Ready or Not

13

Theresa had to drive us to school the next day, because there were so many reporters outside the house, my parents wouldn’t let us take the bus.

Which was probably just as well, since, judging by the kinds of questions the reporters were shouting (“Sam! Were you and David ever intimate in the Lincoln Bedroom?”), the kids on the bus weren’t exactly going to be super understanding of the situation, if you know what I mean.

Theresa, of course, was blaming herself.

“I should have known,” she kept saying. “All those times he came over, and you told me you were studying. Studying. HA!”

“Theresa,” I said. “David and I really were studying all those times he came over.”

But it was like she wasn’t even listening.

“What kind of example are you setting for your baby sister?” Theresa wanted to know. “What kind?”

“For God’s sake,” Rebecca said disgustedly. “I’ve got an IQ of one seventy. I know all about sex. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen Showtime After Dark.”

“Santa María!” Theresa said, to this.

“Whatever,” Rebecca said. “It comes on right after National Geographic Explorer.”

“I don’t want to hear any more about it,” Theresa said darkly, as we pulled up in front of the school and saw Kris Parks there, holding court by the Adams Prep Minutemen sign. “You girls meet me here when school is out. And no skipping class to have sex!”

“For God’s sake, Theresa,” I said. “I’m not a nympho.”

“Just making sure,” Theresa said. Then she drove away.

As long as it isn’t raining, people usually hang around outside on the steps of Adams Prep before the first bell, talking about whatever was on TV the night before, or who’s wearing what. Generally, if you aren’t meeting someone on the steps leading to the school, you have to shove your way through the crowd to get up them.

Not today, though. Today, the crowd parted as if by magic to let Lucy and me through. As we trudged up them, clutching our books to our chests, conversations ceased, and voices fell silent, as everyone stared….

Stared at the freak and her sister.

“This,” I whispered to Lucy, as we made our way inside school, “totally sucks.”

“What are you talking about?” she wanted to know. I saw her looking around the hall and knew she wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to what was happening around us. She was just looking for Harold.

“This,” I said. “Everybody thinks David and I Did It.”

“Well,” Lucy said, “aren’t you going to anyway?”

“Not necessarily,” I said, through gritted teeth.

Finally, Lucy glanced my way. “Really? I thought you’d decided to.”

“I haven’t decided anything,” I said vehemently. “Everybody ELSE seems to have decided for me.”

“Well,” Lucy said, suddenly seeming to spy someone in the crowd she needed to speak to. “Good luck with that. See you.”

Then she bolted…straight toward Harold, who was just coming out of the computer lab, his head buried in a copy of a book called Algorithms for Automatic Dynamic Memory Management.

The last book Lucy had left lying around in the bathroom had been called She Went All the Way. It was kind of hard to believe these two were a match made in heaven.

Sighing, I went to my locker and fumbled with the combo, aware of how all around me, the usual cacophony (SAT word meaning “a combination of discordant sounds”) of the hallway had hushed as people dropped their voices to talk about me as they walked by. Eyes narrowed to heavily mascaraed slits as cliques of girls moved past me, and folders were raised over people’s mouths as they whispered about me to one another. I could feel a million gazes boring into my back as I twisted the dial on my combination lock.

Why hadn’t I faked sick today? How could I have forgotten that, fond as the American public might be of me on account of saving the president and dating his son, my fellow students at Adams Prep have never liked me all that much….

And now they have a brand-new reason to despise me.

And could I blame them? I mean, what had I done last night, really, except make their school look like a joke by announcing on TV that I’m no different than any of the public school kids they spend so much time looking down on?

God, it’s no wonder none of them was speaking to me…that they were all whispering about me instead….

“So. Were you ever going to tell me?”

I jumped, startled by the soft voice, and whipped my head around to find myself staring into the soft brown eyes of Catherine.

“Catherine,” I said. “Oh my God. Hi.”

“Well?” Catherine’s eyebrows were raised. “WERE you?”

“Was I what?”

“Ever going to tell me,” she said. “About you and David. YOU know.”

