The Trouble with Emily Dickinson (11 page)

“I said give it back!”

“Or keep my feet firmly planted?” Queenie
stomped.

“Queenie!” JJ took off around the chair,
chasing Queenie through the lounge. Somehow Queenie managed to keep
reading the poem as she ran, determined to keep out of JJ’s
reach.

“AN EVERLASTING—” she bellowed, as she ducked
around a couch and then hopped up on a table as if it were a
stage.

JJ stood before her, panting like a rabid
dog. She reached over and tugged on Queenie’s pant leg.

Queenie stared down at her. “Excuse me. I’m
in the middle of a performance here. Do you mind?”

“Give it back,” JJ pleaded.

“Autographs will be available afterwards in
the lobby, thank you.” Queenie shook her leg free of JJ’s grip.
Then she put one foot graciously in front of the other and regained
her stance. Her free hand reached high into the air as she angled
her face to the make-believe crowd. “An everlasting debate for all
of time,” she roared. “Do I follow my heart? Or do I fol—? Or do I
follow my mind? Is that what you were going to write?”

“Yes,” JJ whispered miserably.

“Do I follow my heart! Or do I follow my
mind!” yelled Queenie. When she finished the last word, she bowed
her head to an imaginary array of applause.

“Are you through embarrassing me?”

“I think so,” said Queenie, tossing the
journal to JJ. She hopped off the table and straightened her
shirt.

“You know,” JJ gritted her teeth. “Sometimes
words fail to describe the distaste I have for you.”

“Please. You’re a poet.” Queenie patted her
confidently on the back. “I’m sure you could think of a few.”

“What do you want?”

“I was bored, so I came looking for you. You
weren’t in the library so this was my next best guess.”

“You are a true detective.”

Queenie pointed to the journal, “Was that
little poem there about the homecoming queen?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Well, maybe a little bit. But it’s a more
general pondering than anything else.”

“You’re really conflicted, aren’t you?”

JJ gave Queenie the harshest look she could
muster.

“And you don’t really want to talk about it
either?”

“No, I don’t,” said JJ as she walked over to
the chair she’d been sitting in and picked up her book bag from the
floor. “Don’t you have homework to do or something?”

“Finished it,” Queenie said proudly.

“You amaze me.”

Queenie was one of those annoyingly gifted
people who hardly ever studied yet seemed to retain information
almost instantly after reading something only once. JJ believed
that Queenie might have a photographic memory or something. And
despised her for it.

“You up for an adventure?”

“Depends. Is this so-called adventure going
to get me into trouble?”

Queenie pressed her palm to her chest
innocently. “I resent that.”

“Spare me the theatrics. What did you have in
mind?”

“A certain woman sent me a text about an hour
ago asking me to meet her at a certain club at a certain time. I
told her I’d be there with a certain friend of mine.”

“Does this certain woman happen to be the
twenty-something college student who looks to you for a little
excitement in an otherwise dull existence?”

Queenie grinned widely.

“You know,” JJ flung her backpack over her
shoulders, “for someone who is constantly giving me advice on my
love life, you really aren’t doing too well in that particular area
yourself.”

“Me? I do all right.”

“You date women who aren’t interested in
relationships.”

“And the problem is?”

“The problem is that you deserve better than
that,” JJ said plainly.

“I’m not looking for better right now,”
Queenie said, as they walked out of the school lounge and onto the
fading green lawn that led directly to their dormitory. “I’m in the
prime of my life and I’m not into that hopeless romantic stuff like
you are.”

“You’re into empty relationships instead?
Sounds so appealing.”

“It is, actually, when you compare it with
your current dilemma.”

“My dilemma?”

“Yes. The hopeless romantic never wins, my
friend. Take, for example, your current situation. You’re into
someone you can’t have, and you are in so much turmoil over it that
you had to write a poem about it in order to make yourself feel
better.”

“That’s not why I wrote that poem.”

“No?”

“No,” JJ maintained. “I wrote it for the
simple pleasure of creative expression.”

“Please.” Queenie immediately stopped
walking, tossed her head back and pretended to laugh. “I know she’s
all you have been thinking about since you met her.”

