A/N: I know I'm updating a lot, but my update schedule will be a little bumpy as the school year starts so I'm trying to update a lot more frequently now—that way you don't run out of content! Enjoy :)
023. To Be Brave
At Aquino High, there's only one first place.
I think about Taylor all that night and all the next morning as I'm getting ready for school. I can't help it. It's not that I'm missing him or wishing things between us had gone a different way—I'm genuinely worried about him. The emptiness in his eyes, the way his shoulders had slouched as he sat on the porch—I've never seen him that way before.
All my worries fade when I walk down the senior hallway Tuesday morning and see Brynn and Allison huddled together. When I get closer I see that they're both holding their palm tree necklaces.
"I thought you gave these back—" I start, but fall silent as soon as I see the charms. The palm trees are twisted and the gold is smashed; the tiny diamonds look like they've been pried out of the necklaces with a knife.
"He mutilated them," Brynn mutters, holding the necklace up to the light. "They were so beautiful."
Allison sneers. "That's how everything starts out with Taylor." Throwing her hair over her shoulder, she turns to me and says, "We found these taped to our lockers this morning. Classy of him, isn't it?"
I hold out my hand and she passes me her necklace. It falls limp in my palm, so ruined that I'm almost unable to recognize it. I hand it back to Allison, who says, "I'm just going to throw it out and forget about it. Are you going to calc class today?"
"No." Mrs. Rutledge told us yesterday that we'd be working on test corrections, and that anyone who didn't want to earn half points back could have free period instead. I'd only missed one question on my test, and the points I could get back wouldn't even boost my score, so I'd elected to work instead. I have an important project that I need to finish, anyway.
I gently tug the necklace from Brynn's grasp and give it to Allison to throw away. Then, hitching my backpack over my shoulder, I head down to the commons. All of this will end soon, I tell myself as I jog down the stairs, shouldering past students heading to class. You're going to make sure of that.
In the commons, I sit down on the couch in the back corner of the room before pulling out my laptop. Shoving my earbuds into my ears, I open the sound file Liam had sent from last Friday's meeting. Then I start snipping and sorting, biting down on my lip to try and keep back some of my anger. I'm glad that I've found an outlet for my fury, that I have something to work towards, but it makes me livid every time I have to listen to the recording.
Halfway through the period, I check the clock. Mr. Denham had called for a special all-school assembly right before lunch to discuss the last trimester at Aquino High as well as preparations for the end of the school year. I don't want to think about things like prom and graduation and college—all I can focus on is making it through this week. Frantically, I resume clicking and rearranging. I only have a few hours left to finish this.
My nerves continue to grow all through my next two classes. As I file behind Cassidy to the gym for the all-school assembly, I can't help but remember the last time I was in that room. Will I be rejected now just like I was then? What if nobody listens to me? What if they laugh at me? I can pretend all I want to be done with Aquino High's social pyramid, but I still want to be liked.
I sit at the front of the bleachers with the rest of the seniors, jiggling my knees in anticipation as I wait for the assembly to start. Liam sits down beside me last minute, leaning forward so his blonde curls brush my forehead. "Everything's ready," he says.
I nod, but my jaw is clenched too tightly to say anything to him.
Before I have time to panic anymore, Mr. Denham strides to the center of the gym, the cord for his microphone dragging behind him. "Thanks for coming to this meeting," he says, coming to a stop in front of the podium. "On the agenda today we're going to discuss prom and graduation. Namely, we'll be announcing this year's valedictorian and salutatorian."
My stomach falls to the floor of the gym and probably below, down through the school's basement and into the dirt. Now I feel like I'm going to be sick on top of everything.
"Since I know a lot of you are eager to find out, I'll go ahead and start with that." Mr Denham sets his notecards down on the podium and begins flipping through them. Why hadn't I thought to write myself notes?
"This year was the closest race in Aquino High's history for valedictorian," says Mr. Denham. "But as with everything at Aquino High, there's only one first place."
No, I want to say. We can tie. Allison and I can take it together—wouldn't it be better that way?
"I'm pleased to announce that this year's valedictorian is Erika Soto. Erika, come on up to the podium, please."
My vision blurs. Around me, people are patting me on the back, shouting congratulations in my ear, and pushing me forward. I can't think as I'm shoved to my feet; clumsily, I trip over my shoes. Then I start walking, towards the podium and Mr. Denham. In my peripheral vision, I see Liam standing and making his way over to the sound booth.
With a jolt, I realize that this is the perfect opportunity. Things have fallen into place even better than I could have expected.
I've reached Mr. Denham. He shakes my hand enthusiastically, his cheerful smile projecting to the back of the bleachers. "Nice work, Erika," he says so only I can hear. "You've been a model student during your time here, and I'm sure you'll represent your graduating class well."
