Boring Girls Read online

  I straightened up and looked at her. “Yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

  “Well, not really,” she said, clearing her throat. “I mean, you took off from that party, and it made me feel like you didn’t want to hang out with me.”

  Gee, don’t hold anything back. “That isn’t true,” I said.

  “Yes it is. I was really excited for you to meet Heather and Erica, and you didn’t even spend any time with me at all, or give a shit about my friends. All you did all night was hang out with Fern.”

  “Girls,” Mr. Lee said from the front of the class. “Down a few notches.”

  Josephine continued in a whisper. “I’m really pissed off about it, Rachel. You made me feel like crap.”

  “How do you think you’re making me feel?” I whispered back. “You know I was scared to go to the party. And when I make a new friend, it’s like you’re jealous or something!”

  “I am not jealous!”

  “Yes, you are. You’re not my boss, you know. You can’t tell me what to do, at all. Just because you wanted me to hang out with your friends doesn’t mean I’m going to like them. It doesn’t mean they’re going to be the type of people I’d get along with.”

  “No, but you didn’t even give them a chance.” Josephine’s face was turning red.

  “Sometimes you don’t have to give people a chance,” I said, scowling. “If you’re going to be pissed off at me for the simple fact of me talking to someone at a party who isn’t you, fine then. I think you’re jealous, and it’s really pathetic.”

  I turned back to my work and realized my face was probably just as red as hers was. I can’t really explain the emotions I felt. One part of me was glad I had hurt Josephine, but I couldn’t really figure out what she had done to me. The other was really damn upset and wanted to apologize. But I knew I wasn’t going to. It really bothered me that I wanted Josephine to be upset. I was not a callous person. She was my friend. My first real friend. Why did I want to turn this on her?

  After a while she spoke again. “Listen, I’m sorry,” she said softly, keeping her eyes on her work. “I just felt hurt, that’s all. It was stupid of me. Of course I’m totally fine with you making new friends.”

  She paused, and I knew that it was my turn to apologize. “I’m sorry too, Josephine. I guess I just got caught up talking to that girl, because we like a lot of the same bands.”

  We worked quietly for a while, and Josephine suddenly said, “You should be careful with Fern.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She’s weird.”

  “Oh, we’re all weird,” I said.

  “No, I mean really weird.” Josephine lowered her voice conspiratorially. “When I went to Our Lady, I knew her. She was in a bunch of my classes. Everyone used to say stuff about her.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Like, she’s into Satanism and shit like that. Do you re­mem­ber in the newspapers a year ago, last winter, about those peacocks in the petting zoo at Bingeman Park? How someone broke in there at night and killed a bunch of them?”

  “Yeah, my dad was talking about that.”

  “Yeah, well they say Fern was one of the people who killed them. That it was like a sacrifice to the devil, something like that. And it gets worse.”

  I stared at her, waiting.

  “I guess her family had a dog and she killed the dog too. Sacrificed him to the devil. And she has an older brother. They say she has sex with him, that he’s a devil worshipper too, and they have, like, orgies with the other devil worshippers in their coven, or whatever.”

  “Witches have covens, not devil worshippers,” I said.

  “Whatever. It’s all the same shit.”

  “Josephine, I don’t believe any of that. It’s just stupid gossip.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I know Fern better than you do, and I know she’s weird.”

  “People just like to pick on people who are different,” I said. “Fern listens to music and dresses different from most of the people at school. So they have to go make up rumours about her. This is exactly the same kind of stuff an asshole like Brandi would start about me. I mean, how would anyone know what happened to her dog?”

  “I don’t know,” Josephine said. “You’re right, it could just be gossip, I guess. But what I’m telling you is to be careful. I don’t know anyone who likes her.”

  “Well, now you do,” I said.

  xXx

  I felt exhausted for the rest of that day over the argument we’d had. All that crap about Fern was so obviously just stupid gossip, churned out by the assholes. Incest and killing animals? It was completely ridiculous, and how weak of Josephine to buy into it. How lame of her to tell me! All it did was prove my point, that she was jealous about me and Fern developing a friendship, and she wanted to try to ruin things. I mean, it didn’t even make sense. Orgies? How had that managed to leak out into the school gossip system? Had someone seen her kill her family’s dog, or caught her having sex with her brother?

  The worst part of it all was that I was now thinking about what Josephine had said. Of course I knew it was garbage; none of it was true and Josephine should be fucking ashamed of herself for perpetuating it. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but be a tiny bit interested in the potential shred of truth in all of it. Was Fern really into devil worship? Killing her dog and sleeping with her brother were revolting concepts, but I couldn’t help but feel scandalized in a very fascinated way.

  xXx

  That evening I planned to talk to my parents about the concert. I already knew that there was no way they would let me dye my hair, so there was absolutely no point in asking about that. That was something I’d deal with later. But I knew as we sat down to dinner that they were still irked about the party, and I hoped that all my patience and tolerance for listening to their crap that night would pay off.

  Mom, Dad, and Melissa were talking about something mundane, and when they paused in their conversation, I decided to speak up.

  “A few friends of mine are going to St. Charles next weekend,” I said.

