions. Poor guy. He doesn't know what hit him. Then she heads for the bulletin board and gets all snagged up in a group of parents. "Excuse me," she says to Hippie Sandals. They both move left.

"Excuse me," Sandals says. They both move right.

"Excuse me." Sylvia's voice has an edge now. She plants her feet and Sandals moves around her.

When she gets over to Walk her eyes are fiery. She's breathing hard and clicking her nails against each other the way she does when she's upset. Walk's in no mood for this. "Why am
I
in trouble?" Walk asks her.

"You're not," she says.

"How come you're mad?"

"I'm not."

"You sure?" Walk asks.

"I'm sure," she says.

At lunch now I sit with Brianna, Rory, Madison, Lauren, and Maya. We take up an entire cafeteria table and pretty much all they do is talk about the talent show. Rory, Madison, and Brianna will be singing. Lauren and Maya will be dancing. They all stay after school to work with the professional director, who, according to Rory, Brianna's mom is paying for.

Lauren and Maya always sit next to each other. They look like twins from the back because all of their clothes have words across the butt. Maya has this dancer thing going. She walks as if every step is measured out in advance and she sits up extra straight, like slouching is beneath her. Lauren is tiny and she wears her hair like she thinks she's Cleopatra—Cleopatra with words across her butt. Then comes Madison, who half the time wears her gym clothes to school. She doesn't care. But Brianna would never say anything bad about Madison. Never.

I try to get here early because if I'm late Brianna puts her stuff on the extra seat, and I have to ask her to move it, like a complete and total loser. Of course, she apologizes the rest of lunch. But the way she says "sorry" every time she looks at me is even worse. Plus, then I'm sitting next to her all lunch, and that's risky because I haven't mastered the art of kissing her feet. I always trip on the way down.

Rory, on the other hand, is quite the foot kisser. She's so good, in fact, that I don't know when she's doing it and when she isn't. I thought I knew who Rory was, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe Rory never really liked me. Maybe she was just kissing
my
feet.

Today, I'm really trying hard to stay on my diet, but my lunch is so small, it's over in seconds. I think about all the snack food my mom has hidden in the garage. My mother is Costco-crazy. She finds these deals and buys in the tonnage, then forgets what's out there. There are enough of Kippy's potato chip bags to feed a starving country. She thinks I don't know about this.

"Oh my god, Brianna, you looked so good in that green dress," Lauren says.

Maya leans forward. "Yeah, and did you see Madison's brother checking you out last night?"

"He was not."

"Was too. He, like, had his eyes glued to your butt."

"You got together last night?" I whisper to Rory.

She shrugs. "We had rehearsal."

I work the plastic spoon under the tiny lip of the Yoplait to get the last little bit. The spoon slips and makes a scrapy plastic snap.

Brianna looks at me, pizza in hand. "Oh my god, I am so fat! Look at this, you guys." Brianna lifts up her shirt to show her perfectly flat, tanned stomach with a diamond-pierced navel. "Don't you think I'm fat? I'm going to have to lose ten pounds before the talent show."

Rory jumps in. "No, you look great."

"I'd give anything for a stomach like that," Lauren agrees.

"Me too," Maya says.

"Hey, want to work out tonight?" Madison suggests. "My dad just got a new ab cruncher."

"Wait," Brianna says. "I want to know what Kirsten thinks. Don't you think I'm fat, Kirsten?"

"No," I say, zipping up my lunch bag.

"I know. Let's see who's fatter. Kirsten, let's see your belly. Come on. Mine's fatter, I swear to god, Kirsten. Don't you swear, Rory?"

"Well, I, uh...," Rory wheezes.

"Come on, Kirsten." Brianna looks around the crowded cafeteria. "No one's even looking. No one's going to see but us. And I'm going to lose. I swear I will."

"Brianna, cut it out," Madison whispers. "My mother will kill me if—"

"If what?" Brianna turns on her.

"You know." Madison rocks her head from side to side. At first I think she's standing up for me, but then I realize she just doesn't trust me not to tell my mother.

"Kirsten's not going to run home and tell her mommy, are you, Kirsten?" Brianna asks.

I want to leave, but I'm stuck to my seat. I look at the clock. Lunch is almost over. If only the bell will ring.

"I think Kirsten's
too thin.
" Brianna can barely contain herself. "So here." She hands me the rest of her pizza and bursts out laughing. "Fatten up."

