Part 4: Monday Evening

15. Elizabeth

“MEALTIME!”

My father must have returned home while I was studying. I plodded down the stairs to the dinner table, where Vicky and my parents were already sitting. The macaroni and cheese, which was the shade of orange associated with signs in construction zones, was accompanied by what looked like previously overfrozen mixed vegetables. If I had retained any appetite following the day’s events, the sight of the evening meal would have killed it.

I scooped portions out of the serving bowls, then moved them around my plate with a fork.

My mother asked, “How was everyone’s day?”

“Just another day down the drain.” My father the plumber always has to use that line. It’s a living, but not one whose details are fit for the dinner table. That didn’t stop him from describing a massive greaseball.

Vicky had a request. “Melitta asked if she could sleep over this Saturday.”

My mother shrugged. “I don’t see any reason why not. Nobody has anything planned for Saturday night. Elizabeth?”

“I’m not in the mood to talk right now.” I paused for a few seconds. “Could one of you please take me to Sam Brown’s house for dinner at six tomorrow evening?”

Vicky responded before my parents could. “I need a ride to the airport this Friday. The Queen of England asked me to have tea with her.”

I glared at her. “Victoria,” I growled

“Isn’t Sam the head cheerleader or something? What would she want with a freak like you?”

“That’s no way to talk to your sister.” Thank you, Mom. “So why would she ask you over?”

“We have to work together on a history presentation.”

“I knew it had to be something like that. Why would someone popular meet her if they didn’t have to?”

“Victoria!”

“Elizabeth, be nice to your sister.”

“Dad, she doesn’t have to rub it in.” I nibbled at the food. “Vicky, how would you like to discuss your day?”

“It was fine. We did some word problems in pre-algebra, looked at some European maps in geography, played some soccer in the gym. I’d rather discuss Elizabeth’s day. I heard she was naked the whole time.”

“Victoria, I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

My father wondered, “Is this about the Program?”

“Yes, it is. I did not enjoy being surprised by the news. I was not pleased by having my body placed on public display for hours upon end.”

“Ask her if any of the other students were pleased.”

“Vicky, that’s enough.”

I didn’t want my mother to dig deeper, but she did. “Did the Program help you open up?”

I moaned, “Mom...”

“We’ve had concerns about your being isolated.”

“So you’re trying to fix me.”

“You don’t talk to that many people.”

“There’s Dorothy. I was at her house Saturday afternoon.”

Vicky didn’t have to make a comment, but that has rarely stopped her before. “Isn’t she the lady from the historical society who’s, like, one hundred years old or something?”

I enunciated, “She’s only eighty-four.” This had to be pure malice on Vicky’s part. Her smile was a little too broad.

“Lizzie, isn’t there anyone closer to your age?” There’s only one person who calls me that, and she’s having a lot of fun at my expense. “I mean, your real age, since you act like you’re eighty-four.”

“Madoka’s eighteen.”

My father tried to identify her. “She’s that cellist who lives in Tokyo, right?”

“She hopes to study in Tokyo. Right now, she’s living in Osaka.”

Vicky went, “Tokyo, Osaka, what’s the difference?” I didn’t know whether she deliberately mispronounced Osaka. “It’s all Japan.”

“Elizabeth, your father and I don’t feel that an internet-only relationship is much of a relationship.”

“What about Vicky and Emma Heath?” Emma moved to Florida two years ago, but the two still keep in touch.

“That’s different. They knew each other beforehand, they talk on the phone, and Vicky has friends here.”

“I know, Mom. However, it seems like you’re saying something’s wrong with me, and, if I would only change, I would have more friends. I know I’m not normal-”

“Can I quote you in the future?”

“Victoria, you may not. As I was saying, I’m not normal, but that does not imply that I am defective. People my age may not be at my intellectual level, but I don’t know how to reduce mine to theirs, and I don’t want to do it, anyway. It’s also difficult to converse with seniors at school. Would you feel comfortable if Vicky were to associate with sophomores?”

“Not really,” answered my father. “We’d be afraid they might take advantage of her.”

“But you’re different,” added Mom. “Most of your classes are with seniors.”

“That reminds me. May I eat dinner at Sam’s tomorrow before we work on our history presentation?”

My mother replied, “I suppose so.”

“Now. back to the Program. You said being in it would help me. How would you feel if Vicky were in the Program?”

They paused, and Vicky took advantage of the silence. “At least I can wear a bikini at the beach. You wouldn’t even go down to the sand that one vacation.”

“The beach is both crowded and boring.”

“I don’t think I would feel comfortable with Vicky in the Program,” Mom replied.

“Why, then, are you comfortable with my being in it?”

