Almost Alice Read online

  “But …” She was staring some more. “Do people really use this stuff? I mean, this part goes in, and that …”

  “Don’t ask,” I said, but I was trying to figure the gadgets out too. Trying to figure out how couples climbed in bed with a bunch of sex toys and kept the mood while they figured out how to use them.

  “Maybe they practice ahead of time,” said Liz.

  We went inside, and a little bell tinkled. A woman with obviously dyed red hair and a very low neckline got up from a stool behind a counter and put down the magazine she was reading. She smiled knowingly as we came in.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Just looking,” said Liz.

  We were looking, all right. There were crotchless panties and curved appliances, about the size of a cell phone, “to increase feminine satisfaction.” There were black leather hip-length boots, and whips and ostrich feather “ticklers,” and condoms flavored raspberry, chocolate, and cinnamon. Oils to put in secret places, satin sheets, bras with no cups, navel jewels, penis enlargers, and racks of sexy nightwear, for him and for her.

  “We’re here from the high school newspaper The Edge,” I said, and immediately the woman’s expression changed. Her eyes grew cold, lips pressed into a straight line. I could tell that she thought we were going to do an exposé of students coming in to buy stuff, but when I told her what we wanted and what they were for, her eyes twinkled and she began to smile again.

  “And my store will be included in the list of donors?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “We’ll send you two free tickets, and will include a program when we bring back your costumes, all dry-cleaned of course.”

  So who would have thought that someone’s sexual fantasy was to be a kitten! We smiled all the way back to the car, a shopping bag in my hand. Wait till I told Molly that the program for Guys and Dolls would express our gratitude not only to Giant, CVS, the Mercy Mission, and the Department of Motor Vehicles, but to Nighttime Fantasies as well.

  10

  Promotion

  All during spring break, I had worked really hard on that article about the Day of Silence. I found out how the first observance began. I described the way many gays and lesbians were ostracized, not only at school and by former friends, but in their own families. I wrote about methods people have used to try to change sexual orientation. Most of this I got from articles Mr. Morrison had given me, but I also interviewed some of the members of the GSA.

  I think it was one of my best articles. I’d quoted Lori and Leslie on how it had been for them and recounted the time back in middle school when some girls cornered them in a restroom and kept taunting them with “Kiss her! Kiss her!” I ended the article by saying that the GSA wasn’t trying to change anyone’s sexual orientation; it existed to help people accept others’ sexuality as much as to feel good about their own.

  At the first staff meeting after spring break, I arrived early, and both Miss Ames and Scott read my piece and commented on it. Tony Osler just sat off to one side with a knowing smile, like, Is that what’s wrong with you, Alice? Why you wouldn’t let me go all the way? I know what Tony’s thinking even when his lips are sealed.

  “It’s really excellent, Alice,” Miss Ames said.

  “It’s great!” said Scott. “So what other ideas do you have for us?”

  “Well … we do a lot of student interviews, polls and stuff,” I said. “Why not do something called ‘Teachers’ Secrets’?”

  “Whoa!” said Tony. “Report on who’s sleeping with whom?”

  I gave him a look. “No. I thought of asking fifteen or twenty teachers to tell us something about themselves that their students probably don’t know—anything they want to share. See what we come up with.”

  Miss Ames smiled a little. “Could be interesting.”

  “We could start with you,” said Scott, warming to the idea. “How about it?”

  “We have to be sure we don’t print anything that’s said off the record,” she said. “But … well, let me think. I guess one thing students don’t know about my past is that I once won a hot dog eating contest at the beach.”

  “You?” said the sophomore roving reporter. “You’re so thin!”

  “Well, thin girls have stomachs too.” Miss Ames laughed.

  “How many did you eat?” I asked.

  “Eleven and a half. They almost disqualified me because I threw up before they announced the winner, but the judge said I got it all down, and that’s what counts.”

  Everybody cheered.

  Jacki Severn breezed in just then and apologized for being late, but she said she had just got this great idea for the next issue:

  “It’s our first issue in April—you know, April showers and stuff. I remembered this photo from last year when there was all that rain and the parking lot flooded. Remember? Mom took this picture when she came to pick me up… .” And Jacki pulled out a picture of herself, laughing as she waded ankle-deep in water, holding her books over her head. A couple of friends were behind her, but obviously, Jacki was the main attraction. “I thought we could title it ‘April! Will It Happen Again?’ And I’ll interview other kids to see how they got home that day.”

  Scott looked at the picture, smiled a little, and passed it on. “I don’t know, Jacki. It’s old news. We should have used it last year,” he said.

  “All the more reason to use it now!” Jacki said emphatically. She always speaks louder when she wants to make a point. “It would make a great story! One of the teachers said that the water came up so fast that the physics teacher was stranded at the end of the parking lot!”

  “Our freshman class wasn’t even here last year,” said Miss Ames. “It wouldn’t mean much to them.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference!” Jacki argued. “The tie-in is April! Spring! Rain! I think it would get a lot of attention on the front page.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” said Scott. “The school board’s ruling on sex ed is the top story. And the bottom half of the first page will be the Day of Silence.”