Numbly, I shake his hand. Something crackles from the sound booth, and slowly the wild applause from the bleachers halts.
"Mr. Denham." My voice comes out scratchy and raw. Clearing my throat, I try again. "Mr. Denham. Can I have the podium for a second?"
"This announcement doesn't usually come with a speech."
"Please." I try to convey the importance of my message with my eyes, and either Mr. Denham sees that or he takes pity on me, because he nods.
Every one of my steps, I'm certain, is one movement closer to my doom. I find myself standing behind the podium seconds later, staring back at everyone at Aquino High. The enormity of what I'm about to do starts to overcome me, causing tears to prick at my eyes.
Don't cry. Don't cry. You're not going to cry in front of everyone.
Hands rest on my shoulders behind me. Liam has returned from the sound booth and is standing behind me; he angles his head and says softly, "You've got this Soto."
I shut my eyes and take comfort in his presence before he steps away.
"First of all, I know I'm not supposed to be making a speech right now," I say. "This isn't about me being valedictorian. In fact, I was planning on making this speech even before I knew that I was number one in the class."
I try not to look at the front of the bleachers, at my sister. If the roles were reversed, I know I'd be crushed. Instead I focus on the very back row, at the freshmen. At least they don't look antagonistic that I'm wasting their valuable time.
"A lot of you, namely the senior class, are aware of the Post-It note system that the senior boys partake in every Friday. Recently, it struck me how unfair and cruel this system is. I'd like your help in putting a stop to it."
"Erika." Mr. Denham has come up beside me, clutching his notecards. "I really don't think now is the time."
Raising my voice, I say, "I'm your valedictorian now, and I'm supposed to represent this year's graduating class. I think the first step in doing so is pointing out that what this class is doing needs to be stopped."
Liam has dropped a remote on the podium; I press play and listen to the sounds of last Friday's recording straining over the speakers. "Listening to this may hurt some of you, and I'm sorry if this causes me any pain. It caused me a lot of pain, and it broke me and people I care about. But the first step to change is identifying the problem, so here we go."
The recording is playing now. I can hear the meeting going on: the sickening commentary about the girls and the petty fights being resolved by social status. Then the recording switches suddenly to Luke entering the gym; to him being bullied until he leaves. As that part plays I try to find his face in the sea of students, but can't find him. Maybe he's not here at all.
Finally, the recording cuts to my voice, amplified as I try to tell the boys what they're doing is wrong. Taylor and the boys' vow of secrecy echoes over the captivated audience, followed by Taylor's six-second warning: "At Aquino High, girls who try to change the system get punished."
There's dead silence when the recording cuts to static. Taking a deep breath, I say, "I don't care that I'll be punished. Don't you all see that this is wrong? Whatever made these boys create this—whatever makes them continue it—is not justification for what they've done. I don't know if they're trying to fit in, or assert themselves, or just get girls: it's not okay."
My voice shakes. Steadying it as best I can, I continue. "These are real people they're talking about. Real people who are more than their bodies or their willingness to sleep with guys. And the bullying that takes place during this meeting? That's shallow, too. Nobody should be denied anything because they're seen as less valuable than anyone else."
Someone cheers in the audience, and that gives me the adrenaline I need to keep going. "I don't care who started this or why," I see, leveling my gaze at Taylor. "It needs to stop, and it's up to you—the student body—to stop it. The administration can only do so much, if they choose to do anything at all."
"Seniors, this needs to start with you. And upperclassmen, after we graduate, it's up to you to ensure that this doesn't happen again. Everyone, please remember the pain this has caused you and loved ones. Any superficial justification you may feel from a high rating or from showing up at these meetings is not worth all the people you're hurting."
A tear seeps out and drips down my cheek, catching me off guard. I don't realize I'm crying until two more tears slide down to match, falling onto Mr. Denham's notecards. I have never cried in front of the school before—to them I'm brave, flawless, and powerful. My tears have always been something I've kept hidden, in the privacy of my own house or with my closest friends.
Now, though, I realize that it's okay to be vulnerable. Maybe it will make people realize how much I care.
I hiccup as my sobs start to take over, wracking my body. I couldn't say anything else even if I wanted to. Clutching Liam's remote in my fingers, I offer the audience a small sad smile before hurrying back to my spot in the bleachers.
I've never heard the entirety of Aquino High as quiet as it is now. In the bleachers, I pass back the remote to Liam before wiping the tears off my face as best I can. Beside me, Brynn blots my tears with the sleeve of her shirt, offering me a reassuring smile.
And then, slowly, the student body starts clapping. Starting at the base of the bleachers where Spencer and Allison are standing, everyone rises to their feet, cheering. Soon the whole school is on its feet, deafening me with its applause. I just sit there sobbing as I watch everyone, from the freshmen to the senior boys, standing and clapping for me.
