What Would Emma Do? Part 5

"Darci and Kimberly are best friends. It isn't like they have some big compet.i.tion."

I shrugged and looked back at the computer screen.

"No matter what you think of Darci, someone slipped something to Kimberly. Something happened, and someone made it happen. The hospital is running all kinds of tests on the three of them to see if they can figure out any common factors."

"There were no drugs in Darci's system. Zero. I'm willing to bet there wasn't anything in Kelly's system either. You want to know the common factor? The desire for attention."

"You can't think they would fake something this serious."

"They're some of the most annoying girls at school, but honestly, who would actually poison them?"

"My mom said she saw the Evers family down at the Stop and Shop, and they think it might be terrorists."

"Terrorists? Please tell me you're joking."

Joann's face was serious. No joke. I turned off the computer.

"Why would terrorists poison three girls in Middle of Nowhere, Indiana?"

"Not middle of nowhere. America's heartland." Joann paused to let that sink in. "Plus, all the girls go to a Christian school. Reverend Evers told my mom by attacking here they create a culture of fear, which is exactly what they do. Terrorize."

"This is Wheaton. If you pierce your ears, you can't walk a block without at least four people noticing and calling your parents to see if they know. Can you actually imagine that some terrorist is going to slink into town with a bag of drugs and not be noticed?"

"But that's the thing. Mrs. Homer told the police that she saw a car with suspicious people on Friday night. They were driving without their headlights, and she thinks she heard that weird Middle Eastern music coming from the car."

"Mrs. Homer is, like, a hundred and ten years old. She can't recognize her own family members if they're standing right in front of her, screaming their names. She makes Helen Keller look like an eagle eye. This is the person we're trusting to spot Osama?"

"She didn't say she saw their faces. Just that they were, you know, brown."

"Brown? Well then, they must be guilty of something. Imagine that, being brown. You think they would have known they would stick out here in the whitest town in America. Although I suppose since they're brown, we shouldn't expect them to be too smart."

"What is the matter with you? It's like you're taking their side." Joann's face was flushed. "The town is pulling together over this. Didn't you hear Reverend Evers? We need to stand together. I know you don't like Darci, but I wouldn't think you were mean enough to want someone to hurt her."

"No one hurt her. I'm not taking sides, because there isn't a side."

"Then what happened to them?"

"I don't think anything happened to Darci."

"And Kimberly? How do you explain what happened to her?"

I chewed on the inside of my lip, frustrated that I couldn't say more.

"Look, you know Kimberly. Do you really think she's the kind who wouldn't take drugs? What about the time at the Barn last year when she had all those wine coolers and ended up pa.s.sing out in the horse stall and no one could find her for, like, an hour? Or when she got it in her head that she'd take all those diet pills to lose weight and ended up throwing up in gym cla.s.s? She spewed right through the volleyball net. She might convince her parents she's an angel, but you know she's not."

"But she was at Darci's that night. No way they would do anything like that at Reverend Evers's house. Even Kimberly would never take that kind of chance. Getting wasted at his house. I don't think so."

"Maybe they weren't there. They could sneak out. Darci's bedroom is on the first floor," I said. Joann raised one eyebrow in doubt. "What? You think it's more likely that Al-Qaeda crawled in her window than that she crawled out?"

"Whatever." Joann picked up the magazine and flipped through it, slapping the pages over more loudly than necessary.

I sat with my legs crossed, my leg bouncing up and down, watching her. She didn't look at me, so I spun back around to the computer and jabbed the on b.u.t.ton, then jammed it off again and turned back.

"Why are you so excited about the whole thing?" I asked her.

"What?"

"You and everyone else are all in a lather. It's all anyone is talking about."

"Uh, h.e.l.lo, it's a huge deal."

"No, it's not. Everyone has made it into a big deal. There are things they could be worried about that matter. No one cares what happens twenty minutes outside of this town. People care more about corn prices than they do about the war, or the environment, or debt reduction in the Third World. It's pathetic. There's plenty of drama in the world without having to make up our own."

