The Trouble with Emily Dickinson (13 page)

“So, what now? You basically can say whatever
you want to her without getting into trouble.”

Queenie took a sip of milk. “I wouldn’t say
that,” she explained. “But I’d say that I’ve at least got some
leeway now as far as teasing goes.”

“Only you,” said JJ. “This kind of thing only
happens to you.”

“I can’t believe that Dean Hoffman was dumb
enough to bring a rose to Coach’s office,” Queenie continued. “I
mean, if they were trying to keep their relationship such a secret,
you’d think that they’d be a little more careful.”

“Well, I’m sure if she saw the door open and
didn’t hear anything inside, then she assumed that Coach was
alone.” JJ pushed her tray aside. “So, did she admit it then? Did
she finally admit to being gay?”

“She tried to play it off like it was
nothing. So I stood up and said, ‘It’s okay, Coach.’ Then I winked
and walked out of the office.”

“So that’s where the wink comes in.”

“I guess it’s like our new lesbian secret
sign or something.”

JJ reached her hand across the table, “Well
done, McBride, well done.”

Queenie shook JJ’s hand with pride and leaned
back in her chair, “Never a dull moment, my friend.”

JJ was about to stand up to dispose of her
tray when suddenly she saw Kendal McCarthy right next to her.

“I need your help desperately,” Kendall said.
“I have a pop quiz tomorrow and I wanted to brush up on a few
things. I figured you’d be catching a late dinner because of
basketball practice so I waited for you.”

“You waited for me?” JJ asked.

“Yep. Never a dull moment, indeed.” Queenie
stood up to stretch before picking up her tray. “I guess I’ll be
going now. You two kids have fun.”

Kendal barely even noticed Queenie. She
immediately slid into the vacated seat and dumped her books and
folder onto the table.

JJ looked on in wonder.

“I know. I’m a complete mess,” Kendal
confessed. “All over a stupid quiz.”

“No, it’s okay. But—” JJ pointed at the
clock. “They’ll probably kick us out of here in the next ten
minutes. Do you want to study someplace else?”

“You can come to my dorm room,” Kendal
suggested.

“What about the library?” JJ asked, thinking
a neutral setting would be more professional.

“I can’t. I have curfew tonight.”

“Curfew?”

“I know it sounds silly, but it’s a good way
to make sure everyone on the squad gets their homework done before
the weekend and is rested for practice on Friday and the soccer
game on Saturday. Mya, she’s the captain of the squad, came up with
it, and she enforces it. I have to be in my room by nine. She even
comes around to check and make sure we are there.”

“What happens if you’re not there?”

“We don’t get to participate in practice on
Friday afternoon or the game on Saturday. Mya does it on Thursday
nights because she knows everyone on the squad would throw a fit if
we had to have a curfew on Friday nights.”

“Makes sense.”

“So?”

“So I’ll come to your dorm,” JJ agreed. “But
I need to go back to my dorm and shower first.”

“Okay,” Kendal said eagerly. “Thank you.
Thank you so much!”

“What time?”

“How about in an hour?”

“Fine.”

They both stood up.

“I owe you big time,” Kendal said
adamantly.

“Just remember to keep our date on Friday,”
JJ returned. “And that will be enough.”

Kendal held her backpack to her chest. She
thought of Kyan and how she was meeting up with him at the soccer
party later on that same evening.

JJ studied her expression. “You remember our
plans, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kendal said. “The coffee shop. I
remember.” How could she forget?

“Good. I was just checking. I’ll see you in
an hour then.”

Kendal nodded. She wondered if JJ could sense
how she was feeling. Was it obvious that she liked the way JJ
smiled awkwardly whenever she was nervous, or that she liked the
way JJ smelled, or how cute it was the way JJ tripped over her
words whenever—

“Excuse me, miss?”

Kendal stared up into the eyes of the sweaty
line cook standing before her.

“We’re closing.”

“I was just leaving,” Kendal said
politely.

CHAPTER 18

“A curfew,” Queenie asked with a raised
eyebrow. “The cheerleading squad has a curfew?”

“Don’t start,” JJ returned.

“Come on. You don’t think it’s funny at
all?”

