The Diamonds (24 page)

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

•
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.