“Oh, really?”

They began to walk again.

“JJ, it’s so obvious. When you do something,
you do it one hundred percent. And obsessing over straight girls is
something you do best.”

“Thanks,” JJ said, sourly.

“With the women I see, there’s none of that.
No room to analyze or obsess.” Queenie placed her hands forward in
the air, palms down and swept them to one side. “Just get in, get
out and nobody gets hurt. Get it?”

“You make it sound like a bank robbery.”

They reached the concrete path that lead up
to the steps of their dorm.

“So, you in?” Queenie asked.

“I guess,” JJ said. A night out with Queenie
always proved to be a good distraction from reality. “Is anyone
else coming?”

“I’ll see if Alex and Sarah are up to
it.”

Alex and Sarah were JJ’s suitemates, and also
members of the basketball team. Alex was gay and Sarah was
straight, but that never deterred her from going out to a gay club.
In fact, Sarah seemed to have more gay friends than straight
friends, which considerably hindered her odds of finding a suitable
romantic companion.

Queenie claimed that Sarah was just in denial
and that someday she’d realize that she was, in fact, an actual
lesbian, and would eventually come over to the dark side. Queenie
liked to refer to the gay community as the dark side because it got
under her parents’ skin.

“Want to call the cheerleading queen to see
if she would like to go as well?”

“Yeah, I’m going to pass on that one,” JJ
replied dryly. She wasn’t about to tell Queenie that she already
had a tentative date with Kendal next Friday night. It wasn’t even
a date for that matter. Just a cup of coffee, really.

“What are you smiling about?” Queenie asked,
sensing JJ was hiding something.

“Nothing,” JJ said. “Nothing at all.”

CHAPTER 15

Kendal walked along the sidewalk to the
building where all the soccer players lived. It was located on the
opposite end of the school from her dorm and close to the edge of
the campus. The school administration gave the soccer team a lot
more leeway than they did other students. They knew all about the
soccer parties and celebrations, but chose to look the other way
since Sampson Academy had won the state championship three years in
a row. Anybody else who dared to throw a party risked getting
caught and being suspended or thrown out of school. It’s amazing
the freedom a winning record could buy you.

Kendal entered the dorm on a mission to find
Kyan and tell him that she would go to his stupid party next Friday
night after all, but not before Christine had called ahead to
inform Jason that Kendal was on her way. Kyan and Jason were
roommates.

Kendal figured that Kyan would be in his room
sweating with anticipation. She reached the stairs and took a deep
breath. Christine owes me big time, she thought.

Once she reached the third floor, she entered
the hallway and saw empty pizza boxes and garbage bags everywhere.
Music boomed from an open door, even though no one was in the room.
She peeked into the room and saw dark stains of God-knows-what
scattered all over the carpet. Something that smelled of pepperoni
and cheap cologne hung in the air. Kendal made a face, rounded the
first corner, reminding herself not to touch anything accidentally.
She continued to walk to the end of the hallway, holding her breath
when she saw that the door to Room 41 was open just a crack. She
knocked slightly, and then pushed it open.

Jason was sitting on a couch watching
football, and Kyan was laying face down on his bed, reading what
looked like a textbook.

“Busy?” Kendal asked when he looked up.

“Studying,” Kyan said, motioning to the
book.

Kendal got the feeling that he was trying to
make a good impression on her. “I’ll be quick,” she said.

“It’s okay.” Kyan hopped off the bed and
threw the book aside. “I was ready for a break anyway.”

He looked over at Jason who appeared to be
engrossed in the football game. It took him a minute before he
looked up, and realized that Kyan was staring at him.

“Oh, my bad,” Jason said. “I’ll leave you two
alone.” He stood up and gave Kyan a slight punch in the arm as if
to say, “Go get ‘em.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Kendal said
hurriedly. “I’m just going to be a minute.”

“No, it’s okay,” Jason replied, already
halfway out the door. “I’ll watch the game in Kyle’s room.” He
nodded at them and closed the door behind him.