Not for me. For what I've done. I've given them all an escape.
Gradually, the clapping dies down. Once it's quiet again Mr. Denham makes his way back to the podium. "Thank you for that, Erika," he says, straightening the collar of his shirt. "While unexpected, that took a lot of bravery for you to speak out like that. We appreciate it."
He doesn't say he'll do anything to stop the system. Deep down, though, I hope that he doesn't have to. I hope the students of Aquino High will have enough self-respect to stop it themselves.
Brynn taps me on my shoulder, and I turn to see Allison and Spencer standing right behind me. Allison bends down to wrap her arms around my neck in as best a hug she can given the cramped conditions. "That was awesome," she says, grinning. "And about the valedictorian thing." She squeezes between me and Brynn, so that I catch a whiff of her fruity perfume. "Let's be honest: if we weren't friends now I'd totally go nuts on you and start some unhealthy revenge scheme. But right now I couldn't be more proud."
Leaning forward, I hug her again. There's still a few wayward tears dripping down my cheeks, and one of them wets the shoulder of her bright yellow top. "Thank you," I manage.
She kisses my cheek before sitting back. "Hey, it's what sisters are for."
It's difficult for Mr. Denham to get the student body back in order so that he can continue with the assembly. The silence everyone had given me while I'd been speaking is replaced now with quiet muttering, undulating in waves throughout the bleachers. I know everyone's talking about what I did—trying to decide if they hate me for it, if they'll continue with the system, if they'll rip down the Post-Its on their lockers. Only time will tell the effect I had on them. For now, I know I did the best I could.
After the assembly, Mr. Denham dismisses us all for lunch. Instead of heading to the cafeteria, I follow a large swarm of the senior class back to our hallway. As I lean back against my locker and watch, arms crossed, the senior girls begin peeling their Post-Its off their lockers. From the cruel yellow ones to the blue and red tens, the locker faces slowly empty once more.
I help by gathering the crumpled notes off the floor and tossing them in the nearby trash can. Soon, the bin is filled with the rainbow of notes, all crumpled up and discarded like the worthless pieces of paper they are.
With the ratings gone, suddenly I'm able to look around the hallway and see girls with something other than a number attached to them. There's Lily, who once rapped all the words to a song at one of Liam's parties without a drop of alcohol in her system. Beside her is quiet Aiyana, who once helped me with a physics problem I was stuck on. Now that I think of it, I can't even remember what numbers they had on their Post-Its—it doesn't even matter anymore.
Nothing from the past really matters anymore, I realize. I'm starting fresh, at the very beginning, right now.
"Erika!"
Someone throws their arms around me, and I whirl around to see Cassidy clinging to me tightly, jumping up and down. Soon Brynn, Allison, and Celia join her, crowding around us and grinning as if we all just won the lottery. I feel like we sort of did: there's victory on all of our faces. Forget what we ever did to each other in the past—what matters now is that we're all together again.
"Did you see the look on Denham's face?" asks Celia, leaning back dramatically against a newly plain locker. "He was so appalled at first, and then he looked like he wanted to walk up and yank the microphone from your hands."
"I didn't notice anything," I say. "I was too nervous to see straight."
"At least you didn't throw up," says Allison.
"No. I just managed to sob in front of everyone." Even as I say it, it doesn't sound as bad as I'd intended. So what if I'd shed a few tears? It just means that I care. And going off of the looks I'm receiving as people pass me in the hallways, no one's judging me or my methods. I realize that now I'm respected, not because I'm on top or because I intimidate people, but because I stood up for what I believe in.
Brynn grins. "Mr. Denham's face was nothing compared to Taylor's. I thought he was going to punch something."
"Or someone," I say, thinking of the bruise on Spencer's cheek that's only now fading away completely. "Did anyone see where he went after the assembly?"
"The cafeteria," says Allison. "Which is where we should all be. I bet the line to get food is crazy long now."
"We can just skip," Celia says, shrugging harmlessly. "People will probably still part the line for us—" When she sees all of our glares, she purses her lips together and says, "Fine, jeez! I was just joking."
I know that she isn't, but I don't bother saying anything. I guess this overturned hierarchy takes some people longer to achieve than others.
In the cafeteria, I see Taylor sitting at a table filled to the brim with senior boys. He's talking animatedly to them all, waving his hands and furrowing his eyebrows together. He looks serious—like he's planning a counterattack.
"Really, Taylor?" I mutter, yanking a cafeteria tray from the stack and getting in line for food. If I'd thought I achieved victory when I stood up in front of the whole school and denounced the system, I was wrong.
The king of the Post-It system is fighting back.