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Worn by Christine Timmons This story was published originally in West High School's literary magazine, Twisted View.
Her hair is dirty blonde with highlights, curled at the bottom and reaching her mid-back, and she has amazingly green eyes, drawing the attention to where it should be rather than her stick-like body. Her skin is fair and delicate, with long nails the color of peaches. She is wearing a pastel blue shirt with “Aéropostale” printed across her chest and light blue jeans, clinging to her body like she is to the boy next to her. She is afraid of losing him, but to who? There are so many choices at her table, and she recognizes her disadvantage as she compares herself to the girls surrounding her. She sees him watching her friend intently, slightly pulling away from her as if he is embarrassed to even be with her. Her laugh is overpowering, unnatural, and desperate; she doesn’t want to lose him. Perhaps she cares for him too much, perhaps. Or perhaps too little, and now she knows that he will leave her for someone who cares more. No, she cares for him as any would; she only doesn’t want to lose him to her friend.
***
I could hear her coming a mile away, her three-inch clogs sounding like elephants in tap shoes, even in the obnoxiously loud cafeteria. Without looking, I knew Mary Ann was hardly paying attention and that she forgot I was incredibly thirsty. I pretended to continue writing, and just as she was about to pull her chair back, I spun around and snatched the chocolate milk off of her tray. “Jesus Christ! How the – hey, get your own drink!” Mary Ann has this girly but matter-of-fact voice that every once in a while turns almost man-like. It’s actually quite amusing. I chugged down her milk and looked back over at the over-crowded-popular-people table. “See that girl in the blue shirt?” Mary Ann squinted her eyes at the group. “Ashley Sallard? That preppy bitch from Chem? What about her?” she answered, dropping her bag next to her as she sat down. “Her boyfriend’s going to break up with her.” “Are you kidding me? They’ve been going out for two years!” I swear, she can be so oblivious sometimes. Maybe that’s why I hang out with her; she makes me feel smart. “Haven’t you noticed how they react to each other?
She’s become so clingy now because he wants… ah, who’s the girl with the blonde ponytail?” “Well, he wants Lexi. And he’ll have her soon unless she realizes that friends come first.” I don’t know how she does it, but Mary Ann has a talent for not seeing the details. Or perhaps she’s just hungry and not paying attention. “Come on, Alyssa. They’re not breaking up.” “Five bucks they will.” Mary Ann rolled her eyes at me, then sighed. “Whatever. This week they won’t, anyway. Speaking of this week, wanna go bowling this Saturday?” I finished off her milk and set the empty carton on her tray. “Depends. Who’s going?” “Me, Jen, Shannon, some cheerleaders, some football players, and their friends. A whole bunch of people. Could you give me a ride?” “Sure. What time? Seven?” Mary Ann is pretty good at making me go to things without even giving me a chance to decide. “More like ten. We’re doing the night-time bowling thing. Lucky Lanes. You ever been there before?” “Once, maybe. I’ll pick you up at 9:45.” I was going to ask her if she had gone bowling there, but the bell rang. I grabbed my journal and headed to English. Mr. Preston was a pretty cool teacher. Helpful, too. I’m more of a descriptive person, and I tend to avoid the facts; I just write down what I think from what I see. Preston’s helped me overcome that. He told me that instead of just going in their minds, I have to pretend that the reader isn’t as “thoughtful” as I am and that they need to make the connection between the facts and the opinions. Because of Mr. Preston, I’ve been describing people a lot better now. He thinks I should be a psychologist, though. I don’t think I’d be too good at helping people, just sort of understanding them, but I don’t care. It’s nice to have people appreciate my talents once in a while.