The pizza is in front of me. The cheese is all melty, just the way I like it. My stomach grumbles. I imagine sinking my teeth into it.

"Look, she's going to eat it," Brianna whispers.

I toss the pizza in the garbage can fast and pretend with all my heart that Brianna was wrong.

Walk's just sitting here once again under the friendly neighborhood poster
ONE WORLD: CULTURAL DIVERSITY AT MOUNTAIN.
It's writers' notebook time.

Walker Jones
September 20

"
If you don't like the way the world is, you have an obligation to change it. You just do it one step at a time."—Marian Wright Edelman

Everybody talks big about changes but mostly what they want you to do is keep your mouth shut. Don't say a word.

"
There are right ways to make change," Sylvia says, "and wrong ways." But she doesn't mean it. Every step that looks to me like making a change looks to her like making trouble. I need somebody's
version of things besides Sylvia's tight-as-a-drum, no-air way. I need to breathe.

When Walk looks up Brianna's elbow is on his desk. "Can I see?" she asks.

"Not a chance."

"I'll show you mine."

"Do whatever you want. But mine is mine. Not for you to see."

"Okay, be that way." She slides her elbow closer to Walk. "Oh, am I bothering you?" Her large brown eyes start that Bambi thing, and for a second Walk almost forgives her for dissing him, and for poisoning the food supply if she's done that, too.

"I would prefer you didn't lean on my desk," Walk says.

"You 'would prefer...' Oh, you are so cute." She bats her long eyelashes.

"Cut it out, Brianna."

"I didn't mean to bother you. I hope you believe me. Do you believe me?" She juts her chin out and cocks her head.

Walk does not shake his head yes or no.

"Know what? People think you're kind of cool ... kind of, you know,
exotic.
" She takes her elbow off his desk—his
exotic
desk.

Walk spends the rest of Ms. Scrushy's class wishing she'd put it back.

When I get home my mom asks me twice how things are going with Rory and Brianna, Lauren, Madison, and Maya. It's as if she thinks I'm going to have a different answer at five than at eight. If she'd asked me this morning I might have, but now I just think: Get me away from them. All of them. I can just imagine what they're IMing each other now.

I'm on my way out of the garage with a Costco package of peanut butter crackers inside the sleeve of my sweater when my mom appears in the doorway with her tiny indoor pruning shears. My heart slips in my chest. She's going to ask me what I was doing in the garage.

"I know! Let's do a party here," she says.

"Mom! I don't want a party!"

The look in my mom's eyes tells me she's upset. She has heard something from Rebecca Dunkel.

"What?" I ask.

"It's really hard to be a lone wolf, Kirsten."

"I'm not a lone wolf."

"How about a slumber party? Wouldn't that be fun?"

I shake my head.

"Why don't you invite Rory over? Will you at least do that?"

I shake my head again—a very big, very sure shake.

"How about that Maya? Her family is so nice."

"I don't want to invite anyone over, okay?"

The corner of the crackers package pokes my wrist.

"There's always one they make fun of, Kirsten. There always is. You do not want to be that one."

"Mom, please." She's followed me into the kitchen. I grab an Evian.

"I want you to have fun, sweetie. You'll never be young like this again."

I snort. "Thank god."

"Sometimes you have to play the game, Kirsten. You don't want to be like Debby Decaterman. God, did the girls make fun of her. It was awful. But she kind of deserved it, too. She was pathetic."

"Pathetic. I know what that means. It means fat," I whisper.

My mother's face darkens. "I won't have you moping around here feeling sorry for yourself, making poor food choices." She slams the broom closet door. The dustpan crashes off the hook.

I walk up the back stairs. "Rory isn't my friend anymore. None of the rest of them ever were," I say in a tiny voice, so tiny she can't hear.

When I get to history class the next morning I keep my head down. I don't even look at Rory or Brianna. I decorate my notebook with dark goth doodles while Balderis drones on and on about grades and points and projects. Then suddenly I hear him say, "Who wants to do an extra-credit project?"

Walk's hand shoots up, so does Matteo's—and then my arm goes up, too. I barely do
credit
projects much less
extra
credit, but my arm doesn't care. My arm wants a friend.

"Kirsten," Balderis calls.

I wasn't raising my hand.
The words swirl around in my mouth but my lips stay locked.