School started up, and everyone was back at school, wearing their new letterman jackets, shoes, brand name jeans, and sporting new phones and laptops. Winter break was the primary discussion topic in the hallways for the first couple weeks; everyone either bragging or complaining about what gifts their parents had gotten them. Ed had received countless vintage comics, and I often would smile when he would slam his tray down next to me in the lunch room and pull out a comic in mint condition, a plastic sleeve covering each page. We would flip through it together, and he would enthusiastically point out the quality of color or the cool catch phrases, and I would smile and nod and try to understand his joy. Even if I couldn't pull happiness from the villain's artwork, I could certainly become cheery at seeing my friend wiggle with the joy over the bold fonts.
Eddy was happier than you might think to return to class. Over the holidays, Eddy's older brother always came home. The events from the "incident" all those years ago reminded his older brother to treat Eddy better. However, his brother certainly found ways of being cruel without the physical violence. Back in class, he escaped his suffocating house, and he didn't have to be in the same building as his elder brother.
However, as I soon knew it would, the conversation turned from winter break and focused in on something even more nerve wracking: prom. The girls tittered and giggled about the dress selections and colors, the flow of the fabric, the fake, plastic gem adornments, the expensive footwear, and all the other strings attached. I avoided talking about this subject as one might avoid the Bubonic Plague, how a mosquito might avoid bug spray. I steered clear of all romantic notions, and focused on my studies.
Over the last few days of break, I had finally sent out my essays and applications to the universities I desired to attend in the fall. Princeton, Harvard, and Yale were the most prestigious of the ones I applied to, but also Dartmouth and Brown were in my selection. While the average Jane and Joe quaked in their boots over finding a date to the socially expected occasion, I shook at the idea of not being accepted. My ACT and SAT scores were amazing; perfect grade on my ACT, and in the top three percent for my SAT. I couldn't imagine the universities not vying for my attention, let alone deny me entrance into their establishments. However, as confident as I should've been, I still checked the mailbox and my email daily.
I spent most my evenings studying. I felt my life regain the momentum and focus it once had, and normality was returning. Ed and Eddy spent many evenings at my house, distracting me while I studied, then leaving rather late. Occasionally, Eddy would bring a bottle of an unfamiliar fancy, and I would politely decline a glass, pint, shot, or whatever form of container was offered to me. On those evenings, I told Ed to walk Eddy all the way home, and to see to it that Eddy was tucked into bed before he returned to his own homestead.
Marie joined me and the guys an increasing amount. Sometimes, she would study with me, trying to improve her academic standing, and other times, she'd goof off with the other two boys, driving me crazy in an acceptable way. May or Lee would also occasionally join us, but never both of them at the same time; I imagine that either Lee or May went home to care for Shay.
Whenever my parents were home, the Kanker's never asked permission to come along with us. Although I wished to invite them, I was still confused as to my parent's general disposition towards them. Things were confusing and twisted, and I already had enough on my plate to deal with.
One night, on the rare occasion that it was only Marie and I, I was reviewing flashcards while she flipped through television channels. "Marie, you really should be studying," I chided from where I was curled up on the recliner.
"What for?" She groaned sprawling further on the couch, taking up as much space as possible. "It's not like grades matter anyways."
"My word!" I gasped; had anyone said anything so ludicrousin the history of the planet? "But of course grades matter! The academic levels of achievement we acquire are tangible and valuable things that directly affect what university will accept us and examine our applications."
"University?" Marie scoffed, not taking her eyes off the plasma screen. "Like, college? What makes you think that's a thing for me? With what money would I pay for that?"
"Well, perhaps not by yourself…" I muttered, mentally beating myself for not being clearer. "But with loans, merit aid, and scholarships, you could do splendid in a foundation of higher education." Her head rolled over to look at me, and she smiled in a way that didn't communicate joy as much as it communicated hopelessness.
"Now, I might not be smart as you," she drawled, "but I do know a few things. First, they look at the classes I've taken, and my rolling GPA, yeah?" I nodded, and she made a small farting noise with her tongue that made me giggle. "Right, and I've taken the easiest classes, and still have managed to fail some. My GPA? Not very hot, and my extracurricular and outside the classroom involvement includes vaping and swaddling a screaming infant. Those are all the things they really look at, right?"
