The Katherine Brussel Award

Alternatively titled, "The Great Emily Mix Up of Morresdale High"

I stared at the crowd and told the biggest lie of my life.

“I have to pee.”

It just slipped out of my mouth. Not sure why. I didn’t. But all those eyes … all that attention. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I said the one thing I knew was a free pass out of any situation, and I ran.

To the bathroom, of course. I didn’t have to pee, but when you tell a crowd of a thousand people that you have to pee, that’s where you should go.

Except, it isn’t where you should go, because that’s where they expect you to go, so that’s where they go. There were already a few girls in the bathroom, and they stared at me, frowning, as I barged through the door and locked myself in a stall. They probably hadn’t heard I was supposed to give a speech. They didn’t know I had won the highest honor a senior girl could win, despite the fact that I had never really known anyone at this school. I was safe from these girls, at least.

But then the others came.

“Emily?”

“I’m not here,” I called out.

“She’s here!”

There was a flood of shuffling, stamping, clicking feet, and multiple girls’ voices rang out, in unison but jumbled up and confused, “We’re so proud of you! We knew you’d win, what an honor! I always knew you could do it.”

Lies.

Lies.

Lies.

I knew none of these girls. I recognized none of their voices. It crossed my mind that they were playing a prank on me. That the entire student body had gathered together and voted me, me, Emily Elizabeth Leldon, the Katherine Brussel Award, just to laugh at me now, at this moment, as I stood in a stall with my forehead against its door and my face in my hands.

The Katherine Brussel Award!

Only one student is chosen for it. One! Given supposedly to the most virtuous, hard-working, popular kid in the school. Okay, the popular part isn’t actually part of the criteria, but since it is selected by the students, that’s what ends up happening. All three years before me. My freshman year it was Johnny Stewart, the football captain. Next it was Melissa Harper, who hosted parties at her parents’ house every other weekend because they were always out of town. Last year it was Jack Nuance, who was not nuanced at all. The kid might as well have worn neon every day and walked around with a boombox on his shoulder that constantly blared “I’m sexy and I know it.”

And this year it was me.

What kind of joke was this?

“Emily, please come out,” one of the girls begged. I peeped through my fingers at the gap under the stall door and spied pink toenails and strappy wedges. “We all want to give you a hug.”

“No you don’t,” I blurted.

The girls paused, their murmurings fading as feet anxiously shuffled.

“Why would you say that?” another girl asked. She sounded genuinely hurt. Did I know her?

“Because,” I said, still speaking into my fingers, “you don’t know me.”

“Don’t know you?” There was a peal of nervous laughter. “What do you mean? We ate lunch every day together.”

I frowned, my head raising. “I ate lunch with Mrs. Huffman most days because she was my math tutor and that was the only time we both had available.”

There was another pause.

“You were on the soccer team with me,” said someone else.

I laughed. “I have never played soccer in my life.”

“Ballet class?” tried another.

“Mr. Gordan’s algebra class. Freshman year and sophomore year,” offered another.

“Spanish!”

“No, French.”

“Guys, she was president of the drama club.”

At this point, I was crying. Silently, tears down my cheeks, over my fingers pressed over my mouth, dripping off my chin. “I didn’t do any of that,” I managed, and even made my voice fairly even.

“What?” There was genuine confusion in the ranks of the senior girls on the opposite side of the door. “But I remember … I have pictures! … You bought me ice cream when Brian broke up with me … We shared a pina colada at my birthday party last year ... You got a 5 on the AP Chemistry test and sat right next to me and wouldn't let me cheat.”

I was more than simply embarrassed now. I was frightened. And I was sad. This girl, whoever they thought I was, sounded wonderful. She sounded smart. She sounded responsible. She sounded friendly. She sounded popular. She sounded, in short, like everything I was not.

I was no longer silently crying. I hiccupped behind my hand. I shut my eyes. I shook my head, my forehead still pressed against the stall door, cold and smooth. “I’m not that person. I don’t who you’re thinking of. I’m not her.”

“Wait,” called out Pink Toes again. “Just to make sure, you are Emily Lendon, right?”

I sniffed. I quieted. “Who?”

“Emily Lendon. L-E-N-D-O-N.”

I sniffed again. “I’m Emily Leldon. L-E-L-D-O-N.”

A gasp rang through the girls. Pink Toes’ feet spread wide. “Guys!” she yelled out, panic in her voice, “we voted for the wrong Emily!”

“Who’s Emily Leldon?” I heard one of the girls whisper.

“Is she a transfer?” another mumbled.

“Who cares who she is!” Pink Toes cried. “Where’s Emily??”

And they were gone in the same stampede they had left in, babbling and heels clicking and flats shuffling and giggles and exclamations and general frivolousness, which is probably why they didn’t know me. Tonight – our graduation night – I wore a hand-me-down dress with a hole in the side I had to cover with a hand-me-down jean jacket. Frivolousness was not possible for me.

Inside the stall, the bathroom quiet once more, I straightened. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and blew my nose. I threw it in the toilet and flushed it, then wiped my eyes and straightened my hair. I stepped out of the stall. No one was in the bathroom. I washed my hands, then took stock of my appearance, hair just as flat and straight and bland as ever, face maybe a little paler and eyes maybe a little redder than usual, but otherwise, I looked okay. With a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door.

They had picked the wrong Emily. I laughed. Of course they had. Maybe it should have made me sad. I should have wanted to be chosen, and maybe part of me did. Maybe that’s why I froze when they called my name and had me enter the stage to give an acceptance speech as if I had won an Oscar. Because what girl didn’t want to be recognized by her school? What girl didn’t want to have others know she tried her best and was liked by all and was going great places? I wasn’t exempt from that. I wanted to go great places. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to be recognized. But heading back into the auditorium, slipping in through the side so no one noticed me, I was happy the award was not meant for me.

I passed Pink Toes and the Emily they had meant to bestow the highest honor a senior at Morresdale High could receive. Emily was crying uncontrollably, mascara slipping down her face. Pink Toes was crying too, her frilly dress daubed with marks of her own make-up that she was desperately trying to clean with a wet wipe. One of the girls in the posse glared at me as I passed, as if it was my fault my name was so similar to her Emily’s, and that’s why they spelled it wrong on all the voting slips.

I laughed again. Even Emily Lendon did not have friends, despite the crowd of girls around her. Not one of them knew her last name well enough to spell it correctly on the most important vote a high schooler can cast.

Fine, I decided. Let Emily Lendon be recognized by these people. I certainly did not want to be.