I felt my cheeks heating up redder than ever.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I said. “Honest, Catherine. That whole thing last night—David and I have never—I mean, it was all a big misunderstanding.”

Was it my imagination, or did Catherine’s face fall a little?

“You didn’t?” she said, sounding disappointed.

“No,” I said. “I mean, well…not yet. I mean—” I broke off and stared at her. “Would you have wanted me to tell you? If we had, I mean?”

Catherine’s eyes grew wide. “OF COURSE I would,” she said. “Why WOULDN’T I?”

“Because,” I said. “You know. On account of me having a boyfriend, and you—not having one anymore.”

“I don’t care about that,” Catherine said, looking hurt. “You should know that. I mean, come on. Dish the dirt. Let me live vicariously!”

She was teasing me. I couldn’t believe it. Catherine was teasing me.

I had never been so happy to be teased in my life.

“I wanted to tell you,” I said. “I mean, that David and I were…you know. Talking about it. But I just felt like it might be…I don’t know. Like I was bragging.”

“BRAGGING?” Catherine grinned. “Are you kidding? You’re like Amelia Earhart, Sam.”

I stared at her. “I am?”

“Yeah. You’re blazing a trail for nerdy girls everywhere. You have to tell us all about it. Otherwise, how else are we going to know what to do when it’s our turn?” She snaked an arm through mine and said, “Now, start from the beginning. When did you first know he wanted to? How did he bring it up? Have you seen his you-know-what yet? And was it bigger than that Terry guy’s?”

I laughed. And was surprised to hear myself doing so. I’d pretty much been convinced since last night that I’d never laugh again. Because who would be there to make me laugh, if no one was speaking to me?

I’d forgotten about my best friend, though…and in a way she, I knew, would never have forgotten about me.

“I’ll tell you everything,” I said, “at lunch. Not that there’s a lot. To tell, I mean.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I said. And slammed my locker closed.

“So,” Catherine said, as the first period bell rang. “See you at lunch.”

“See you then,” I said. Then added, to myself, If I make it that long.

Because I really wasn’t sure I would. Make it until lunch, I mean. I am used to people poking fun at me on account of my clothes and hair. I mean, you don’t go around dressed all in black in a sea of Izod and plaid without attracting comment, you know?

But this. This was different. People weren’t calling me a freak or asking me what time the rave was. They were just…ignoring me. Really. Looking right past me, as if I weren’t even there.

Only I knew they’d seen me, because the moment they thought I was out of earshot, I heard them whispering to their friends. Or, worse…laughing.

The teachers, at least, tried to make out like it was just another normal day at Adams Prep. They went on teaching as if completely unaware that the night before, one of their students had announced on television that she’d said yes to sex. In German, Frau Rider even called on me once…not that I’d raised my hand. Thankfully, I knew to say “Ist geblieben” to her “Bleiben bliebt, und denn, Sam?”

But still. It could have gotten ugly.

And then, at lunch, it did.

I was standing in the lunch line with Catherine, pointedly ignoring all the people walking past us with a smirk—or, worse, a fit of the giggles—when Kris Parks and her gang showed up.

“Right Wayers,” Catherine murmured, tugging on my sleeve. “Heading toward us. Four o’clock.”

I felt my back stiffen. Kris wouldn’t dare say anything to me. I mean, sure, girls like Debra, who are basically defenseless, she’ll rip into without a second thought.

But someone like me? No way. She wouldn’t dare.

She dared.

Oh, she dared, all right.

“Ssssslut,” Kris hissed as she and her fellow zealots passed by.

I had endured a lot already that day. The whispering. The snickers. The voices falling suddenly silent in the ladies’ room the minute I walked in.

I had taken a lot. I had taken more than a lot.

But this?

This was just one thing too much.

I stepped out of the lunch line, and directly into Kris’s path as she walked by.

“What did you just call me?” I asked her, my chin exactly level with hers.

There was no way Kris would ever say something like that, I knew, to my face. She was too big a coward. Not that I supposed she thought I’d hit her. I’ve never hit anyone in my life—well, except for Lucy, of course, when we were little. Oh, and that guy who’d been trying to shoot the president. But I hadn’t hit him so much as jumped on him.