"Come on, Marie," I sighed, lowering my flashcards and frowning at her. "Perhaps you haven't perform…the best in school, but it's never too late to improve, and your need will get you more support than you think."
"Double D, what's the point?" she groaned sitting upright finally and turning to me. "What's the point in going to class and paying attention, huh? There ain't one, 'cause I'm not gonna' be an accountant or a lawyer or an athletic trainer! The most I'll ever amount to is a gas station clerk, maybe a manager if I'm lucky, making maybe twelve bucks an hour and living in either a shack or trailer. So what's the point, if I'm not ever going to go farther? Hell, I'm lucky I even made it to senior year."
"Come on, please try harder?" I asked.
"Easy for you to say," Marie grinned. "All the teacher's love you, they eat up every little thing you say! They don't care about some punk like me; I'm just trouble."
"Come on, at least try to work harder?" I asked. She glared at me, and I stared back, and finally she groaned.
"Jesus, would you quit with the puppy dog eyes? Geez! You're driving me nuts! Alright! I'll at least make a better effort," she groaned. I smiled in appreciation, and she stuck out her tongue defiantly before flipping off the television and yanking her English textbook from her backpack.
The next day in Literature class, the final period of the day, we discussed the play we had been reading in class together. When Mr. Wichman asked for our opinions, thesis, or questions about Taming of the Shrew, I, along with several of my chattier and more confident classmates, didn't hesitate to start the conversation. As the discussion expanded and continued, I turned around in my front row seat, and caught Marie's eye. She sat in the very back row, in the leftmost desk, trying to put as much distance between her and the teacher. I smiled at her encouragingly, and she stuck her tongue out defiantly as Jimmy voice his opinion of Petruchio. I stuck my lip out in an animated pout, and after groaning and rubbing her forehead angrily, she raised her hand high into the air.
I turned about in my chair, proud that I'd been able to convince her. Mr. Wichman glanced to the back of the room and must've seen Marie's raised hand, but proceeded to call on every other student before Marie, even if they had raised their hands after her. When not a single other student raised their hand to continue the class discussion, Mr. Wichman sighed inwardly, and called on Marie with a rather pinched expression.
"I dunno,'" Marie said. "A lot of people just look at Kate and see some unruly bully, but like, when she was talking to Bianca and hitting her…maybe hitting her sister wasn't the best way to convince her, but she was just trying to tell her little sister that she was just as good as any man, ya' know? Just trying to let her little sister get it through her head that she mattered, and she didn't have to wait on her fiancé hand and foot." I nodded to myself; it was a decent analysis. Wichman blinked, then without a word, turned and called on another student as if she hadn't spoken.
I felt more than a little confused. Whenever I offered something to say in class, it was quickly followed by an encouraging grin from the professor, and an agreeing comment. After class, I waited by the door for Marie, and she glared at me accusingly when she got close enough. "See? That's why I don't try in class, because it doesn't matter what I do or say. The teachers still think whatever they want of me."
"And what do they think of you?" I asked as we strolled out of the room.
"That I'm stupid," Marie growled.
"Then prove them wrong." She rolled her eyes at me and stuck out her tongue stubbornly. She bounced off to her own class, and I myself went my own way. For the remainder of the day, a little bubble of pride sat in my stomach, and I couldn't help but happily think of how Marie was making an effort.
That evening, Eddy got stuck at school again with detention, and Ed himself was grounded for somehow irritating Sarah again. I began walking home alone when somebody nudged me roughly to the side, nearly sending me stumbling off the curb and into the gutter.
"Hiya, Angel Cake," Marie sang as I regained my balance. I quickly reprimanded her for her rather impolite greeting, trying to ignore the little wiggle my stomach did at her contact as we walked to my house together, chattering about our day at school. When we got home, Marie surprised me by immediately curling up on the couch and yanking out her Taming of the Shrewbook, reading the night's assignment. I strolled into the kitchen, poured us each a glass of soda, and then sat in the nearby recliner.
