Poster Boy

I can’t risk writing them down.

My thoughts, I mean. Like cracking my ribcage open for the world to peek inside. So I release them every night after dinner, when almost every faucet is running, the TV or radio or both are blaring, the dishes clinking, my foster siblings squabbling with their parents.

Our parents.

“They want me to call them ‘mom’ and ‘dad’,” I told him with a sigh, tucking my knees to my chin and pushing my toes under my rumpled duvet. “I get it. But I just want them to care about me, not fold me into their cake. The blackberry amongst strawberries. Isn’t it enough that we’re all berries? Does that even make sense?” I looked up at his unblinking eyes and unwavering smile.

“No, you’re right,” I gave him a sad smile back. “I should just assimilate. That’s what everyone expects.” I kissed my fingers and touched them to his paper lips, quieting any response he’d give if he wasn’t 2D and taped to my wall. Darin Florentine, a local basketball celebrity and unknowing guardian of my bedroom.

“We’re ushering for you tomorrow,” I kicked my covers with a grin. “Would it be weird if I asked you to sign my ball again?”

Or maybe the poster? But then I’d have to carry it around all day, and…

“Midterms are tomorrow,” I gloomed. “I suck at Econ and I need to score high to keep my grade above a C.” I stretched, pulling my basketball jersey over my head. “How did you do it? The grades, the fame. The fans.”

Footsteps ascended the stairs.

“Guess that’s it for tonight,” I whispered.

“Jane?” called Carolyn. I mean ‘mom’. “Did you brush your teeth already? Harley needs to take a shower.”

“Yeah,” I replied without moving from my bed, “all good!” I clutched my jersey, dreading the turn of the door handle and panicked when it actually turned. It stopped when Carolyn—mom—apparently remembered a thing called privacy. She knocked. “Janey? Can I come in?”

Ew.

“Just Jane, please. And I’m changing right now. Can you give me a minute?”

“Oh! Sure! Sorry, Jane…” I could practically hear Carolyn biting her lip nervously. She always does that. Like I might turn feral if she puts words in the wrong order.

Not entirely out of the question, honestly.

She stepped away from the door and I heard her halting footsteps retreat downstairs. I leaned my head against my Darin Florentine poster and brought the jersey to my nose for a sniff. I grimaced and glanced down at the pile of dirty laundry containing a spare jersey, most of my socks, and all but one pair of underwear.

“Darin,” I whined, “how do you ask for things without imposing? Yesterday was laundry day…” and I had quickly brushed off laundry inquiries to watch college basketball. To watch him dance around the court and sink every free throw.

I sniffed the jersey again and decided I’d spray it with air freshener tomorrow morning. The rest… maybe I’ll wear them in the shower and hand wash them? I groaned as I rose from the bed, tossed the jersey into my duffel bag, and changed into sweats and a tank.

Pausing at my door, I looked back and drew strength from Darin’s smile and relaxed posture. The way his arm draped over the basketball, pinning it to his side, was just so… cool. “Be cool, Jane,” I told myself.

Unfortunately, I am a pre-diagnosed loser.

--

“Getting any bars up there, Langly?” The boys in my first period guffawed at Jonathan’s jab.

Drake slapped his knee. “Oooh shit!”

“Damn, bro!” Colin covered his grin.

A typical start to my school day. I tried to drown them out by reviewing Econ before the teacher arrived.

Mary, stationed like a point guard to my right, slammed her hand down on her desk. “Shut it, buttholes,” she snarled, small and fierce as an alley cat. “What, intimidated by tall women?”

“No need to stick your neck out for her, Mary,” mocked Jonathan. “Jane’s is long enough for both of you.” The others sniggered. I heard the twang and snap of a rubber band behind me. “Ow! What the hell? Who did that?” Connie, at my flank. I snorted.

I heard Jonathan stand up and felt the prick of daggers from his glare. “You—!”

The click and whoosh of the classroom door quieted the room.

“Okay, everyone, sit down.” Dr. Sawyer entered with a stack of exams, scanning the room severely over her glasses. “Clear your desks except for two pencils and an eraser if you need one. Space out, one desk length apart.”

