ALL EYES WERE TRAINED ON ME. I HUGGED THE PILLOW TO my chest and dove in, with no clue where I was going to land.
"It was hard leaving my friends when I moved …" I let the last word linger for Kade's benefit. The common factor among all of us, as far as I could see, was that we were loners. I wanted Kade to know that at least for me, it was by circumstance only.
"Do you guys know Tiffany Miller?" I asked.
Groans and somber nods all the way around.
"She used to go to my old school, about an hour and a half from here. The only good thing about moving was leaving Tiffany behind. Except she followed me to Kennedy. Well, not really, but her family moved here right after mine. Pure nightmare coincidence." I cleared my throat. "It started when I was six, I think. She and her friends used to follow me home from school. They talked behind my back like I wasn't there, and it just got worse."
"How?" Nora asked.
"I had to wear this back brace in the seventh and eighth grades, and I could only take it off in—"
"Scoliosis," Nora said. "Three out of a hundred teens get it."
I rolled my eyes just a bit, but she caught it.
"I read too much," she admitted.
"I know where you're going with this," Zoe told me. "I had a feeling the girl was a loser."
"She called me Hunchback every day," I said.
"What did your parents do?" Nora asked.
I paused at the unexpected question. "I don't know. I didn't tell them."
If I had, they would have said something lame like, "Sticks and stones will break your bones, but names will never hurt you." When that didn't work—because it didn't—Mom would have set up a meeting with the teacher. After that, she'd call Tiffany's parents. Then the principal. Adults were hung up on bullying, but in the end, they usually made things worse. At least, my mother did. She could chop my social life to bits faster than a wood chipper.
Zoe patted me on the back, imitating the generic parent. "Don't worry, dear. Tiffany behaves that way because she's jealous of you."
"They forget how hard school is the second they graduate," Nora added.
Kade looked unimpressed. "What else did she do?"
I hesitated, afraid that if I gave more examples, it would only show that I was a coward, unable to stand up to Tiffany. I didn't want them to think of me as the victim type, whatever that was. Besides, reliving these memories was like pouring rubbing alcohol on a skinned knee. But Kade wanted to know more. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him.
"You can tell us anything, Charlotte." His fingers brushed against my knee, light as a fallen leaf.
I rooted through my memory for something more dramatic. "There was one time in fifth grade when Tiffany sent this boy a letter, begging him to be my boyfriend. She signed my name to it. The next day he told me he'd rather eat maggots than get near me."
Back then, I thought I'd never be able to face school again. But here, right now, it seemed like nothing more than an immature stunt. Not bad enough to qualify for lasting-humiliation status. Maybe it had been kid stuff. I probably should've let it go a long time ago.
My eyes drifted to Kade's hand, resting on my knee. He didn't want to hear kid stuff.
"Then this other time, she stole my sneakers out of my locker and rubbed them in dog crap. I threw them away and told my gym teacher I'd forgotten them. He made me pick up trash around the jogging track for the rest of the period."
Kade returned his hand to his lap. His face said, Come on, Charlotte, is that all you've got?
I glanced around. Everyone was waiting for the climax: my dark, untold secret. But what was it? The truth felt childish. I had to come up with something big, something that would make them feel sorry for me.
Kade's eyes skirted over Nora, who was staring into her cup, deep in thought about something other than my boring story. She was probably thinking about her tragic family. Workaholic parents, academic pressure, suicide—bigger stuff than my childhood teasing.
I wanted Kade's hand back on my knee. I took a breath and, like any good story, started with a seed of truth. "Tiffany and I were in orchestra together at my old school. She played clarinet, but only because she had the hots for this French horn player." Details make a story leap to life, my ninth-grade English teacher used to say. "Derek Logan," I tacked on. I hadn't known the guy's real name, but the made-up one popped into my head as if it had always been there. "We were at an audition for All-State Orchestra. I knew if I landed principal chair, my application to Barrymore would be a lot stronger."
Kade sighed, a little puff of air that urged me to get to the point quicker, whatever the point was. I closed my eyes, transporting myself back to the practice room, to the chaotic mix of scales leaking through the supposedly soundproof door.
