Kelsie
The day before Winter Break is always a half day. It’s also the world’s most pointless school day. Maybe even more pointless than the last day of school. At least on the last day there can be no reason for assigning homework or taking attendance. But the half day before Winter Break is always this total exercise in killing time.
Right before the end of the day, I was stuck in Chemistry and totally bored out of my mind. So I asked to go to the bathroom. I ended up in the bathroom with the Slut Stall. It’s not like we don’t use it all the time or anything.
But normally when I go in there, Alice Franklin isn’t actually inside the bathroom, washing her hands.
I walked in and I saw her and almost immediately I wanted to turn around and walk out, but I knew that would be totally and completely chicken of me. I’d done what I’d done, and I couldn’t take it back.
I didn’t actually have to go to the bathroom. My plan had been to go in and text someone or fool around on my phone or just basically kill time in any other place besides Chemistry class.
But there was Alice Franklin, my former best friend, dressed in that bulky weird sweatshirt and reaching for some paper towels. When I walked in, she lifted her head up and looked right at me. Right into my eyes.
There was nothing to say. I just stood there for a second and then I went into a stall. Not the Slut Stall. A different one. I tried to pee, and I couldn’t. I waited for at least five minutes. I thought I could out wait Alice, but when I heard her tell some girl who walked in after me to get out and that she wanted the bathroom to herself, I knew there wasn’t anything I could do except face her. I came back out and Alice was standing there, staring at me. Her dark brown eyes were just penetrating into me. My heart was racing. I felt sick.
“Why did you tell everyone I had an abortion?” Alice said evenly. Now my heart was thumping so loudly I was sure Alice could hear it. It was like that weird short story we read in English class about the guy who was convinced he could hear the heart of his murder victim underneath the floorboards.
I didn’t answer. I just stood there. Heart thumping.
“Why are you telling everyone that I had an abortion when you know it’s not true?” Alice said. Her cheeks were all red and blotchy, and she was breathing hard. She could be mad at me about so many things. Ditching her. Ignoring her. Starting the Slut Stall. But right then it was the abortion rumor she was the maddest about. And I couldn’t blame her.
“I…” I said. I couldn’t talk. Like I said, there was nothing to say. Nothing.
“Look,” Alice said, and for a second I wondered if she was going to hit me. It’s not like I didn’t deserve it. But she just stayed there by the sink, and I stood back, up against the stall door, as far from her as I could be. She kept talking, her voice low, steady, but I could tell it sounded like it was about to explode. “I get the fact that I can’t do anything about the crap going around about me and Brandon and Tommy. I get that. Okay. And I get the fact that no one would even think for a second that the amazing and wonderful Josh Waverly made up that story about me texting Brandon in the truck and causing the accident. Fine. People are going to think what they’re going to think and it doesn’t matter what I say about it. But you know the abortion thing is a lie. You know it!” When Alice said know the second time, she kind of hit the edge of the white porcelain sink with her hand, and I jumped a little.
“I…” I said, and Alice stood there, like she was just begging me with her eyes to say something, anything. And I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.
All of a sudden Alice was crying. Not all sobbing or anything, but there were tears running down her face. Her voice stayed really even though, just even and steady despite all the tears.
“You were my best friend, Kelsie. My best friend. And I am not letting you out of here until you tell me why you made that up,” she whispered, stepping toward me. “You can’t just lie like that!”
I swallowed. Now I was the one breathing hard. I was pretty sure I was red in the face, too.
“Well, you lied to me once,” I said, barely getting the words out. “You lied to me about messing around with Mark Lopez that summer at the pool. You said I wouldn’t understand because I was a virgin.” I spat out the word virgin like I had as much right to be mad at Alice as she had to be mad at me.
Alice stared at me, completely confused, like she’d made up all sorts of reasons why I did what I did, but in a million years that had never been one of them. She sort of shook her head a little, like she was repeating my words in her head.
“Mark Lopez? That was a million years ago. I don’t … what does that have to do with…” She just stood there. Stunned, I guess. I just kept swallowing and breathing hard and my heart was thumping so bad I just knew Alice could hear it.
And for the briefest moment, the teeniest, tiniest moment ever, I was totally tempted to tell Alice everything. Like, everything. Like real best friends are supposed to do. About how I’d felt like I’d had something to prove after she said what she’d said. How I got jealous of her so much of the time. How I’d slept with Tommy Cray. How I’d been terrified I’d lose all my friends by hanging out with her and I’d be transformed into a dork again. I even wanted to tell her about the abortion. Because she was hurting so bad and I was hurting so bad—am hurting so bad—and, like, I just wished I had someone I could talk to. Anyone. But I knew I wouldn’t say anything to her. I’m not that brave. I’m just not.