For the next hour, only the soft scritch of pencils on paper could be heard. Save for the tiny tap-tap-tap of balled-up paper hitting the floor after rolling off my back. One. Two. Three.

When the fourth projectile hit me, I couldn’t stop myself from whirling around to catch Drake ducking behind Jonathan. Jonathan’s eyes caught mine with an oily gleam.

“Langly! Face forward! If I catch anyone looking around, it’s detention.”

“But Dr. Sawyer—!” I started.

“No talking! If you have questions, Langly, come quietly to my desk. Otherwise, face forward and focus. 30 minutes left!”

It wasn’t worth exam time, so I tried to tamp down my seething indignation. A lot of the test was multiple choice and Dr. Sawyer loved trick questions, so I used every last minute and never mentioned the boys.

Thankfully, tests and study hall kept boys from getting to me for a while. I had a semblance of peace until fourth period, when shit really hit the fan.

--

“Jane Langly?”

Dr. Sawyer stood at the door of my English class. My stomach writhed uncomfortably. She always had that dour expression but now it was aimed at me.

Miss Temple looked startled. “Did you need Jane for something, Dr. Sawyer?”

“Yes. She needs to come with me. She may not be coming back, so give her any assignments to take home now.”

My heart dropped. Not coming back?

My classmates were quizzing each other for the midterm tomorrow but they switched to talking about me. Whispering “trouble” and speculating about home life.

“What’s going on?” I could see my own terror reflected in Connie’s wide eyes.

I shrugged, feeling weak.

Miss Temple looked at me with concern, then furrowed her brows at the rest of the class. “Did I tell you to stop? Get back to studying. I’ll be right back.” Then, quieter, “Can I speak to you a moment, Dr. Sawyer?” Dr. Sawyer pinned her with a look but stepped aside so they could talk in the hall.

“Why is Dr. Sawyer here?” Connie probed.

“I don’t know!”

“Scary…” Connie frowned. “Is it about the test? How do you think you did?”

I tried not to spiral into every possible reason I might “not be coming back” to class. Or did Dr. Sawyer mean to school? Was I being transferred? Did something happen with my foster folks?

“I think I did okay… maybe I got two wrong?” First period felt like forever ago.

“Jane Langly,” Miss Temple called. “Gather your things and meet Dr. Sawyer in the hall.” When she stepped back into the classroom, she wore an odd look and didn’t meet my eyes.

Uh oh.

My hands trembled as I scooped my books into my bag and I knocked over my water bottle which clanged noisily to the floor and rolled an obnoxious distance away. I crawled after it, grabbing it after it ricocheted off someone’s shoe.

I looked up. Jonathan smiled down.

“They taking you back to the zoo?”

His foot just happened to be smashed beneath my water bottle when I used it to push myself up. “Ow! Shit!”

“Language, Jonathan!” chided Miss Temple.

“Whoops! My bad.” The air crackled between our narrowed eyes.

“Langly,” warned Dr. Sawyer. “Today.”

I gathered my things, shot Connie a look that promised to keep her in the loop, and stepped into the hall.

“Yes, Dr. Sawyer?” I winced every time I looked at her, like squinting in a sand storm.

“Follow me.” She turned on her heel and marched down the hall, her spine ruler-straight.

“To where?”

“The principal’s office.” She didn’t turn around and, despite her petite build, I trotted to keep up with her.

“What?” My heart stuttered. “Why?”

She didn’t reply, so I stumbled after her all the way to Mr. Vicardt’s office. The door had a vertical window, through which I could see Mr. Vicardt at his desk and—

“Drake?”

Dr. Sawyer ushered me in and closed the door. I shrank under three pairs of eyes and the walls inched closer.

“Take a seat.” Mr. Vicardt indicated chairs across from Drake. Dr. Sawyer guarded the door.

I sat down slowly, hugging my backpack and water bottle.

“I’ll get right to it,” Mr. Vicardt said. “Jane Langly, did you cheat on Dr. Sawyer’s exam this morning?”

