Boring Girls Read online

  The background, which in the painting implied a candlelit, shadowy bedchamber, I got creative with. I added in some words from a poem I had written, garishly like the metal band fonts I could barely decipher. I made them crackle like spiderwebs, scrawled across the wall. He will die and we will laugh. You, my love, my other half.

  My fingers were covered with oil pastel for three days, even after I washed them. The shadows of it would remain there, but I was so excited for art class those days, I felt like I was buzzing just thinking about it. I barely even noticed Josephine beside me as she snipped out her pieces of paper. What the hell did a stupid Jackson Pollock painting have to do with anything? God love her, but she didn’t understand passion and feeling either.

  When I was finished, I was so proud. I’d worked hard. It had taken me three classes, while some of the morons were only getting started. Too bad for them that they weren’t inspired by anything. Too bad for them that they didn’t believe in anything, couldn’t express anything.

  I sat back in my chair and gazed down on my completed Judith replica. It was dark, it was passionate, it flowed with hate and accomplishment and beauty. And the words on the wall behind them felt like my own little secret.

  “Holy shit,” Josephine said. “That’s really . . . really fucking scary, Rachel. It’s gory as hell.”

  “Do you like it?” I asked.

  “It reminds me of you.” She grinned.

  Mr. Lee noticed that we were talking and wandered back through the class. “Are you finished with yours, Rachel?”

  “I am.”

  “I can’t wait to see your interpretation of my favourite Gentileschi painting,” he said, smiling as he arrived at our table.

  He gazed down at the pastel drawing and was silent. “Are those words on the wall behind the scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do they say?”

  “Er, ‘He will die and we will laugh. You, my love, my other half,’” I recited, feeling stupid. Josephine was listening. I didn’t like having to talk about my work in front of her and her little cut ’n’ paste project.

  “Did you write those words yourself?” Mr. Lee asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Well, the rest of the class is hard at work,” he said, raising his voice to quiet some assholes who were guffawing about some dumb shit. “So why don’t you come up to my desk, and we’ll have a chat about what you’ve created? Keep that up, Josephine, I’m loving it so far.” We walked up to his desk, him carrying my drawing.

  Great. Maybe we could have Ms. Voree in here too and have a round-table discussion on lighter themes.

  “This is a wonderful drawing,” he said quietly, allowing the class to continue to work and not overhear our conversation. “Tell me about it.”

  “Well, it’s always been my favourite painting,” I said. “Judith Slaying Holofernes.”

  “Do you know the story behind it?”

  “Yes, my mother told me when I was little. About who Judith was and why it was very important that she kill Holofernes.”

  “What emotions did you feel while you were drawing this?”

  “I was very excited because I love the painting. I wanted to try and express the scene with as much emotion as I could.”

  “And this resulted in emphasizing the violence and pain,” he said, gesturing, “but also focusing on the strength of the women.”

  I nodded. “Yes, that was an important part of it for me. I’ve always sort of admired Judith and her friend for being strong women.”

  “Artimesia Gentileschi was pretty strong herself,” Mr. Lee said.

  “I know. My mom’s really into art, she taught me a lot about it.”

  “Well, Rachel,” he sat back, “I love it. I love that you incor­porated creative words into it. It’s obvious to me that you have a great passion for the painting. And I like that you took a dark approach to the dark subject matter. I didn’t expect it.”

  “I wanted to make it darker,” I said.

  “Well done. We’re going to be doing this project for the rest of the week, and since you’ve finished early, you can work in your sketchbook for a while.” As part of the class, we were to hand in a sketchbook at the end of the year for bonus marks.

  I took my seat, careful not to rustle any of Josephine’s stupid paper scraps.

  xXx

  I ended up hanging that drawing on my wall, next to the pictures of Marie-Lise and DED. It made me feel good, looking at that wall. Empowered. I could tell Mom and Dad hated it, naturally, but how could they complain? I was doing well at school, I had a friend, and I was still being creative, which they approved of. I didn’t get any more lectures that winter from anyone. Not from Mom and Dad, and not from Ms. Voree. Of course, that was because I lightened up the things that I wrote for her class. She totally approved of nature and snowflakes and the moon and soft deer in the snow and all that shit. In Mr. Lee’s class, I knew I could create whatever I wanted and he would approve. I could express myself at school through art, and I could express myself at home through writing in my journals, which were quite rapidly turning into page after page of what can only be described as lyrics.

  Even Ms. Voree had been forced to concede: I was a good writer, a creative person. And I knew it myself. I might only have had one friend, and she didn’t understand me, and the cutest boy in school thought I was a loser, but I was still better than the other kids. My dad had been right. I was smarter than them. I got it. I understood real feelings and I knew how to convey them. And I had my music. Fuck, it was such a comfort to me. I kind of liked that no one else I knew would ever be able to understand it. It was mine. To quote DED’s song “This Sad Earth”:

  Me and myself

  That’s all I need

  To destroy this earth

  To make it bleed

  And if I’m alone

  I feel no pain

  Because the blood will purge

  This sad earth again

  That’s the stuff that carried me through the winter. And I felt just fine.