“No, I don’t. Coach should give us a curfew,
too. Then maybe we’d play better.”

“Whatever,” Queenie said. “If Coach gave us a
curfew, I’d quit. I’m not about to let basketball impede my social
life. I switched to basketball from cross country to get away from
that stuff.”

“I know,” JJ started for the door. “I’ve been
regretting your decision ever since.”

“Wait!” Queenie sprung up from the couch and
thrust her iPhone at JJ. “For documentation. Your cell phone takes
crappy pictures.”

“What?”

“Come on, you’re going where no one on this
campus has gone before—THE Kendal McCarthy’s dorm room. We can use
this to our advantage! Just sneak a few photos.”

JJ shoved the iPhone back at her. “You need
professional help. Do you know that?”

Queenie eyed the object in her hand, “What
did I say?”

* * *

JJ walked swiftly across campus to Kendal’s
dorm. Most of the cheerleaders lived in the same dormitory. Each
door on Kendal’s floor was decorated with the school colors,
Sampson Academy paraphernalia, and little cheerleader cutouts.

Interesting decor, JJ thought as she knocked
against Kendal’s door. A rather thin blonde, straight out of the
pages of Vogue, opened the door. JJ recognized her. She often sat
with Kendal in the dining hall.

“Pedaling cookies?” she asked.

“Pedaling poetry,” JJ responded and held up
her notebook.

“Oh, right.” The blonde forced a smile and
moved aside. “Come on in.”

JJ stepped through the door and into the
room. She caught a glimpse of the adjoining suite, which was
decorated a lot like the door to their room. “There’s a lot of
school spirit in here,” she said.

“Cheerleading,” the blonde said, proudly.
“School spirit is a way of life.”

“Let me guess. You’re also on the squad?”

“Wow. No wonder you’re a tutor. You sure are
quick.”

Kendal walked into the room. “Thanks,
Christine,” she said to the blonde.

JJ could tell her words were less than
heartfelt.

“Friendly people you got here,” JJ said, as
soon as Christine had left the door room and closed the door behind
her.

“I’m sorry,” said Kendal. “That was my
roommate, Christine. She’s taking a class in attitude adjustment.
Have a seat.”

JJ took in the entire room and eyed the
posters of popular musicians that papered the walls. Over Kendal’s
bed was a spread of family photos. Her flowered bedspread was
covered with stuffed animals.

“This could be the room of any popular girl
in America,” said JJ. Only, she didn’t mean it the way that it had
come out.

“Am I that transparent?” Kendal asked as she
plopped down on her bed, offering JJ some Chex Mix

“I didn’t mean it like that,” JJ backtracked,
taking a handful from the bag. “I just think there’s more depth to
you than this.”

“I’d like to think there is,” said Kendal.
She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. She wasn’t used to
someone wanting to get to know more about her than what she
presented. It was flattering, yet awkward, but she loved every
minute of it.

“Like what?” JJ asked.

“Like—” Kendal thought for a moment. “Like
the fact that I’m the youngest in my family. I mean, really young.
My oldest brother is in his late twenties, and my other brother is
twenty-five. I was—unexpected. I think that’s why I always feel a
step behind.”

“In what way?” JJ sat down on the bed beside
her, well aware of how little space remained between them.

“Because I was an afterthought. My parents
were done raising children by the time I came along, and my
brothers either didn’t have or didn’t want to make the time to play
with me or be there for me. I had to do and learn a lot on my
own.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was.”

“So—what else?”

Kendal leaned closer to JJ and whispered
playfully, “It’s a secret.”

“Why is it a secret?”

Kendal turned her head and clicked the roof
of her mouth with her tongue like she had the other night when they
stood outside of her dorm talking. “I don’t know,” she said. “I
don’t want to tell you everything at once.”

“Okay,” JJ smiled mischievously. She was more
than happy to play along. “How about we make a deal then? Every
time I let you read a poem, you reveal something to me about
yourself that I don’t know. Deal?”

Kendal let that idea marinate. “Okay,” she
said, after a moment. “That’s fair.”

