October 12: Janey

There are only a few things I hate more than people. People have entirely too much power. They control everything: how you feel, where you can go, what you can and cannot do. They have the power to make you incredibly happy, but the desire to make you miserable. They want you to be more miserable than they are. So they manipulate you, use you, abuse you- until they are satisfied by your misery and move onto someone else who is too happy. People make me crazy; they make me miserable. Being in stuffy classrooms and crowded hallways with people drives me insane. No, there is not much that I hate more than people.
I hate geometry more than I hate people.
“Math is not for everyone,” Mr. Reeves tells me after class. The rest of the students file out of the room and stare at me while my teacher tells me how much I suck. “But you’re going to have to apply yourself more if you want to pass.”
“I understand,” I mumble.
“Maybe Alex here could help you.” He pats Alex Reid on the back as he walks by us. “He seems to be a math wizard.”
Alex stops and stares at us. “I’m alright.” He shrugs.
“Nonsense.” Mr. Reeves shakes his head. “I want you to sit next to Janey on Monday. When we do group work, I’d like for you to work with her.”
“Uh, sure.” Alex glances at me and my eyes shoot to the floor.
My face feels like it is literally on fire. It is bad enough that I suck at stupid angles and tangents. But now, Mr. Reeves feels the need to broadcast it to the entire class and get some kid who can barely look at me to remind me just how stupid I am.
“Excellent.” He smiles an ancient grin. “You all run along to your next classes. I’ll see you after the weekend. Go Boomers.” He pats Alex on the back again.
“Bye,” Alex mumbles.
I, of course, do not say anything.
“You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to,” I tell Alex once we are out of the classroom. I follow him through the crowded hallway.
“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs. “We all have our strong points.”
“Yeah.” I have yet to find mine.
“For some reason I’m really good at math,” he tells me. “But I hate science. Physical science is kicking my ass right now.”
I am surprised to find out we have another similar class. That is one class I am actually doing okay in, despite my deadbeat partner.
“Yeah, I have that fourth period. My partner is a waste of time, so I do all the work myself.” I realize that this is the most I have spoken to anyone outside of my group of friends all year.
“Oh really?” He laughs. “Who is your partner?”
“You probably don’t know him. He’s a real badass.” I roll my eyes. “Manny Aviles.”
“Oh, I know him.” Alex nods. “Such a badass.” I appreciate his sarcasm.
We stop at a set of lockers and he turns the combination on one of them. “Are you going to the game tonight?”
“Yeah, right.” I shake my head. “Do I look like I like football?”
He chuckles. “Stupid question, I guess.”
I decide that I have overstayed my welcome and I should leave before I say something completely weird that freaks him out.
“I’ll see you in class,” I say.
“Yeah, see you.”
Whatever just happened was weird. I hate people; especially people who can do something better than I can. But for some reason I am okay with Alex helping me in class. If it means passing geometry and never having to see Mr. Reeves again, then I like Alex just fine.
This is a speech week in communications class. Each day, five or six people give their persuasive speeches in front of the class. Ms. Gribbs sits right in the front and takes notes with a feathery blue gel pen. I made sure to sign up for the end of the week, putting off public speaking for as long as I possibly could. Today is finally my day, and by the time it is my turn, my nails are bitten down to pink nubs.
“Come on, Janey.” Ms. Gribbs turns around to me and encourages the class to give a courtesy clap. A few of them oblige; most of them are asleep.
I take my time walking to the front of the class with my note cards. She has a podium set up in the front of the room, and I take my place behind it. She gives me a nod and starts the timer.
“Hello,” I say. I clear my throat and remind myself to speak up. “How many of you own and iPod?”
The people who are awake all raise their hands, as I expected. Without making eye contact with any of them, I nod and continue my speech.
“Most kids these days own one or more electronic music devices. Music has become a way for students to express themselves, to escape reality, and…” I look down at my note card. “Um, for things such as studying and other activities.”
The class stares at me, wondering where I am going with this. I swallow hard and try to find my place on the index card in front of me.
“Today, I am going to talk to you about why I believe students should be allowed to listen to their music devices at school.” My voice starts to shake and I feel my face flush.
Ms. Gribbs smiles and nods during my speech, although I am sure she disagrees with my topic. A few of the kids listen, but I imagine it is painful for them. I stutter and stammer, trip over my words. I stop every few seconds to remember to breathe. The speech was absolutely terrible, and although it was supposed to be at least eight minutes, I barely reach four. That’s with all of the deep breaths and stupid ‘ums.’
