April 20th:
Monday morning arrived all too soon. As usual, Sam called the night before...
...this time offering words of encouragement, promising that school would be much better than it had been on Friday...
...and afterward, once I'd spent almost two hours reflecting on the entire situation...I (finally) realized that there was hope...
...because even though Tiffy Myers was in every one of my classes, she couldn't watch me every single minute of the school day. After all, I could still approach kids in the school yard, the library, or even the bathrooms if I 'cased' these areas carefully first. And, as long as Tiffy wasn't in sight, I'll bet someone would be willing to talk to me...
...and she'd never have to know about it.
In addition, there was always the chance that my teachers would pair me up with another student for a school project, and then that person would have to talk to me. After considering these possibilities, I felt considerably better..
...so much so that I had no problem falling asleep that night.
The following morning, I felt relatively confident that the day was going to be a good one...
...especially when I got dressed...
...because of the sweater I'd found during Saturday's shopping expedition. It was a gorgeous cream colored, V-neck lambswool, and I decided to wear it to school; along with the new jeans I'd bought, which were a beautiful shade of light blue called 'Fair Skies'.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror...smiling widely.
I looked great...
...and, even more importantly, I now fit in (more or less) with the way everyone else dressed.
As I entered the kitchen, I looked out the window and noticed Grandad, shovel in hand, tending to the back yard garden...
...and still feeling quite optimistic, I actually enjoyed my breakfast.
All too soon however, reality set back in...
...during another boring bus ride spent sitting by myself...
...in complete silence, since (despite my best efforts) no one would sit with/talk to me...
...and, within minutes, my absolute confidence began waning rapidly.
It plummeted even farther when I entered Quad B and saw that Tiffy had arrived ahead of me. Doing my best to ignore this, I glanced around the room hopefully...for a hint of a smile from any of my classmates; or any other indication...however slight...that even one of them might possibly be a candidate for cultivation.
Tiffy, noticing this, immediately began scanning the room too...
...wearing an indescribably menacing scowl...
...and the few people who had glanced over in my direction as I'd entered immediately looked away.
Bitch!
Still determined to remain optimistic, I continued to look methodically from face to face, while wearing my most engaging and inviting smile...
...but predictably, their Tiffy-fueled apprehension hung over the room...like an impenetrable shroud...
...and finally, with a silent sigh, I took my seat.
Morning classes were (thankfully) drama free, which rekindled my spirit of hopefulness; and, as I exited the lunch line, tray in hand, I spied an empty seat at a table on the opposite side of the cafeteria from where Tiffy was 'holding court'. Confidently making my way over to it...
...I sat down without asking (which seemed pointless anyway)...
...hoping as I did that she and her goon squad wouldn't follow me over there and make another scene...
...and, much to my relief, they didn't. However, before I'd had the chance to properly celebrate...
….the four people seated with me grabbed their trays, stood up in unison, and walked off.
Damn!
What has she been telling everyone about me?
And why the hell are they all so afraid of her?
I managed to finish my plate of fish and chips, but it was just fuel that I was putting away; there was absolutely no taste involved.
Afternoon classes were (thankfully) as uneventful as the morning ones had been...
...and then I realized, to my horror, that it was time for Phys. Ed.
My numerous bruises from Friday had begun to fade; turning that familiar, nasty shade of purplish-yellowish-green; but my heart sank in anticipation of all the new ones I was about to acquire, during another afternoon spent facing Tiffy on the hockey field...
...until, glancing out the gymnasium windows, I saw the beginnings of a torrential downpour...
...and my heart soared.
There could be no going outside for class today!
After everyone had changed, Ms. Butcher led us out to the main area of the gym...
...where a full-size volleyball net had been set up...
...and, after appointing Tiffy and Marci as captains, she told them to pick their teams.
Less than five minutes later I was, of course, standing by myself. As it turns out there were an uneven number of girls...and since neither Tiffy or Marci wanted me...I was the 'odd man out'.
Noticing this, Ms. Butcher pulled her whistle off and hung it around my neck.
"Well, it looks like you're the referee," she informed me with a smile.
Before I'd had the chance to protest, she'd handed me a clipboard and pen and had disappeared back into her office...
...and with a sigh, I seated myself on the lowest bleacher bench...
...expecting the worst.
I didn't have long to wait.
Naturally, Tiffy served first...
...and, as you might expect, instead of going over the net, the ball 'accidentally' came flying in my direction...
...straight at my head.
If I'd been glancing down at my clipboard I wouldn't have noticed, and it would have slammed directly into my face.
Furious at this deliberate attack, but determined not to show it, I forced my face into an impassive expression and then kicked the ball back over to her...
...only to have it come right back less than two minutes later...
...and yet again two minutes after that.
And so it went.
By the end of the hour, I'd been whacked with the volleyball three times...
...but only one of those had been a direct hit...so all in all, I considered the class to have been a success.
On our way back into the locker room, Tiffy, who was just ahead of me, looked over Trace (who was walking next to her) and asked, "So, what was the diesel dyke saying to you in her office yesterday?"
Upon hearing this slur, which was obviously directed at Ms. Butcher, I bit my lip...hard...
...because, even though it's obvious that she's uh...same sex oriented, Ms. B. seems like a nice enough person.
Trace rolled her eyes.
"Well," she replied, "since I missed all those days last month...you know, when I sprained my wrist...she was asking me if I was interested in making the time up by doing some extra credit work for her."
Tiffy snorted, and then remarked, "I can just imagine what kind of project she had in mind...I'll bet it involved you lying on her desk...naked, with your legs wrapped around-"
"Yeah, right, Tiffy," Marci scoffed, "...like I'd ever spend more than two minutes alone with that low-life-Lezzie scum!"