JJ slid off of the bed and down onto the
floor. She leaned her back up against the comforter, setting her
folder and her book in front of her. It wasn’t long before Kendal
sat down next to her, bumping her shoulder as she settled into
position.

“So, who’s the pop quiz on?” she asked,
trying to distract herself from the scent of Kendal’s perfume.

“Anne Killigrew.”

“Really? She’s amazing. One of my
favorites.”

“I don’t even know who she is.” Kendal
pointed to one of the poems. “I’ve never even heard of her before
and I think that’s why I’m having such a hard time understanding
the message that she was trying to get across in her poems. I don’t
know what poem the quiz is going to be on, but I know it’s about
this author at least.”

“I think you’ll like Killigrew,” said JJ.

“Why’s that?”

“Because she was a strong woman. See,
Killigrew was not only proud to be a writer, but she was also proud
to be a woman. And even though men adored her poetry, she wasn’t
accepted as a real writer because she was a woman.”

“But that’s not fair.”

“Look here, at this line in Upon Saying My
Verses Were Made By Another. See how she says, ‘my numbers they
admired, but me they scorned’?”

Kendal considered the words on the page,
“Right there?”

“Killigrew believed that it was the Greek
gods who gave women the power and will to write, but didn’t bless
them with the opportunity to be recognized.” JJ cleared her throat.
“It was unfortunate that the very same people, men in this case,
who helped circulate her writing also ended up taking credit for
it.”

“What did she do about it?”

“Well, she refused to compromise herself or
her art. She disappeared for a bit, even though she kept writing
for the rest of her life. Most of her work was discovered much
later on.”

Kendal slumped back against the bed, as if
she was the one whose freedom of expression had been so rudely
denied. “Do most of her poems talk about the struggle of being a
woman in those times?”

“I’d say so,” said JJ.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been
like.” Kendal shook her head. “So many restrictions—women not being
able to be who they really were.”

“I would have never survived, for obvious
reasons.” JJ closed the book in front of them. “I wouldn’t have
been able to come out back then, or at least I wouldn’t have wanted
to for fear of persecution. And being closeted is the worst thing
in the world.”

“What did it feel like,” Kendal asked, “when
you came out? How did it feel to finally be able to tell
people?”

JJ opened her mouth to explain, and then
stopped. Instead, she dug her hand into her backpack and retrieved
the tattered journal that Kendal had seen before. She licked her
thumb, and paged through it until she found what she’d been looking
for.

“Here.” She slid the journal over to Kendal,
who took it willingly. “This explains it better than I can.”

“To be out,” Kendal read out loud. She read
the rest of the poem in silence.

Release.

Relief from my shoulders.

This boulder that I was able to push aside,

Leaving me stable, with the sensation

That I have nothing to hide.

Freedom.

Free at last.

Looking past the fear in my eyes,

Beyond the tears, without hesitation

I see clear skies.

Pride.

Raising my head high.

The shallow dread I left behind,

I looked inside and saw myself.

I believed in me.

Courage.

Having the strength to stand.

You gave me your hand without thought,

With this gesture you taught, a life-long lesson

I am normal after all.

Kendal’s eyes grew as she finished reading
the last line of the poem. “You are an amazing writer, you know
that? You pour everything, every emotion into words so it’s like
I’m right there experiencing it with you. It’s like Dickinson.”

“It’s not like Dickinson,” said JJ. “It’s not
even close. My writing hardly compares to with hers. She was one of
a kind.”

“Come on. I bet you wrote about ‘wild nights’
somewhere in here,” Kendal laughed. She began flipping through the
journal, hunting for another poem when JJ pulled it gently from her
hands.

“What?”

“You owe me a secret, remember?”

“Oh, right,” said Kendal. “I forgot about
that part.”

CHAPTER 19

JJ’s creative writing class was going to end
up giving her an ulcer or worse, possibly even a nervous breakdown.
And there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

On occasion, Mrs. Clark surprised the class
by handing out copies of someone’s work from a previous assignment.
Usually, this was a huge compliment because it meant that Mrs.
Clark was impressed, so impressed in fact that she wanted to share
the work with the rest of the class. The only drawback was that the
selected authors always were asked to stand up and read their work
aloud in front of the entire class before a general discussion.