***
Jefferson High School is pretty interesting. I mean, at first glance, it’s no different than the average teenage hellhole: three thousand students, impressive sports teams, diverse hobbies – you know, boring but still slightly amusing. But then again, every school’s got its perks, and every teenager’s got his or her problems. For example, sports are pretty popular when it comes to school night hotspots. We have an awesome basketball team, an average soccer team, and an absolutely horrendous football team, but the jocks who happen to play on that team still act like they’re better than everyone else. Plus, everyone still goes to the football games more than any other sport. And there’s gossip. Someone is always dating their best friend’s ex-boyfriend, and Samantha’s cousin is gay, and Mr. Olive is pregnant, and bla bla bla. Besides all that, we have “cliques.” There are druggies, sluts, cheerleaders, perfectionists, nearly every stereotype you can think of. And then, of course, there are the fights. The first one I ever saw was between Derek Berkly and Pierre Hawford. Berkly was the varsity football team’s quarterback and also happened to date Sally Peterson, the cheerleader captain. Pierre was some exchange student with a French accent, nicely parted long hair, and, apparently, everything a girl could ever dream of. Well, at least Sally Peterson thought he was worth something, because she happened to be flirting with him between classes when Berkly walked by. It was pretty funny, actually, when I witnessed the two of them throwing punches. You would’ve expected Derek to win – after all, he’s the quarterback of the varsity football team – but apparently Pierre was on the wrestling team, and in no time he had Derek in a headlock. The halls were so packed with observers that even the teachers couldn’t get through to break it up. Half of the girls were rooting for Derek, the other half for Pierre, and Sally just kind of stood there with this very horrified look on her face. I think that’s when I started watching people. I just knew when I looked at her that she wasn’t like the stereotypical cheerleader captain. She honestly wanted them to stop fighting. And I realized why she even talked to Pierre in the first place – Berkly, being the arrogant jock he was, flirted with every girl he ever met. I mean, he’d even flirt with me if he knew me, for God’s sake. He put his arm around her cheerleading friends and tickled his best friend’s sister until she fell laughing against him. He danced with ten different girls at the dances – I mean, he grinded with them – and all the while Sally would be off to the side, talking to the girls he wasn’t currently all over. She never stopped him; in fact, she hardly seemed to notice. But, by God, all she did was talk to Pierre and he attacked the guy. Sally Peterson was sick of not getting the attention she wanted. She didn’t care if she was the most popular girl in school. She didn’t care if she was going out with the football quarterback. She wanted someone who actually cared about her. Yet at the same time, Sally Peterson wanted them to stop fighting. Yes, she wanted someone to care about her, but she didn’t want them to fight over it. She had every girl’s dream scene playing out in front of her. And she didn’t want it. Why not? What was so bad about – Then it hit me. I wondered why she only wore long-sleeved shirts, why she flinched when her friends poked her annoyingly, why layers of cover-up caked her face. Why did she collapse against her boyfriend while her eyes seemed to crinkle in pain? Why did she always get rides from her friends, never staying home, and kept true to the rumors of getting drunk on Saturday nights? Because Sally Peterson was abused. It was so clear and sudden that I almost second-guessed myself. But it made sense. You never saw her father, and she cringed when you mentioned him. The clothes and makeup hid her bruises, the hair in her face hid her tears. She let Derek hold her, even amidst the pain it caused her, because she wasn’t held at home. And she did what she had to do in order to avoid the most influential person in her life: she drank until she couldn’t remember why she was crying in the first place. There I was, standing there, and for the first time in my life I actually knew someone. I knew her better than my mom, my cousins, Mary Ann, anyone. And she hadn’t even spoken a word to me. Mary Ann didn’t agree, though. She said that she had met Sally’s dad when she was ten, and he was pretty nice. And besides, wouldn’t at least someone know if she was abused? The next week, Sally went to the hospital for broken ribs while her dad was arrested for child abuse. She never came back after that. Some people said her parents divorced and she moved with her mom, but for all I know she might’ve just gotten sick of it all. I wouldn’t be surprised.