Still, Kris couldn’t imagine I was going to hit her.

But she had to imagine I was going to do something to her.

If so, however, it apparently didn’t bother her enough to keep her from folding her arms across her chest and, leaning on one hip, saying, “I called you a slut. Which is what you are.”

Amazingly, loud as the Adams Prep cafeteria usually was, at that particular moment, you could have heard a pin drop. Just my luck that every single person in there chose that moment not to speak. Or rattle a fork. Or chew.

Or breathe.

That’s because—as I should have realized—every single person in there had noticed Kris and her posse coming toward me. Every single person in there knew there was about to be a smackdown. Every eye in the place was on me and Kris. Everyone in the vicinity had drawn in a breath when Kris called me a slut—“Oh, no, she di-n’t!”—and was waiting for my answer.

Except that I had none. I really and truly had none. I had expected Kris to back down. I hadn’t thought that, knowing she had such a large audience, she’d actually say it again.

I could feel heat rising up from my chest, along my neck, and into my cheeks, until I was sure that the blush suffusing (SAT word meaning “to fill or cover”) my face was visible all along my scalp as well. Kris Parks had called me a slut. TWICE. TO MY FACE.

I had to say something. I couldn’t just stand there in front of her. In front of everyone.

I was sucking in my breath to say something—I don’t even know what—when Catherine, next to me, went, “For your information, Kris, it was all a misunderstanding. Sam has never—”

But even as the words were coming out of her mouth, I knew—I just knew—that the truth didn’t matter. Whether I’d ever had sex or not was so not the point.

And it was time to let Kris know it.

So I went, completely interrupting Catherine, “What gives you the right to call people names, Kris?”

Which is possibly one of the lamer comebacks in history. But hey, it was all I had.

“I’ll tell you what gives me the right,” Kris said, making sure she was projecting (SAT word meaning “to throw or cast forward”) her voice strongly enough so that the entire caf could hear her. “You went on national television and not only made a mockery of the president and the American family, but you also made a laughingstock of this school. This may come as a surprise to you, but there are people here who don’t want to be associated with a school that allows people like you to attend it. How is it going to look now on our college applications when admissions officers see that we attended Adams Prep? What do you think they’re going to associate our school with from now on? High academic achievement? Superior sports performance? No. They’re going to see the name Adams Prep and go, ‘Oh, that’s the school that skank Sam Madison went to.’ If you had any respect for us or this school, you would drop out now, and let the rest of us try to salvage what reputation we can for this place.”

I stared at her, hoping she wouldn’t notice the tears that filled my eyes. Which were, I told myself, tears of anger.

“Is that true?” I asked. Not Kris. But the rest of the cafeteria. I turned and looked out at all of the faces staring back at me. They all looked carefully blank.

Was this what the first lady had been talking about last night? Was this teen apathy at work?

“Is this really how you all feel?” I demanded of those blank faces. “That I’ve ruined the school’s reputation? Or is that just how KRIS PARKS feels?” I whipped my head around to glare at Kris. “Because if you ask me, Adams Prep’s reputation was never that great to begin with. Oh, sure, everyone thinks it’s a great school. I mean, it’s one of the best ranked schools in D.C., right? But that’s the problem. Adams Prep ISN’T a great school. Maybe academically it is. But it’s filled with people who mock you if you wear anything that isn’t J. Crew or Abercrombie. People who don’t hesitate to call you a slut to your face, whether you are one, or not.”

I turned to face the rest of the cafeteria, my voice having risen to an almost hysterical pitch. But I didn’t care.

I just didn’t care anymore.

“Is this really how you all feel?” I demanded. “That I should drop out? Do you really all agree with KRIS?”

For a second there was silence. No one moved. No one said anything.

No one except Kris, I mean. She tossed her head, and, looking out across the sea of faces, asked, “Well?”

Kris, you could tell, was enjoying herself. She’s always liked being the center of attention, but she doesn’t have the talent it takes to get roles in any of the school’s plays or musicals. Calling someone a slut in front of the entire school is the only way she can think of to get the kind of attention she craves…well, that, and lording it over everyone on the student council.

