The Geography of Girlhood Read online

  the feathered hair, the push

  to get Paula off the cheerleading squad,

  and the countless after-school hours spent

  making high school what it is,

  making sure no other Jennifer

  dares to call herself Jenny again.

  The Hole in the Door

  I come home from Skyler’s to learn

  that last night, after my sister’s curfew

  had not only been broken

  but smashed into a million little pieces,

  my dad went into her room

  and tore down all her posters

  and threw her sluttiest shoes in the trash

  and drilled a lock on her door,

  but he was so mad it fell off

  and now there’s just a hole there.

  Tonight, my dad came into the living room

  where I was doing everything I was supposed to do

  and he said, Penny, don’t ever be like your sister

  because no good can come of it.

  He told me I only had one life to live

  and I’d better not ruin it

  the way she was ruining hers.

  Then he headed out to the garage

  to hit things with other things

  and I went upstairs and knelt outside my sister’s door.

  I looked through the little “o” my father made

  and I could see Tara in there,

  lying with her legs up against the wall,

  scribbling in her diary

  her hand speeding fast over the page,

  speeding fast like the car

  she drove into the ditch last fall,

  scribbling down secrets

  I would kill to know.

  A Bunch of Stuff

  As for my diary,

  it’s just a bunch of stuff about

  how I wish certain boys would love me,

  how I wish our mom hadn’t left town

  before we were old enough to know better,

  and on and on, a bunch

  of basic stupid wish lists

  and lots of little secrets

  that absolutely no one

  would kill to know.

  Basic Stupid Wish List #27

  I wish I was this

  I wish I was that

  I wish I was thin

  I wish I was fat

  I wish I was Skyler

  I wish I was Jean

  I wish I was sexy

  I wish I was mean

  I wish I was beautiful

  I wish I was tall

  I wish Bobby loved me

  but it’s a pipe dream, that’s all.

  Hickeys

  The next morning, I see what the fuss was about.

  My sister’s neck is covered with

  a trail of dime-sized bruises,

  a scrapbook of the night spent in Bobby’s car

  on a road so remote it’s not even named

  and the seats were rolled back

  and the windows were fogged up

  and the music was cranked

  and the secrets were spilling

  and it was magic,

  just like how it will be

  when it happens to me.

  “Wake Up!”

  That’s what Mrs. Hillstrom says to me in front of

  everyone in the middle of English. Two days ago, she

  stopped me after class to tell me that even though my

  grades are good, and even though she appreciates

  my after-school participation in The Diary of Anne

  Frank, I need to stop daydreaming about whatever I’m

  daydreaming about. Don’t I know that this is my life?

  she asks me. Don’t I know that I need to live in the

  here and now and not in a fantasy?

  After Mrs. Hillstrom turns back to the board, Elaine,

  who’s trying not to laugh, throws me a note, which hits

  me square in the eye.

  A Note from Elaine

  Penny—

  Wanna hang out with me and Skyler after school today?

  Xoxoxo

  Elaine

  P.S. Don’t invite Denise.

  P.P.S. Stan and I totally made out yesterday!

  P.P.P.S. I heard Randall Faber might like you. Isn’t that

  awesome?

  The Note I Write Back

  Elaine—

  I can’t hang out today cuz I have rehearsal for the play.

  P.S. Why can’t I invite Denise?

  P.P.S. I barely even know Randall Faber.

  The Note She Writes Back to My Note

  Why do you have to go to rehearsal if you’re only

  doing lighting?

  P.S. Denise has gotten totally weird.

  P.P.S. Stan is an awesome kisser!!!

  P.P.P.S. Should I tell Randall you like him?

  The Note I Write Back to Her

  Note She Wrote Back to My Note

  NO, do NOT tell Randall I like him!!!

  P.S. I have to go to practice because I’m understudy for

  the lead, so Mrs. H says I have to be committed.

  P.P.S. I don’t think Denise is that weird.

  Busted

  Just as I throw my note to Elaine, I hear Mrs. Hillstrom

  say, Penny—detention. I look up to see she’s staring

  right at me and Stan Bondurant goes, Ooh, busted in

  this really stupid voice. He might be an Awesome Kisser

  but that doesn’t stop him from being a Total Ass.

  Now I feel sick to my stomach because I have never

  gotten detention before, but then again, to look on

  the bright side, after today I will no longer be a virgin.

  Of detention, that is.

  Detention

  Detention is nothing like a teen movie

  where all the guys have Mohawks

  and the girls carve hearts into their desks

  and everyone is secretly smoking weed.

  In my teeny tiny town

  detention is a beige classroom

  and a vague smell of depression

  and a clock that clonks along so everyone can hear

  and a bunch of people staring out the window

  waiting for something to happen—

  but here’s the weird part—

  something actually does.

  Jenny Arnold’s Boyfriend

  A bunch of high school guys just walked by the window

  where I sit in detention, their lettermen’s jackets glowing

  like blue diamonds pulled from the bottom of the bay.

  One of them, the one everyone knows is Jenny Arnold’s

  boyfriend, smiled at me. When I smiled back, he put his

  hand to his mouth and before I knew it, Jenny Arnold’s

  boyfriend was blowing me a kiss. I will say here and

  now that it was like getting an A+ in a subject I knew

  nothing about, or waking up with straight teeth after

  years of crooked ones, or winning the lottery with a

  ticket that just happened to be found on the ground.

  Understudy

  I walk out of detention dazed and in love,

  rewinding and replaying over and over

  my moment with Jenny Arnold’s boyfriend

  on the movie screen in my head.

  That’s what I’m doing when Denise

  comes careening up and yells,

  Glynis Peterson has bronchitis!

  I have no idea what she’s talking about

  and I stand there staring at her

  until she says, Hello? The play?