***
“Shoe size?” “Seven, please. She’ll have sixes.” Mary Ann was convinced that she was going to pay for me, but I wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily. I don’t like people buying things for me. I don’t know why, really; it’s just a thing I have. “Come on, Mary Ann. I have enough cash. I’m not poor or anything.” She looked at me firmly and replied, “No.” And that was that. The actual bowling was alright. I got three or so strikes, which was a whole lot better than I usually did, so I was happy. But bowling for an hour straight got me hungry, so at about 11:10 I went to the bar. Let me rephrase that. There was an alcoholic bar, kind of divided into a separate room, and there was a food bar. It reminded me of a coffee shop or something, like in those old black and white movies. They had milkshakes, nachos, hamburgers, fries, and I was starving. So I rang the little bell and waited for some skimpy college girl to take my order. Only it wasn’t a skimpy college girl. It was a guy. Luckily I had brought my journal, so immediately upon ordering an extra thick chocolate milkshake and fries, I started writing. He’s wearing jeans and a Dr Seuss t-shirt, with a drunk Cat-In-The-Hat on the back holding a beer bottle and reciting a beer poem. His hair is somewhat long at his chin, brown and gelled back; unlike most twenty-year-old men, he can pull it off. His eyes are watchful, observing the people around him, and at the same time they appear caring, wanting to reach out and get to know you. “Milkshake and fries?” Dr. Seuss looked into my eyes for a mere second and placed my food in front of me. Then he turned away, moving on to help Jen. I didn’t know her too well, but she was friends with Mary Ann, so apparently we were considered friends too. Fortunately, she didn’t see me and returned to bowling after ordering a Coke. His skin is not fair, not tan, but in between. He is about 5’11 and has a small but toned body, the general look of him appearing almost like a misfit that has managed to hide his imperfections. I looked up again, and, surprisingly, I found that he was watching me with observant and understanding eyes. “What are you writing? Is it for school?” For a moment I considered lying, but something about him made me want to reveal myself to him. “No, I just writing about what I see.” “Oh?” Dr. Seuss let the corner of his lips turn up in a slight smile. “What do you see?” “People.” His eyes fell to my pen, resting on the old and peeling journal. “Who is it that you’re writing about?” “I don’t know.” I closed my notebook quickly, not wanting to tell him that he was the subject of my entry. “I’m going back to bowling.” “Alright. Talk to you later.” He smiled again, holding my gaze before turning to his next customer. I went back over to Mary Ann, and we bowled for another half hour or so. She hardly seemed to notice that I was gone, and I was glad for that. She can be awfully nosy sometimes.
***
Some people think it’s their faces, the way they look when they say something important or depressing – how they react when their teacher says they’re flunking Math. But it’s not just that. It’s what they do. And I don’t just mean actions, like cheerleaders flipping their hair and nerds rubbing their foreheads. I mean what they do. Take Mary Ann, for example. She can be awfully annoying sometimes, but one thing she’s good at is basketball. People who play sports generally are determined enough to want to do well in life, but not necessarily enough that they actually care how well. Mary Ann, she’ll probably end up as a teacher or secretary. Her grades aren’t too wonderful, like she has low A’s and B’s – except Gym, of course, she’s totally acing that class – but she does her homework. Doesn’t really study, though. I mean, enough that she passes, but not like hours. She’s kind of carefree, boy-crazy, your average teenage girl. Now, I’m not saying everyone’s like that. I know this one guy – Zach or something – who wears all black, listens to crazy bands that sound like Satanic cults unless you really listen, and writes poetry. From that, you can kind of assume he’s not too crazy about life. But once you watch him and how he talks with other people, you can tell that he’s the exact opposite. He’s not preppy or anything, but he definitely enjoys life. He’s one of the few people I know that’s truly happy. You really have to look at everything when you’re trying to figure someone out. You have to see what they do, how they do it, how they talk, what they talk about, how they react when talked to, everything. And once you see everything, you can really understand that person. The problem is, sometimes you find someone who doesn’t let you see everything. I mean, they don’t do anything. They don’t talk, they don’t react when talked to, they hardly even do anything. Fortunately, only some people do that, and it’s just one thing that they don’t show. That is, of course, until I saw Jane Doe.