(Somehow) resisting the compelling urge to reach forward with both hands and slam their heads together, I turned the corner instead, heading in the direction of my locker; but before I'd reached it I heard, "Carly, would you come in here for a minute?"
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mrs. B's head disappear back inside her office...
...and, as I began walking toward it, I was (of course) forced to walk right past Tiffy, who sneered, "Hey, look everyone, it's the new Teacher's Pet. I'll bet you're in for a long tongue-lashing in there, so have fun!"
Despite doing my best to ignore the sycophantic laughter of her posse, I still felt my cheeks flush angrily. Entering the office, I closed the door behind me and walked over to Ms. Butcher's desk, which today was awash in a sea of papers.
"Have a seat," she said, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of it.
With no idea what was about to happen, I sat down...
...and almost immediately, Mrs. B. leaned forward and across it...
...and smiled widely.
"Carly, I didn't really have a chance to talk to you yesterday," she began, "but I just wanted to tell you that I watch your show every week, and that I'm a huge fan!"
I hadn't expected this revelation...
...or the barrage of questions that followed (Ms. Butcher was very curious about how we wrote and performed the show, why we were on hiatus, etc.)...
..and I answered every one of them graciously, because it was such a relief to find someone at that crap school who was actually willing to talk to me. Anyway, the next twenty minutes passed pleasantly enough...
...but then, as I was leaving the room, I reached for the doorknob, cringing...
...because I wasn't looking forward to enduring Tiffy's sarcastic explanation to the rest of the class as to why I had been in there for so long...
...but as it turns out, they were nowhere in sight...
...and, much to my relief, neither was she.
Aside from myself, the locker room was completely empty.
That afternoon I hadn't done anything resembling exercise, so I wasn't the least bit sweaty...
...and so, on any other day I would have changed my clothes, enjoying the solitude; but today that wasn't possible, so I quickly grabbed my backpack and left...
...because I realized that I had to hurry over to the school library before it closed.
It was time to start filling out job applications.
Before leaving home that morning, I'd spoken to Grandad; letting him know that I wouldn't be home until around 5:30, because I had some research to do.
Which wasn't even a lie.
I then told him that after the library closed I could just walk six blocks to Walnut street and take a city bus from there, which would drop me off only two blocks from the house; and upon hearing this, Grandad readily gave his consent.
As it turned out, all twelve of the library's computers were occupied when I arrived, but after only about ten minutes one became available, and I sat down at it. The first thing I did was to check my email in-box, which I hadn't had a chance to do over the weekend...
...and, as promised, Sam had sent me a list of all the Atlantic City businesses she'd applied to...
...as well as a separate, mushy email full of cyber-hugs...but as badly as I wanted to linger over this, I didn't.
I had a ton of applications to fill out.
Fortunately (thanks to Freddie), I knew about a website called Insta-Form; whose cut-and-paste feature can be used to fill out any number of different online documents quickly; and this made the process of applying to nineteen different places go a lot faster. I was just finishing when librarian came over to shoo me out; and looking up, I was surprised to see that, having been so completely immersed in my work, I hadn't even noticed as the now-deserted library had emptied.
Five minutes later, I was walking toward Walnut street and the bus stop...
...through the persistent rain, which at least had tapered off to an annoying drizzle...
...and by the time I finally did climb onto the 553, I was damp, cold, and clammy...
...but I didn't care in the least.
Mission accomplished!
Less than half an hour later, when I walked through Grandad's front door, I was surprised to smell barbecue sauce...
...and even more surprised as I glanced through the kitchen doorway, to see that dinner was already on the table.
Grandad looked up from the large salad bowl on the counter, into which he'd been grating carrots.
"Well, right on time," he observed. "That's good."
Tossing my backpack onto the couch, I walked into the kitchen and over to the sink.
While drying my hands, I looked back over my shoulder and said, "I wasn't expecting to find dinner ready. Do you have to go somewhere this evening?"
"Yes," he replied, "so have a seat and get started."
"Because if I don't, it will get cold," I stated agreeably.
"No," he answered, "because we have to hurry over to Mrs. Payne's."
"W-we?" I asked, feeling my knees buckle under me as my butt hit the chair (which, fortunately was directly under me) with a loud 'whump'...
...as I felt my insides shrivel up.
"Yes...we," he confirmed. "I promised her that, right after dinner you and I would clear out her reading room and cover all the furniture. I have to paint tomorrow."
"B-but...doesn't she have like...thousands of books in there?" I asked...
...while accidentally (and apprehensively) knocking the bowl of mashed potatoes over on its side. As I quickly and clumsily righted it, Grandad answered, "Well, I've never actually counted them, but there certainly are a lot; and she can't move them herself, not since she's had that hip replacement surgery."
"But...we'll be at it all night!" I protested.
"Not the whole night," he corrected, "but we probably will be there for most of the evening."
"But...I have to...uh...study!" I interjected quickly...
...determined not to give in without a fight.
Grandad looked up from his plate and frowned, asking, "Didn't you just study after school for two hours?"
"Well, yeah," I admitted, "but I...also, uh...have to call Sam!"
He shook his head.
"No, Carly, not tonight. We already have this obliga-"
"But she and I talk every evening!" I argued, trying hard to keep my tone of voice calm; hoping that if I didn't freak out he'd change his mind and let me. After all, Sam's calls are my only link with the outside world...
...and with my sanity.
"It won't kill you to skip talking to her for one night," Grandad observed dryly...
...and completely inaccurately.
