The diamonds, p.16
The Diamonds, page 16
“Next,” he said, writing surveillance,“we need to stake out the Diamonds. Someone has to be watching their every move.”
Monique raised her hand. “I could do that,” she volunteered. “Eet would be my pleasure.”
“Ditto,” said Boyd. “I watch Clarissa all the time anyway. I may as well be doing it for a reason other than copying her strut.”
“Most importantly,” said Tommy, “we need to be working diligently to stir up anti-Diamond sentiment. We can't let anyone know about our group, but connecting with other students who have suffered at the hands of the Diamonds could prove useful in the future. They could be our greatest allies.”
“So, once we get all of this information,” Jenny said skeptically, “which is basically going to be, like, impossible, what are we going to do? Show it to Principal Newman? What if he doesn't care? What's the point of putting all of this time and energy into catching the Diamonds doing illegal stuff if we don't know what we're going to do with that evidence once we get it? We need a game plan.”
Then it hit me. “Hold on a minute,” I said, rummaging through my purse. I took out a crumpled piece of paper I'd nearly forgotten about, unfolded it, and passed it to Tommy.
He stared at the flyer for a moment, a smile inching across his face until he looked genuinely pleased. In thick lettering he wrote:
FASHION SHOW
Tommy paused for a moment, letting the words sink into our brains. Then, underneath, he wrote:
THIS IS WAR!
We were about to call it quits for the night when I realized one major element in our freedom crusade that had been forgotten.
“Wait,” I said, standing up from the couch. Anderson, who had been squished next to me, ran his fingers along the outside seam of my jeans as I spoke. “You know what I think we're missing?”
“A wedge of Brie and a poor attitude toward foreigners?” asked Monique.
“Not exactly,” I said. “Our own declaration of independence.”
I ran over to the Post-it board and grabbed the marker. “We need to write down what we want and use it as a motivator. That way, when times are tough, we can always remember what we are fighting for.
“So what is it that we want?”
“Er, liberty!” cried Monique.
“Justice,” Darcy bellowed.
“The right to wear jazz pants whenever we feel like it!” Boyd shouted.
“Yes!” I said, the ideas coming faster than I could record them. “What else?”
We were done in less than twenty minutes. Please keep in mind that a good portion of this was borrowed from the actual Declaration of Independence. Don't think of it as copying. Really. It's more of an homage.
THE (STONECUTTERS)
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
In High School
The Unanimous Declaration of the Stonecutters,
When in the Course of high school events, it becomes necessary for one people to react against the indecencies forced upon them by another, and to stand up for themselves against adversity and nasty skanks, taking hold, of their God-given rights, it is necessary that they declare the reasons why their foes, the Diamonds, have given them no choice other than to revolt.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all teens are created equal, even those with physical deformities and/or fugly faces and/or bad breath, that they are protected from pretty, mean girls who try to deny them their Rights, which include but are not limited to: freedom, justice, and tongue-kissing whomever they desire.
Those rights should be protected by their institution, the Bennington School, and not denied them by any student-run organizations acting as a Government, such as the mock trial team. In such a case, after insurmountable abuses and injustices, it is the Right of the Students to overthrow said Government, the Diamonds, replacing it with a new foundation based on the above principles to ensure Equality, Happiness, and Good Grades.
Such has happened at Bennington, and we, the Stonecutters, have united to speak on the Students’ behalf. It is necessary to abolish the Diamond Court, as their history is one of repeated wrath and indignities, having established an absolute Tyranny over the social lives of the Students. To prove this, below are a few of many wrongs enacted by the Diamonds:
They have refused to create laws for the good of the whole—only a select elite.
They have not abided by the rules of a “fair trial” and instead have unfairly influenced rulings for personal gain.
They have issued rulings outside of the courtroom (also referred to as the chorus room).
They have placed one of their Representatives at the helm of the student government, therefore denying the opportunity for any checks and balances from other arenas on their actions.