  “You have friends who drive?” my dad asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “It’s actually the older brother of one of my friends,” I said, thinking I had lied quite smoothly.

  “What friend?” Mom asked.

  “That girl Fern you met,” I said.

  Mom put down her fork. “I don’t know, Rachel. What about Josephine? I thought she was your best friend. Why don’t you spend time with her anymore?”

  “Fern’s a pretty name,” Melissa said.

  “I do,” I insisted. “Josephine’s going too.”

  “Oh,” Mom said, and hesitated. “So, why do you have to drive all the way to St. Charles? Do you want to go shopping?”

  “No, it’s actually for a concert,” I said, as casually as possible.

  “What concert?” Dad asked.

  “They’re called Surgical Carnage.”

  No one said anything. Melissa looked back and forth at them, and I stared at my pork chop.

  “Is Rachel rebelling?” Melissa asked. “’Cause the book we’re reading in class talks about how the older sister in the family is a teenager, and she gets in a fight with the mother because she wants to go to some dance at her school, and the mother says she’s rebelling.”

  My parents chuckled. Dad said, “Do you think you’re rebelling, Rachel?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything rebellious about wanting to go to a concert with my friends,” I said. “I’m fifteen years old. You guys have always wanted me to make friends and do things.”

  “It’s just that St. Charles is so far away,” my mother said. “And, I mean, that music . . .”

  “You can hate that music all you want, but I don’t see why you think it’s a bad influence,” I asserted. “Have my grades f
allen? No. Am I on drugs? No.”

  “But your friend was smoking . . .”

  “Do you think people who listen to my music are the only people who smoke? No. A lot of people my age do. It has nothing to do with what bands they listen to.”

  Mom nodded slowly.

  I sighed. “Why don’t you guys wait until I mess up my life before you get all worried about what a bad influence it is? I have friends and I’m fine.”

  Dad shook his head. “Our job is to try to stop that from happening. Nip it in the bud. You’re young. You don’t know the warning signs.”

  “Being around someone who smoked a cigarette is not a warning sign,” I shot back. “It wasn’t me smoking. I know smoking is stupid. You guys raised me to know that.” I allowed myself to smile smugly. “I think it’s too bad that you guys doubt yourself so much about how well you raised me. It seems to me like you doubt yourselves more than you doubt me.”

  They both paused, staring at me. I could tell they didn’t know what to say, and I congratulated myself for besting them. “Why don’t you let me go to the concert and see how it goes? See if my grades drop or if I mess up somehow. See if I come home on drugs or drunk. Then panic over the choices I’m making.”

  “You don’t make the rules around here,” my mother said, but I had won. I could go to the concert. One condition was that we had to leave immediately after it was over and drive straight home, which I agreed to because how would they know? I had won myself a flexible night out, and I had out-thought my parents. I had lied to them about Josephine going along, but that was unimportant. What they didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt them. I recalled how drunk Josephine had been at the party and chuckled that my parents seemed to think that she was such a great influence.

  xXx

  Fern and I decided to meet downtown on Wednesday after school to go shopping for some stuff for the concert. Being a total loser has its benefits — I had a ton of allowance saved up. We met up outside one of the thrift stores. When she showed up, she looked tough and beautiful. I admired her dark purple eyeshadow and the amount of eyeliner and mascara she was wearing. I wasn’t allowed to wear powder or anything, and I felt so plain with my usual getup of light eyeliner and ChapStick.

  “I wish my mother would let me wear more makeup,” I said.

  “Why don’t you just put it on when she isn’t around? Do it at school in the morning or something,” Fern said. “My mom’s cool with the eye stuff, but she won’t let me wear dark lipstick. I wait till I leave the house and then put it on.”

  Shopping with Josephine had never been competitive, and I worried that it might have been with me and Fern, but instead it was totally collaborative.

  “Look at this,” she said, pulling a crimson dress off one of the racks. “This will look amazing on you when your hair’s black. With some red barrettes or a ribbon or something?”

  I agreed. I usually looked for black clothes, and Fern was opening my eyes to a whole new level of ideas. I could wear pink, even, and make that look awesome. With lots of makeup and black hair . . .

  “I need some shoes too,” I said once we had both chosen a few pieces of clothing.

  We looked at the shoe section, and I scanned the shelves in my size for a tough pair of boots. “See, there aren’t any. I hate that.” I scuffled my feet. “I always wear these, and they’re my old winter boots.”

  Fern studied the shelves. “How about these?” She pulled down a pair of black boots in my size. They had a pointy toe and a very feminine high heel. “These are cute as hell.”

  They didn’t have any buckles and I wasn’t sure about the heel. “You think they’re cool?”

  “Just because they aren’t masculine doesn’t mean they aren’t tough. These will work great with the clothes you have. Just do your hair awesome, wear tights, accessorize, and they’ll look great.”

  They looked like witch boots. But was that so bad? I decided to get them. Even if I didn’t think they were that metal, it would still be nice to have a change of shoes for once. And I did trust Fern’s fashion sense.