***
Blank. Expressionless. She just sits there, eating her lunch like anyone else in the cafeteria. Her long, chocolate-colored hair is a perfect match against her fair skin, reaching a few inches above her elbows. She must be about 5’5, not skinny or obese – simply average. And her eyes! Such a bold gray that I can see them standing out against her black and white complexion, even from several tables away. But she just sits there. “Alyssa, move your bag. It’s in my seat.” “Hold on.” She must be new. She’s anonymous, unknown. “I mean now. I’m hungry.” Like at a crime scene, a newly discovered body with no name. “Alyssa!” Jane Doe. “Alright, I’ll move it,” I groaned, reaching over to move my bag onto the floor. She can be so impatient sometimes. Mary Ann practically fell into her chair and immediately dug into her lunch. It looked like steak. Or dried puke. “So how’s that guy? Has he asked you on a date yet?” she said through mouthfuls. I just looked at her quizzically. “What guy?” “Duh. The guy from bowling. The one you talked to? Remember?” Still sitting there. “Oh. No, why would he?” “Um, hello? He totally likes you. Didn’t you see him watching you? And besides, you were over there like the whole time.” God, this girl was hard to write about. “So? I was hungry. Besides, I was watching him. Did you notice his shirt? It had a drunk Cat-in-the-Hat, with a beer, poem and everything.” Mary Ann rolled her eyes at me. “Whatever, Alyssa. Are you going back?” “Well, as a matter of fa—“ “Stupid question. Sorry. You have to ‘watch him’ and ‘figure him out’ some more.” She stuffed a forkful of rice into her mouth as I took a swig of my Dasani. “Yeah, watch his ass, you mean.” “Mary Ann!” I practically choked. “You know that’s not true! Honestly! I’m not anywhere near as boy-crazy as you!” She gave me this I-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying-but-I’ll-go-with-it look. “Whatever. Hey, speaking of boys, whaddya think of him?” she said, pointing at what looked to be a gang of screaming cheerleaders surrounding the quarterback of the varsity football team. “Do you want me to tell you what I think of him or if I think he’s cute?” “Well, duh he’s cute. He’s like the hottest guy in school. Think I have a chance?” I just looked at her. I have no idea how I’m able to deal with someone as naïve as her. “No.” I was rewarded with a volleyball-spike-punch in my left arm. “Ouch! That was unnecessary! I’m just being honest! I meant unless you’re willing to lose your virginity.” Mary Ann looked at me blankly. “For him? I totally would.” “Oh, good God, Mary Ann. This is going to leave a bruise.” I instinctively rubbed my arm, which, of course, was a big mistake. “Dang! You should become a boxer or something.” “Do you think he’d like me then?” she asked hopefully. God, she can get on my nerves sometimes. “I would hope not. But, you’d probably get to fight guys wearing only shorts. And they’d be soaked in sweat.” Mary Ann’s eyes widened. “Really? Oh my gosh, I’m joining tomorrow,” she said as she grabbed her agenda from her American Eagle bag and wrote a reminder down. “Good Lord, Mary Ann. Do you know who that girl sitting over there is?” I gestured towards Jane Doe, who was still sitting there with no emotions revealed on her face. “No, why would I? Is she new or something?” Mary Ann looked over at the clock on the opposite wall. “Bell’s gonna ring.” “Fine. See you in Math.” On the way to English, I overheard some cheerleaders talking about how Ashley Sallard’s boyfriend had broken up with her and was now going out with Lexi Smith. I smiled slightly, knowing that Mary Ann now owed me five dollars. I wanted to know Jane Doe. I wanted to figure her out like they do on CSI. I love that show. Maybe that’s why I do it, because I think it would be cool to be like them.