"Please?" I begged, as I felt my panic beginning to mount rapidly. "Please let me talk to her...for just five minutes? I swear it will only be for five minutes!"
Grandad mulled it over for a bit.
"Okay; I guess we can spare five minutes," he conceded.
"Thanks!" I replied, pushing my chair back...
...but he shook his head again.
"No Carly. Call her here at the table."
"B-but...why can't I just-"
"Because we both know that if you go to your room, five minutes will turn into an hour-and-a-half," he replied.
"But-"
"Do you want to call Sam?" he asked.
"Yes...of course I do, but-"
"Then call her right here. Right now."
There was no other alternative...
...and, with a sigh, I fished my phone out of my pocket.
Fortunately she picked right up.
"Hey, Carls," she answered cheerfully. "How was school?"
"The same," I replied...
...realizing that there was no need to get into any of that right now...
...especially not in front of Grandad.
"Don't worry; it's all going to be fine, so just give it time," she replied, with depressingly-clueless-confidence...
...and I decided to let the matter drop.
"So, I'm sitting here at the kitchen table...with Grandad," I said pointedly...
...letting her know not to expect any to hear any mushy sentiments from me this evening, and then continued, "Anyway, I can only talk for five minutes, but I just wanted to let you know that I got your email, uh...recently...and...and uh-"
"And you've already applied...to all nineteen places?" she asked hopefully.
"Yep."
"Yay!" she yelled. "So, why can't you talk for more than a few minutes...what does the old dictator have planned for you this evening?"
We're going next door to Mrs. Payne's house, to empty out one of her rooms so it can be painted."
"Wow, that sounds like a ton of fun," she answered...
...in an annoyingly-amused tone of voice. "Hey, Carls," she continued, "that reminds me of this one time when-oh, is that your other line?"
"No...it's Grandad's phone," I told her, watching as he hit its 'on' button and then began talking in a low tone. Less than a minute later, he was putting it back into his pocket.
"Carly...you need to say goodbye to Sam now," he announced.
"But...it hasn't even been five minutes yet!"
"Tell her you're sorry and that you'll call her tomorrow," he replied.
"B-but-"
"Carly, do as I say. That was Mrs. Payne. She has to go out of town this evening, and her ride is waiting for her; so she wants us to get over there as quickly as possible."
"Don't worry, Carls," Sam interjected, "I heard all of that."
"I'm so sor-" I began.
"Don't you dare apologize!" she admonished me. "It's fine. Call me later if you can; but if not, then tomorrow afternoon, as soon as you get home from school...okay?"
"Yes," I sighed.
"You know I love you, Cupcake."
"Back at ya," I answered immediately...
...with as much affection as I dared to, since Grandad was sitting right across from me.
And then, without another word, I hung up.
Ten minutes later, after I'd eaten what I could (which wasn't much, since I was dreading the awful evening that lay ahead of me and resenting the fact that I'd spoken to Sam for only two minutes)...
...I got up from the kitchen table.
"Where are you going?" Grandad asked, when he saw me heading toward my room.
"The...bathroom," I replied. "And then I want to change my sneakers...and my shirt. I got pretty damp from the rain."
"All right," he agreed, "but before you do, leave your phone on the kitchen counter to recharge."
I hadn't expected this.
"What...why?" I asked.
"Because we have a long evening ahead of us."
"B-but-"
"Now, Carly," he repeated.
Damn!
He wasn't going to let me call her again...either while I was in my room, or while I was over at Mrs. P's...
...which, I admit, I had been planning to do in the privacy of her bathroom...
...and, now furious, I stomped over to the kitchen counter and plugged my phone in...
...and then stomped down the hall and into the bathroom.
After peeing I walked, still fuming, into my bedroom, where I changed my shirt and put my crummy sneakers on; and then I decided that, before leaving I might as well hang up the outfit I'd worn that day, before it got wrinkled...
...and so, I opened my backpack and pulled out my new sweater and jeans...
...gasping loudly, half a second later...
...in utter shock and disbelief...
...as I saw that they both were completely covered...front and back..in bold, black letters, written in a hasty scrawl...
...with a wide-tipped, permanent Sharpo marker.
I'd loved that outfit...so much...and I'd only worn it once...
...and now it was completely ruined.
Even more upsetting was what had been written: TWAT LICKER! DYKE! FUCKING FREAK OF NATURE!
There was more...a lot more...but you get the idea.
And I knew exactly who was responsible...and that she must have done it while I was in Ms. B's office...
...but how had she ever managed to guess the combination to my gym lock?
Even worse, it was now too late to show Ms. Butcher, I realized...
...as I began kicking myself over and over. Why the hell hadn't I opened my backpack this afternoon...even once? If I had, I'd have seen this and would have been able to report it...and Tiffy...to Ms. B.
But now it was too late. The school was closed and Ms. B. was long gone; and if I showed her my clothes tomorrow, Tiffy would just deny it all, saying that I'd written it myself, after I got home, because I was pissed off at her for some trivial thing.
And now, way beyond livid...and very near tears...
...I ran back into the bathroom.
Grabbing onto both sides of the sink, I bowed my head over it, struggling not to cry...
...but failing utterly...
...and then, to my complete disgust, I began to sob.
Why had this happened?
WHY?
What had I EVER done to her, to deserve any of-
"Carly! Come on, we have to get over there," Grandad's voice interrupted.
"C-c-coming!" I answered. Somehow forcing myself to stop crying, I quickly washed my face, and then tore into my bedroom and over to my closet. Grabbing one of my two now-empty suitcases, I opened it, stuffed my destroyed jeans and sweater inside, and then shoved it back into the closet...