Cheat?

My throat constricted. I sent a wild look at Drake, but he was staring at the floor. “I knew it was a bad idea,” he said with a sniffle, then lifted his head and glared at me. “But Jane threw my shoes over the phone cables yesterday and would only get them down if I helped her cheat! They were new.” His voice warbled convincingly.

Drake’s sneakers were indeed thrown over the cables—by his dumb friends. I walked by and Drake begged me to get them down for him while the other idiots laughed. I ignored him. Why should I “stick my neck out” when he’d just target me later?

“What are you talking about?” My voice was a little high, a little hoarse.

“Jane,” Mr. Vicardt captured my gaze, “During the test, Drake gave you notes with answers on them. Is that right?”

“What?” I bellowed, standing up.

“Sit down, Langly,” Dr. Sawyer commanded. I sat.

“Notes?” My voice shook. “He threw paper at me! I thought it was a joke! I-I would never cheat! His friends took his shoes. Interrogate Jonathan!”

“Jonathan reported it, Jane.” Mr. Vicardt frowned and cleaned his glasses before fixing me with a hard stare. “Dr. Sawyer found Drake’s notes around your desk and Jonathan confessed to seeing you cheat. Drake admitted his part and, given your grade before answering those questions correctly, we’ll have to investigate further. I’ll need to call your guardian.”

Oh. I’m the “frog in boiling water” here.

“This is serious, Jane.” Dr. Sawyer’s eyes were cold. “You’re facing a month of detention and, if caught again, suspension.”

I felt like I was on a merry-go-round without bars, spinning and spinning with nothing to grab.

“But I didn’t do anything! They’re lying! I never—”

“Hello?” Carolyn’s voice yanked my attention back to Mr. Vicardt’s desk.

“Hi Carolyn, this is Principal Vicardt from Grady High School. I’m calling about Jane.”

--

Carolyn and I didn’t speak on the drive home. Tears dried tight on my face and I was drowsy, like I’d done drills for four hours in the sun. Instrumental music floated softly from the speakers, bridging the silence.

When we parked, Carolyn offered a hand to carry bags. I shook my head.

I don’t need help, my hunched shoulders said. Leave me alone, please.

I’m angry and worried, Carolyn’s reluctant step back replied. I’ll give you space now, but we will have a confrontation tonight.

Approaching the stoop, I pulled sunglasses over my puffy eyes.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” I was halfway up the stairs before I heard, “I’ll make tea.”

--

After a shower so hot my skin shrank two sizes in cool air, I deflated onto my bed.

“I don’t understand,” I croaked to Darin, voice flayed. “I’m wrong even when sitting still. There’s no space I don't invade.” I was going to miss the varsity meeting, wouldn’t get to usher, wouldn’t get to meet Darin or watch his game when he was RIGHT HERE. My vision grew misty.

I should talk to Carolyn. To prove my innocence. To go to the game. I need to get dressed, but—

My eyes landed on my floor, where my dirty clothes…?

Where was my laundry?

Something roared within me, hot and wild like a forest fire. I ripped my towel off and pulled on shorts and a tank so roughly that my bonnet went flying. My door smashed into the wall when I threw it open and I tore down the stairs.

“WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES! WHO WENT IN MY ROOM?”

Carolyn was standing up from the table. Her hand was wet with spilled tea, her eyes wide in shock.

“Jane?”

“HOW DARE YOU TOUCH MY THINGS!”

“Jane! Stop yelling! Your clothes are in the wash! You were almost out of underwear and—!”

“You looked in my dresser?”

“I was just worried—”

“LIAR! You said it’s my room! But nothing is mine, is it?”

“Jane! Come back!” She called but I ran into my—the spare—bedroom and slammed the door shut.

“I hate this! I hate my life! I hate everyone!”

I looked at Darin’s poster. At his confident stance, a bright future sparkling in his eyes.

“Give me advice. Anything! Anything to help me.”

RrrrriIP! POP!

“What the—?” He panted, confused. The basketball thudded on the carpet with one weak bounce. “Where am I?”

