Imagining elsewhere, p.12
Imagining Elsewhere, page 12
Astrid turned to see Candi, again entering dramatically. This time, she walked in side-by-side with Vince, who had an arm draped over her shoulder. They paused as usual, so that everyone could get a good look at Candi’s huge hair; her crop top with the word “RADICAL” in sharp, neon letters; and her jeans, which were so tight they looked like they’d been painted on. At her side, Vince was smoking hot in his close-fitting denim jacket and handsome-boy sneer. He ran his fingers through his James Dean hair before they sauntered toward a table near the front of the cafeteria, where, apparently, the cheerleaders and football players sat.
“So,” Astrid asked. “Vince and Candi?”
“Yup,” Marcel said. “For a long time now.”
“Nice work, Astrid,” Milo said.
“What?” she turned back to their table.
“You and Candi have been in the same room for thirty seconds and you haven’t pissed her off yet. That must be a record,” Milo said.
“Ha, ha,” Astrid said. “I was at the cheerleading practice for what seemed like an eternity with her yesterday. Without incident. And she even said I was . . .” Astrid raised her eyebrows ironically. “Exotic.”
“She totally saw Astrid sitting with us,” Marcel interjected. “This will be interesting.” Marcel was about to say more when bug-eyed Chrissy marched up to their table with an officious air.
“You,” she pointed at Astrid. “She wants you to come and sit over there.”
“I’m cool, thanks,” Astrid said.
Chrissy’s eyes bulged out even further. Astrid was momentarily afraid she would lose one completely.
“You’re cool?” Chrissy repeated.
“Go,” Milo said, under his breath.
“I just sat down with my . . . friends,” Astrid said to Chrissy. She noticed Will watching; she could almost hear him thinking I told you so.
“Astrid,” Marcel hissed. “It’s okay. You are not doing us any favors. You need to go. We don’t want you to sit here.”
“Look who’s giving social advice,” Chrissy said, looking at Marcel. “Color me impressed.” She smirked and turned her attention back to Astrid. “I’m going back to the table now. You can stay or go. I don’t care.” With that, she turned on her high heel—she was wearing pink pumps with dainty white socks and a pink denim skirt—and, with a flip of her too-tight ponytail, marched off.
“Go,” Milo groaned impatiently. “We’ll catch up with you later.”
“This is good,” Marcel said. “I’m so jealous. Now, go!”
Wishing desperately that she had simply stuck with her original plan to hide in the library, longing for the safety of the smelly little carrel, Astrid stood, picked up her backpack, and tried to summon any dignity she had left to walk to the other table.
1 For what it’s worth, they are two different technologies for storing data. CDs are digital and vinyl records are analog.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Astrid sat at the only empty space available—near the end of the table—and at first, no one acknowledged her. She smiled at a moon-faced girl across from her (whom Astrid noted was missing a pinky finger). The girl gazed back at her placidly—Becky, Astrid thought her name was—and Astrid hoped she hadn’t noticed she was staring at her hands. Then, because she had nothing else to do, Astrid started digging around in her backpack for her lunch. Meanwhile, the boy who reminded Astrid of Ichabod Crane—who had pushed her in the hallway once—approached the table bearing a tray brimming with different plates full of food as well as a carton of chocolate milk and a can of Tab, which he placed down in front of Candi before moving away.
Astrid concentrated on pulling out and unwrapping her PB&J as the other kids around her chatted and laughed. She ate slowly because she was aware that once she was finished, she wouldn’t have anything else to occupy herself with. Unless, of course, she took out a book and started reading. Which, even she knew, was inadvisable.
Then, a silence fell on the table. Peeking up from her sandwich, Astrid had her fears confirmed: they were all looking at her, including Candi. She tried to smile.
The people sitting between them inclined backward, leaning away from the table so that Candi and Astrid had a clear view of each other.
“She said they were her friends,” Astrid heard Chrissy announcing.
“Her friends?” Candi asked, her mouth agape with disbelief.
Astrid said nothing. A boy at the other end of the table shouted out, “And she was at Pep’s with them yesterday!”