...into the farthest dark corner.
I'd dispose of them later.
I just couldn't deal with it right now.
Worst of all, I couldn't even call Sam and talk to her; because, even though I had no intention of telling her exactly what had happened (and inciting the riot that would probably lead to my expulsion), I suddenly, desperately, needed to hear her voice.
And then, with my head pounding painfully, I hurried back up the hall and put my jacket on...
...deliberately avoiding making eye contact with Grandad, since he'd want to know why mine were now so red.
I was silent as we walked next door.
Mercifully, Mrs. Payne left almost immediately...
...but less than a minute later, I found myself standing in the middle of her spacious reading room, with at least forty empty boxes at my feet...
...while staring at the floor-to-ceiling shelves that covered three walls of the room...
...each and every one of them crammed full of books.
It was gonna be a long night! And all that I had to keep me company was Grandad...
...and my own burning fury...
...which I then decided that I might as well use to my advantage...
...and so I began working with a vengeance...
...shoving stack after stack of books into boxes, and lifting each one easily...thanks to my hate-fueled adrenaline rush...
...and because I just wanted to get it all over with and get the hell out of there.
Grandad noticed.
"Don't hurt yourself," he observed as I effortlessly lifted a huge, full box from the floor.
"Gotta finish...gotta study," I answered, in an odd-sounding growl, as I staggered toward the living room and dropped it next to the others.
In reality, I desperately needed to get home and talk to Sam.
Thanks to my seething rage, what under normal circumstances would have been at least a four hour project was completely finished in just under two.
Once the bookshelves were completely bare, we pushed every piece of furniture into the center of the room and covered them with the fugly flowered sheets that Mrs. Payne had provided...
...and then, to my utter relief, we were done.
The instant we walked back into our house I hurried to the kitchen and snatched my phone off the counter...
...almost dropping it when I heard Grandad's voice directly behind me.
"No, Carly, no more phone calls."
I spun around to face him.
"B-but-"
"No," he repeated, "didn't you say earlier that you needed to study?"
"Well, yeah" I admitted, "but-"
"And didn't you promise me that you'd only talk to Sam for five minutes tonight?" he added.
"Well yeah...but I didn't get to talk to her for five minutes!" I reminded him.
"There's always tomorrow...so no more phone tonight. Now go hit the books," he concluded...
...while taking the phone from my hand...
...and placing it back on the counter. And then, before I'd recovered sufficiently from my shock to protest, he took hold of my shoulders and gently but firmly turned me around...
...pointing me in the direction of my bedroom.
After slamming the door...
...I paced my room in a towering rage, for at least twenty minutes...
...while frequently wiping away the tears that were slowly but steadily running down my cheeks (despite my most valiant efforts to hold them back)...
...until, finally realizing that I wasn't accomplishing anything, I flung myself into my desk chair.
I couldn't live like this anymore...
...and I couldn't even talk to Sam about it, and that was killing me...
...so I needed to come up with some kind of solution.
Right Now.
About an hour earlier, while I'd been lugging Mrs. P's damned books, it had occurred to me that there was only one way that Tiffy could have broken into my locker: Because she'd somehow managed (probably through her aunt Liz's cooperation or negligence) to get hold of the principal's master locker key...
...and so I'd already decided that, on the way home from school the next afternoon, I'd walk an extra three blocks to Murphy's Hardware and buy a new combination lock...
...one without a master keyhole in back.
Still, that only solved one small facet of my problem; I realized, continuing to sit there consumed by equal parts rage and hurt.
Why did Tiffy hate me so much? Was it because she considered me to be competition? That was absurd. I was only going to be there for six weeks...and then would be going to back to Seattle for my senior year, so why did she feel so threatened? And why did she persist in making my life hell?
Putting my elbows on the desk, I leaned forward and rested my aching head in my hands, knowing that I'd never make it through the next month and a half at school, since not one single person was willing to talk to me.
But then, in a flash, I realized that I was wrong.
Very wrong...
...because there was one person who would.
Why hadn't it occurred to me before?
Ms. Butcher.
That afternoon, she'd made a point of telling me how much she liked the show...
...which meant that she also liked me; after all, she'd chatted with me for twenty minutes...
...the only happy ones I'd ever spent at that awful school...
...and profoundly thankful that I actually did have an ally, I slumped the rest of the way forward in my chair. And, as I sat there, with my my left cheek resting directly against the desktop's cool wooden surface, I actually smiled.
This wasn't going to be so horrible after all.
Ms. B. liked me and she liked the show...
...and thrilled that I was finally going to have someone to talk to...
...and such a devoted fan at that...
...I suddenly decided that I wanted to do something for her, to show my appreciation...
...something huge.
But...what?
I lay there without moving, considering the problem...
...and, less than five minutes later, I had my answer.
Getting up from my desk, I crossed the room to the lowboy dresser on its opposite side and opened the second drawer from the top.
The one that contained my shirts.
If you've been watching iCarly for any length of time you'll remember that three months ago, Sam and I hosted a major contest on our website, called No More Nevel! We invited all of our fans to write in, sharing their most creative ideas for helping us to (permanently) get rid of our arch enemy, Nevel Papperman. Twelve winners were to be chosen and each would receive the same prize: A very Limited Edition iCarly T-shirt, with graphics designed by Sam (who's a really good artist).
At our request Socko's sister Penny had produced the twelve shirts for us; but after the contest ended and the winners had been announced, only eleven were mailed out.
The twelfth shirt was never claimed; and our repeated efforts to contact the final winner and get his address failed...