I blinked. Blinked again.

Darin Florentine whirled around, panicking, then his eyes landed on me. “Who are you? This isn’t Grady College. Am I concussed? Where are the guys?”

“Jane!” My eyes darted to my door. “Jane, please come out! Let’s talk!” My nose dripped and I wiped it with a shaky hand.

“Who—?”

I flew at him and covered his mouth before realizing it was Darin-freaking-Florentine. Then I jumped back, skated to my door, and held the knob tightly. I yelled back, “Give me space! I need space right now! Please!”

My heart thought we were running from bears and my eyes screamed at Darin to stay quiet. His eyes were wide, screaming something too, but his mouth stayed obediently shut.

Carolyn hesitated on the other side of the door, then sighed. “After dinner then. 6:00 PM sharp. I expect you at the table.” When her footsteps retreated, my legs gave out and puddled on the floor.

“What in the world?” Darin muttered, looking around, then fixed his eyes on the floor by my bed.

The poster was in a sad state: torn down the middle with his silhouette cut out.

“That…”

“We gotta get you outta here.” I felt like my atoms were dispersing. I didn’t know if we should jump out the window, hug, fly away. Nothing seemed impossible. I started toward him and he retreated, hands up.

“I don’t hurt girls, but I’m warning you not to touch me. What do you want?”

Of course.

“You think I could drag a full-grown man to my upstairs bedroom in the suburbs without being noticed? I’m the one who should be upset. I’m not even wearing makeup!” Or a bra! I quickly snatched the jacket on my computer chair and covered myself.

“Okay,” he lowered his hands. “But I have a game today and I don’t know where I am or who you are—”

“Jane Langly, Grady High junior in girl’s varsity basketball. Supposed to usher for your game with Grady College but got in trouble. It’s two hours 'til tip-off.” I wiped my face roughly with my palms. “Let’s jump out the window.”

“Whoa! Hold up!” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Where are we exactly? The suburbs? How far from the college?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“By car?”

“Bus.”

“And we can’t use the front door?”

“No. My foster mom’s down there. She’d faint if she saw a man coming out of my room.”

“But…” his eyes searched mine, “you’re supposed to usher for me.” He looked away, scratching the back of his neck, “Can I ask what happened?”

Maybe it was his earnest face or because we were in my room or I was just that raw, but everything fell out of my mouth like an avalanche of crushing truths: bouncing around foster care, changing homes/schools/friends, bullying, and finally, the events of arguably the worst day of my life. He listened to it all with a frown, a wince, a furrow, a gulp.

When I finished, he met my teary gaze thoughtfully. “Thank you for trusting me with that, Jane. Sounds like you’ve had it rough.” I nodded, wiping my eyes.

“But,” he continued, “can I ask something?”

“...sure?”

“Are those boys—Jonathan and the rest—shorter than you?”

I could see that he was trying to make a point. “Yeah. I’m the tallest in my class.”

He stood straight, “Your foster mom washed your clothes because she cares about you. That feels good, right?”

Darin was starting to sound like my coach before a game. “Carolyn—mom—is a good person,” I admitted.

“Jane,” he said seriously, “I know this whole cheating thing will blow over. Do you know why?” he asked.

“Because I didn’t do anything wrong?” That’s how it should be, and yet…

“Because people care about you. Carolyn, your friends. Your character is evidenced by the hearts of those around you.”

I closed my eyes against fresh tears.

“Jane.”

He was smiling when I met his gaze again. That brilliant smile that always gave me strength. “You start at a dribble, right? Pass to your team and trust them to catch. But keep your head up for your shot. It will come.”

He turned toward the torn poster that pulsed with light. “As for me…”

“Darin?”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Warmth passed between our smiling faces as Darin stepped into the poster.

Bzzzzt!

It lay on the floor, good as new.

I shook myself, stretched, and made my way downstairs. Carolyn caught my eye as she came out of the kitchen, a thousand emotions written on her face. I took a deep breath.

“I’m ready to talk, Mom.”