“Good job, Janey,” Ms. Gribbs lies when I am finally finished. I hurry to my seat without looking up. She claps her hands lightly. Nobody else does. Not that I expected them to, anyway.
I do not need their applause.

“You’re coming over tonight, right?” Cordelia throws a crumpled up napkin at my face and snaps me out of my trance.
“For sure.” I take a sip of my chocolate milk.
“You don’t have baby patrol?” Jacey laughs.
“No. Crash texted me earlier.” I eat one of her cookies. “I’m off duty for the night. He’s taking care of Davie.”
“Shit yes.” Ross lights a cigarette and lets me take a puff from it. “In that case, let’s go crazy. Think you could score us some weed?”
“My mom bought us two cases of beer,” Cordelia tells me. “It’s the cheap stuff, but it will do the trick.”
“Sweet.” I turn to Ross. “And yes, I’ll get the weed.”
Mogley and Ross pound their fists together and I take another hit from Ross’s cigarette. We sit outside at our table and pick at each other’s food. Layne sits with her legs crossed right on top of the table. The rest of us surround her with our sandwiches, snacks, and sodas.
“Teacher alert,” Mogley says.
I press the cigarette into the table and throw it in Ross’s paper bag. Layne waves the smoke away and Cordelia spritzes a bottle of perfume in my face.
“Somebody tell a joke or something,” Cordelia says.
Everybody fake laughs and puts food in their mouths. We play normal as best as we know how. Mr. Cunningham is quickly approaching, and he loves busting kids for breaking rules.
“Hello, children.” Mr. Cunningham walks up and puts a sarcastic smile on his face.
“Hello, sir.” Mogley’s smile is just as sarcastic. He holds out his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Hungry?”
“No thank you.” Mr. Cunningham crosses his arms. “It smells funny over here.”
“What does it smell like?” Cordelia bats her eyelashes.
“It smells like,” he takes a couple of loud whiffs. “Menthol cigarettes, cheap cologne, and a bunch of kids who are up to no good.”
“We don’t smoke,” Ross says.
“Oh, is that right?”
“Nope.” Layne shakes her head. “We’re good kids. And besides, smoking is against the rules. We wouldn’t want to do anything to upset the wonderful administration here at Five Points.”
“Don’t be cute, Miss Jennings.” He rolls his eyes at Layne. “You kids are nothing but trouble. And eventually I will catch you.”
“Challenge accepted.” Cordelia winks at him.
He gives each of us a hard look before turning away. He starts to turn away, and then turns back to us.
“What’s that?” He points to the table. We all look at the table, where Cordelia’s iPod is resting next to her green tea.
“Oh, this?” She picks it up. “It’s called an iPod. It plays music, videos, and pictures-“
“I know what it is, Cordelia.” He picks it up. “And I also know that having it out during school hours is against the code of conduct.”
“Come on, Mister Cunningham.” Mogley smiles. “It’s game day. Cut us a little slack, why don’t you?”
“You can forget about the pep rally. I’ll see you in fourth period detention.” He puts the iPod in his pocket. “All of you.” With that, he walks away. As soon as he is out of sight, we all bust out into laughter.
“Did you see his bulge?” Layne asks.
Cordelia sighs. “Oh God, that was absolutely hilarious. That wasn’t even my good one.” She tosses her lunch in the trash and stretches.
“Well, now we don’t have to bother coming up with an excuse to miss the pep rally.” Ross pulls another cigarette out and lights it.
“Detention with my best friends, rather than watching a bunch of jocks have sex with each other in the gym?” Mogley takes a bite of his sandwich. “I’ll take it!”
I am the one to burst the detention-happy bubble. “Do you guys think they’ll call our parents?”
“Oh God, Janey.” Cordelia wraps her arms around me and kisses me on the cheek. “I’ve had about a million detentions since I got here. Your dad is never going to find out.”
“They wouldn’t waste their time.” Ross puffs on his cigarette. “It will be ninety minutes of mopping the floor and scrubbing tables in the cafeteria.”
“Sounds magical,” I mutter.
But what Mogley said was true. I would much rather spend fourth period busting tables with my friends. Sitting on the uncomfortable bleachers watching a group of fakes that I don’t even like almost sounds more torturous than the mounds of geometry homework I have to catch up on if I want to pass.