...and so, for nearly three months, it had remained on a shelf in the studio. Since I'd mentioned to Sam (more than once) how much I liked her artwork, she eventually insisted on giving the shirt to me, and I'd brought it along to Yakima, intending to wear it...
...but so far I hadn't had the chance.
And so, it now resided in my second dresser drawer, still wrapped in its original plastic, along with its certificate of authenticity. Fortunately, it was a size XL so it definitely would fit Ms. B., who has what you might call a 'sturdy build'.
I couldn't wait to give it to her the next day.
Tuesday morning, after three classes of being ignored (which I didn't mind, since I'd be chatting with Ms. B. that afternoon), I entered the cafeteria's dining room, lunch tray in hand, to find that it was even more crowded than usual; which actually was to my advantage...
...because when I sat down, my table mates had nowhere to move to, and were obliged to sit with me...
...even though they spent the entire hour with their eyes on their own trays. How childish, I thought, but soon understood their motives...
...when I glanced over in the direction of the 'cool' people's table and saw Tiffy glaring over toward my own.
As it turns out, Algebra class ran late that afternoon, so I had no chance to talk to Ms. B before gym; but that was okay...
...it could wait for an hour.
Since the boys were using the hockey field for soccer practice that afternoon, we ended up playing Dodge Ball indoors; and, well...you can imagine the rest.
While attempting to keep one eye on Tiffy (who delighted in slamming me from behind), I kept my other one on the gymnasium's clock, as I counted down each long, excruciating minute. Finally, the last bell rang...
...and, determined to thwart any new plans Tiffy might have for my clothes, I ran like a maniac to my locker. Pulling my backpack from it, I checked its contents carefully; relieved to see that she hadn't had a chance to ruin anything; and then, after refolding my shirt and jeans carefully, I put everything back inside it...with the iCarly T-shirt on top...
...and then, smiling widely with anticipation, I walked toward the office.
The door was closed.
Wondering whether Ms. Butcher was inside, I looked through window beside it, immediately catching her eye; and, with an apologetic smile, she pointed to the phone in her right hand and then held up two fingers. Realizing that this meant she'd be with me in a couple of minutes, I nodded agreeably; and, dropping my backpack at my feet, I leaned against the cinder block wall next to the door and closed my eyes...
...relieved to feel its cool surface mercifully taking some of the sting out of my badly-abused back. A minute later, at the sound of footsteps, I opened them again...
...to see Tiffy, who had already changed changed her clothes approaching. Heart sinking and fury rising, I instinctively leaned forward slightly and raised my arms a bit, thinking that she might try to swing her bulging backpack at my head, but she didn't.
Stopping a mere foot from where I stood, she looked me up and down.
"What's this, Carly?" she asked. "Back to suck some more lezzie ass?"
Don't you talk about Ms. B. that way!" I answered hotly.
Tiffy smiled indulgently.
"Aw, standing up for the dyke you love? Isn't that sweet," she replied. "But, what will Sam do when she finds out that you're fucking around behind her back...and with someone so much butcher than she is...Butcher...get it?" she added, while laughing at her own stupid joke.
And then, finally, I decided instead that it was way past time to 'set her straight'; and so, speaking with as much civility as possible, I began, "Look, Tiffy-"
"No," she immediately interrupted, "you look! I don't know what makes you think you're God's gift to this world...or this school, but you need to get over the delusion that you're so bloody superior to everyone!"
"What are you talking about?" I shot back. "Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am NOT not a snob. The real problem here, Tiffy, is that you're constantly projecting your own insecurities and low self-esteem onto me; and I know you have all of the students here in your back pocket...and maybe most of the teachers...but I have no interest in trying to compete with you anyway, so you can just-"
"That's a laugh! You couldn't possibly compete with...and you have no right to say something like about a teacher!" she answered loudly.
This unexpected change of direction...right in the middle of her sentence caught me off guard.
"Huh...like what?" I asked, having no idea what she was referring to.
Tiffy drew herself up to her full height, answering, "No matter who Ms. Butcher chooses to love, you have no right to say such hateful things! I'm getting tired of listening to you call her a sick, twisted freak, and a diesel dyke; and if it doesn't stop, then I'm going-"
Now honestly believing that she was crazy as well as evil, I answered, "Shut up, Tiffy! You know as well as I do that Ms. Butcher-"
And then, suddenly, I stopped speaking...
...because I realized what was happening...
...and, with my heart in my throat, I immediately spun around...
...to see Ms. B. standing behind me, just inside her doorway...
...staring at me in stunned disbelief.
And judging from her expression, it was obvious that she'd bought Tiffy's lie completely.
And then, I realized the implications of what I'd just said.
Oh.
My.
God.
Why hadn't I finished my last sentence? Why? If I had, Ms. B. would have realized that I was telling Tiffy that Ms. B. would never believe her lies...
...but instead, what I'd said sounded exactly like I'd been about to insult Ms. B...again.
"Ms. Butcher...it-it's not-" I began...
...but she immediately turned her gaze away from me...
...and over to my arch enemy.
"Yes, Tiffy, what can I do for you?" she asked...
...with an unmistakeable tremor in her voice; but one which I couldn't identify as either hurt or anger.
"With a hypocritical smile, Tiffy answered, "Well, Ms. Butcher, I'm here because I wanted to talk to you about something...actually a couple of things now," she added...
...while shooting a filthy look at me.
And then, ignoring the pleading look in my eyes...
...which begged her to at least listen my side of the story...
...Ms. B. nodded.
"Of course, Tiffy. Come on in."
"Mrs. B! Please just let-" was as far as I got...
