{Thursday, November 10, 2005}

The Right Word- Kathi Appelt

Becca Scott sits on the toilet in the last stall of the girls' bathroom, the pounding rhythm of the drums from the Stardust Dance down the hall driving right up through her body, matching her quick heartbeat. Her wet blue mascara and aqua eye shadow run down the side of her face.

She closes her eyes and imagines all her friends, dancing beneath the sparkly lights from the mirror-ball. It feels like they're on another planet, the Dogwood Junior High planet. And here she is in her own orbit, a thousand miles down the hall from all those dancers. People she knew just a few hours ago. She holds out her shaking hand and looks at it. Would they know me now? she wonders.

She looks at the smudged walls that surround her, close her in like a turtle in a cardboard box. A school year's worth of graffiti jumps out at her: Lacey + John 4-ever. Dogwood is #1. Turn Your Heart To Jesus. Algebra Sucks.

The words pulse in front of her, in time to the driving drums: Tommy gives great kisses. Monica is a slut. Go Lumberjacks. Carly loves Javier. The tears stream down as she whispers each message. Then she comes to Ty Charbonneau is sooooo GOOD, and the walls begin to spin.

She reaches out and presses both hands against them. Stop! She almost cries out loud. That word: GOOD. It's such a small word. She's known how to spell it since the first grade. She steadies herself and digs into her purse for a pen. She needs a marker, like the aqua-coloured one she bought at Wal-Mart last week. Is it still there? No. Only her metal-fingernail file.

She pulls it out and looks at it, the rough sides, the bright point, the tortoise-shell handle. She scrapes the file against the wall. Nothing. She presses a little harder. A slight scratch. She grips the metal blade between her first finger and thumb and pushes it into the beige enamel paint. A flake peels up, leaving a shiny, jagged line on the wall. A small smile crosses her face.

This was Friday, wasn't it? Every Friday since first grade, there was a spelling test. Each Monday the list, each Friday the test. Tonight is the last Friday of the eighth grade. The Friday of the Stardust Dance. The Friday she'd been waiting for.

Tonight, she gets to make the list.

GOOD

Mamaw and Paps were good, there was no doubt about that. They could always make her laugh. "The world's glum enough without us addin' to it," Mamaw always said anytime Becca felt blue. "Yep," Paps would always add. "No sense in wearing out your muscles with a frown when a smile feels better to your face."

They weren't at all like their daughter, her mother, who'd left Becca at the age of four, along with a trail of bad debts and an outstanding arrest warrant, left her on Mamaw and Paps's front porch - all for some guy who drove a motorcycle and rode her off down the main street of Dogwood without a backward glance. Mamaw and Paps didn't make an issue of it. They just showed Becca right to her new bedroom, which used to be Mamaw's sewing room, and told her she was home.

Becca pauses and brushes the flakes of paint away, watches them drift to the floor and settle besides her foot, like tiny torn feathers from a colorless bird. She breathes in, exhales. The fingernail file feels warm in her palm. She grips it tightly and begins the next word.

FAIRYTALE

Is it one word or two? It doesn't matter. She was in the wrong one, anyway. In the right one, she would meet Ty and slip away with him, only for a few hours, slip out the bathroom window, just like a princess would slip out of a tower. In the right one, he'd carry her away to some enchanted place, maybe a jeweled castle, or a secret cove, or even a cozy gingerbread cottage in the forest - some wonderful place where they'd dance, the music swirling all around them, her new dress sparking in the glimmery light.

The plan was all so perfect. Becca remembered looking at the cafeteria clock and willing the hands to move faster. To hurry until the appointed hour. Her heart had pounded. At last the time came and she'd quietly slipped off to the bathroom. No one would ever know except her best friend Lindy, and Becca knew she'd never tell.

She'd lifted the window and there he was. Pacing. He took her hand in his and briefly kissed her. In the fairytale, she would have ridden with him in a carriage but instead she rode on the seat beside him in his red Ford. No matter. She felt beautiful as they drove through the night.

PRICE

What she paid for a kiss. In the fairytale, she was supposed to get the Prince. But the small n was missing. How did it get away? What happened to happily ever after?

BEAUTY

Tyson D. Charbonneau. Hair the colour of sand, eyes so brown they're nearly black. Almost as tall as Paps, over six feet, even though he's only eighteen. Star running back on the Dogwood High School varsity football team. Leading scorer on the basketball team.

Everyone in Dogwood thinks he's the cat's meow, as Mamaw would say. Seems like his name is in the Dogwood Carrier at least once a week. Becca thinks the whole county is in love with Ty Charbonneau. She should know. Yes, she should.

SMITTEN

Rhymes with kitten. What Mamaw would call her if she knew. Ever since she'd met Ty last month on her way home from school to buy some almond M&Ms and a Dr Pepper, Becca's been charmed. When Ty was offered a big football scholarship from Texas A&M University, she cut his picture out of the paper and pasted it into her scrapbook. She said his name to herself over and over, like a charm. But her feelings for Ty were bigger than smitten. Bigger than any single word could describe. Bigger than complete senteces, even.