"Oh, spare me your Bono imitation." Joann stood and tossed the Vogue down on the sofa. She jammed her feet into her shoes. "You are so busy proving that you're above us all that you don't even care what happens right in front of you. Better polish up your saddle for your high horse before you gallop out of town."

"High horse? What, because I want to do better than Wheaton?"

"No, because you imply that anyone who wants to stay here is a loser. That we've settled. How do you think that makes me feel?" Joann's eyes filled with tears.

"Joann," I said.

"You know what? Don't start. Don't even start. Whatever you say now doesn't matter. You've made your point over and over. This town sucks. Anyone who lives here is stuck in a time warp, and anyone who likes it here must be a backward hick. So you know what? Fill out your applications, run your races, win yourself a fancy scholars.h.i.+p, and then you can move away and make friends with more interesting people."

Joann stomped out of the room and slammed the front door on her way out. I sat there not moving for a minute, and then I attacked the Vogue magazine. I tore pages out, yanking them by the handful, shredding them and hurling them to the floor. I was crying, deep, choking wails, with snot smeared under my nose. Only when there was nothing more than colored confetti all over the floor did I stop. I picked up a piece and saw Keira Knightley staring back at me, and then I started crying all over again.

12.

G.o.d, about the Bible...I know it's supposed to be your word and a lot of it is pretty good (although there are a few parts where the pacing drags; between you and me, you could have cut some of those so-and-so begat so-and-so sections and just stuck those in the back in an appendix or something). What I'm wondering is if there isn't a chance that a few of your scribes got some sections wrong? My mom can't take a phone message without s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it up, so I'm just saying you might want to take a look over a few of the sections and see if that's what you really wanted to say. Plus, there are parts where you totally contradict yourself. For example, is it an eye for an eye or turn the other cheek? Not that a person can't say two completely different things and mean both of them in the moment. I'm living proof, a walking contradiction-but I think we all expect more of you, being a deity and all.

Joann and I became best friends in first grade. Being that I was an only child, I was still in the process of learning the fine art of sharing. Joann had come to school with every possible school supply one could want. Her parents had outfitted her for elementary school with the kind of care and precision nations spend on military troops. There would be no occasion that would arise where Joann would be without the proper writing or art implement.

I sat at my desk with my sleeves pulled up over my hands. They washed the desks with some kind of oily cleanser. It smelled off, like yogurt pushed to the back of the fridge and forgotten. I didn't mind if it got on my sweater, as I was hoping that I would have a chance to get a new one. We were supposed to be drawing pictures of our families. Maybe it was because I only had to draw my mom and me, or the fact that I had zero artistic talent, but I was done while everyone else still seemed to be busy.

Joann sat next to me. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail; it was a wonder she could blink. Her school uniform was clearly brand-new; the pleats were razor sharp, and I swear you could have grated cheese on them. My mom had bought my uniforms at the school swap during the summer. The colors on my skirt were washed out, and the pleats, instead of firm, straight lines like those on my notebook paper, were limp waves. Joann's crayons were new, each one with a sharp point. Everything about her looked clean, s.h.i.+ny, and new. I looked down at my crayons. We hadn't bought a new box. My mom pointed out that I had plenty of crayons already and had gathered an odd a.s.sortment and put them in a Tupperware container. It seemed okay at the time, but it was clear now that it was anything but okay.

It was then that I got the idea to draw in a father. I was too young to know the term "artistic license," but I understood the concept. This was my drawing, and if I wanted a father, I would simply make myself one. A friendly, Mr. Brady kind of dad. This would require brown. A nice, stable-looking brown. I looked down at my crayons; the brown was already worn down, the paper torn off. It seemed a shabby brown for such a n.o.ble man. I shot another glance over at Joann. On her desk there were no less than three shades of brown.

I wanted those crayons.

I needed those crayons.