When no one replied, Kris looked back at me and said, “Well, the masses have spoken. Or, NOT spoken, as the case may be. What are you doing, just standing there? Get out. Sluts aren’t wanted here.”

“Then I guess you’d better find another school to go to, too, shouldn’t you, Kris?”

That wasn’t me. I wasn’t the one who’d said that. I wish I was the one who’d said that.

But it was someone else. Someone who wasn’t me or Catherine, who, by the way, was still standing there, openmouthed, in the lunch line, her dark eyes as wide and horror-filled as my own.

No. The person who’d said that, about Kris finding another school to go to as well? That was none other than my sister Lucy, who’d scooted her chair back from the lunch table where she’d been sitting with her friends. Now she came sauntering toward Kris, a slight smile on her pretty face.

Though what Lucy could possibly have found to smile about, considering the situation, I couldn’t imagine.

Neither, apparently, could Kris.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lucy,” Kris said to my sister in a voice that was considerably less snotty than the one she’d used when talking to me. Also, much higher-pitched. “This doesn’t concern you, anyway. Everyone likes you, Lucy. This is about your sister.”

“But that’s just the problem, Kris,” Lucy said. “Anything that concerns my sister IS about me.”

As she said this, Lucy walked over to me and flung an arm around my neck. I suppose she meant the gesture to be chummy, but the truth is, she was actually strangling me a little, she was holding on so tight.

“And, by the way,” Lucy added, “you’re a liar, Kris.”

Kris glanced over her shoulder at her gang, who all looked confusedly back at her as if to say, We don’t know what she’s talking about, either.

“Um,” Kris said. “Excuse me, Lucy? I think we were all watching last night when your sister informed the entire world that she just said yes to sex.”

“I didn’t mean you were lying about that,” Lucy said. “I mean wasn’t that you I saw in the school parking lot last night in the back of Random Alvarez’s limo?”

Kris stiffened as if Lucy had hit her.

And I guess, in a way, Lucy had.

“I…” Kris looked nervously back toward her gang. But they were blinking back at her, as if to say, Wait…WHAT did she say? Now THIS is dishy.

Kris turned quickly back to Lucy. “No. I mean, yes…I mean, I was in his limo. But we weren’t DOING anything. I mean, he just wanted to show me this demo he’d cut. He asked me to watch his demo—”

“And I guess,” Lucy said, “you just said yes.”

“Yes,” Kris said. Then, she started shaking her head, realizing what she’d just said. “I mean, no. I mean—”

Suddenly, it was Kris who was blushing all the way to her hairline.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kris said, too fast. “It’s not. It was perfectly innocent.” She looked back at her fellow Right Wayers. “Random and I just talked. He really likes me. He’s probably going to take me to the Video Music Awards…in New York City….”

But no one believed her. You could tell no one believed her, not even her fellow Right Wayers. Because everyone had seen how she’d been flirting with him. Random, I mean.

“The thing is, Kris,” Lucy said, still keeping her supposedly affectionate chokehold on me, “you have to be careful who you call a slut. Because the truth is, there are a lot more of us than there are of”—she looked pointedly at Kris’s gang, and not at Kris—“you guys.”

Kris stammered, “B-but…I didn’t mean you, Luce. I would never…I mean, no one would ever call YOU a slut.”

“Let’s get something straight, Kris,” Lucy said. “If you’re gonna call my sister a slut, then you’d better be prepared to call me one, too. Because if Sam’s a slut, Kris? Then…so…am…I.”

There was a collective intake of breath at this, as if everyone in the cafeteria suddenly gasped at the same time. My eyes, meanwhile, had filled with tears all over again. I couldn’t believe it. Lucy was putting her reputation on the line for me. ME.

It was the nicest thing she’d ever done for me. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

Until somewhere in the cafeteria, a chair was knocked over. Then a booming male voice called out, “So am I.”

And, to my total astonishment, Harold Minsky strode up to us, his shoulders thrown back beneath his Hawaiian shirt.

Lucy’s expression melted into one of utter devotion—tinged with astonishment—as she gazed up at her tutor, standing so tall and geeky beside her.