...before she closed the door behind her...
...with Tiffy and herself on the other side of it.
Panicking wildly, I immediately turned and pressed my nose against the glass of the office window; to see Ms. B. was now seated behind her desk...
...looking grave and nodding occasionally...
...as Tiffy, while gesturing over toward the door frequently, did most of the talking...
...which was not good at all.
After about ten minutes, the little bitch stood up, unzipped her over-stuffed backpack, and then walked around to the other side of the desk, to where Ms. B. was sitting. She appeared to be taking something out of it, but since her body was blocking my view, I had no idea what was going on...
...or what Ms. Butcher's reaction to it was.
Finally, about five minutes later, I saw them both stand up and head out of the room so I abandoned my position by the window and stood facing the door...
...trembling in both fear and rage...
...waiting.
A moment later, Ms. B. opened it and then stood aside; and as Tiffy walked past me, it took every single shred of my resolve to refrain from sticking my foot out and sending her sprawling...
...right onto that smug, lying face of hers.
Noticing that I was still there...waiting...Ms. B hastily averted her eyes and swung the door shut...
...but I immediately jammed my foot inside it...
...and, while doing my best to ignore the blindingly-painful result of that action, I begged, "Please, Ms. Butcher...please just let me talk to you...just for a minute!"
Still not looking at me, she wavered for a moment...
...and then, without answering, she let go of the doorknob and walked back into her office...
...and, unsure if that was an invitation, but desperate to set things straight, I hurried inside after her.
As I approached her desk, where she was already seated...
...the first thing I noticed lying on its surface was the huge, open box of chocolate-covered pretzels...
...at least five pounds' worth...
...which most definitely had not been there before Tiffy had arrived...
...and which, obviously, had been a gift from that filthy, disgusting, ass-kissing hypocrite! And then , suddenly, I realized why Tiffy had come to Ms. B's office in the first place: She believed that I was about to rat her out for wrecking my clothes the day before, and was here to (pre-emptively) discredit me. However, I didn't have time to dwell on that; and so I sat down across from Ms. B...
...who was looking back at me, wearing a jarring combination of seriousness and thinly veiled hurt...
...and, despite having absolutely no idea how to even begin to resolve the problem, I plunged right in.
"Look, Ms. Butcher," I began, "I have no idea what horrible things Tiffy was saying about me in here, but-"
"Well, as it turns out, Carly," Ms. B. cut me off, "she was begging me not to report you."
This was completely unexpected...
...and aware that my entire body was now trembling...violently...I replied, "What! What do you mean by 'report me'?"
Still looking grave/defensive, Ms. B. answered, "She told me that, as despicable and ignorant as your behavior has been, that some people have the misfortune of growing up in intolerant households...with intolerant parents...and that this obviously was the case with you...so we should just feel sorry for you...and that I shouldn't go to the principal and report you, which would definitely lead to your expulsion...since Principal Anderson doesn't tolerate harassment...of either students or teachers."
"Wh-what? B-but I n-never-" I spluttered, unable to believe what I'd just heard. "Tiffy just...she has it in for me...she has since I started here...and now-"
"I'm sorry, Carly," she interrupted, "but I find that impossible to believe. All of the evidence is against you."
"Wh-what evidence?"
Ms. B. shook her head and sighed.
"Carly, if you hadn't said any of those things, then Tiffy wouldn't have spent the last ten minutes defending you," she replied. "Don't you see...if she 'had it in for you', then she'd be encouraging me to report you; and, since she was begging me not to, then I have no choice but to believe her instead of you."
"B-but, Ms. Butcher...I didn't say anything like that! I swear I didn't...I wouldn't!" I blurted out, ignoring the tears that were beginning to sting the corners of my eyes and threatening to roll down my cheeks...
...not only because Tiffy had lied so utterly...
...but also because I realized that there was only one way I could possibly prove it...
...so, taking a deep, shaky breath, I continued, "And the reason I w-would never say anything like that is b-because I'm...I'm-"
As my voice trailed off...
...Ms. B. sat looking at me...
...silently and expectantly...
...for nearly a minute...
...while I sat there struggling. Struggling to tell her what I'd never told anyone except for Sam...
...but, to my horror, I found that I couldn't.
Ms. B. was gay herself...so why couldn't I just say it? Was it because I was afraid that Tiffy might find out?
Why couldn't I just say it?
Why?
And then, Ms. B. decided that she had waited long enough...
...for me to try to come up with some lame excuse to cover up my 'lies'.
"Your bus is leaving in less than ten minutes," she announced...
...signifying that the subject was now officially closed.
"No...j-just let m-me-" I persisted...
...but Ms. B. just shook her head...
...while I sat there in shock.
After the friendly chat the two of us had had yesterday, how could she possibly believe Tiffy?
And why wouldn't she even listen to my side of things?
And, since she wouldn't, what could I possibly do to change her mind?
But then, suddenly (thank God), I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I needed to stop arguing...
...immediately...
...and to just give Ms. B. the shirt...
...and to then walk away without another word...
...and to give her time to think things over...
...because, after she had, she'd definitely realize that I wouldn't have bothered to bring her a rare, individually numbered shirt, Limited Edition iCarly T-shirt if I hated her for being gay.
Once she's had a chance to reflect, she'll know for a fact that I didn't say any of those things, and then Ms. B. and I can pick up our friendship where we left off, I thought; and feeling relieved, I got up from my chair and unzipped my backpack.
Walking around where Ms. B. was sitting I pulled the shirt from it and, without a word, I laid it directly in front of her on the desk. As I did, I saw her eyes widening; and I knew why...