***
Thursday night I drove to Lucky Lanes. I don’t really know why, seeing as no one I knew was going to be there, but I guess I was hoping for Dr. Seuss. I got there at about seven, and to my surprise I found a four-leaf clover growing through the cracks of the parking lot. Carrying it in one hand, my journal in the other, I headed into the bowling alley. He looked up once I walked in. He smiled and motioned to one of the barstools, then shouted, “I’ll make you a milkshake. Extra thick chocolate, right?” I nodded my head, glad that no one else was there. I walked over and gingerly placed the clover on the counter, my journal lying next to it. “How often to you work here?” “Oh, everyday ‘cept Sunday. Nights, usually.” He
turned and handed the milkshake to me, glancing at the four-leaf clover. “It’s your lucky day, huh?” Laughing, I pecked its leaves and continued drinking my shake. I looked up at him again. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed it before, but he always had a slight smile on his face. He leaned over the counter and stuck his hand out to me. “I’m Rob. What’s your name?” “Alyssa.” I took his hand shyly and glanced at his plain white shirt. “I liked your Dr. Seuss t-shirt. It was funny.” “Thanks. I’m not a crazy drunk guy, so don’t get the wrong idea. Wanna bowl? I’ll pay for you.” Surprised, I started reaching for my purse, saying, “That’s okay. I’ve got the money, I’ll pay.” Just as I was unzipping it, I felt his hand on mine. “No, I will.” I sensed his face gazing over my hesitancy, so I tilted my eyes up and realized that he was only a few inches from me. I felt my heartbeat quicken and pound in my ears as he smiled again. Rob laughed, breaking the silence and letting a breath leave my body. Jumping over the counter, he reclaimed my hand and led me to Lane 13. “I’ll teach you how to get a strike every time.”
***
For two weeks, I went to Lucky Lanes every night except Sundays. Rob was always touching me, whether grazing his hand over my cheek or showing me how to correctly roll the bowling ball. I told him how I watched people and tried to figure their personalities out. Actually, I told him about nearly everything I could within those two weeks. Including Jane Doe. It was a Thursday. Lunch was no different than usual; I watched Jane Doe for any change in behavior and dealt with Mary Ann’s current dilemmas. “He asked me out to the semiformal! Do you know what that means?!” I didn’t even glance at her. “You have a date to the semiformal?” “Well, duh! It means I might possibly have a boyfriend… and he happens to be Ian Valdor! Do you know who he is?!” “Your date to the semiformal?” “Alyssa!” She grabbed the pen from my hand to prevent me from writing. “He’s the most popular guy in school! He is like, hot!” How I survived lunch with her, I don’t know. By the end of the period, I had been too distracted to look over at Jane Doe. But when I did, I saw that her spiral notebook was lying there; she was gone. I took it home with me, not wanting to try to find her. Out of curiosity, I opened it. “Kori Parsons,” it read on the inside of the cover. I turned to a page. He’s guarded. It’s not that he doesn’t want people to know what’s wrong in his life, but that he has nothing to hide. His life is boring, pointless, but he wants others to think otherwise. She watches people. Like me. I flipped to another page. She’s depressed. The most popular girl in school, and yet she finds a flaw in nearly everything. She doesn’t see why she should be happy. She covers her arms in cuts, to remind herself that she isn’t perfect either. I sat there, frozen, unable to move or speak. Why hadn’t I realized this before? She’s like me, only… I found the last entry. She had fifty or so total, but this one wasn’t finished yet. She has long golden hair, reaching her elbows. She’s 5’5, brown eyes so dark they’re almost black. Her body is delicate, frail and easily broken. She has fair skin. She always wears at least some black, but she hardly seems noticeable. She blends in well with her environment. She’s looking for something. She watches people, looking for this thing in them that will replace herself. Something that will reassure her that she is not alone in whatever has happened to her. Because it is clear that something has hit her, hit her so hard that for a time she was unable to breathe or speak or move, and once she faces this again it is unlikely that she will survive yet again. Perhaps by watching others I will find out what this is, for as she writes in her journal what she finds around her, the disappointment builds on her face and I know she is unsuccessful in her search for her savior. Perhaps she will learn to hide her emotions better than she does now. I sat there, dumbfounded, as I realized what I just read: she had written about me.