  Jacki stared incredulously around the room. “Day of Silence? The gay thing? That doesn’t have to be front page, for God’s sake! It’s not like it affects the whole school.”

  “Well, perhaps it should,” said Miss Ames. “That’s our point.”

  “I thought I was the features editor!” Jacki fumed.

  Everyone was staring now. Sam Mayer had come in with the sports photos for the next edition, and he immediately sat down on a desk near the door, out of the line of fire.

  “Jacki, we discussed the Day of Silence piece at the last meeting, and you didn’t say a word about a feature on rain, much less a photo,” said Scott.

  “Well, I thought a newspaper could be spontaneous!” cried Jacki. “I thought we were supposed to be current, and what could be more current than the month of the year! If we have a big rain between now and next week when the paper comes out, we’ll be right on top of the news.”

  Tony had been reading the Metro section of the Washington Post, and he turned to the weather report on the back page. “Five-day forecast,” he said aloud. “Fair and breezy.”

  “Well, I won’t insist on the front page, but there’s no way I’m going to settle for putting my feature on the last page,” said Jacki.

  “I’ve got the basketball scores, and Sam’s got photos,” said Tony. “Those have to go somewhere.”

  “What about news from the roving reporters?” asked another guy.

  “And we’re printing the cast for Guys and Dolls. We’ve got to start publicizing that,” said Scott.

  “Jacki, since this is the first year we’ve had a GSA in our school, it’s important that students understand its purpose,” Miss Ames explained. “And because we’re holding our Day of Silence two weeks before the national observance, it’s especially important that this feature make the coming issue.”

  “Then we can take out something else!” Jacki said hot
ly. “If we put my feature off, April will be half over by the time it comes out.”

  “Then I’m sorry,” Miss Ames said, “but there just isn’t room for it.”

  I hadn’t said a word. I wasn’t even certain I was breathing. Jacki’s cheeks flamed. I’d never seen those large red blotches on her face before, but there they were, as though she’d been out in the wind.

  “In that case, I quit!” she said, and threw down the features editor’s notebook. Papers sailed across the floor. She strode past me, her arm brushing mine, and plowed on out the door, almost knocking down the freshman roving reporter who was just coming in.

  For a moment no one spoke.

  “Wow!” said Tony finally.

  Scott sucked in his breath. “Whew!”

  “Oh, she’ll get over it,” said Sam, ever the conciliator.

  But Miss Ames quietly picked up the notebook, and the rest of us began gathering up the scattered pages.

  “Alice,” Miss Ames said, “would you be features editor for the rest of the year?” She looked at Scott. “Is that okay with you?”

  “More than okay,” he answered.

  I didn’t know what to say. My God, taking over for Jacki! She’d kill me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “She left the room like a tornado!” I told Sylvia later when we were sharing a bagel in the kitchen. We both like ours lightly toasted. She uses butter, I like cream cheese.

  “Sure sounds like an overreaction to me. Maybe she thought they’d go after her and beg her to come back,” said Sylvia.

  “Fat chance,” I said. “If I had to describe the atmosphere after she left, I’d call it relief. But, Sylvia, she’ll hate me! She never did like me very much.”

  “Do you care?” asked Sylvia. “She’s a senior, you said. Do you have any classes with her?”

  “No… .”

  “She probably expects the paper to fall apart if she’s not on it. Prove that it won’t. Do you have any plans for the next issue?”

  “That’s all wrapped up. But I was thinking about the next few issues on my way home. Like, now that the school year’s almost over, maybe the freshman roving reporter could do a little piece on fears that freshmen have when they start high school, and how things really turned out.”

  “Possibility,” said Sylvia.

  “Or maybe that would be better for fall,” I went on. “We could also interview Molly on the ingenious ways she’s getting all the props for Guys and Dolls. We wouldn’t even have to say she’s doing all this from home. Help her feel more connected to school.”

  “I like that idea,” said Sylvia.

  “And we could also assign the senior roving reporter to do an article on what kids who aren’t going to college are going to do—like travel or help out at home or get a job… .”

  “You’re full of ideas, you know it?” Sylvia said. “And you know why I think you’ll make a better features editor than Jacki? Because your focus is on broadening the scope of the paper, getting other kids involved, not just on what kind of article you could fashion around yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I said, pleased.

  “But also,” Sylvia added, “I’ve read the features you’ve written, and you’re not afraid to let your emotions show. It helps the reader connect with you.”

  I wondered if she knew what she was saying—if she’d forgotten that fight we had last November over her car. I’d let my emotions show then, all right—the worst ones. I’d wondered then if Sylvia and I would ever be friends again. And obviously, we were.

  “It took me a while to learn that,” she said.

  “Learn what?”

  “To express my feelings. My family was sort of formal when I was growing up. Reserved, I mean. Consequently, when anyone was really angry or sad, it was kind of scary.”

  “How … did you act when you were angry?” I asked.