They have attacked innocent individuals for their own benefit and made it impossible for said individuals to walk the halls with pride.
They have attacked the moral fiber and character of individuals whom they do not like, and have insulted them in front of the entire community.
They have made nearly every Student at Bennington feel bad about him- or herself.
They have forgone the Bill of Rights and instead have created their own document, the Diamond Rules, which was not approved by the Students and is being used to deny their rights instead of protect them.
They are bad friends.
They are not as hot as they think they are.
They are evil byotches with no sense of compassion, totally unworthy to be in control of any Government and in need of severe punishment.
Therefore, we, the Stonecutters, the Representatives of the Bennington School's Student Body, do solemnly publish and declare that We are no longer under the rule of the Diamond Court and are absolved of our allegiance to them and, as Independent individuals, declare the Right to wage War against the Diamonds. For the strength of this Declaration, we mutually pledge to one another our Passion and our Reputations, which, though not without fault, are all we have to Give.
THE STONECUTTERS
Marni Valentine Turbo Samuels Darcy McKibbon
Anderson St. James Boyd Longmeadow Jed Brantley
Tommy Payne Monique French Jenny Murphy
• EXHIBIT N •
School was more tolerable after that. People were still complete assholes to me, but I had a secret mission. And, it seemed, that was enough. Even when random kids gave me nasty looks or muttered dirty words or made fun of me behind my back, it didn't matter anymore. The end was in sight.
Let them smirk, I thought as I hurried between classes or opened my locker or sat alone at lunch. (Anderson had off a different period.) If I was particularly depressed, all I had to do was pass Monique near the girls’ bathroom or lock eyes with Turbo outside the main office—only for a second!—to feel suddenly invigorated, like a burst of caffeine or a bolt of lightning had surged through my entire body.
Things were about to begin.
And I was ready.
The following week, Tommy assigned us “covert operation” routes on which we had to follow the Diamonds around town, recording their every move. Who they spoke to. What they did after school. “It's called ‘trailing the suspect,’” Darcy told us. “My dad does it all the time.”
Supposedly, if we got the Diamonds’ routines down pat, we would be able to notice anything out of the ordinary and (hopefully) catch them doing something incriminating, like meeting with a member of the jury outside school or making a voodoo doll of me and setting it on fire. You never know.
As someone who already knew the Diamonds’ routine, a lot of this “trailing” seemed unnecessary, but since the whole thing had been my idea to begin with, I felt obligated to participate. And besides, I was sort of curious about what my former best friends were up to. Who wouldn't be?
Here's what I'll say about my initial experience: trailing Clarissa home in Boyd's PT Cruiser was an ultimate low. (And not only because Boyd refused to play anything except the original Broadway cast recording of Kiss of the Spider Woman.)
A month or so earlier, I would have been inside Clarissa's Audi. Right beside her. Now I was outside—in another car entirely—and the distance between us was overwhelming.
“Chita Rivera was mad fierce in this bullshit,” Boyd said, turning up the volume. Ahead, Clarissa was making a left onto her street. “Don't you think?”
I liked musicals as much as the next person, but I was sure I didn't like them as much as Boyd did. And I didn't feel like getting into any debates at the moment. “I guess.”
“You guess?” Boyd looked at me like I had slapped him across the face. “What kind of theater freak are you?”
“I'm not a theater freak,” I said.
“Oh, please,” Boyd said, waving me off with one hand. “Everyone is a theater freak. Even if they don't know it.” He looked me up and down. “How many bootleg recordings do you have of Broadway shows? Twenty? You can tell me.”
“Zero.”
“Well, what about Wicked? You must at least have a bootleg of that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Can we talk about something else?”
Before I knew it, we were in front of Clarissa's house, across the street, parked underneath a tree. “Like what?” he asked. “Jazz dance? Marimba?”
“How about something completely unrelated to musicals or Broadway?”