That morning we had covered the Ten Commandments in cla.s.s. Suddenly the meaning of number ten, about coveting your neighbor's goods, was making a whole lot of sense. Given that I was already violating one of the commandments, it seemed like I might as well take on another. I was seriously considering breaking number seven (thou shalt not steal) and swiping one of her crayons.

I waited for just the right moment. Joann had the tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth as she colored. I leaned into the aisle, closer and closer. She didn't notice. She pressed her crayon to the paper, making a sun to hang in the sky over her family. Right at that moment I slipped a crayon off the side of her desk into my pocket. She didn't notice. I looked down carefully. I had managed to s.n.a.t.c.h burnt sienna. I stroked the smooth wax tube. I liked the place where the paper met the wax. That's when Darci let out her wail.

"She stole a crayon!" Darci stood at her desk, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. The cla.s.s turned to face me.

"Emma? Have you taken something that doesn't belong to you?" our teacher asked, her voice firm. Darci was nodding madly, a pint-size advocate of the death penalty. I didn't know what they would do to me, but I knew I was in trouble. My first day and I had already blown it. My throat tightened, and I held the crayon in my fist, wis.h.i.+ng it would disappear.

"She didn't steal the crayon. I told her she could have it," Joann said.

She went back to her drawing, and the rest of the cla.s.s continued without another word on the subject. At recess I handed Joann the crayon shyly.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I have lots of crayons."

That was the end of the discussion and the beginning of our friends.h.i.+p. I always thought it was interesting that we knew the exact moment we became friends. I had never really thought about the end. I a.s.sumed we would be friends forever.

I wondered if the fact that we had been friends for so long would be enough to keep us friends when we had less in common. It was somehow different from my relations.h.i.+p with Colin. That was all about us being opposites. My friends.h.i.+p with Joann was about shared things. If we didn't have those, then I wasn't sure what would tie us together, but it didn't mean I didn't still want to have her in my life. Joann was wrong when she said I thought less of her for wanting to stay in Wheaton. I didn't get why she'd want to, but I didn't think less of her. It was important that we stay friends. Not having her in my life would be like cutting off everything that had happened. Having her around was proof.

I wove my way through the halls looking for Joann the morning after our fight. I'd called her last night, but her mother told me in a frosty voice, "As it's after nine p.m., Joann will not be taking calls." Sometimes reaching Joann is like trying to call the Queen of England.

Everyone was in tight cl.u.s.ters, discussing the three "poisonings" and talking in hushed voices about the terrorist threat. I avoided getting sucked into any of the conversations. I would find it impossible to avoid screaming, "BROWN PERSON" just so I could watch them drop to the floor in terror.

"Hey," a voice called out.

I turned to see Todd Seaver.

"I heard the news," he said.

"About Kelly? Yeah, me too."

"Who cares about Kelly? Most likely she pa.s.sed out because she's on one of those water and banana diets. I was talking about you. I heard you took first in the race on Sat.u.r.day."

I stopped thinking about Joann and focused in on Todd. He s.h.i.+fted back and forth, like standing still was difficult for him. He cracked his knuckles and gave me a lazy smile.

"Where did you hear about my race?"

"I have spies," he said, and my eyes must have widened a bit because he started to laugh. "Promise me you haven't gone all conspiracy theory on me like the rest of this place."

"No, I just was surprised. No one follows track." I didn't mention that even my friends couldn't care less about my races. I looked away from his face. I hadn't noticed that he had dimples before, or maybe he'd never smiled at me before.

"Coach Attley was posting the times on the board up front and I saw it. Looks like you've got a shot at state finals again."

"I hope so. I'm up for a track scholars.h.i.+p." How did he know I went to state finals last year? I shot a look to the side to see if anyone was paying attention to us. For most of high school the male population never knew I was alive, and now I seemed to have two guys who were paying attention to me, both of them wildly inappropriate, since one was my best friend's guy and the other was the school pariah.

