Chapter Eight #2
All eyes turn to the red-haired boy sitting up on the blanket. His green eyes blink wildly behind rectangular glasses, and he glances around the group like a mouse at an owl convention.
“CJ?” Mrs. Aldana’s voice nudges him gently.
He starts reading and his voice quivers.
Derek is leaning back, head cocked sideways like he’s hanging on to every word CJ says. When CJ’s done, his breath comes out loud and shallow and Swan whispers something into his ear.
“Are you all right, CJ?” Mrs. Aldana asks.
“Just … uh … an-an-anxiety.”
“Take a moment. We’ll move on so you don’t feel pressured.”
“In four, out six,” Derek says.
CJ’s eyes snap to him. “Huh?”
“Breathe in four counts, breathe out six,” Derek repeats, then crosses his arms. I realize I’m staring at him when his thick eyebrows knit together beneath his white cap. “What?” he says to me.
I turn away. Whatever I just witnessed, I don’t want to care.
CJ rips a sheet of paper out of his notebook and folds it with intense focus, like he’s doomed if he stops moving his hands. He doesn’t seem to hear Mrs. Aldana when she speaks again.
“And who are you, Derek? What can you share with us?”
“Um. Not a poet, apparently,” he answers, holding up his notebook. “Didn’t write anything.”
“Oh! It’s always good to make an attempt. We’re not here to judge.”
“Well, you kind of are,” he answers with a smile and a shrug. “Otherwise why bother being here, right?”
“With time, I think you’ll learn to see yourself more and judge yourself less. I for one am just so happy to have you in our group.”
“Absolutely,” William adds. “The more the merrier.”
I clamp my mouth shut to not yell, It’s about quality, not quantity!
“Ready, Jae?” Mrs. Aldana smiles eagerly, but the butterflies in my stomach pick up speed.
I look around the grove, at the faces speckled with bursts of sunlight.
Blue eyes. Green eyes. Brown eyes. Dark eyes.
Derek’s looking at me now, and his face reads apprehension.
Curiosity. Everyone seems to be holding their breath, leaning toward me.
I stare at my notebook. I can read the poem on the left, which is passable. It says I cared enough to write something. Or I could read the poem on the right, which is real. It tugs at my insides, hard, knots up my throat, squeezes my gut.
I take in a deep breath. I read.
nobody knows my name, or
they don’t know how to say it so
they call me New Girl.
but moving from there to here
can’t make everything New for real
Mrs. Aldana’s smile stretches wide. “Wonderful job, all of you!”
I sneak a quick glance at Derek. He’s still staring at me, and he won’t look away. I pretend to adjust the blue straps of my wedges. It’s his stupid eyes. I could look at them all day. Sometimes beautiful things are cruel.
Mrs. Aldana stands up. “Wonderful. I’ll hand over the rest of the meeting to your president, William Huntington.” She pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders, steps over the fallen log, and begins to walk through the maze of trees.
“You’re leaving us?” I ask.
“Oh, this is your club, Jae. I’m just here to cheer you on.” She cocks her head to the side. “You’re in good hands, but you’re welcome to join me for a walk if you’d like.”
I look around at everyone else. Potential friends, save one. “No. I’ll stay.”
“Don’t we need supervision?” Derek’s voice is low and accusing.
“I trust you won’t burn the grove down.” Mrs. Aldana winks. Her footsteps crunch as she makes her way through the trees. She touches each one she passes, brushing her hand along the trunks and staring up at the leaves.
“Jesus,” Derek mutters.
CJ sets aside the paper he folded into an intricate frog. He pulls out another sheet, and without looking at us, starts folding again.
William stands up and shakes his hair out and pulls it back into a tight ponytail.
“First of all, I’d like to welcome everyone to another school year, another semester of the poetry club.
This year we’re focusing on free verse poetry, and thus the name, The Free Verse Society.
We’d like to extend a special welcome to our newest members. ”
“I’m not really a member,” Derek says quickly. “I’m just here for a little bit.”
William taps his finger against his lips. “Have I seen you around?”
Swan scoffs. “You’re the only person in school who doesn’t know Derek. He’s on the soccer team, but we won’t hold that against him because he actually has brains. He scored in the ninety-seventh percentile on the PSAT without even studying.”
