Do Your Worst

“Hi! I’m Claire. You’re in my English class, right? You’re Emmy.”

I’m not sure what I replied – I’m sure I at least stuttered.  I knew who she was, if I didn’t know anything else yet at the school I’d been at for a couple of months. Claire was the star, the queen. She was the cheerleading captain and teacher’s pet, the most beautiful and popular girl with the crowd of next-most-popular girls in her wake.  She smiled at me and sailed down the hall, a titter waving through the crowd that moved with her. I hunched my shoulders and hurried on, surprised and a little happy but mostly worried about why I had drawn her attention.   

“Emmy!” I couldn’t believe it, but as I headed to the table in the corner with my tray, Claire was waving me to their table. I joined the fluttering crowd – they reminded me of birds, chirping and dancing around her. She motioned for someone to scoot a little for me to sit. “I like your scarf. That’s so – unique.”  Her smile seemed warm, although the giggle that ran around the table left a knot in my stomach.  She didn’t say another word to me that day, but here I was, at the popular table. And she, or her sidekick, motioned me over the next few days when I headed to my corner table, until she said, laughing, “Emmy! What are you doing?  Get over here!” 

And then I was part of the girl group, the popular group. I’d never been popular before. We met between classes. We sat together. We giggled, when Claire laughed or when she made a joke.  Or maybe not a joke, but said something funny.  

“Kristen, that’s so brave to wear so many colors!” she sang out as Kristen hurried by in her colorful sweater that looked homemade. Kristen flushed and hurried away, head down, and I flushed in sympathy, but giggled along with the others. “Oh my God, you should not want to stand out like that when you’ve put on so much weight,” Claire whispered conspiratorially.  “What did she do over spring break, eat a bakery?”   

It was funny, wasn’t it, when she pointed out that Laurie’s coat was clearly patched and offered her her hand-me-downs?  Or when she mocked Jeremy when he struggled with answering a question in math class? 

“Emmy, another pretty scarf! Is that a bird on there? Where do you get them?” she said brightly as I joined the table.

“Um, my mom made it,” I said, caught off guard. 

“Oh, how sweet! You can’t afford scarves so your mom makes them!” By habit I laughed with the others, through the sick sinking in my stomach. Then her attention was elsewhere, and it was fine, right? I’m just part of the gang. 

She asked for help with English, at first just to go over her paper, which I was so happy to do. But soon, somehow, I was writing most of her essays. That was fine, too, we all helped each other, that’s what friends did. 

And most of the year, I was popular. Or rather, I was on the edges of the popular group.  I followed a few steps behind the first row of better friends. Claire borrowed snack money from me, and was so sweet and appreciative about it – but didn’t return it, and didn’t have any change the one time I worked up the nerve to ask her. 

Once I fell, I caught my heel on my skirt and went down hard, my books spinning away.  Claire led the laughter, as if I had done a pratfall for their entertainment. I laughed along, and played up my clumsiness for her amusement. It was – intoxicating, almost, to have so much of her attention.  She was happy, enjoying my company, and we laughed together, but the sick feeling under it all was back. 

Another girl, Carrie, was in the outer orbit with me, maybe a little closer. She was more fashionable than me, she could afford nicer clothes, and she helped Claire with her math. Carrie was closer to Claire at the lunch table, ahead of me up by Claire in the hallways – and then she was not. I didn’t notice at first, I didn’t really focus on anyone but Claire, but what caught my attention was Carrie at a different table, sitting with other kids.  Another girl, well-liked in a different group, spoke to her and they seemed to have a good conversation. Our table was quiet and I looked over to see Claire had also noticed the cozy scene. She watched with no expression, then leaned over and murmured something to the girl next to her. 

Later, Carrie ate alone. She walked alone, and sat alone. I heard rumors about Carrie - she was a slut, she was pregnant, she had stolen something and was on probation. None of it made sense. I finally cornered one of Claire’s lieutenants, known to be a gossip. 

“She is such a bitch!” Samantha declared. “I can’t stand her. So stuck up. She wouldn’t let Claire copy her math anymore – I mean, she wouldn’t help her.  Claire can’t stand her.” 

So Claire spread the word – Carrie is out. Persona non grata. Anyone who was friendly to Carrie was on Claire’s shit list, and would be the target of Claire and crew.  