Boyd tilted his head until it was almost parallel to the ground. “I don't understand the question.”
“All you ever do is talk about, well, very stereo-typically—”
“Gay things?”
Boyd studied me, apparently waiting to see how I would react. Sure, I'd assumed Boyd was gay, but I didn't really know. I certainly didn't want to offend him.
“That's not what I meant.”
“Oh no?”
I bit my lip. What had I been trying to say?
“You know,” Boyd said, leaning back in his seat, “for someone who doesn't have a whole lot of friends at the moment, you're pretty judgmental.” He blinked. “It's not a good look for you.”
I couldn't think of anything coherent to say. Boyd was right. I might have been trying to get back at the Diamonds, but I was still acting like one.
I saw Boyd the next day right before first period. He was wearing penny loafers and a tight pair of khakis. His hair, I thought, had been Japanese-straightened.
“Hey!” he said, leaning his elbow on the locker next to mine. “Whaddup?”
I looked at him confusedly. “Hi,” I said. “Um, how are you?”
“Oh, fine,” he said, tossing back his shoulders and sighing dramatically. “Someone threw a bagel at me in the parking lot. It hit me in the head, which totally hurt, but then I was like, Nice, free bagel!” I glanced down and saw a half-eaten cinnamon-raisin bagel in his hand. “We still on for this afternoon?”
I shut my locker, books piled in my arm, and narrowed my eyes. We were supposed to follow Clarissa again that day, but I wasn't sure if he would want to anymore. “You're not mad at me?”
“For what?”
“Yesterday,” I said. I had an apology all prepared. Anderson had already talked me through it on the phone the night before. I'd gone over it in my head the entire drive to school.
ME: I'm sorry for making assumptions about you and your lifestyle, Boyd, and for being insensitive. And uncaring. And for my lack of enthusiasm re: Kiss of the Spider Woman and musicals in general. I really do like them, actually. A lot. Please forgive me?
Boyd looked as if he were about to say something important: his lips were slightly parted, his eyes incredibly focused. But then he shimmied, cementing both hands to his hips. “I have no idea what you're talking about, Marni.” He glanced at his watch. “See you after school. Don't be late.”
I smiled to myself. It seemed as though I had already been forgiven.
School was uneventful that day. I had a lab in physics. A test in calculus. Ms. Ariana made me audition for a solo in chorus, and the Diamonds laughed the entire time I sang. (I'm not a good singer.) Anderson's psychology class was canceled, and we left campus and had lunch at Wendy's. I ate a salad and half his fries.
In Mr. Townsen's class, we were supposed to pair up and choose a U.S. Supreme Court case, writing a report either in support of the majority decision or against it. Everyone immediately claimed a partner as I sat alone at my desk. I felt like the fat kid in gym class, except I wasn't fat. And I wasn't in gym class.
Finally, a kid named Arjit took pity and sat down next to me. Well, that's not exactly true. Mr. Townsen approached him and pointed at me, and Arjit slunk toward me with a look of defeat on his face. (You know you're unpopular when the teacher has to force someone to be your partner.)
Arjit was small, maybe five foot five, and had a constellation of acne across his forehead. His eyebrows were thick and untamed, and his sideburns trailed all the way down to his jawline. He was the type of guy I never would have spoken to a few months earlier. But I was a different person now. Wasn't I? I thought about my interaction with Boyd and decided that being nice to Arjit was exactly the type of thing I should be doing. Turning over a new leaf. Becoming a kinder, more sincere person. Arjit was probably a great guy, and now I had the opportunity to know him better.
“So,” I said in a light, sweet voice. “Which case do you want to work on?”
Arjit glared at me in a way that said, Back off, bitch.
“Arjit?”
“Whatever,” he said, looking away. I followed his eyes, which were locked on the Diamonds. They were staring right at us. “I don't care. Can you just, like, not talk so much? Your voice is really irritating.”