Before tonight, all she could talk about was Ty. She knew Lindy was sick of it. Ty this and Ty that, and "Isn't Ty cool?" and "Ty is so awesome." But she couldn't talk to Mamaw and Paps about him. With Ty being four years older than her, they'd never approve. Never.

It was Ty who'd told her that her eyes were aqua.

AQUA

Her Keds tennis shoes, her crop-top T-shirt that she'd found at the Saint Thomas Aquinas Thrift Store, the polish on her fingernails, the shimmery dress and strappy sandals she wore to the dance. Ever since that day when he told her, "Your eyes are aqua." everything had been aqua. She ewven wrote their names on her binder in aqua ink with her new marker. Ty + Becca. And she drew and aqua heart around them.

They won't print the names in the Dogwood Carrier, but everyone will know. They won't say she was wearing this new aqua dress. She's still wearing it, torn, in the bathroom stall - and she's shivering, even though the air is warm and the fingernail file in her hand burns the skin on her fingers.

BEAST

Who was the beast? Ever since she was small, she'd heard Paps tell the story about the panther, the one who roamed the farthest side of the piney woods, lurking, waiting. "His coat's the colour of sand," he said, "and his eyes are so brown, they're nearly black. The thing about his eyes is that they'll draw you in if you're not careful. That's how powerful he is. He doesn't have to creep up on his prey. He waits for them to come to him."

BONE OF TRUTH

What Mamaw says there isn't any of when it comes to the panther. "That's just an old wives' tale," she says. She pushes back a strand of gray hair, tucks it behind her ear. Does the bone crack if the truth is too heavy?

FAULT

Hers, for not listening to Lindy, who begged her not to go. Hers, for wearing aqua. Hers, for letting Bay out of the gate when she was eight - Paps's favourite redbone hound, silky ears and soft brown eyes. Paps always told her, "That panther's always prowling and if there's a child out late alone, in the forest, he'll take it as his own and never bring it back." He pauses. "He'll do the same with the hounds. But some do come back. Like Bay."

PIECES

When Bay came back, he was torn up, front leg dragging on the groud, useless, a huge flap of skin on his shoulder peeled back. It was the only time she'd ever seen Papas cry. If she could, she'd put all the pieces back in Bay's shoulder. She'd lock the gate.

And if she could, she'd go back and stay at the Stardust Dance. She'd dance through the night, beneath the cardboard moons and cutout stars. She'd hold her back and laugh with Lindy and her other friends. She'd move to the beat of those drums.

DON'T

Don't let your children out at night. Keep them safe from the terrible panther. Tuck them in and say your prayers. Don't let them slip out the bathroom window at the Stardust Dance.

PROOF

"Don't you love me, Becca?" he had asked. They'd pulled off the main highway onto a dirt logging road. When they finally stopped, Ty turned off the engine and walked around to her side. As he opened the door, the light from the cab illuminated his eyes. She looked directly into them and felt her breath catch. Such eyes.

Did she love him? Of course she loved him. His sandy-coloured hair, those dark brown eyes. The way he smelled, like soap and cigarettes and something else she couldn't name. Something like the resin from the pine trees, like the pitch beneath the loose bark, something thick and dark. She felt wrapped in the smell of him. Did she love him?

"Prove it," he said. Then he lunged. And there it was - the bruise on her shoulder, the cut on her cheek, her shimmery hose all torn and ragged. Just like Bay's shoulder. Proof.

ALL RIGHT

It wasn't. Paps knew. Mamaw was wrong. The Beast was out there. Terrible. Waiting.

STOP

She wants to. Her fingers ache from the carving. But she's not quite donw. She remembered yelling at the top of her lungs and her voice had come right back to her, bounced off the cold stars and witnessing trees. But the stars, the trees, Ty - none of them heard her. And he didn't stop.

Now she sucks in her breath. Flakes of paint drift to the tile floor. She thinks she can hear them when they land. The drummer down the hall picks up the pace, the rhythm gaines speed. Faster, faster. The list is almost done. Almost. First letter - R. Second letter - A. Third letter - P. Fourth letter - E. The right word.

THE END

Suddenly, the drummer stops. The band must be taking a break. In a moment, she knows, the door to the bathroom will open and other girls will walk in, full of talk and laughter. They'll check their lipstick, comb their hair and adjust their strapless bras. Lindy will probably come in to see if she's returned. Becca takes off her aqua sandals so Lindy won't know it's her if she looks beneath the door of the stall. She slips her fingernail file back into her purse. The other girls will knock, wanting in, but she'll stay there until the dance is over and she can run to the parking lot. Run to Mamaw and Paps. Run, run as fast as she can.

But first she rubs her fingers across the letters. Then she slumps forward in the tiny stall and rests her head against the cold metal door. Beside her the fresh words flow in the dim fluorescent light, like the cold stars.

She checks the list again - each word, each letter. It's an easy list. She's good at spelling. She could win any spelling bee. She could be the queen. The Queen Bee. The Stardust Queen Bee. Then she'd snap her wings and make it all go away.

the devil wears Prada
9:02 AM