I was moving up in the circle, since Claire could count on me to give her what she wanted and laugh at anything. I was invited to sleepovers.  But it got harder in some ways. I started feeling that the queen of the clique maybe didn’t like like me, but maybe kept me around for the snack money and homework help and entertainment. That titter of laughter around the circle, even when she was saying something that sounded nice, felt worse and worse.    

Every time I thought about stopping and not going along, I could see Carrie, all alone at lunch, or Jeremy who had knocked Claire down at gym class and then got publicly humiliated when he asked a girl to prom.  I couldn’t risk it.   

But I couldn’t help thinking sometimes - what if I just stopped laughing at the jokes that were at my expense? What if I give in to the temptation of saying the words that I know would put me outside the group?  What if, just what if, I didn’t agree with something she said? What if, when she laughed at Niesha for having her hair wrapped in the locker room or mocked Erin, bowing with her hands in front and speaking in a lilting fake Chinese, what if I told her fuck off? What if, instead of following a few steps behind, my face burning and averting my gaze from anyone not her in harem that she targeted, what if instead of tittering and giggling along with all the other sycophants, I said, “Claire, what the hell is wrong with you?” What if I said, “You are such a bitch.” But she might take that as a compliment; she and her inner circle of blonde or highlighted crew threw the word at each other all the time, an endearment I never was included in.

A familiar wave of laughter from our group followed Sara down the hall. This time the impulse to speak up was so strong it almost won, but the habit of smiling, ducking my head, and giving a laugh that blended with the others was stronger. Maybe next time, I thought, through the twist in my gut.

But I guess the words on the tip of my tongue were just strong enough that I hesitated. I don’t know what expression was on my face, but I was a few seconds behind the wave of laughter, and somehow that was enough to draw Claire’s attention. She gave a lazy glance, a sweep across her minions with a small smile that wasn’t enough to crease her face or cause wrinkles when she was old, she had explained to us once. Then, even before the titters from her clever insult died down, her gaze sharpened, her eyes narrowed, and she was looking right at me. 

“Emmy,” she purred. My name is Emily, and I realized right then that I hate being called Emmy. I also realized that’s why she does it. “Right? I mean, why come to school if you have to wear – that?” 

With a dismissive toss of her head, she drew the attention back to Sara, her scarf over her hair as she scurried down the hallway away from us. Sara was sweet and had helped me with math. Before I joined the Claire crew, of course.  

“Emmy?” Claire had moved closer, the other girls moving back to make way. “Right, Emmy?” 

My tongue was frozen. I knew what I was supposed to say. Her hair must be awful to wear a scarf every day, or even ‘Of course!’  Anything to show that I would go along with anything, that I understood the price I paid to be in her orbit, and that I was grateful for it. 

Time must have passed while my thoughts spun, desperate to find something I could force myself to voice. Claire was now right in front of me, the other girls in a circle around us. I thought of it as the taunting circle. The final warning bell had rung, but to Claire this was more important than a late pass. 

“Emmy?” It was much less than a purr now, more like granite and glass. Over her shoulder I saw a couple of girls slip away – whatever this was, it was not worth a late pass to them. Claire would know, but would forgive this minor defection if they were obsequious enough later.  

Her smile faded, and she reached out and flicked my notebook hard with her long red lacquered fingernail.

“Um, yeah, Claire?” I finally found my voice. I was surprised that those few words didn’t come out squeaky and cracked.

Her head tilted, and her eyes narrowed, and she studied me as if I was a puzzling, surprisingly disobedient puppy. “Don’t you think so? Isn’t it ridiculous to even come to school if you have to keep a stupid scarf on your head all the time?” 

“Well, it is her religion.” I couldn’t believe those were the words that finally came out. They tumbled past all the fawning and apologizing, they broke through the temptation to go through the debasement to keep my familiar, if increasingly painful, place in the herd. 

It was worth it. Even as I saw my future of exclusion and isolation flash before me, even though I could already feel the coming real and verbal attacks and jabs from her and her girls, Claire’s mouth dropped open. She was slack-jawed, her expression droopy and stupid. She raised her hand, either to point or hit, and started to speak, and then I saw that at the same instant we both became aware of the fading wave of laughing behind her. She spun around and it cut off abruptly, the remaining group of three or four girls suddenly interested in shifting books or studying the walls. But they had laughed. Just a few words of disagreement and they broke ranks. 