I won't lie: getting told off by Arjit was a definite blow, but I was used to it by now. Kind of. I turned over a new page in my binder and wrote my name at the top. This whole being-nice-to-people thing was going to be a lot harder than I'd imagined.
“I cannot believe he said that,” Boyd said, taking a sip of his coffee. We were back inside his car, listening to Sunday in the Park with George. “Who knew Arjit could be such a douche?”
“Apparently I bring out the worst in people,” I said, staring at Clarissa's house, an old Victorian with a wraparound porch and a canary yellow door. How many times had I sat on that porch? Knocked on that door?
“You're just going through a rough spot,” Boyd said knowingly. “It'll pass. All storms do.”
“It certainly doesn't feel that way.”
Boyd traced the steering wheel with one finger. “You're actually pretty lucky, Marni. You just can't see it right now.”
I laughed. Me? Lucky? “I can't see it because it's not true,” I said, “but it's nice of you to say so, Boyd.”
“No, I'm serious,” he said, turning to face me. “I mean, sure, your friends turned out to be total gorilla bitches, but you're, like, gorgeous, you're smart and funny, and you have, like, a way hot boyfriend.”
I raised an eyebrow, and he blushed. I guess he'd answered my question after all. “I won't say anything, you know. About you … being … well… you know.”
Boyd shrugged. “I'm not ashamed of who I am, but I'm not ready to tell my parents. Not yet. Maybe once I go away to college.” He touched my shoulder. “Thanks, though.”
“You're welcome,” I said.
“I know you don't think I'm right about your being lucky,” he continued, “but I am. And even if I wasn't, you have friends now. You just have to give us a chance.”
Despite our belonging to a secret organization, I had yet to think of the Stonecutters as my friends. Sitting there with Boyd, though, I realized that was exactly what they were. Well, not yet. But that was what they had the potential to be.
If I let them.
Nothing happened at Clarissa's until the fifth time we followed her home. It was a Thursday, around six o'clock. Mock trial had been over for nearly an hour. The sky was dark, and I had to squint to see anything at all. Boyd was in the driver's seat, as usual, but this time Turbo was with us, sprawled along the backseat as though it were a couch. Every five minutes or so, I would glance at him in the rearview mirror.
“Dude,” Turbo said, taking off his hat and scratching his head, “how long are we gonna stay here for?”
“Why?” Boyd asked. He was reading the latest In Touch. “Got somewhere better to be? Hot date?”
Turbo snorted. “I wanted to do some skateboarding.”
I was always surprised when people who looked like skaters actually skated. I thought it was more of a fashion statement than anything else.
“Are you any good?” I asked, craning my neck toward the back of the car. “I don't mean that in a rude way, Turbo. I'm just wondering.”
“Nah, it's cool. I'm all right. I used to be a lot better.”
“What happened?” Boyd tore his eyes from the magazine. “Did you pop a wheelie?”
Turbo laughed. “Do you even know what that means?”
Boyd shook his head. “I've always wanted to say it, though.”
“I guess.” Turbo put his hat back on. There was a skull on it, and it was incredibly tattered. I think he thought it made him look tough. “Anyway, I just practice a lot less. Back when I went to Dover, a bunch of my friends skated, so we'd all hang out after school and shit. But I lost touch with them when I started at Bennington, so, ya know. It sucks.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You went to Dover?”
Fact: Dover (elementary, middle, and high schools) is the public school district I belonged to before starting at Bennington.
“Yup,” Turbo said. “Up through freshman year.”
“That's weird,” I said. “I don't remember you. I went there for middle school.”
The years I'd spent at Dover middle school were ones I rarely spoke of. Not because it was a bad school or anything (although compared to Bennington, it was) but because I was no longer the same person I'd been when I'd gone there. I'd grown out of my awkward, gangly years, of having as many friends as I had pairs of shoes (very few), of simply waiting for my real life to begin.