***
“Are you sure this is about you?” “Yes. I’m sure. Well, I’m pretty sure. Unless there are more people in our school that watch people other than her and me.” Rob grazed his fingers along my arm, his lips tilted into a smile and his eyes resting on mine. “And what exactly is this thing that you are looking for?” I should have known he would ask. I quickly turned away, afraid of what to tell him. “I—” He put his finger to my lips, as if to hush me. “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me. I assume you’re going to give her back her journal?” I nodded. “Then maybe you can talk to her. She seems like someone you can trust.” At that moment, the clock above the middle bowling lane struck ten, and that was my sign to leave. I never stayed longer than that. “I should be going. Thanks for listening to me.” I turned to leave, but he grasped my arm and spun me around, pulling my body up to his and held me there. “Have you ever read Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry?” I was still breathless from his sudden action. Rob hardly ever did more than touch me just enough that my skin tingles. “Not really.” “Then let me read you this.” With the hand not holding me, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and began reciting to me:
“Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
His voice was uplifting, overpowering and captivating that for a moment I was completely lost, unable to find the words to express how moved I was. And when I finally focused on his gentle eyes, I was only able to say, “That was amazing.” Rob smiled, putting the paper back in his pocket. “It’s called ‘Romance.’ He’s a great writer.” He tilted my head up until his lips were but a few inches from mine. “Kori sounds like someone good to talk to. And tell me about her once you give her journal back.” Then he kissed me, gently, as if he didn’t want to startle me. And after he led me to my car, he kissed me again. And by the time I got home, I had forgotten it, the thing that destroyed me and made me write and still had me searching for something I was sure I would never find. But, of course, I didn’t forget it for long.
***
She sat there, eating her lunch and apparently unaware of my eyes watching her. Strange how she had never looked me in the eye and yet she could see right through to what I was. I began walking towards her table, the worn journal almost shaking in my hands. Kori, I thought to myself. What a beautiful name. “Um, I think this is yours.” As I placed the spiral on the stained cafeteria table, she skimmed over the cover and hardly acknowledged who dropped it in front of her. I turned away, and as I started making my way back to Mary Jane, I heard the first words fall from Kori Parsons’ lips, quiet but confident. “Was I right?” Surprised, I glanced back, now aware that her eyes were boring into my own, searching for the answer which I knew I didn’t have to say. “Yes. You were.” I waited, but no smile formed across her face, no smirk escaped from her mouth. She was intelligent, but not arrogant. Still, I waited, and she said nothing. Instead, she simply watched me. She knew that I would tell her, if I wanted to. “When I was eight – seven, maybe – I lived with both of my parents. I guess we were pretty happy, at least nothing that I could see was wrong. I mean, every once in a while my dad would come home pretty drunk, but I figured most dads were like that, you know? And my mom was always nice to me, never yelled at me or anything. My dad did sometimes, but I had it better than some kids. It’s just… one day, night actually, my dad came home really drunk. My mom was sleeping or something, and I was in my room too – and he just came in and… he was unzipping his pants. And I was confused, scared too, but I mean I didn’t know what he was doing. Then he grabbed my head and…” Pausing, I almost forgot she was there. “My mom came in and saw him. She screamed at him, and called the police… they got divorced. I live with my mom now. It’s just that I… I guess I didn’t, and still don’t, realize that I’m not alone. And I’m trying to find someone, something that can reassure me I’m not.” I fell silent. Somehow, while I was talking to her,
I had sat down without realizing it in the only other chair at the table. She was still watching me,
almost quizzically. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a person just by watching them. I stood up. I didn’t look back at her, and I knew she wasn’t looking at me. I murmured, “Thank you,” and headed back to my usual seat. I knew that I would probably never talk to her again, but I also knew that it didn’t matter. Mary Jane grinned as I sat down, and I suspected that she had a new boy she was after. “Hey, Alyssa! What’s up?” “Nothing,” I replied, smiling. “Nothing much.”
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