“I mean, how sad is it to make fun of someone’s religion, Claire?” Facing away from me, Claire saw every girl gasp before spinning back to me. I couldn’t believe it, but the words kept coming. I had thought my fate was sealed but something else was happening. “Do you think it’s hilarious that Jenny goes to church with her grandma?” Jenny, behind her, startled. “I heard that Amy J doesn’t eat meat on Fridays. Oh my GOD!” I didn’t actually know if Amy J was Catholic, but I couldn’t stop. “Did you know Mrs. Jensen once went to Israel for a pilgrimage? Boring!!” I didn’t know if that was even about religion. “I heard that John Stimler once . . . .”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Claire hissed and spun away, sidestepping to slam into me with her shoulder before not-quite-running down the hall. She knocked me off balance and I staggered but didn’t fall. I caught my balance and turned back to find the three remaining girls staring at me, stunned, as we listened to her fading footsteps. The final bell rang and broke the spell. They scattered and I stood alone. My heart was pounding, hands sweaty, and I was trying to catch my breath. I knew What happened? was a stupid thing to think, I’d been there the whole time, but still – What in the hell happened? 

At lunch the next day I sat at an empty table, to avoid the humiliation of people getting up and leaving when I sat down. I had kept to myself all morning, kept my head down, and nothing had been said to me. I wondered if Claire was avoiding me as much as I was her. I looked up, startled, at a thump and found a girl next to me, sliding up close. “What did you say to Claire?” she asked excitedly. “I heard you cussed her out.” 

“Uh, no, I didn’t –“ Just then a shadow loomed over us. There was Samantha, with no gossipy smile now. 

“Claire wants to see you,” she said, tipping her head toward our – well, toward Claire’s table. 

I looked over the see the whole table, Claire in the middle, staring at me.

“No,” I said. Why, I thought. Why would I voluntarily walk over there to hurry whatever was coming?

“You better,” Samantha said, her voice low. “You will regret it the rest of your life if you don’t go over there right now.” 

Oh, I thought. That’s why. I slowly stood. The girl beside me squealed, “Oh my God!”  

As I crossed the cafeteria. Not every single one but a lot of the kids watched. I don’t know who heard what, but they knew something was going on. How bad could it be? I thought, but I was shaking. I didn’t know what to expect – Carrie and Jeremy had not been summoned at lunchtime at their ostracizing.  

“Hey, Claire,” I said as I drew up to the table. 

She stood and faced me, leaning in close. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she hissed. Her voice was harsh and low. “Little bitch – I accepted you, I gave you friends, and you repay me like that? You were nothing –“ She went on, and I found myself watching her rather than listening. So I would eat alone – I’ve done that before. Would could she do?  Nothing. 

And it turned out, weirdly, that the earth did not open and swallow me to hell if I said something, or if someone was mad at me. I did not drop dead from the venom in her voice. Two girls had crowded behind me, to keep me from running I guess. 

I could say something, I realized. I could just open my mouth –

“Oh, Claire, that is so sweet!” I exclaimed, as loudly as I could, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “Of course you can!” I still didn’t know what I would say next, and it was one of the most liberating and freeing things I’d ever experienced.  

I kind of loved that when her jaw dropped it took a lot of the beauty and intelligence out of her face. “What – I can what?” she finally said. 

“Of course you can come to church with me!” I yelled. “We were talking about it yesterday. I’m so excited! We go to a Pentecostal episcopal, um, evangelical temple. It’s so great! You are so interested in people’s religions!” 

There was stunned silence in the group in front of me, and a growing murmur in the crowd further out. I put on a huge smile and looked around – we were the center of attention, all right. Not the kind Claire was used to, though.  

“That’s – not –“ Samantha started to say. 

“My grandma will pick you up Sunday!” I couldn’t talk any louder than I was.  “She has a green station wagon! And she wears a hat! I’m so glad you asked to come to my church, Claire!” 

I turned and pushed past the rear guard and walked right out of the cafeteria.

I ran to the library and hid, shaking.  I don’t know where that came from, but now I knew Claire would do her worst. 

Her worst, it turned out, wasn’t much when it depended on lots of other people to do what she wanted, and they didn’t do it. A few girls didn’t speak to me, but luckily I didn’t care. And Carrie and I turned out to be good friends.