Dad came up with an answer. “She’s boy-crazy, and you’re, well, not. I don’t know what kind of trouble she’d get in.”

“It’s not like you’re concerned with your appearance. I keep suggesting an appointment at the beauty salon, but you never want to go. You’ve got to grow up sometime.”

“I am concerned with my appearance, Mom. Someone once said Theodore Dreiser looked like an unmade bed.”

My father asked, “Who’s he?”

“He wrote Sister Carrie. As I was saying, I don’t look like an unmade bed. Furthermore, I feel as though I’m the victim of a double standard.”

“How?”

“You keep asking Vicky whether she’d jump off a bridge if other girls were doing it. Now I feel you’re pressuring me into doing things simply because other girls do it. I could point out that many Wodaabe men wear makeup to attract women, but that doesn’t mean Dad should use mascara.”

“He’d better not try to attract other women.”

“We’re just worried about your slow development. Your life is unbalanced.”

“I feel as though people are attempting to turn me into something I’m not. Vicky flutters like the social butterfly she is, while I’m introverted. A large party may energize her, but it enervates me.”

Vicky wasn’t following this. “Enervate?”

“It means to weaken physically and emotionally. May I offer a hypothetical, Dad? Would you try to push Vicky into doing sophomore-level academic work?”

“No. It’s hard enough getting her to do schoolwork now. She’s fine where she is.”

“Why doesn’t Vicky need to change? Society is set up to accommodate someone like her, but doesn’t handle someone like me readily. The number of fourteen-year-olds at my intellectual level is so small that it’s impossible to determine the definition of normal for people like me. Now, would I be better off if I were making straight A’s in ninth-grade courses?

“Of course not.”

“No.”

“Then why defend the Program on the grounds that it would make me more normal when you can’t know what that normal would be?”

Silence. They don’t feel comfortable enough to speak about sex for the Program’s “get you more comfortable with your sexuality” defense. Besides, I doubt most of my classmates are comfortable with me. The seniors aren’t asking to touch me, and I know this has little to do with sexual orientation. Imagine how parents would react to this: “I’m dating a ninth-grader who’s three years younger than I am.”

“Mom, Dad, I just want some time alone. I may want to talk with you about this, but I don’t want Vicky around to derail the conversation.”

“Rats. That seems like it would be so much fun.”

“I need to relax now. I’m going up to my room, and I don’t want anyone to bother me during the next thirty minutes unless there’s an emergency. Do you understand?”

They understood.

16. Sam

The aroma of chili and cornbread excited me as I opened the door. Because they knew I’d be late, my parents had been considerate enough to prepare something special tonight.

“Thanks, you two.”

My mother asked, “You said the squad needed you because of an emergency?”

“Remember Heather Fitzwater? She broke her toe in class today, so someone had to fill in for her. We beat Fiddlehead Valley this time.” I sampled the chili, then added more hot sauce to it.

Mom said, “That had to hurt,” while adding meat to her bowl.

“The Naked in School Program started today. I’m in it.”

“How are you handling it?” Pop asked. He added some meat to his bowl, too.

“I haven’t had problems myself. At least I don’t think I have problems. Bert, on the other hand...”

“Is he naked, too?”

“He was supposed to be, Mom. But he had the injury and all of the support gear kept him from stripping, so Mr. Fontaine decided to delay his participation for a few weeks. He’s been getting ignored, while boys line up to grope me.”

My father’s face fell. “Grope?” Mom just buttered her cornbread.

“They have to ask to touch me first, and I’ve been letting them do it. Several other schools make participants submit to any and all touches, and I wouldn’t like that. Here, I’m not submitting, I’m accepting, and it felt so pleasurable, I wonder if I’m oversexed.”

“The Program is designed to stimulate you. If Bert were in it, he’d be that way, too, and you two would be going at it every night.”

“Mom!”

“Sorry. Bert’s not happy with you getting all the attention, is he?”

“Perhaps. But all of the boys in the gym showers stoked my fantasies – the Program requires me to use the boys’ locker room – and I needed to come. Otherwise, I would have been uncomfortable for the rest of the day. I didn’t ask them for relief-”

“What’s this relief?”

“It’s in my pamphlet, Dad. I’ll have to show you. At the beginning of class, any Program student can ask for help in releasing all of these pent-up urges, or she could just do it herself. That’s relief. I didn’t ask for it in the showers, because Bert was in my next class, and I wanted him to help me. When I got there, I asked for relief, but he refused to provide it. I know his injury and medication keeps him from getting an erection.” Dad winced at that. “Bert could have gone down on me or at least fingered me. I had to ask someone else, and Bert didn’t like it. Stupid hormones. I can’t even get through a school day like this one without abstaining.”