"You thinking of the Purdue regional campus in Fort Wayne?"

"Northwestern," I said, already raising my chin in defense of the usual spiel people gave me. Why would you want to go there? It's so far away, and in the city. With crime. And brown people.

"My older brother goes there."

"Really?" I had to fight the urge to grab his arm and cling to it. Here was proof positive that there were people who got out of Wheaton.

"Yeah, we lived in Chicago before here."

"Why did you move to Wheaton?"

"My family is in the witness protection program." He gave a laugh. "My dad's job means we get transferred."

"Still, what did you do wrong to end up at TES?"

"My parents liked the idea of 'small-town living.' My older brother went through this phase when he was in high school where he smoked a bit too much weed. 'Too much' being any weed, in my parents' opinion. They figured I couldn't get into any trouble if I went to school here."

We both snorted with the absurdity of that idea. Sometimes parents had no clue. He opened his mouth to say something else when there was a scream from the girls' bathroom. Everyone took a few steps back, and Mrs. Lamont, the home ec teacher, ran in. She popped out two seconds later.

"Call 911! We've got a girl down," she yelled, and a few girls in the hall screamed or started crying. They held on to one another, the boys standing in front of them as if we were standing on the deck of the t.i.tanic and they were willing to sacrifice themselves.

Suddenly I saw Joann. She was standing near a bank of lockers. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she looked as if she might cry. She looked at me as if to say, I told you so and then slipped away in the crowd.

"Christ, they're dropping like flies," said Todd. "Have you noticed it seems to be all the popular girls who're getting sick? It's become the new 'in' thing."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Couldn't happen to a better group of girls, if you ask me. The only people I know whose conversational ability improves by being unconscious," Todd muttered.

Mr. Reilly appeared out of nowhere and yanked Todd by his sleeve.

"Watch your mouth," he grumbled, and then pointed us down the hall, where teachers were herding us all toward the cafeteria.

13.

G.o.d, the traditional image of you with the long white beard and robes, a sort of Dumbledore type, makes you look serious. I have a feeling you've got a sense of humor. Granted, sometimes your humor seems a bit inappropriate, but it is funny. Especially when the joke isn't on me.

It was the TES version of the Black Plague. All we needed was someone to wander the halls yelling, "Bring out your dead."

Amy Winters was the girl who pa.s.sed out in the bathroom. She would later get in trouble for packing lipstick. TES frowned on makeup, but it wasn't outlawed unless it was found to be "excessive." Several parents, however, were very anti-makeup. As far as Amy's parents were concerned, the tube of Berry Cherry she was caught with might as well have been a vial of crack cocaine. First a girl starts putting on lipstick, and the next thing you know it's crotchless panties and pole dancing. Lucky for her she was already in the hospital, otherwise her dad might have put her there.

After Amy went down at eight twenty a.m., word spread down the halls that Susan Abramo slumped over during freshman religion cla.s.s around nine forty-five. In all fairness, it was probably a boring lecture. Mr. Reilly does the same talk every year for freshmen on why evolution is nothing more than a bunch of hooey. He's a strict Adam and Eve believer. There's a rumor that Mr. Reilly won't eat apples in case G.o.d still has something against the fruit. He gets really worked up about the idea that anyone would think he descended from a monkey. Susan fell into the aisle about three-quarters of the way through the lecture, when he was just gearing up for his big finish, where he hoots like an orangutan.

Carol Lang, Paula Swan, and Jennifer Furby all pa.s.sed out in the cafeteria over lunch. At first there was some brief discussion that it might have been due to some type of sauerkraut foodborne illness, but no one really believed that was the case. As far as all of Wheaton was concerned, someone was targeting the popular girls.

When Tessa Townston collapsed in biology at approximately twelve forty-five p.m., dragging her Mendel's pea plant experiment to the floor with her, parents started to show up at the school to get their kids. At two o'clock the school sent us all home.

By six o'clock it made the local news in Fort Wayne.