that word!
Now
who’s the bigot?”
“I don’t mean it in that sense!” Ms. Eulalie waved her hands like she was erasing the air. “You know that I don’t mean it that way, woman. Now close your mouth and let baby girl talk!”
They both shut up and looked at me expectantly. I began the story and told them every detail, from last year’s scavenger hunt to my conversation with Dad barely half an hour earlier, including how I thought I’d convinced him to cancel the Senior Scramble and possibly the yearbook. They sat silently, even after I finished. “What?” I asked them. “What’s wrong? You guys have a look.”
Ms. Eulalie clucked and shook her head. “You going about making friends the wrong way, sugar.”
“I’m not trying to make friends,” I said. “I’m trying to stand up for myself and for other victims of bullying.” It had sounded rehearsed. Maybe because I’d said it to myself so many times.
“Oh, that’s horseshit,” Ms. Franny said.
“Watch your language, you hussy!”
Ms. Franny went on like she hadn’t even heard Ms. Eulalie. “Don’t try to blow smoke up our asses, cupcake. We may be old, but we’re not stupid.”
Ms. Eulalie straightened her pajama top and nodded slowly. “Mmm-hmm.”
“What do you mean?” I think, deep down, I already knew.
Ms. Franny leaned over and snatched her knitting out of the wicker basket on her bedside table. She unwound the baby-blue yarn from the needles and set into knitting a row. The aluminum needles clacked together rhythmically. “What I mean is, you’re not interested in standing up for any victims. All you’re interested in is getting even.”
“That’s right.” Ms. Eulalie rocked back and forth slightly. She drummed her fingertips together in her lap. “Ain’t nothing good going to come of that.”
I couldn’t stand the thought of Ms. Eulalie and Ms. Franny thinking I was a spiteful person, even though I recognized the complete hypocrisy in that. I tried to deny it, though. My feelings had been hurt, I explained, and I was only looking for justice.
They saw right through me.
“You done got justice mixed up with revenge, baby girl,” said Ms. Eulalie. “You need to stop and think on things for a spell.”
“Now, Blythe, we’re all in favor of being strong and not letting bullies win,” said Ms. Franny, “but you’re going about it all the wrong way. What’s the best-possible situation that could come out of this? You think everyone’s going to realize they were wrong, call you a hero, and throw you a ticker-tape parade?”
“Mmm-mmm.” Ms. Eulalie closed her eyes and calmly shook her head. “Lord, no.”
Ms. Franny’s hands moved the yarn and needles like ashuttle on a loom. “Here’s what’s going to happen, best-case scenario. So make sure this is what you want. The seniors won’t like you because you ruined their turn to be on the fun end of the stick for a change. The juniors won’t like you because you came out of nowhere and took away a tradition they’ve been waiting for all year. The sophomores won’t like you because they know they’ll never even have a chance to look forward to it. And the freshmen won’t like you because freshmen do what everyone else does.”
“But …” I began.
Ms. Eulalie pointed her finger up in the air to stop me. “Oh, she ain’t done.”
“She’s not?” I said.
“No.”
I searched Ms. Franny’s expression for confirmation. She kept her eyes on her knitting. “No, I’m not. That was the best-case scenario. Now here’s the worst. All of that stuff still happens but on top of it, your father loses his job, your brother has to live down your reputation when he gets to high school, and you continue to get bullied, more than before. But that isn’t even the worst of the worst.”
“It isn’t?” I asked. “What’s the worst of the worst?” I was thinking maybe she meant I would get beaten up or something equally horrific. But I was
Now
who’s the bigot?”
“I don’t mean it in that sense!” Ms. Eulalie waved her hands like she was erasing the air. “You know that I don’t mean it that way, woman. Now close your mouth and let baby girl talk!”
They both shut up and looked at me expectantly. I began the story and told them every detail, from last year’s scavenger hunt to my conversation with Dad barely half an hour earlier, including how I thought I’d convinced him to cancel the Senior Scramble and possibly the yearbook. They sat silently, even after I finished. “What?” I asked them. “What’s wrong? You guys have a look.”
Ms. Eulalie clucked and shook her head. “You going about making friends the wrong way, sugar.”
“I’m not trying to make friends,” I said. “I’m trying to stand up for myself and for other victims of bullying.” It had sounded rehearsed. Maybe because I’d said it to myself so many times.
“Oh, that’s horseshit,” Ms. Franny said.
“Watch your language, you hussy!”
Ms. Franny went on like she hadn’t even heard Ms. Eulalie. “Don’t try to blow smoke up our asses, cupcake. We may be old, but we’re not stupid.”
Ms. Eulalie straightened her pajama top and nodded slowly. “Mmm-hmm.”
“What do you mean?” I think, deep down, I already knew.
Ms. Franny leaned over and snatched her knitting out of the wicker basket on her bedside table. She unwound the baby-blue yarn from the needles and set into knitting a row. The aluminum needles clacked together rhythmically. “What I mean is, you’re not interested in standing up for any victims. All you’re interested in is getting even.”
“That’s right.” Ms. Eulalie rocked back and forth slightly. She drummed her fingertips together in her lap. “Ain’t nothing good going to come of that.”
I couldn’t stand the thought of Ms. Eulalie and Ms. Franny thinking I was a spiteful person, even though I recognized the complete hypocrisy in that. I tried to deny it, though. My feelings had been hurt, I explained, and I was only looking for justice.
They saw right through me.
“You done got justice mixed up with revenge, baby girl,” said Ms. Eulalie. “You need to stop and think on things for a spell.”
“Now, Blythe, we’re all in favor of being strong and not letting bullies win,” said Ms. Franny, “but you’re going about it all the wrong way. What’s the best-possible situation that could come out of this? You think everyone’s going to realize they were wrong, call you a hero, and throw you a ticker-tape parade?”
“Mmm-mmm.” Ms. Eulalie closed her eyes and calmly shook her head. “Lord, no.”
Ms. Franny’s hands moved the yarn and needles like ashuttle on a loom. “Here’s what’s going to happen, best-case scenario. So make sure this is what you want. The seniors won’t like you because you ruined their turn to be on the fun end of the stick for a change. The juniors won’t like you because you came out of nowhere and took away a tradition they’ve been waiting for all year. The sophomores won’t like you because they know they’ll never even have a chance to look forward to it. And the freshmen won’t like you because freshmen do what everyone else does.”
“But …” I began.
Ms. Eulalie pointed her finger up in the air to stop me. “Oh, she ain’t done.”
“She’s not?” I said.
“No.”
I searched Ms. Franny’s expression for confirmation. She kept her eyes on her knitting. “No, I’m not. That was the best-case scenario. Now here’s the worst. All of that stuff still happens but on top of it, your father loses his job, your brother has to live down your reputation when he gets to high school, and you continue to get bullied, more than before. But that isn’t even the worst of the worst.”
“It isn’t?” I asked. “What’s the worst of the worst?” I was thinking maybe she meant I would get beaten up or something equally horrific. But I was
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