Almost.
“I’m going to need a cut before we go in.” Cordelia grabs her purse. “Who’s coming with me?”
Regardless of whether we want to go or not, we are expected to. So I follow Cordelia and the girls across the parking lot to her car. She pulls out her tin case and opens it on the top of the car. I consider asking her why she didn’t purge today. But that might give her ideas. Cordelia is crazy when she gets ideas.
We huddle around her while she pulls her bracelets back and drags a razor blade across her arm. She does it twice, in a perfect line with the rest of her scratches.
“Take it.” She hands the blade to Layne, who lifts up her dress and traces one of her old scars with the corner of the sharp metal.
“So good,” Layne mutters and offers the razor to me.
I shake my head. “Not today.”
“You’ve said that for the last month.” Cordelia wraps a piece of cloth around her wrist. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” I assure her. “I just don’t feel like doing it right now.”
“Whatever.” She snatches the blade from Layne and hands it to Jacey. She opens her purse and pulls out a cigarette.
Jacey takes the razor and looks at me before offering it back to Cordelia. “I don’t feel like it either.”
“Well aren’t you two just perfect little angels?” She blows a puff of smoke in my face. “Suit yourselves. What’s up, Riley?”
I look up and see Riley Sutton standing a few feet away from us. He looks like something out of a dream, or maybe a nightmare. I guess he had the idea to skip the pep rally too.
“Hey, ladies.” He stands there awkwardly. “What are you guys doing?”
“Nothing,” we all say.
He doesn’t ask any more questions, just gets on his bike and jets out of the parking lot. Cordelia smiles at me; I must be blushing.
“What a babe.” She hands me the cigarette. I hate when she does that. She knows how he used me. But I guess if she knew the whole story, she wouldn’t be so bitchy about it.
None of them know about my operation. No one does. I know if I told them, they would go crazy. Jacey is the biggest advocate for humanity and personal rights. Ross and Mogley would for sure get themselves killed trying to go after Riley. No, it is not worth it. So this is one secret that will stay between me and the razor blade.
And now I want to cut more than anything.
Jacey notices how uncomfortable I am. “Well I think he’s an asshole. And the bell is about to ring. Let’s go.”
Cordelia packs up her stuff without saying anything else and we hurry back to our table. The boys are picking at our food. When the bell rings, we take our time walking to the detention office in the main lobby.
Mogley knocks on the door and opens it before Mrs. Kendrick has a chance to answer. We follow him in. She is an older lady with white hair and big glasses. She looks at us over her glasses.
“Ah. The lunch guild, I presume?” She leans forward in her chair. “Mister Cunningham told me I should be expecting a group of… interesting students.”
“That would be us.” Mogley strikes a pose. “The lunch guild.”
“You’ve got cafeteria duty.” Mrs. Kendrick hands us a couple of buckets with rags and squirt bottles in them. “Mr. Cunningham said he would be checking after you himself. So I would do it well if I were you,” she warns us.
“Thanks, sugar.” Ross winks at her and we leave the office.
“That was easy,” I say.
Cordelia nudges me with her elbow. “Told you. Mister Cunningham did us a favor. The little bastard.”
Remind me to thank him later.

While the rest of the school sits in the gym and cheers for the Five Points royal court, I wipe tables with Jacey and avoid the bleach bullets that Ross and Mogley insist on squirting at us. I take my time with every table while Jacey tells me about the new poem she is writing.
“I just want it to be good, you know?” She tells me while we wipe down a table. “But it’s hard to write about love when you’ve never actually experienced it.”
“I’m sure,” I mumble.
“I mean, I’m seventeen.” She throws her rag down. “And I still haven’t ever been in love with a guy. And Hayden Christensen doesn’t count.”
We both laugh. “I’m sure it will happen,” I tell her. It is hard convincing her of something that I hardly believe myself.
“Guys are just assholes.” She moves on to the next table. “I hate them. Maybe one will love me when I become famous.”
“Of course,” I promise her. “Boys love famous suicidal poets.”
She throws her rag at me and we both laugh. I listen to her talk about her poems and her romantic dreams until we are done cleaning the tables. Cordelia and Layne finish mopping the floors and the boys take turns sliding around on the wet tile.
“It’s spotless,” Mogley assures Mrs. Kendrick when we return the cleaning supplies. “You could eat off of the floors.”
“But I wouldn’t recommend that.” Ross chuckles.