“If they’re sluts,” Harold said defiantly, pointing at Lucy and me, “then I’m a slut, too.”

“Oh, Harold,” Lucy said, in a voice I had never heard her use before—certainly never with Jack.

Harold’s face was turning as red as the flowers on his shirt. But he didn’t back down.

“Slut solidarity,” he said with a nod to us.

Which was when Catherine suddenly stepped out of the lunch line, and, coming up behind Lucy, Harold, and me, went, “ME, TOO,” in the loudest voice I’d ever heard her use.

Oh my God! I craned my neck to try to see Catherine’s face, but it was hard, considering Lucy’s stranglehold on me. What was going on here?

“Cath,” I whispered, “you aren’t a slut. Stay out of this.”

But Catherine just said, loudly enough for everyone in the cafeteria to hear, “If Sam and Lucy Madison are sluts, then so am I.”

People buzzed at this. Catherine, a slut? Her parents didn’t even allow her to wear pants to school.

Kris knew she was in trouble now. I could tell by the way her gaze was darting from us and back to all the people in the rest of the caf, who were still watching, as transfixed as if Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul were going at it right in front of them.

“Um,” Kris said. “Listen. I—”

But her voice was drowned out as all over the cafeteria, chair legs scraped the floor. Suddenly, the students of John Adams Preparatory Academy were all standing up…

And declaring themselves sluts.

“I’m a slut, too,” cried Mackenzie Craig, bespectacled president of the Chess Club…who had never even been out on a date.

“I’m a slut,” shouted Tom Edelbaum, who’d played the lead in the Drama Club’s version of Godspell.

“I’m the biggest slut of all,” said Jeff Rothberg, Debra Mullins’s boyfriend, his fists balled at his sides, as if he were willing to fight anybody who’d dare dispute his slutty status.

“We’re all sluts,” the entire Adams Prep track team jumped up gleefully to announce.

Soon every single person in the cafeteria—with the exception of Kris and her fellow members of Right Way—was on his or her feet, declaring, “I’m a slut!”

It was a beautiful thing.

By the time Principal Jamieson got down there, we were all chanting it: “I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m a slut.”

It took the football coach to get everyone to quiet down. Principal Jamieson had to get him to blow on his athletic whistle—the one he’d taken the ball out of—long and hard, since no one had responded to the principal’s shouted requests that we Please settle down. Please, people, just settle down!

No one could keep chanting through the piercing shriek of Coach Long’s whistle, though. We had to clap our hands over our ears, it was so loud.

All too soon, slut solidarity was over.

“What,” Principal Jamieson asked, when the chanting had stopped, and everyone had turned back to their food, almost as if nothing had happened, “is going on here?”

“She called my sister a slut,” Lucy said, pointing at Kris.

“I…I didn’t!” Kris’s blue eyes were wide. “I mean, I did, but…I mean, she deserves it! After what she did last night—”

“She calls me a slut every chance she gets,” Debra Mullins volunteered from the back of the room. “And I didn’t do anything last night.”

“Isn’t it a violation of the John Adams Preparatory Academy’s student conduct code to make pejorative remarks concerning someone’s sexual orientation and/or alleged activities, Principal Jamieson?” Harold Minsky asked.

Principal Jamieson looked at Kris and her little group. “Indeed,” he said sternly. “It is.”

“Dr. Jamieson,” Kris said faintly, “this was all just a big misunderstanding. I can explain—”

“I look forward to hearing your explanation,” Principal Jamieson said. “In my office. Right now.”

Looking chagrined (SAT word meaning “feeling uneasy or shamefaced”), Kris followed Principal Jamieson from the cafeteria.

I noticed that her little group of followers stayed behind, almost looking as if they were trying to appear not to know her.

So much for the part on Kris’s college admissions apps about her leadership abilities.

Watching her leave, I felt like crying. Not because Kris Parks had been so mean to me, trying to humiliate me in front of the entire school—like I hadn’t adequately proved I was capable of doing that all on my own, without anybody else’s help.