“I already heard about that,” Candi said disapprovingly, not taking her eyes off Astrid. “Astrid, I do not like you ‘kicking it’ with Marcel.”
Astrid, who had lately been thinking hard—harder than she had previously—about what had happened back in Queens, had really believed that she would never exclude, bully, or torment again, that she would never go along with it just to improve her own social position.
And yet.
Here she was, nodding at Candi, as though Candi was saying the most reasonable thing in the world.
“She’s totally gnarly,” the same boy interjected. Astrid recognized him. He was slim with wide-set eyes and he had the kind of face that suggested what he would look like in the decades to come, as though his old man face rested just below the surface, waiting to emerge. She thought his name was Jason. “How can you eat with her near you?” he said, so enthusiastically that he bounced in his seat. “Is that why you hang out with her? So you won’t eat too much? Do you have an eating disorder?”
Some people laughed and the girl named Lori said, “Like, obviously not. More like she needs an eating disorder.”
“What?” Astrid said, her head snapping to look at Lori.
She didn’t have time to respond, however, because Candi had leaned toward Astrid and pointed at her with a French fry. “Maybe I gave you the wrong impression when I left you two alone after cheer,” Candi said. “But now you have the right one, so I don’t want you to make that mistake again. She is not one of us.”
Astrid cast a final deadly glance at Lori before saying to Candi, “For sure. Marcel’s been super nice to me, is all.”
Candi parted her lips in shock, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Jason snickered and said something to Lori that made her laugh so hard, she spit out her milk.
“Marcel wants Astrid to improve her social status,” Chrissy sneered. “I heard her telling Astrid that.”
Vince, who Astrid hadn’t been able to see as he sat on Candi’s far side, leaned forward.
“Shut up, Chrissy,” he said.
Chrissy glowered at him.
Candi, her eyelids now lowered and her face relaxed and lazy, said, “Calm down, Chrissy.” She ate the fry and then took a leisurely bite of her grilled cheese sandwich. “Chrissy is always trying to protect me,” she said with her mouth full. “Are you trying to use me, Astrid?”
“N-no,” Astrid said.
“Did she just stutter?” Jason bellowed, his voice bubbling with repressed hilarity. “She’s totally trying to get popular. She’s a social climber.”
“No,” Astrid said. She put her palms flat on the table, as though she were about to launch herself up, throttle the guy. “Candi invited me over here. I didn’t, like, insert myself.” She looked around for support, but no one would meet her eye.
Everyone waited to see what Candi would say. Suddenly, she barked, “Change seats. It’s too hard to talk with her so far away. Chrissy, move down. Astrid, you bring your stuff and come sit here.”
Chrissy nodded at the girl next to her who rose automatically, picked up her tray and headed to where Astrid was sitting. Chrissy herself scooted down one seat. Astrid, who had been working on a theory about Candi’s influence and power, tried, for a nanosecond, not to move, to not comply, but she nevertheless found herself yet again collecting her belongings to sit in yet another spot. Was that because she chose to do so or because she had to do so? She wasn’t sure.
What she did know was that Candi was flexing her muscles, moving people around like chess pieces simply because she could. It was all so performative: Every remark was delivered so that everyone around them could hear it. Jason knew it too. Astrid recognized him. His brand of mean-spirited teasing was uncomfortably familiar to Astrid.
“So, you’re from New York City,” Candi said as Astrid settled herself. Astrid couldn’t help it, she cut a glance at Vince. He looked back, his face totally neutral.
“Yeah, well, I’m from Queens,” Astrid said, apologetically, aware that most people did not understand that the city was larger than just Manhattan.
Candi stopped chewing and looked concerned. “So you’re not from New York City?”
“Queens is what’s called a borough of New York City,” Astrid clarified. Candi still looked disappointed and bewildered, so Astrid said, “Like, a neighborhood?”
“Like Westchester,” Chrissy put in authoritatively.
“No—” Astrid began to correct her, but Chrissy nodded her head, her ponytail bobbing, as though agreeing with herself.
“It’s all the same thing,” Chrissy said leaning forward and directing her remarks exclusively to Candi.