...it was because she knew about the contest on iCarly...
...and exactly what that shirt represented...
...and, incredibly relieved, I walked toward the door.
Just as I opened it, I heard her say, in an odd voice, "Carly...wait."
And, turning around, I saw Ms. B. getting up from her desk and walking toward me...
...and eager to let her know that there were absolutely no hard feelings, I immediately extended my hand...
...to shake hers...
...but then, I gasped in shock...
...and, looking down, I saw that what was in it was not her own hand...
...but the iCarly T-shirt.
Looking up at her, unable to conceal the hurt in my eyes, I saw her looking back at me...
...equally hurt.
"You...you dropped something...over by my desk," she murmured sadly...
...and then, before I could think of any reply at all...
...she stepped back inside her office and closed the door.
Now livid that Tiffy had ruined my barely-begun friendship with Ms. B., I skipped taking the bus and instead walked...stormed...all the way home...
...stopping only to buy a new combination lock...
...one without master key hole in back.
When I stomped up the front drive, I heard the sound of the garden hose coming from the back yard...
...which was fine with me, because I was in no mood to deal with Grandad at the moment...
...or with anyone else for that matter.
Slamming my bedroom door, I flung my backpack onto the bed and began pacing rapidly and angrily...
...but stopped after only a minute or two, because my phone was ringing.
It was Sam.
"Hi Carls!" she began cheerfully, "Whatcha doin'?"
"Trying to decide which of these four walls to slam my fist through!"
"Aw, man," she groaned, "what's he doing to you now?"
"Not him...school!" I snarled...
...immediately regretting it...
...because I realized what was inevitable now:
A lengthy interrogation.
And, sure enough, after a relatively short stretch of silence on Sam's end of the line...
...I heard an unmistakeable sigh...
...and then, "Carls?"
"Uh, yeah?" I replied...
...cringing with dread.
"Let's have it," she replied.
"Let's have...what?" I asked...
...despite knowing full well what she was referring to.
"The truth."
"What do you mean?" I asked innocently, while frantically stalling for time.
"Come off it, Carls, you know as well as I do that there's something you're not telling me."
"But...uh..." I began.
"Carls," she interrupted, "Spill. Now."
In my best puzzled tone of voice, I asked, "What exactly are you referring to?"
She immediately replied, "Do I have to spell it out for you? Okay, fine. It's obvious that there's a lot more to this...'school thing' than meets the well...the ear; and I want to know exactly what's going on. What is it that has you so upset?"
"I'm sorry, Sam, but I...I can't tell y-"
"Come on, you know you want to," she replied...
...in an incredibly knowing voice.
Unfortunately, that girl can read me like a book.
"Well, yeah," I admitted, "I do...but I can't!"
"Why not?" she persisted.
How to answer that one?
"Because, you see, um, I...they-"
"Come on, Cupcake, tell me and I promise that everything will be oka-hey wait a minute!" she stopped abruptly before continuing (in a highly suspicious tone) "...is someone hurting you? If they are I'll fucking kill th-"
"See?" I interjected...loudly. "This is why I don't want to tell you!"
"Then someone is hurting you!" she answered, with unmistakeable fury rising in her voice. "Look, do you remember my Uncle Marco...the one who drives a taxi? Well, he owes me seventy bucks...and, instead of cash, I'm going to let him pay me back with a free, round trip ride to Yakima...and I can be there in a little less than four hou-"
"No!" I yelled. "You can't!"
"Why not?" she replied, sounding genuinely confused that I'd pass up a chance to let her defend me...
...and equally disappointed that I'd pass up a chance to spend time with her.
"Two words, Sam," I replied, "Summer School!"
"But-"
"No Sam!" I insisted. "I can't get into trouble...or our entire summer together will be ruined!"
Long stretch of silence.
"Well yeah, I...guess," she finally conceded...
...grudgingly...
...which was followed by an audible sigh.
After an additional minute's silence, she added, "Carls...just tell me...please."
"Do you promise not to-" I began.
"No," she admitted...
...and I answered...quickly (and loudly), "Then just forget about-"
"Okay, okay! I promise!" she agreed...
...sounding obviously reluctant...
...but, convinced that she'd keep her word, I began, "Well, it's like this. There's this uh, group of four girls in my class, you know, kind of a clique...and they-"
"And they won't let you join?" Sam cut in. "Since when have you ever cared about-"
"No, it's...it's not that," I added quickly. "It's more that they...they bully all the other kids into ignoring me completely. And now-"
"Screw them!" she replied...
...suddenly and loudly. "Screw them all! You're only going to be there for six weeks anyway, so why should you care if none of them will talk to you?"
"Well, because it's...it's worse than that." I paused for a moment...
...wondering how much I should tell her. After a long moment's deliberation, I continued, "You see, yesterday, someone...broke into my locker and ruined my clothes...with a permanent marker."
Immediately , I heard a rustling of papers and then Sam stating, "Okay, here's a pen. Names?"
"I am NOT naming names!" I declared. "Because I know that if I do, you'll-"
"Okay, okay!" she conceded. "Don't tell me who they are...but did you show your wrecked clothes to the teacher?"
"No...I would have, but I didn't notice until I got home."
"Well," she continued, suddenly sounding very business-like, "the first thing you need to do is to buy a new lock...one without a master key-"
"Already taken care of," I assured her...
...realizing as I did that I didn't dare tell her the rest of the story...
...about how they were also brutally physically abusing me...
...because if I did, she'd kill them all.
April 22nd:
On Wednesday, a bright spot (finally) appeared in the disaster-ravaged landscape of my life...