“Alright, lunch guild.” Mrs. Kendrick puts the buckets under her desk. “You all can just wait outside the office until the bell rings.”
“Best fourth period ever,” I whisper in Ross’s ear. He puts his arm around me and we follow the rest of them into the lobby.
“Agreed.”

Cordelia’s mom, Stacy, says that they’re house is “lived in.” The couches are worn out, the carpets are stained, and the paint is peeling. The place smells like hair grease and cigarettes. Her mom uses the den as a make-shift beauty salon. Ever since she lost her job at the hospital, Cordelia says money has been tight. So her mom cuts and colors hair for women around the neighborhood who can barely pay her.
They live across the street from Evelyn Rhodes- something that Cordelia tries to forget. The grass needs to be cut and the sidewalk is cracked. But Cordelia’s place is the best to hang out in. Her mom buys us beer and cigarettes, lets us do whatever we want, and doesn’t ask questions. She is quite the opposite of my dad.
“My favorite people,” Stacy says. She hugs all of us and plants dark red lipstick on our cheeks. “How was school today?”
“Lame,” Mogley says.
“Boring,” Ross mumbles.
“The same as it’s always been, huh?” Stacy chuckles and ruffles Mogley’s hair. “You kids come on in and make yourselves at home.”
Her hair is big and over-sprayed. It is dark, like Cordelia’s. Mogley and Ross practically drool all over her six-inch heels before she walks away and into the kitchen.
“Stop it,” Jacey punches Ross in the arm.
Stacy calls to us from the kitchen. “I’ve got Doritos, some donuts, cold pizza.” She walks back into the living room. “And beer.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Cordelia takes one of the cases of beer and kisses Stacy on the cheek. “We’ll be downstairs.”
She motions for us to follow her and we do. The basement is small, but comfortable. It smells like mold, but Stacy says she is getting that fixed. There is a small television with a couple of old couches in front of it. My favorite part is the stereo system- a Christmas present from Cordelia’s dad last year. She plugs her iPod into it and turns up the volume.
She opens the case of beer and we all help ourselves. I hate the taste of beer, but I am slowly getting used to it. The guys chug them like they are full of Kool-Aid. They sit down on the floor and pull out Cordelia’s PlayStation.
“Not today, boys.” I roll my eyes. “Please?”
“Come on, Janey.” Mogley bats his eyelashes. “Do you really want to deprive a man of his Black Ops?”
“It wouldn’t be wise,” Ross says.
“Just let them play,” Cordelia tells me. “Let’s go paint our nails.”
A few minutes later, Cordelia dumps a basket full of different colored polishes and glitters on the floor. We sit around in a circle with our shoes off and pick through the polishes, waiting for one to scream out at us. Layne chooses a deep red, like always. Jacey picks a pale pink. Cordelia picks several glittery polishes. I consider black, then decide against. I finally decide on a dark orange. We paint our nails and talk about pointless stuff that nobody else would ever care about.
Layne tells us about her mom’s newest boyfriend. “He’s a total creep. The guy is a pediatrician. And the way he looks at me, I’m pretty sure he does a lot of playing doctor with his patients.”
“That’s disgusting,” I say.
“I think doctors are hot.” Cordelia blows on one of her nails. “If things don’t work out with him and your mom, tell him to call me. And knowing your mom, I’m sure they won’t work out.”
“Gross, Dee. The guy is like fifty.” Layne rolls her eyes.
“Even better,” Cordelia insists. “I need an older man.”
“You mean twenty-four isn’t old enough?” Jacey looks at her. She is referencing the twenty-four-year-old felon Cordelia has been sleeping with.
Cordelia shrugs. “I don’t know. Chase is cool, but he’s boring. Bad boys aren’t all they are cracked up to be.”
I know that better than any of them.
“Plus he’s got that ugly tattoo on his neck,” Layne adds.
“I think it’s sexy.” Cordelia finishes her nails and stands up. “Alright boys, that’s enough with the video games. Let’s get the party started.”
“One last game,” Mogley insists. But Cordelia stands in front of the television and turns it off. They finally put up the controllers and grab more beer.
“Where is the weed?” Layne fans her hands away from her body to dry her nails. “I need it tonight.”
“I talked to Brian,” I tell her. “I’ll have to meet him at the football game to get some. I told him I would meet him there later.”
