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THE MARTHAS
Heather has found a clan--the Marthas. She is a freshman member on probation. I have no idea how she did it. I suspect money changed hands. This is part of her strategy to make a place for herself at school. I am supposed to be tagging along. But the Marthas!
It's an expensive clan to run with; outfits must be coordinated, crisp, and seasonally appropriate.
They favor plaid for autumn with matching sweaters in colors named after fruit, like apricot and russet apple. Winter calls for Fair Isle sweaters, lined wool pants, and Christmas hair ornaments.
They haven't told her what to buy for spring. I predict skirts with geese and white blouses with embroidered ducks on the collar.
I tell Heather she should push the fashion envelope just a teeny bit to be an ironic reflection of the 1950's, you know, innocence and apple pie. She doesn't think the Clan Leaders, Meg 'n' Emily 'n' Siobhan, understand irony. They like rules too much.
Marthas are big on helping. The name of their group came from somebody in the Bible (the original Martha Clan Leader became a missionary in Los Angeles). But now they follow the Other Martha, Saint Martha of the Glue Gun, the lady who writes books about cheery decorations. Very Connecticut, very prep. The Marthas tackle projects and perform good deeds. This is ideal Heather work. She says they run the canned-food drive, tutor kids in the city, host a walkathon, a danceathon, and a rockingchairathon to raise money for I don't know what. They also Do Nice Things for teachers.
Gag.
Heather's first Martha Project is to decorate the faculty lounge for a Thanksgiving party/faculty meeting. She corners me after Spanish and begs me to help her. She thinks the Marthas have given her a deliberately impossible job so they can dump her. I've always wondered what the staff room looks like. You hear so many rumors. Will it have a cot for teachers who need naps? Economy-sized boxes of tissues for emotional meltdowns? Comfortable leather chairs and a private butler? What about the secret files they keep on all the kids?
The truth is nothing more than a small green room with dirty windows and a lingering smell of cigarettes, even though it has been illegal to smoke on school property for years. Metal folding chairs surround a battered table. One wall has a bulletin board that hasn't been cleared off since Americans walked on the moon. And I look, but I can't find any secret files. They must keep them in the principal's office.
I'm supposed to make a centerpiece out of waxed maple leaves, acorns, ribbon, and a mile of thin wire. Heather is going to set the table and hang the banner. She babbles on about her classes while I ruin leaf after red leaf. I ask if we can trade before I cause permanent damage to myself. Heather gently untangles me from the wire. She holds a bunch of leaves in one hand, twists the wire around the stem--one-two--hides the wire with ribbon and hot-glues the acorns into place. It's spooky. I hurry to
finish the table.
Heather: “What do you think?”
Me: “You are a decorating genius.”
Heather: [eyes rolling] “No, silly. What do you think about this! Me! Can you believe they're letting me join? Meg has been so sweet to me, she calls me every night just to talk.” She walks around
the table and straightens the forks I just set. “You are going to think this is ridiculous, but I was so upset last month I asked my parents to send me to boarding school. But now I have friends, and I know how to open my locker, and [she pauses and scrunches her face up) it's just perfect!”
I don't have to choke out an answer because Meg 'n' Emily 'n' Siobhan march in, carrying trays of mini-muffins and apple slices dipped in chocolate. Meg raises an eyebrow at me.
Me: “Thanks for the homework, Heather. You are so helpful.” I scoot out the door, leaving it open a crack to watch what happens next. Heather stands at attention while our handiwork is inspected. Meg picks up the centerpiece and examines it from every angle.
Meg: “Nice job.”
Heather blushes.
Emily: “Who was that girl?”
Heather: “She's a friend. She was the first person to make me feel at home here.”
Siobhan: “She's creepy. What's wrong with her lips? It looks like she's got a disease or something.”
Emily holds out her watch (the watchband matches the bow in her hair). Five minutes. Heather has to leave before the teachers arrive. Part of being on probation means she's not allowed to take credit for her work.
I hide in the bathroom until I know Heather's bus has left. The salt in my tears feels good when it stings my lips. I wash my face in the sink until there is nothing left of it, no eyes, no nose, no mouth. A slick nothing.