"Right before my audition I got thirsty, so I looked for a vending machine. Tiffany was on the floor in the hallway, draped over the guy." All true. But still, uneasiness sat in my stomach at the detour coming up.
What really happened was that the boy's French horn had been lying on the floor, discarded, not even in its case. Tiffany was spelling out words on his palm with an insanely long fingernail. She'd glanced up and said, "Here comes our virginal viola player. I wonder what she uses that bow for?"
It was a stupid comment, and I'd stood there, searching my brain for a retort. Angry at my stalled thoughts. Why did she have to be in my space, my world, spoiling everything? She shouldn't have even been at All-State auditions; she couldn't pull more than a gurgle from her clarinet.
Then they called my name, which meant it was my turn to audition. Without saying anything, not a word of defense, I'd skidded down the hallway, back to the practice room to get my viola.
"And?" Kade asked. "What happened?"
They all leaned forward like flowers bent to the sunlight. Richie, with his arms squared on his knees; Nora, eyes drifting up like she was visualizing scenarios in her head—ones much worse than reality. Zoe, shaking her head as if Tiffany had already let her down. And Kade's almond-shaped eyes, gliding across all our faces, taking it in.
I wondered what they would think if they knew the truth; that my emotions had swirled through my head, then sunk like a boulder to my hands, making my vibrato heavy and unbalanced; that I couldn't latch on to a reliable rhythm; that the notes had come out sharp and flat and everywhere in between. All because Tiffany had glanced at me wrong.
I couldn't admit this to the League of Strays. I had to come up with something recruitment-worthy. Enticed by the captivation in their faces, I invented a different ending. "I was confident and prepared when I went into the audition, but a few measures in, my tuning pegs slipped. I asked if I could start over, but it kept happening. Again and again."
"I bet that was frustrating," Kade said, anticipation glimmering beneath a sympathetic look.
"It was," I agreed. "I couldn't stop the tears. Couldn't even see the sight-reading piece they put in front of me." I was surprised at how fast the lie grew. It started out as a quartet and ended up a full orchestra, kettledrums and all.
Something brushed against my shin. Kade's foot. A colossal heat wave barreled through my body. Courage welled up inside of me, pushing the words from my mouth. "The judges said they'd heard enough. The 'sorry' letter came in the mail a few weeks later. I hadn't even made the Dungeon … that's what they call the last row."
Zoe's hand slid across the floor, her pinkie tapping mine. An act of solidarity coming from her, of all people. She saw my double-take and laughed.
"What happened to your viola?" Nora asked.
"There was something sticky on my tuning pegs," I said. "Peach moisturizer." Peach moisturizer! It was the perfect detail. And so Tiffany. She was always pulling those sample-sized bottles out of her purse.
Richie paused, the implication sinking in. "Oh, man."
Nora pinched her nose. "Say no more. I can smell her a mile away."
Kade and Richie smiled at me, and I smiled back. Not because Nora was funny or empathetic, but because I'd survived my own lie.
"Tiffany Miller ruined my dreams," I added, wiping the sleeve of my shirt at a tear that wasn't there.
"That was cruel," Richie said, shaking his head. Nora and Zoe added grunts of disgust.
I felt pleased that my performance could inspire outrage. At the same time, I was stunned by my outrageous performance. The lie sat in my stomach like a clump of dough.
"Does she still bother you?" Richie asked.
"Not lately," I admitted. "I guess she's moved on to more important things."
Zoe snorted. "Like dyeing her hair twelve different shades of Clairol."
"Or making out with the entire lacrosse team behind the gym," Nora said.
Kade's hand was back. An inch higher this time. His fingers were beautiful, long and lean like a professional pianist's. "Someone should teach her a lesson," he said. "Show her how it feels to be humiliated, to have her dreams smashed to pieces."
Did this mean he finally understood that they were, in fact, my dreams? I smiled at the small victory, but Kade read my reaction differently. "That would feel good, wouldn't it, Charlotte?"
The funny thing about Kade was that most of his questions came out like facts. Before I could think more on this, his hand crept a little higher.
I flipped the pillow onto Zoe's lap.