We studied in silence for some time, and after what must've been an hour of or so, she shut her book with a sigh and pushed it back into her backpack. Wordlessly agreeing that my eyes could also use reprieve, I too shut my book as she flicked on the T.V. lazily. She clicked through a few channels, and when a channel showed a girl with flawless skin twirling with a giant smile and satin dress, Marie groaned.
"God, kill me," she complained. "Everyone is talking about prom, and I just want to sit on the couch with some chips." The advertisement showed a broad shouldered young man laughing at some unknown joke, his tux crisp and new.
"Oh please," I smiled at the screen, "there is some appeal to a night of unwinding from the stress of graduation."
"Prom's just a gross excuse to waste money on expensive clothes, an expensive limo, expensive food! Some gross dancing that doesn't really count as dancing and sex in the bathroom stalls," she spat, crinkling her nose in disgust. I looked at her in shock, asking if all that had happened at the prom last year. She looked away sheepishly, muttering, "I, uh, actually didn't go last year."
"Well, how could you possibly know it would be so miserable?" I asked with a laugh.
"I just know, okay?" she said, rolling her eyes.
"You couldn't possibly!" I argued as the pair on the screen smiled in the flash of an adoring father's camera lens. I myself hadn't gone the past year, and for the first time in two years, I felt the need to experience it. I glanced over at Marie, her shaggy blue hair covering her eyes, leaving only the lower half of her face exposed to my gaze.
"Whatever, it's all lame," she mumbled stubbornly. However, as I watched her pink lips, I saw them curl into a wishful smile as she watched more of the boutique shop television spot. The girl on screen spun in a circle, her long, blonde hair flying weightless behind her, the full skirt of her green gown fanning about her thin calves.
We'd gotten so close these past months. I wasn't sure when the precise moment was that I started trusting her so. I found myself not only looking forward to seeing her, but craving her time, watching the school clock's second hand, willing the day to end, hoping she'd ask to come over when she passed me in the hall. I felt…strongly and strangely for her. I wanted to see her every day, similar to how I always looked forward to seeing Ed and Eddy, but…differently. These emotions, these desires, were strange and nerve wracking to me.
When had my nervous smile when she speaks to me gone from my regular social anxiety to hearing the slight sassy tone in her voice? When had I started saying things, hoping she would playfully push or punch me? I couldn't remember, I couldn't remember, but seeing her daydream grin, the dim light of the kitchen light casting her in a mysterious shadow, imagining her in that green bejeweled gown, I felt a desire to do something that, given my usual nervous demeanor, I never imagined doing.
"Marie, I was wondering," I asked quietly, staring at my shaking hands, "would you accompany me to the prom?" On screen, the boutique's name flashed in shining, curvy letters. In my living room, everything froze. Marie's hand, holding the remote, slowly lifted, and she muted the television.
"Come again?" She said, her tone bewildered. I peeked up at her, and her whole body was turned towards me, her eyes wide, her rear hardly perched on the edge of the couch. I asked again, keeping my eyes nervously raised to her. Perhaps I had made a mistake; our childhood romance had been so long ago, and my lack of reciprocation might've discouraged her. Sure, she had always been more than friendly with me, but flirty could've been her common personality, her regular demeanor. Had I misinterpreted?
"I, uh… yeah." She nodded mechanically. "Yeah, I'd love too, Double D," she said, a small smile creeping onto her lips. She crossed the room and slowly wrapped me in an intimate hug, one I returned slowly, unsurely; how exactly does one do these sort of things?
"Well, I better get home," she said calmly, grabbing her backpack. "I gotta' help watch Shay tonight and stuff." I watched her carefully; her smile told me she was happy, but her sudden tranquility and formality made me unsure. "Goodnight, Double D," she said in a relaxed tone. She let herself out the front door, and after a moment, I went to the window. I peeked carefully through a small slit in the blinds, watching her walk down the pathway and down the driveway. When she reached the sidewalk the end of the drive, she stood very still.
Her body suddenly shattered into a joyous dance of shakes and jumps and pumps and all assortment of movements. She crowed loudly, throwing her bag behind her in jubilee, hopping about like a toddler who was just informed of an upcoming Disneyland trip. I covered my mouth, as if she might overhear, and laughed quietly into my palm as she skipped about, twirling and screaming incoherently.