No, I felt like crying because I realized how lucky I am. I mean, to have a sister like Lucy, and a friend like Catherine…not to mention so many people I hadn’t even known were my friends, like Harold Minsky. I stood there beside them, my eyes filled with tears, going, “You guys. You guys, that was just so…so sweet of you. I mean, to say that you’re sluts…just for me.”

“Aw,” Catherine said, patting my hand. “I’d call myself a slut for you any time, Sam. You know that.”

Lucy and Harold weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to my heartfelt thank you, however. Instead, Lucy had taken Harold’s arm, and was going, “Thanks for saying you were a slut for me, Harold.”

Harold’s face turned even redder than the flowers on his shirt as he replied, “Well, you know. I just can’t stand idly by while a social injustice is being committed. I didn’t know before that you…well, that you were such an insurgent.” (SAT word meaning “rising in opposition to civil or political authority, or against an established government.”) “I always thought you were a bit of a…well, a follower. I guess I really underestimated you.”

“Oh, I’m a TOTAL insurgent,” Lucy said, giving his arm a squeeze. “I never get sick at the sight of blood.”

Oh, well. Close enough, anyway.

“Listen, Harold,” Lucy went on, “I know you couldn’t make it last weekend, but do you want to go to the movies with me this weekend?”

“Lucy,” Harold said, his voice sounding higher-pitched than usual—either because he was embarrassed, or because Lucy was kind of rubbing her boob against his arm…although I can’t say for sure she was doing it on purpose. “I really don’t think…I mean, I think we should try to keep our relationship on a, um, professional level.”

Lucy dropped his arm as if it had suddenly caught on fire.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly sounding as if she might start crying. “I see. Okay.”

“It’s just,” Harold said, sounding uncomfortable, “you know. Your parents. They hired me to tutor you. I don’t think it would be right, you know, for us to see each other socially.”

Lucy appeared crushed. Until Harold added, “At least, not until after you’ve retaken the test.”

Lucy glanced up at him, looking as if she hardly dared to believe what she was hearing. “You mean…you mean after I retake the SATs, you’ll go out with me?”

“If you want,” Harold said, in a tone which indicated that he couldn’t imagine that, in a million years, she’d still want to. Go out with him, I mean.

Which just proved that Harold? He didn’t know my sister Lucy all that well yet.

But I had a feeling, judging from the way Lucy’s eyes were shining as she grabbed hold of his arm again, that he was going to get to know her really well.

“Harold,” Lucy said, taking his arm again, “I can promise you two things.”

Harold stared down at her, like a man in a dream. Then a grin broke out across the face that was as bright as sunrise over the Potomac (not that I’ve ever seen this, because who gets up that early?) and he said, “One: I’ll always look this good.”

Lucy grinned right back up at him. “Two: I’ll never give up on you. Ever.”

Wait a minute. That sounded kind of familiar…. Hellboy. They were quoting from Hellboy.

This, I could see, was a relationship that was going to last a long, long time.

“Well,” Debra said, “that was cool. See you guys.” Then she wandered over to where Jeff Rothberg was sitting, straddled him, and stuck her tongue in his mouth.

And I knew then that Adams Prep had gone back to normal.

Only this time, in a good way.

“Did you really see Kris Parks in Random Alvarez’s limo?” I asked Lucy, after the bell rang, and we were making our way back to class. “Or were you just guessing about that?”

She was still sort of dazed with happiness over the whole Harold thing, so it was hard to get her to focus. But after I punched her in the arm a few times, she came to. “Ow. You didn’t have to HIT me. Of course I really saw her in the limo. Do you think I would lie about something like that?”

“Actually,” I said, “for me? Yeah. I think you would. Because Random’s limo had tinted windows. There was no way you could have seen anyone sitting inside it.”

“You know what, Sam,” Lucy said, the tiniest of grins flickering across her lips, “you better duck into the girls’ room and do something about your hair. It’s totally pooching out in the back again, and it looks really stupid. See you after school.”

And she disappeared down the hall, her pleated mini swaying as she walked.

And I realized I would probably never, ever know the real truth.

And I also realized that actually? It really didn’t matter.