The last thing she says catches me off guard and I look at Derek. He’s looking down at his feet.
“Impressive. Thanks for the quick briefing, Swan,” William says. “We’ll be putting out a literary journal at the end of the spring semester, but for this fall, our goal is to host a big event. We’ll expound upon that later.”
Derek groans and rubs his eyes. “Hey. Is there any way to keep the club membership under wraps?”
“What do you mean, Derek?”
“I mean, I’d prefer if nobody else knew I was here. With you all. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah …” Swan frowns. “You think we’re a bunch of losers you don’t want to be associated with.”
“Hey, hey,” he says, holding up his hands. “Those are not my words. I’m just asking for a little discretion.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Swan says, waving a dismissive hand. “We really don’t have time for your ego, you know? William, I think it’s a good time for club rules.”
“Absolutely.” He nods and sits back down on his stump.
Swan stands up slowly on the blanket, as if she’s about to make the most important speech of her high school career.
“Our club can only work if there are certain rules in place. Rule one. Be on time for meetings. That’s obvious. We start precisely at three o’clock, not a minute later. I keep strict attendance and report it to Mrs. Aldana when she’s not here.”
Derek sighs. “Attendance for what? Isn’t this an extracurricular?”
“Rule two. You must read at least one literary work per week. Not stupid teeny books or fluffy romance.”
Swan’s so wound up, I don’t think a little romance could do her any harm.
Reading doesn’t have to be a struggle, I want to tell her.
A book has value because it’s the heart of a human being, not because it’s complex.
But instead, I say, “You’re not following us around, so how do you know what we read? ”
“Stagnant vocabulary. Lack of insightful commentary.” She looks down at her notebook. “We have a three-strike policy—”
“We decided against that,” William interjects.
Swan gives him the side-eye. “I think it’s especially necessary this semester.” She crosses her arms over her jean jacket and stares directly at Derek. “Three strikes and you’re out of the club.”
“Oh?” Derek says with feigned excitement.
William shakes his head. “You can’t be against three strikes in the criminal justice system but completely for it in a club that you’re running.”
“Those are two different things,” Swan says.
“No, they’re not. What you’re proposing is a hypocrisy. An abuse of power. Each situation needs to be reviewed on a case-by-case basis. And the only rule that’s relevant is the first.” William looks around at all of us. “Please be on time.”
“Fine.” She drops her leopard-print notebook on the ground like a hot potato.
“It’s on you if our club falls to pieces.
Let’s get to the first order of business, then.
We need to plan for our big open mic in December.
I think it’s appropriate that the newbies head that project.
” She looks from me to Derek and back again.
“What?” My voice comes out squeaky.
“We’d prefer an interesting venue, something we haven’t done before. You will, of course, have the club budget to work with. We raised quite a lot of money selling journals last year.”
“Wait. I … I just moved here. I don’t know anything about the city yet.”
“Then it’s a great chance for you to learn. Besides, you’ll have Derek to help you.”
“Derek? That Derek?”
Swan squints. “Can you do it or not?”
I bite my lip. Derek doesn’t say anything.
I know how this goes. I’ve always been the overachiever grouped with slackers.
The whole project will be on my shoulders.
But no matter how much I don’t want to do this with Derek, I won’t spend another day hiding in the bathroom.
The Free Verse Society is my place. I can see myself fitting in here. And I won’t let him ruin this for me.
“Okay,” I say quickly. “I’ll do it.”
Raise your right hand for me. Do you understand that once you sign—
I shake my head to clear the voice that found its way in again. It’s always there, like a harsh wind screaming outside a closed door, moving in through the cracks.
I tell myself there’s no reason to feel anxious. This is a small commitment. I don’t have to sign my name. It won’t break my heart and it won’t keep me up at night. We’ll plan the open mic, and then I’ll never talk to Derek again.
Raise your right hand for me.
The poem on the right:
Georgia Dreams
I’ve got dreams,
Georgia dreams,
dreams of mothers and daughters,
lost mothers and daughters;
I dream of smiles,
and little hands,
and little feet,
and words like “I’m sorry.”
I’ve got Georgia dreams
that keep me from sleep,
and dreams of you
that keep me from me.