  At the drugstore, Fern picked out some makeup for me: foundation and powder, dark eyeshadows, and I chose a deep red lipstick. Then we went to the hair dye section. While Fern picked out a bleach, I scanned the boxes of black dye. One had a very pale girl with blood red lipstick. I chose that box based simply on how cool the girl looked. Well, that, and because it was relatively inexpensive.

  We paid for the stuff and then, after grabbing a ticket for the concert at the record store, decided to head to Fern’s place. My stomach simmered with excitement as we walked together, my hands full of shopping bags. I felt like I was about to undergo a transformation. I knew I could hide the makeup from my mother, but I wouldn’t be able to hide my hair, and I was pretty confident that she would freak out when she saw it. But it would be too late by then for her to do anything about it.

  xXx

  Fern’s mom was really nice. We promised to keep the black dye off the shower curtain and be very careful and lay down towels, and she was cool about it. Me and Fern headed to Fern’s bedroom.

  Her room was amazing. The walls were purple. She had a shelf of books and CDs, on top of which were several vases of dried flowers. Her bedspread was black satin, and her sheets were black. All of her furniture was painted black as well, and the room smelled vaguely of warm vanilla. A black electric guitar lay casually on the bed. There were candles on her nightstand and several posters and paintings on her walls. She had a vanity covered with cosmetics and perfume bottles and a string of small white Christmas lights around the mirror. I swallowed hard, picturing my own white-walled, mismatched bedroom with the old powder-blue comforter on the bed and the porcelain duck lamp I’d had since I was a baby. I wanted to make my room cooler before she saw it. This room had a dark, cozy mood to it. Perfect for holing up and writing.

  “Your room is great,” I said.

  “Thanks. It took awhile to convince my mom to let me paint it this colour,” she said.

  We got started by bleaching Fern’s hair in the bathroom. She sat on the toilet lid and I wore plastic gloves and tried to get as much of her hair covered with bleach as I could. It was a difficult job; not only because I had never done it before, but also because Fern’s hair was so bloody long. She had roots growing in, which were dark brown, and she told me to do the roots first so they’d have longer to lighten than the ends, which were already pretty light. I was a bit nervous. I didn’t want to totally ruin Fern’s hair.

  After inspecting herself in the bathroom mirror, she deemed my job thorough, and we went back into her bedroom to wait for the bleach to do its stuff.

  “Play me something on your guitar,” I suggested.

  She giggled nervously and picked it up, sitting on her bed and resting the guitar across her lap. “I’m not very good,” she warned. “I have a book I was trying to learn from.”

  Fern played a few chords and then launched into a slowed-down, faltering version of the opening guitar riff from “I Ignore Your Screams” by DED. Flawed as it was, it was totally recognizable, and I was thrilled.

  “That’s great!”

  “Eventually I want to get an amp and some effects pedals,” she said. “But I can’t afford any of that right now. It sounds so stupid like this.”

  “Will your mom let you have an amp?”

  “It won’t be too loud. I can listen over headphones,” she said. I was impressed at her knowledge of guitar gear.

  “Can you write music?” I asked.

  “I want to eventually, but I kinda want to get better at playing before I try,” Fern replied. “I want to be in a band one day.”

  “I told you I’m starting to write lyrics,” I said. “We should totally start a band someday.”

  “Yeah, we should. You’ll have to show me some of the stuff you’re writing. Can you sing?” />
  “I don’t know,” I said.

  xXx

  When Fern went back to the bathroom to rinse the bleach out of her hair in the shower, her mother invited me to have a cup of tea with her in the kitchen. Her mom was older than my parents were, with grey hair, but not old enough to be a grandmother type. She’d made some green tea, and I sat across from her at the table.

  “I’m happy to see that Fern’s made a friend,” she said, sliding a plate of cookies across the table towards me. “Especially one she has things in common with.”

  “We like the same bands,” I said, eating one of the cookies.

  “You’re dying your hair black?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I think that will look very striking on you. You have a very light complexion, you’ll look quite vampy.”

  The kitchen door opened and in skulked a tall dark-haired guy. His eyes flicked from me to his mother. “Hey.”

  “Frederick, this is Rachel, Fern’s friend. Rachel, this is Fern’s big brother, Frederick.”

  “Hi,” I said, eyeing him. So this was the big brother that Fern apparently was having sex with, and that was also a member of the devil worshipping coven. He smiled politely at me and took a cookie from the plate. He didn’t seem like a devil worshipper, even though he was wearing black clothes. Of course, how would I be able to recognize one? Should he be wearing a hooded robe, hands dripping with peacock blood?

  “Do you guys have any pets?” I asked, realizing too late that it was a suspicious question.

  Frederick and his mother looked at each other. “We used to have a dog,” his mother said, “but she died last year.”

  “Yeah, she was hit by a car,” Frederick said. “We still have a cat, though. She’s lurking around here somewhere I guess.” Abandoning the subject, he addressed his mother. “Can I use the car tonight?”

  “Once your dad gets home and we’ve had dinner,” his mother agreed. “Rachel, will you be joining us for dinner?”

  “I think I should be getting home after my hair is done,” I said. “But thank you.”

  xXx