...when Spencer called, confirming that he'd finally received Dad's letter, granting me permission to spend the summer in Atlantic City.
"What a relief!" I paused for a moment. "But, Spencer, what something happens to it...like, what if your apartment building burns down? Or what if-"
"Will you stop being so paranoid?" he cut in. "Since I bring the casino nightclub sketches home with me every evening, and they're irreplaceable, the first thing I did when I began the project was to buy a fireproof box. Dad's letter is in there, too, so it's perfectly safe."
Two days later, another bright spot appeared on the horizon...
...well, three actually, because that's how many calls I received from prospective employers...
...each of them offering to schedule me for interviews as soon as I got to Atlantic City...
...and then, two days later I got four more...
...and gradually, I found that my hellish existence was becoming slightly more bearable. School still sucked of course...
...but, as much as Tiffy still hated me, she hadn't had the chance to viciously retaliate against me again...
...because her schedule wouldn't allow it. Fortunately, she had been designated as the head coordinator of Mulford's Junior Prom Committee, and therefore had other things on her mind...
...but not so many that she had forgotten that she still needed to 'keep me line'...
...and so the bitch continued, despite her hectic schedule, to keep a constant watchful eye on the entire student body...
...making absolutely sure that everyone kept their distance and that no one was making any attempt to befriend me...
...and, as expected, no one did. What I didn't understand, though, was how every single one of them could be so terrified of her...
...but, only a week later, I found out why.
One otherwise uneventful Tuesday afternoon, two girls farther down my gym locker line were having a conversation...
...and, upon hearing Tiffys name mentioned, I slid down the bench toward them, getting as close as possible without it being obvious that I was listening in...
...and, long story short, it turns out that during the past three years, Tiffy managed to get two teachers fired, seven students suspended, and three expelled. Apparently, this was done by setting them up...
...carefully and deliberately...
...and then having her three goons back her up, taking her side against her unsuspecting, undeserving victims...
...who she made sure to attack when they were alone, so there were no other witnesses.
And so, the days dragged on, but I continued to focus my attention...laser-like...on the light at the end of the tunnel...
...and eventually, one long, torturous day began to blur into another...
...until, mercifully, there were only two weeks left before the last day of school.
During those previous few weeks, Sam and I had both received a couple of additional responses and offers for interviews, and that Thursday evening she called me...
...because, having decided that we both wanted to work at the same place, it was time to begin narrowing down the list of possibilities.
"How about Dock Town Tavern?" she asked. "I looked it up on Gaggle maps, and it's only two blocks from Spencer's apartment."
At this suggestion, I glanced down at the two pieces of yellow legal paper lying side-by-side in front of me...
...one with her name at the top and one with mine...
...and locating Dock Town Tavern on both lists, I circled them.
"But then again," she continued, "Randall's Bakery pays about the same, and the lady who runs it told me that, at the end of every day, I can take any unsold donuts home with me!"
I smiled.
"You know, Sam...working in a bakery is a pretty tough gig. You'll have to wake up every morning by four a.m.," I pointed out.
"Crap!" she replied. "I never knew that!" She was silent for a moment. "You know though, it might not be so bad, because after the shift ends we can just walk two blocks to the beach and sleep there all day."
"Well...we'll see," I replied, adding, "Okay, I circled that one too. Hey, what about-oh, wait...it's my other line."
She told me to go ahead and answer it, and I switched over.
"Hey, Kiddo!" Spencer boomed. "I was going to call you tomorrow, but I'm going to be in and out of meetings all day, so I'm not sure when I'll be finished. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that, as soon as I do get home I'm going to call the airline and make arrangements for Sam's and your plane tickets, " he added...
...and my heart soared.
All in all, it turned out to be a pretty good evening; not only because Sam and I were able to talk for nearly an hour, but also because I knew that, thanks to an afternoon teacher's conference, there was only going to be a half day of school tomorrow.
What I hadn't counted on was that the massive thunderstorm we had that night would knock the power out temporarily while I slept...
...at around one am...
...setting my alarm clock display back to twelve midnight...
...and causing me to wake up late.
The instant I realized this, I flew out of bed. Fortunately, I had only overslept by half an hour...
...and so I could still make it on time if I took an incredibly fast shower, skipped breakfast, and ran like a homicidal, axe-wielding maniac for the school bus stop.
Ordinarily (aside from a long lecture on punctuality from Grandad), being late for school wouldn't have been that big of a deal; but lately, due an epidemic of tardiness (and apathy) on the part of Mulford's students, there had been a huge crackdown by the faculty; accompanied by stiff penalties...
...and, on that particular day, I was in no mood for wasting an entire free afternoon in detention.
And so, after taking the fastest shower in recorded history, I threw on clean clothes, grabbed my backpack, and tore out of my room and up the hallway...
...to find Grandad sitting at the kitchen table.
"I thought you'd already left," he observed as I flung an orange and a banana into my open backpack and grabbed a piece of toast from the pile on the table. Shaking my head, I stuffed the toast into my mouth and, after quickly checking my watch, I ran for the front door.
Just as I was hurling myself through it, Grandad spoke up.
"Carly...wait.
As I skidded to a halt and spun around to face him, he continued, "Have you seen the long scissors? The ones with the orange handles? They're not in the kitchen drawer, and there are a couple of articles in yesterday's paper that I want to cut out and save."
I quickly pulled my half-eaten toast out of my mouth.
"Yeah, they're on my desk...borrowed them yesterday...half day of school...I wish I didn't have to go in at all...see you around one-thirty...bye!" I replied, quickly shutting the door and tearing down the driveway.
I really need to learn to think before I speak.