And not only am I not a brave person, to tell you the truth sometimes I’m pretty sure I’m the worst person alive.
We didn’t say anything for a minute, and Alice stopped crying. She looked confused. Then she walked past me into the stall and got some toilet paper out and patted the skin under her eyes. When she came back out, she just stared at me and said really slowly, like I was stupid: “Okay. So you told the entire school I had an abortion because one time—over a year ago—I lied to you about giving Mark Lopez a blow job because I felt stupid about it? That’s why you told everyone I had an abortion?”
“And you said I was a virgin,” I repeated. Oh God, that sounded so dumb. So impossibly dumb.
“Well … you are,” Alice said, still dragging out her words like I was a kindergartner. “Right?”
Here was my chance to make it better. Here was my chance to tell the truth. To fix everything.
But I couldn’t. Yeah, I was scared of becoming Kelsie from Flint again. But maybe just as much—as silly as I know it sounds, as ridiculous as I know it is—there was a part of me that blamed Alice Franklin for The Really Awful Stuff. It was petty and childish and I realize that. My mom was more to blame than Alice, and I was probably the most to blame out of everyone. But at that moment in the bathroom I couldn’t help but think that maybe things would have turned out different if Alice hadn’t made me feel like a naive little kid about everything.
Maybe.
So I didn’t tell her the truth. I didn’t fix anything. I just stood there.
“Okay,” Alice said. Then she added, “So tell me to my face that you know the abortion thing is a lie.”
I nodded yes. “It’s a lie,” I whispered. “I made it up.”
Alice didn’t look satisfied or anything. She just stood there, almost like she couldn’t believe she’d gotten me to say what I said. Then she walked over to the corner of the bathroom and threw away the wadded-up toilet paper she’d used to dry her face. Then she turned around to face me again.
“You know what, Kelsie?” Alice said all calm. “Fuck you.” She stood there and looked at me evenly for another moment. When she said that last part, her voice broke like she might cry again, but she didn’t. And then she just walked out.
I stood there for a second after the swinging door shushed shut, and I walked into the Slut Stall.
Killer Alice did it with Santa Claus. Merry Christmas HO HO HO!
I sat on the toilet and I pulled my legs up under me. I put my chin on my knees. I cried so hard, and it felt so good. It felt so good. I cried until snot was just pouring down my nose and into my mouth. I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed. Someone whose voice I didn’t recognize came in and asked me through the door if I was okay, and I didn’t answer. I didn’t even try to stop sobbing. I just kept crying.
Finally, when I realized whoever came in might go get a teacher or something, I pulled it together and came out and washed my face. I walked down the hallway and out of one of the side doors of the building and started walking toward my house. It’s so easy to cut school at Healy High. I don’t think my Chemistry teacher even noticed I never came back. I just walked toward home. I didn’t even have my backpack or my coat—I left them both in my locker—but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was leaving that building as fast as I could.
I feel like the baby was a boy. I don’t know why. I just do. I have no reason to think that or anything. Maybe I feel that way just because I wanted it to be.
If I ever get pregnant again, I hope it’s a boy. I would say I’ll pray it’s a boy, but I don’t know if God listens to me anymore. It’s scary to say this, but I don’t know if God exists, to tell you the truth.
But if I do end up having a girl, there are so many things I’ll do for her. So many things I swear I’ll do for her.
I’ll never walk into her room without knocking.
I’ll never read her personal stuff without asking her permission.
I won’t fake emotions in front of her.
I’ll tell her she’s special just because she’s who she is.
I won’t act like I’m perfect.
I won’t scare her. I won’t let her be scared of me.
I won’t tell her I know all the answers.
I won’t lie to her.
And if she ever feels awful or scared or alone or goes through something terrible and miserable and horrible, I won’t leave her in her room all by herself. No, I’ll crawl into bed with her and hold her in my arms, and I’ll let her cry and cry all she wants, and I’ll press her little head into my neck and let her sob tears on me, and I won’t tell her I know it will get better, and I won’t promise her she won’t always feel this bad, and I won’t make her stop crying. I’ll let her cry for as long as she needs to. As long as she needs to. As long as she needs to.