“You can’t be from New York,” Jason called. “I heard all the girls in New York were hot.”
Someone guffawed.
“I would love to go to New York someday,” Candi said, oblivious. She stuffed a mozzarella stick—the whole thing—into her mouth, and continued talking. “I’m really interested in film.”
Astrid thought she heard Jason say something about “Jew York,” but she was distracted by Candi’s bad manners; she wondered if it was possible that nobody had mentioned to her that you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full. She mustered a response: “Um, yeah, New York is a good place to be if you’re into that stuff.”
“Do you know anybody who makes movies?” Candi asked.
“One of my friend’s dads is a P.A. A production assistant? He works on movies and TV shows,” Astrid said, warming up. This was something she could talk about. “He always used to bring us to sets with him. He worked on Sesame Street for a while and he also worked on Saturday Night Fever . . .”
“That’s so rad!” Candi shrieked, a piece of fried food flying out of her mouth. “You should get him to come up here!”
“Come here?” Astrid repeated, her momentum lost.
“Yeah! He should set up a movie studio in Candiland!” Candi said, looking around for confirmation. Everyone nodded their agreement.
“I doubt . . .” Astrid began.
She was saved by Lori, who piped up. “Like, oh my God, you would be a star, Candi!”
“Totally,” Vince agreed.
Candi looked expectantly at Astrid and Astrid fumbled to deliver what she thought must be the next line in the script: “If you want to go into acting, you should definitely move to New York or L.A. ‘I want to go to Hollywood!’” she tried to bellow heartily.1
As though the DJ had just dragged the needle across the record player, all conversation around them came to a screeching halt..
Astrid looked around helplessly. “That’s where people usually go to break into the business?”
“Why would anyone ever leave Candiland?” Chrissy hissed.
Vince jumped into the breach. “People never leave,” he said, almost kindly. “You’ll see, once you’ve been here a little longer.”
“I didn’t mean anything,” Astrid said. “I just—"
Candi plastered on a smile. “We know this is a small town. It’s certainly not New York City! But who would want to live there anyway? Too many people, all crowded together.” Astrid nodded, feeling disingenuous.
“In New York, there are people that stick other people with hypodermic needles and you don’t even know if they have diseases on them—isn’t that disgusting? It happens all the time,” Chrissy said. “It’s like a gang initiation.”
“What?” Astrid said, incredulous. “That’s not true.”
Chrissy grimaced, literally sticking her nose in the air, her belief totally unshaken.
Candi continued, ignoring her. “Astrid, I know you’re going to love it here. Maybe things didn’t get off to the greatest start, but I changed my mind about you. I like you,” she said, earnestly, as though her liking Astrid was some brilliant idea that had never occurred to anyone before in the history of the world. “You’re different,” she said, and the girls at the table clucked their agreement.
“We’ve never had a Jew before,” Agnes, one of the cheerleaders put in, clearly pleased with herself for her broad-mindedness. She nodded and Astrid noted again her jowly cheeks.
“Um, I think the term is Jewess,” Chrissy corrected.
“No,” Astrid said sharply, blown away. “That is absolutely not the term. That’s actually really offensive.”
Chrissy pursed her lips. “Whatever, I can’t keep up with all the ‘politically correct’ stuff. I’m just a small-town girl. Plus aren’t you only a half-Jewish?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Astrid said. “Like, you’re not seriously—”
Jason cut her off. “Is that because the Jewish-half was too cheap to . . .” he began.
Astrid cut him off. “You shut up,” she said at the same time that Vince snapped, “Enough already, Jason.”
“What?” Jason asked, pretending seriousness, but with mean, laughing eyes. “I’m just trying to find out what kind of people are moving here. Is it true what they say about Jewish girls?” he asked Astrid.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Astrid said stiffly, her face hot and her throat tight.
“Me neither!” Jason laughed. “But I bet I could find out! Has anybody here seen her naked?”
He looked around grandly and a few people at the table guffawed.
“Maybe you should make her take her shirt off, Candi,” he continued, emboldened. “Let’s see what a Jewish girl has going on under her punk-rocker tee shirts.”