“Great.” She takes a beer out of the refrigerator and slurps it. “I need to get lost for a while. Brian’s stuff always does the trick.”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
Layne is not the only one trying to get lost tonight. I plan to get so lost that nobody can find me. Perhaps I will get so lost that nobody will ever find me. I will venture into my own world and not have to worry about anyone or anything. So lost that I discover new things in the depths of my being, figure out what I want. When I am high, I can stretch the depths of my own existence. I feel like I can do anything.
To be that lost would be magic.

I hold off on drinking so that I can drive to school to meet Brian. I search the masses in the parking lot and find him behind the concession stand. I take a few seconds to find a steady breathing pattern before I go up to him.
“Hey, Brian.”
“Janey.” He smiles at me. “I almost thought you weren’t going to show up.”
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“No problem.” He pulls out two small bags and I hand him forty dollars. “This should do the trick,” he whispers in my ear.
My heart stops for a second and I stand there, frozen. Finally I find words and energy to speak. “Thanks.”
“No problem, girl.” He winks at me. “Enjoy.”
With that, he turns back to his friends and I know that our conversation is over. My heart flip flops while I make my way back through the crowd of kids and out to my truck. With two tiny bags of green fairy dust in my pockets, I hurry back to Cordelia’s house.
They are drunk when I get back. I hurry into the basement and find them dancing around on the old white carpet. Mogley stands on the coffee table pretending to play guitar. Jacey sways from side to side. Layne and Cordelia move their bodies together. Ross dances around aimlessly on my own.
“I got the goods,” I yell over the speakers.
Mogley hops off of the table. “Green!” He yells.
Cordelia turns down the stereo and hurries over to me. She and Ross both have marijuana bowls. We pack both of them carefully with the fresh green buds. The smell alone is intoxicating when I open the bags.
“Light it up,” Ross insists.
I hand him a lighter and he heats the bowl up. He takes a long drag and puffs on the end of the bowl. He holds it in for as long as he can.
“It’s good,” he says.
I hurry over to the couch and grab two of the beers. As quickly as I can, I chug them. It doesn’t taste as terrible if you just hold your breath and drink as fast as your chest will allow you to. I finish both of them and grab a third before they are done with the first round of weed.
I am a lightweight drinker. With a cop for a dad, it is very hard to get around a house under the influence. He can smell alcohol and marijuana from a mile away. With the two beers combined with what I drank earlier, I am tipsy. When they pack the bowls again, I grab one from Layne. She hands me her lighter.
I take a long drag and watch the weed crumple under the heat. Orange mixes with the green as it burns. I take in as much as I can, puff, then take in some more. My lungs stretch like rubber bands. When they are on the verge of snapping, I let go of the smoke slowly. My eyes cross and the room spins.
Cross buzzing is true magic.
The alcohol teases the marijuana, coaxes it into my system. They tango together, waltz through my veins and straight to my brain. Everything becomes cloudy. Except, they become crystal clear at the same time. Everyone chills out almost immediately. We sit around the coffee table while the music plays on low volume. Nobody says anything for a long time. We just fill the bowls again and pass them around.
I take quick drinks of the beer and let myself float away. Finally, I am lost. My mind swirls away in purple and black streams. We move the table out of the way and lay down on each other. We are a ¬stack of stoners, a pile of pathetic losers with nothing but ugly scars and empty dreams. They are lost too, and I wonder what they are thinking. I wonder what epiphanies they are reaching, what secrets they are nursing.
Snuggled against Mogley, I find myself climbing higher and higher into the impossible. I think about everything I could be doing, where I could be. When I’m high, I have no sense of reality. I forget that I’m a fuck up, that I killed my little brother. I forget that my mom left and that my dad can barely speak to me. I forget that I have no reason to be proud of myself. I forget about the urges to slice myself open just to remember that I am, in fact, still alive. I forget about everything and nestle myself in the warmth of the misfits around me.
It is funny how easy it is to forget. How easily I can push out the memories. I wish I could do this without being high, but a girl has to settle for the simple things. I believe that cross buzzing on cheap beer and amazing weed may actually be magic. The potion is unbeatable. There seems to be a trick to being happy. A trick for making all of the bad stuff disappear. But my problems are not little white rabbits that I can put in a hat with a trap door. No, they are much bigger, much more serious. And I am no magician. But something tells me that it is still possible. And maybe I can do it. I have to do it. They say misery loves company, but I can’t be miserable anymore.

I vow to find the magic.