  “When we had arguments, it was more like a debate society. I even thought I was more mature than other girls simply because I could hold in my feelings. What a mistake!”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “It was Mom’s funeral that turned me around. Dad didn’t cry, so I didn’t. When I felt tears welling up, I learned to stop them before my eyes brimmed over. And everyone commented on how brave I was, how well I held up.” Sylvia shook her head. “For months after that, I’d do my crying in private, and I never allowed myself to cry in front of friends. And then I began to wonder: Why is this good? Why is it important? Why do I have to be a ‘real trouper,’ as the neighbors called me?

  “And then, when Dad died—and I’ll always believe it was from all the sorrow he’d kept inside—I sort of went to pieces. I cried all over the place. At school, at the mall.… I cried out of grief and anger both, that Dad had held his feelings in and passed that legacy on to me and my sister and brother.”

  I thought about that awhile. “Can you really die of a broken heart?”

  “A lot less likely if you can share your feelings with someone. It’s amazing, really, what a good listener can do—no solutions necessary.” She blinked suddenly. “How did we get started on this?”

  “You were talking about expressing emotion.”

  “Right. And because you can express yours, you’re going to be a good features editor, I can tell.”

  “It’s only for the next couple of months,” I told her.

  • • •

  But it wasn’t. When the first April issue came out with my article about the meaning of the Day of Silence, the principal told Miss Ames that it was one of our best.

  “Alice,” she said, “I don’t usually appoint the new staff until fall, but you’ve already got your feet wet as features editor. If you plan on being on the newspaper next year, I’d like to keep you in that spot.”

  “I’d love it!” I said, thrilled, and everyone came over to give me a hug, Scott and Sam and Don and Tony included.

  Jacki Severn had passed by me that morning as I was delivering my bundle of papers to homerooms, and her glare was as cold as the frost on a soda can.

  By lunchtime some of her choice phrases were making the rounds: “They don’t recognize the importance of a good photo on the front page” and “Alice as features editor is a laugh and a half.”

  A half hour before school let out that day, the office made an announcement: “We’re sorry for the interruption, but due to an electronic glitch, the yearbook needs new photos of the following: the senior class officers, the Sadie Hawkins Day dance committee, and the newspaper staff for The Edge. As you know, the deadline for the yearbook has passed, but we’re holding up production until we get these three photos. Will all students who belong in those photos please report to the auditorium immediately after the close of school… .”

  I needed a haircut and wished I’d worn a different shirt. I especially wished my braces were off. But after the last bell I went down to the auditorium, where the photographer was already lining up the dance committee.

  The senior class officers were sitting on the steps of the stage eating doughnuts, and members of the newspaper staff were milling around at the back of the auditorium.

  “I hope he makes this quick, because I’m supposed to drive my brother to the dentist,” Scott said, glancing at his watch.

  “I’ll ask if he can take our picture next,” Miss Ames said. “I’ve got an appointment too.”

  At that very moment Jacki Severn came through the double doors and smiled as though we were her best and only friends.

  “Miss Ames,” she said, in a voice as phony as it was poignant, “I was really having a bad day last Wednesday, and I apologize. I still think I had a good idea, but … well, I can’t win them all. So anyway, I want to be a good sport. I heard the announcement about a new photo, so I’m reporting for duty.”

  No one said a word—just looked toward Miss Ames.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Jacki,” the teacher said. “But Alice is now features editor, so you’re excused. Thanks for coming by.”<
br />
  Jacki blanched. “There are only two months left of school,” she said. “I’ve been features editor for almost the whole year!”

  Miss Ames nodded. “Until last Wednesday. But you resigned, and I’ve appointed Alice.”

  Jacki looked almost numb with astonishment. “But I’m a senior! And this is my yearbook, not Alice’s!”

  “I know, and that’s really a shame. But a newspaper can’t run with unpredictable people on the staff. If you’d like to be listed as co-editor of features, along with Alice, you may stay for the photo if you like.”

  “But I …” Jacki looked at her pleadingly. “I’ve already listed this on my college applications! I’ll be using it on my resume when I look for a job! I didn’t say I was a co-editor.”

  “That’s fine, Jacki. You can tell anyone you like that you were a member of the staff, and you were. But you can’t be listed any other way than co-editor for the photo, because you’re no longer features editor.”

  I think that Jacki was on the verge of throwing her whole armful of books on the floor, and she probably does that at home, who knows? But she must have thought better of it, because she gave us all a hateful look, spun round, and marched back through the double doors, thundering on.

  Miss Ames said nothing. The rest of us gave each other secret smiles as we followed her down the aisle and tried to look professional as the photographer lined us up for the picture.

  I wasn’t sure how the photo would come out, but I was standing sleeve to sleeve between Scott and Tony, and Don and Sam were on either side of them, along with the roving reporters and our layout coordinator. I was pleased as anything when Miss Ames read off my part of the caption: “Alice McKinley, Features Editor and Junior Class Roving Reporter.”

  Sometimes the bad guys don’t win!

  11

  The Performing Arts

  Pamela was getting impossible. She sang every chance she got. It wasn’t like she was showing off. She was just trying to memorize Adelaide’s songs. All of Adelaide’s lines. She had to memorize the songs the chorus sang as well, plus do her homework and still squeeze time out of all that for her boyfriend.