Kendal held her arms close to her sides, not
sure what to do with them. This was more uncomfortable than she’d
imagined it would be.

“Have a seat,” Kyan said. He plopped down on
the couch and turned off the television.

Kendal remained standing. “So, you know that
invite party you were talking about the other night?” she
asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was thinking about it, and if you
still haven’t asked anyone, then I’d like to go.” She was secretly
hoping that he’d already asked someone else. “Just as a friend, of
course.”

“As a friend,” Kyan repeated. He tapped his
hand on his knee as if he were mulling it over. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Well, yeah. I haven’t asked anyone else yet,
and I wanted you to be my invite, so it’s all good.”

Kendal decided to point out the stipulations
because there was still a hope that he might change his mind
afterwards. “Of course, by friends I mean that you shouldn’t plan
on making a pass at me in any way, shape or form. Sure, we can hang
out and talk, but that’s basically it. If your hands start drifting
anywhere I view as off limits, I’m out of there.”

Kyan opened his mouth to respond, and then
thought better of it. “You must think I’m a slime ball,” he finally
said.

“I’m sorry?” Kendal asked. That was the last
thing she’d expected him to say.

“To say something like that, you must think
I’m a complete jerk.”

“Well, you do have quite the reputation.”

“I know,” Kyan said, regretfully. “I’m not
proud of it. So, if the only way you’ll feel comfortable around me
is by telling me that you just want to go as friends, then I
understand. I guess I’ll just have to prove to you that I’m
genuinely interested in you.”

Kendal couldn’t believe it. Either he was an
extremely good actor or he was actually earnest, and she’d severely
misjudged him.

“I appreciate that,” she said. She took a big
breath, feeling slightly better about the whole situation. “I’ll
see you Friday night then.”

“Sounds good,” Kyan said. He rose to his feet
and opened the door for her. “Wait. I thought you had that poetry
thing or something on Friday?”

“I do,” Kendal said. “I’m going to that first
and then I’m coming here. So, I’ll probably be a little late.”

“I didn’t know you were good friends with
that girl from the basketball team.”

“JJ?”

“Yea, the one you were at the library with.
I’ve seen her play a couple of games. She’s pretty good.”

“She’s my Women’s Literature tutor,” Kendal
said. “We’re just getting to know each other.” She tried, but she
couldn’t help but smile. “She’s so smart. I mean really smart, not
just about school stuff. I’ve never met anyone like her before.
She’s so sweet and—”

Kyan was staring at her awkwardly.

“Um, she’s cool, you know?”

“Right. So I guess I’ll see you Friday then,”
he said.

“Yeah, Friday,” Kendal confirmed. She left
the dorm feeling like a fool. If she’d planned on hiding her
growing feelings for JJ, she was going to have to do a far better
job. What if anyone found out? What in the world would she do
then?

CHAPTER 16

Kendal sat staring at her mashed potatoes in
the dining hall on Thursday night, thinking about how closely one
lump resembled Justin Bieber.

“What’s eating you?” Christine asked. She was
sitting directly across from Kendal, enjoying a small side
salad.

Kendal looked up. Her eyes were hollow, and
she was sure the dark circles beneath them made her look like a
football player on a bright, sunny day. She hadn’t slept at all
last night because she’d had a frightening nightmare about her
Women’s Literature class.

“You look horrible,” Christine added.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just speaking the truth.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Problem?”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I know. You were tossing all around and kept
mumbling something about Emily Dickinson.”

Kendal yawned. How could a single subject
torment her so much? She wondered. She picked at the food on her
plate and shoved a piece of roast turkey into her mouth. It tasted
like rubber. “I have a pop quiz in my Women’s Literature class
tomorrow,” she said after spitting the meat out into a napkin.

“Well, at least your teacher informed you of
the pop quiz. Mr. Marks just whips out a quiz as soon as we walk
through the door. And of course he chooses the most complicated
math problems, ever.”

“I think I’d have a heart attack if Ms. Chin
ever did that. But thankfully she told us there was going to be a
quiz. She even told us which author. The only problem is that she
didn’t tell us what poem it was going to be on. That’s what I’m
nervous about.”