Mom commented, “It must be difficult. Is the lack of self-control getting to you?”

“Is it ever! The principal says I’m a leader, but I can’t set an example for future Program participants without getting aroused. Then Bert got angry because I got relief from someone else, even though he refused to help, and I got mad at him for not sitting with me at lunch because he’s my boyfriend and I want him there so badly.” Because my speech was so rapid, I didn’t know if they understood me.

“Call him. Perhaps you could work something out.”

“I hope so, Pop. Then there’s my Program partner, who’s supposed to be a senior boy.”

Mom asked, “Is it Elizabeth Dugan?”

My mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

“You said boy, so your partner isn’t one. You also said senior, so we can eliminate anyone in twelfth grade. Elizabeth is the only non-senior who’s in most of your classes.” My mother is very intelligent; she’s a lawyer at one of the county’s leading firms. Look for her card: Ms. Eleanor Klochkov-Brown, Esquire. “How did you get her?”

“I asked Mr. Fontaine the same question. Elizabeth was Bert’s replacement. Turns out some Program bureaucrats decided to classify her as a senior boy. I won’t go into the details. Then he went on about how I was the best person in the senior class to give her support.”

“Are you nervous about it?”

“Yes, Mom, I am. She doesn’t have anyone else there for her. Two freshmen are supposed to help her, too, but she has a maximum of two classes a day with people her age, and they might not be in those classes. Many of us are afraid of her because she’s so intimidating.”

“Isn’t she rather short? How would the bigger seniors be intimidated by that?”

“Pop, you don’t understand. If we talk to her about academics, she’s likely to say something we can’t comprehend. And I’ve been assigned to work on a history presentation with her. By the way, I asked her to come here tomorrow at six for supper. Then she’ll stay to work on it. Is that fine with you?” My parents both nodded. “She was petrified for the whole day. I’ve never seen her so reluctant to participate in class before. I don’t know what I could talk to her about.”

My mother said, “We can help make her feel comfortable at mealtime.”

“Good. I think she’s more comfortable around adults, anyway.”

Pop asked, “Could you get some friends to support her, too? You don’t have to do it alone.”

“That might help.” Only a few boys had asked to touch her in the halls, and I didn’t recognize any of them. She might be more responsive to seniors, since most of her classes are with us. But how could I persuade the boys to ask? With the age difference, they might see her more as a frightened little sister than as a young woman with needs. There’s always a “but.”

After I got relief in World Lit, she was silent for most of the period. She kept fiddling with her pencils as she remained flushed with embarrassment. My relief might have been too much or too soon for her emotionally. Perhaps it was both. I have three classes with Bert, and Elizabeth was in two of them. I would have to hold out until eighth period for relief.

“But what about my fight with Bert?” I had finished my bowl by then.

Mom replied, “Any answer should involve him. Why don’t you make that phone call?”

“I suppose I’ll have to. May I be excused from the table?” They agreed.

I went to my room and laid on my back for a few minutes to collect my thoughts. However, before I could contact him, my phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hello, Sam. This is Heather Fitzwater.”

“How are you?” Oops. She might have had surgery.

“Still aching. My foot’s going to be in an air cast for a few weeks, so I won’t be able to practice. Sophia said you filled in for me at the game. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I might need help getting around school tomorrow. They told me to keep my foot elevated for a few days. One of my cousins used a wheelchair for a few weeks two years ago, and he never got rid of it. My father’s on his way to New Courtland to get it. I think the doctor wanted me to stay at home for two days, but he said I could go to school with the chair. I really want to be there tomorrow.”

“You seemed so nervous this morning. Is this about your partner?”

“Ron? No. We’re in different tracks and have just two classes together. I think he’s already seeing someone, too. Now, if Frank Torocsik sits next to me at lunch, like he did today, I could go for that.”

“Isn’t he supposed to help Lily Dudek?”

“She didn’t look like she needed help. At lunch, she sat next to Ron, and Frank was next to me. He’s both funny and good-looking. I liked hanging around with him. I also have to thank Elizabeth Dugan tomorrow for what she did in class.”

“Elizabeth? She’s been a pile of raw nerves all day. What did she do?”

“When I broke my toe in French class, she took charge just like that. She told the teacher to call for help, then did some first aid on me. I wanted to keep on going today, but she stopped me from standing on my foot and making it worse.”

“She told me about the injury, but didn’t mention the aid. If you hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have believed she could been so composed today.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“No. She wasn’t quaking?”

“Not at all. I had to tell her to talk to me in English instead of French-”

“She was speaking French?”

“This was just before the start of French class, so, yeah, she was already thinking in the language. I think she’ll help me in class tomorrow.”