Astrid gasped and looked at Candi.
Candi pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “That’s enough, Jason,” she said, bored. “You’re being gross.”
“Aww, c’mon,” Jason said, a little desperate now, realizing he had miscalculated that Astrid wasn’t Candi’s favorite target anymore. “I’m just kidding around. Plus, you hated her last week. You thought it was funny last week,” he said, in a lame effort, Astrid realized, to throw Candi under the bus.
Candi was suddenly livid.
“It’s a new day, Jason,” she spat. And then her expression became placid. It was amazing to watch the dramatic, moment-by-moment changes in Candi’s face as each new emotion passed over it. “You’re disgusting,” she said. She wrinkled her nose—another change—and began to laugh. “You’re pooping your pants,” Candi said. Her eyes widened, as if with astonishment. “You literally just pooped in your pants.”
Astrid turned to look at Jason whose mouth was set in an “o” of disbelief. And then she smelled it. It was unmistakable.
“Candi,” Jason said, aghast, before awkwardly getting up from the lunch table. Candi started to laugh—she was clearly repelled and shocked, but still delighted by his humiliation—and then the other kids, their eyes widening, began to scream and hoot. Jason hobbled away as quickly as he could with his knees held together and his jeans sagging in the back.
“Eww,” Chrissy said, the only one who had not surrendered to hilarity. She looked sincerely horrified.
“Disgusting,” Candi confirmed, smirking. She turned to Astrid. “Don’t worry about him,” she assured her. “He’ll know better than to bother you again.”
“What just happened?” Astrid said.
“Grody, right?” Candi said, dropping her jaw adorably. “Now,” she said, changing the subject. “Let’s cut. You should come to my house and we’ll jump in the hot tub.”
“Oh, I can’t cut,” Astrid sputtered. “My mother . . .”
“Don’t worry about your mother,” Candi snapped. “You’ll come with me to my house. You’ll go in the hot tub with me.”
“I don’t have a suit or—”
“I have one you can borrow.”
Candi rose, the matter settled.
“You’re taking off?” asked Vince, also rising, also apparently surprised. “We just got here.”
“Yeah, babe. Sorry,” Candi said, looking only at him. “You come over later though. Not during our soak, though, you perv. No peeping!”
Vince laughed and pulled Candi into his chest. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to help myself,” he said.
Candi whispered something into Vince’s ear and the two kissed, deeply, for a long time, before she turned to Astrid. “We’re audi,” she said.
And Astrid joined her, like the follower she now truly knew herself to be, not looking back to say good-bye to Milo and Marcel or meeting the gaze of Principal Barton, who they passed in the hall, or really anyone else, she was so focused, her attention so intent on Candi.
1 Astrid was quoting The Muppet Movie and her joke really should have gone over better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Naturally, Candi’s red Fiat Spider convertible was parked in front of the school.1 Once they’d settled into the two-seater, Candi pulled out onto the street with such force, Astrid’s head snapped back, making her think of a person being hung. She shivered.
“I absolutely love driving,” Candi said. She slowed the car as they moved down Main Street, as though they were part of a parade. Astrid saw the man from the market step out and wave; next, the waitress, Mrs. Jefferson, emerged from Pep’s, holding up and flapping both her hands in an overexaggerated salutation. The cook came out a moment later, waving the beanie hat he wore that made him look like the cook from the TV show Alice. Then, Astrid saw the doors to the library slowly opening; the librarian, Mr. Marshall, stood on the top step. He nodded.
Candi kept one hand aloft in a queenly wave. “Aren’t they sweet?” she said, smiling. “They have a phone tree. 2 I notice that Michelle—she manages the theater—didn’t come out.” Candi lowered her hand to the steering wheel. “You know I’ve been driving since I was eight. Back then, I couldn’t reach the pedals! But my mom engineered these super-platform shoes. I’ve always been older than my calendar year, you know? My mother says I went from five to thirty-five.” The car too, suddenly went 5 to 35 and again, Astrid was thrown back against her seat as they rocketed down the tree-lined street.