  EIGHT

  Even just saying her name today, I feel amazing. Something flows through my veins that I can’t describe. Like fire, like comfort. Like bliss. I don’t even know.

  Fern.

  I met Fern that spring. I’d enjoyed the winter: the days ending early, the long darkness. It was the perfect environment for me to write and fantasize about the bands on my wall who felt like a group of friends to me. I spent time with Josephine, and while I truly appreciated her, now that I was comfortable with the idea of making friends and having fun and going shopping and all that crap, I wanted something more. Josephine was wonderful, but we weren’t connected. We didn’t share a common view. There was no passion in it.

  And before anyone gets carried away, I’m not talking about sex. I wasn’t looking to Josephine to satisfy any sort of romantic need, or lust. What I wanted was more important than that. Sex is stupid, and it could not have been any less important to what I needed. To describe it in a romantic way would be to cheapen and trivialize my feelings. I wanted a bond. I wanted to truly feel close to someone.

  Still, I continued through the school year with Josephine by my side, hemp shoulder bag and all. There was some boy she liked, and we did all the same things that we’d done with the Guy: she walked by him, I dutifully watched to see if he turned his head. I did my halfhearted best to find out his name for her. But it was all so silly. Having a boyfriend seemed completely insignificant next to the more important goals I had: to write. To be creative. But I humoured her.

  And I have to admit that whenever I saw the Guy, I still felt stupid. Even after months had passed. I’d tell myself, Fuck him if he doesn’t understand the world. Let him live in his little box. How pathetic, to wear a Bloodvomit shirt and not even understand the message. It was almost comical. Not c
omical enough, mind you, that I was able to erase from my mind the memory of my voice croaking, “Oh, through the grapevine.”

  When the snow began to melt and the little buds on the trees were providing me with plenty of fodder for Ms. Voree’s class, Josephine invited me to yet another party. She was still close to her Our Lady friends and would natter about them from time to time.

  I don’t know what it was this time that made me agree to go. She was surprised, but it was all set. The party was on Friday night, and we’d meet in the park and head over. Which left me with a couple of days to regret my decision.

  There was so much to worry about. My fear of her friends disliking me and being forced to either endure the awkwardness or think up some lame excuse so I could leave; of Josephine ditching me and realizing how pointless I was; and, obviously, of the normal institutions of drinking and drugs. I hadn’t had a drink before, and I certainly hadn’t smoked weed, but Josephine had, and when she’d brought it up, I’d implied that I had also. Well, not so much as implied as I definitely let her know that I had. I mean, I was cool, right? So now I would likely be faced with a situation where my extensive coolness would be put to the test. I’d have to act like I knew what I was doing. And I fucking didn’t even want to drink or smoke weed. So how the fuck was I going to fit in at this badass party?

  Friday evening I let my parents know I was going to go to a party. It was the first time I had ever gone to a party, or gone out at all for that matter, on a Friday night. I approached them after dinner; Mom was in a good mood having just finished a painting.

  “With who?”

  “Josephine,” I said, and immediately they both visibly relaxed. I guess they were pretty worried that one of these days I was going to fall in with the satanic criminal crowd.

  “Oh, that’s good,” Mom said. “Whose party is it?”

  “I don’t know. Some friend of hers.”

  “What friend?” Dad said.

  “I don’t know. Some girl from Our Lady of Heaven.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. “This is exciting! You’re going to a party. Is it a birthday party?”

  “No, Mom, it’s just a regular party,” I said, which silenced them both again. I began to feel the familiar skin-crawling sensation of annoyance creep up my body. I wanted to go to my room.

  “Will there be alcohol involved?” Dad asked slowly.

  “No, Dad. They aren’t like that. It’s just to hang out.”

  Dad frowned. “Rachel, don’t forget: I’m a teacher. I deal with kids your age every day, and I know what goes on at these parties.”

  “Oh, Rachel, I don’t want you drinking,” my mother said.

  “Or doing drugs either. Smoking pot, causing trouble.” My dad was getting into preach mode, and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes. “Doing acid. I know what goes on. It’s dangerous. You’re a smart girl, you don’t want to start making bad decisions. You have to be very careful.”

  “Guys, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Be home by nine,” my mother said.

  “But it’s eight o’clock! I’m not even meeting Josephine until nine!”

  “Oh, right. Well . . . be home by midnight.”

  “And if you need a ride home, call us. Don’t get into a car with anyone who’s been drinking,” Dad said. “We want to keep the doors of communication open. Don’t be afraid to come to us to talk about drugs, drinking, sex, whatever you need advice with.”

  “I get it, all right? I’m going to go get dressed.”

  xXx

  I put on one of my best outfits, a dark blue plaid jumper with a black puff-sleeved blouse underneath. Black tights, and my trusty old winter boots. I put on a bit more makeup than normal, trying to channel a hint of Marie-Lise despite my boring brown hair and protective parents, and after insisting to my mother that what I was wearing was fine for a party, I left for the park.

  Josephine was waiting there for me. We headed off across the neighbourhood. She babbled away about which of her friends would be there tonight, about some cute guy who was supposed to go also, and about who was going to bring the beer. I was nervous. I wished I’d brought my Discman along so I could have one ear in while she talked, listening to something that would make me feel stronger. Fuck, it was so frustrating dreading these social situations. Josephine knew I was nervous and reassured me that everyone would be really cool. “Once you’ve had a few beers, you’ll be fine.”

  Yeah, great.

  xXx

  After a bit of a walk into a neighbourhood I’d never been to before, we walked up to a house with loud music playing and people hanging out on the driveway.

  “Oh, I don’t know about this,” I said, stopping at the bottom of the walkway leading up to the house. I felt shaky, and my stomach was upset. My stupid palms sweated. “I’m nervous.”

  Josephine turned to me and touched my arm. “Rachel, you’re wonderful. And I promise I will leave with you if you want to go. Just give it a chance.”

  She smiled, and I appreciated her so much in that moment. “You promise?”

  “I won’t abandon you,” she said.

  We smiled at each other and then walked up to the door. She flung it open and strolled in as if she owned the place.

  I knew immediately it was a bad idea that I had come. The music was fucking annoying, too loud and it was some kind of bullshit you’d hear on the radio. There were people everywhere. Just hanging out and laughing it up, all of them holding beer bottles or drinks, smoking cigarettes, and all of them looked like assholes. I expected to see Brandi. A bunch of people looked over as they noticed us walk in. Mostly they just went back to their conversations, but two girls came running over.

  Squealing, they embraced Josephine and launched into immediate chatting bullshit. I squeezed in behind her so I could close the front door, trapping us in that awkward living room.

  “This is my friend Rachel,” Josephine said, gesturing to me. “Rachel, these are my friends Erica and Heather.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey, Josie’s told us all about you,” Erica said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “This is my house, just so you know,” Heather said. “So you can grab a drink from the kitchen, whatever you want. It’s nice to meet you.”

  They were both really nice, but I couldn’t help but feel how superficial it was. They were only interested in hanging out with Josephine, of course. The three of them lapsed back into familiar conversation as we moved further into the room. And there it was. The moment I knew would happen. Josephine talking to her friends, and a room full of disinterested morons jabbering away, and me, standing there like a fucking outcast, pretending like I was fine with it.

  I stood close to the three of them so it would at least look like I was included, and finally Heather said, “Rachel, why don’t you go get yourself a drink?”

  Nice. I hadn’t noticed that the two girls had brought Josephine a drink when we came in, so the three of them all had beer bottles.

  “Uh, sure, thanks,” I said. At least going to the kitchen would give me something to do; it would look like I was either on my way to a conversation or coming from one. I weaved around the people, none of whom noticed me, into the kitchen. It was also filled with people, some of them sitting on the kitchen counter, some of them sitting around the table, which had bowls filled with chips and stuff on it. The music was loud in here too, and everyone was just blabbering away about god-knows-what, and I couldn’t see drinks anywhere. I guessed the fridge would be a good place to start.

  I squeezed through the people and opened it. There was a lot of beer in there. I didn’t want one, but I figured I’d try it anyway.

  “Yo, grab me one too,” some guy said, pushing up behind me. “There’s too many people in here.”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, taking two bottles out and handing one t
o him.

  “Thanks. Let me open that for you.” Using a bottle opener he had on his keychain, the guy opened them. “Hey, cheers,” he said and took a swig.

  Gamely, I took a swig too. It tasted like filthy shit, absolutely horrible. I couldn’t keep the wince from my face, and the guy laughed.

  “Yeah, this beer sucks. Hey, my name’s Mark,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Robbie’s friend.”

  I shook it, still marvelling at how foul the beer tasted. “I’m Rachel. I’m here with Josephine.”

  “I don’t know who that is.” He gulped down some more beer. “So what school do you go to?”

  “Glen Park.”

  “Ah, fuck! Do you know Danny Bastin?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh. Well, he’s my buddy. I go to Our Lady. It fucking sucks.”

  I nodded amiably. He and I stood there awkwardly for a minute, and then he noticed someone on the other side of the room he wanted to talk to. Or maybe he didn’t, and it was his way of making an excuse to get away from me. “Well, hey, it was nice meeting you, Rachel.”

  “Yeah, you too,” I said, and he disappeared into the kitchen-herd, and I was left standing alone again, now with a disgusting drink in my hand. I didn’t want to go back to the living room and stand awkwardly with Josephine and her friends. Walking to the kitchen had made me feel more comfortable, so I decided to take a stroll around the house. It seemed like a better idea to walk around alone than to stand alone.

  I moved through the kitchen and dining room. Everyone at that party looked like an asshole. From across the room I noticed Josephine chatting with her friends; she raised her eyebrows at me. You okay? I nodded. She raised her beer bottle at me questioningly. Did you get a drink? I held mine up so she could see it and tried to smile at her. She smiled back and resumed her conversation. I was fine. I was just fine.