  You’re not the understudy anymore!

  You’re the star!

  The Diary of Penny Morrow

  I.

  Tonight the lead role in The Diary of Anne Frank

  will be played by me, Penny Morrow. Tonight I am the

  girl in the attic, writing it a
ll down. All this would be

  wonderful if I could remember my lines. But that is

  not the case. If I were Anne Frank, history would never

  have been recorded. If I were Anne Frank, history

  would have been lost for good.

  II.

  After everyone gets their money back, Mrs. Hillstrom

  tells me she’s found a second understudy to take over

  for the rest of my remaining performances. But what I

  really wish is that she could find an understudy to take

  over for the rest of my remaining life.

  III.

  I wait until after everyone else has left, and I walk to

  the parking lot in my bad stage makeup to meet my

  dad, who will most undoubtedly be late. Then, there,

  in the rain that has just started to come down, is

  Randall Faber. In his hair is a bit of sawdust, and in his

  hand, a half-dozen pink carnations are glowing in their

  green Safeway wrapper.

  IV.

  I got you these before I saw the show, Randall Faber

  says, handing me the carnations. I give him a shove and

  he laughs and we walk out into the rain and it’s like I’m

  finally giving the performance I am supposed to give.

  Okay, I tripped once, but at least the audience is

  smaller.

  Randall Faber’s Plan

  The next day at school,

  my newfound status as Screw-Up In The School Play

  has been faintly dimmed thanks to

  my newfound status as The Girl Randall Faber Likes.

  Maggie Cartwright and Skyler Reeves

  smile at me during Science

  and Stan Bondurant

  doesn’t pick on me at recess.

  Elaine wants to eat lunch with Denise and me

  as if the three of us

  were suddenly best friends again.

  That’s the upside of being The Girl Randall Faber Likes.

  That’s the part I can handle.

  The other part is happening now,

  when Elaine comes up to my locker and tells me

  what will happen after the sixth period bell has rung,

  what will happen when I go from being someone

  used to standing on the outside of a story

  to someone standing smack dab in the middle of one.

  The First Kiss

  The First Kiss walks on two legs

  just like everyone else.

  He has a birthmark and a good soccer kick.

  He’s first base in spring and fullback in fall,

  he’s too cool for hot lunch.

  Today, after the bell, in front of the bus,

  he’s going to take me to a place I’ve never been.

  I hear this news secondhand and third,

  because, like the soldier’s wife,

  I am the last to know.

  I am on the blade edge of the knife all day,

  all I want is to stay small and young and out of the way

  but here comes Elaine with lip gloss choices:

  Bubble Gum, Lemon-Lime, Tutti Fruity.

  She explains that this is what I am to taste like,

  that the First Kiss narrowed it down from the full set

  of six.

  I pick one, but all I really want

  is to drop out of ninth grade and never come back.

  All I want is to go somewhere where things like this

  don’t happen—

  kisses and the planning of them.

  He holds my hand as we walk toward the bus.

  From somewhere, somebody yells,

  Go for it, Randall! Wooh, yeah!

  and suddenly, his mouth is upon mine

  and the air is reeking of Tutti Fruity,

  the pineapple hitting the banana up against the cherry,

  the air is smacking of fruit.

  When I wake up, I’m lying on the curb.

  The First Kiss has fled the scene

  but the school nurse is on her way.

  Elaine is patting my hand and saying,

  Everything will be okay, I promise.

  What she doesn’t understand is that

  I have really done it now,

  I have really gone

  and ruined my life.

  Life as an Idiot

  You are such a retard,

  my sister says when she hears what happened

  because my sister is beautiful and perfect

  and immune to humiliation.

  I wonder if my mother

  fainted after her first kiss.

  Maybe it’s something that I inherited from her,

  maybe it’s a secret only the two of us share.

  My sister looks at me then smiles.

  You may be an idiot,

  she says before walking out of the room.

  But at least you have a boyfriend now.

  I do?

  The Beaks and Wings of Birds

  The beaks of birds

  tell me what I need to know.

  When my sister drives,

  she tries to hit the pile of crows.

  She swears they live cruel, uneven lives.

  I, too, grow to hate birds

  and to long for them;

  their early pecking on the roof

  of my house

  and the puffy thump

  when a sparrow hits the window.

  My sister gasps,

  my father barely stirs,

  our dog twitches in the dull light.

  I am the only one to rush outside,

  because I want to see

  something fallen down from flight,

  I want to marvel at this

  thing with wings,

  I want to stand in front of

  a pane of glass

  and really believe

  it was something I could fly through.

  Going Together

  I guess we are going together now,

  even though technically I was never asked

  to have my hand held

  every single minute of the day,

  I was never asked to exhaust myself

  trying to make conversation

  with a boy I barely know,

  I was never asked to

  dance with only one person

  at the Friday Afternoon Dances

  to songs I’m not even sure I like.

  Funny how the things you ask for

  you never get

  and the things you don’t,

  you always do.

  Lost Stars

  Penny has a boyfriend so you need a girlfriend,

  my sister announces to my dad.

  My dad stares at me and says,

  What?! You have a boyfriend?!

  Then my sister grins and says,

  Don’t worry, Dad, she’s still a virgin—

  but at this point

  she’s probably getting more action than you are.

  My dad looks like he might combust or implode

  like one of those planets

  he studies up there in the sky.

  I tell my dad he has nothing to worry about

  and he says he’d better not

  and then goes outside

  to work on his new telescope.

  My sister says the sky is full of stars

  and the sea is full of fish

  and maybe if he found a new one

  he’d stop being so cranky

  all the time.

  I don’t know much about stars

  but maybe Tara’s right.

  The sky is full of them,

  so why keep staring at the ones

  that have spun forever

  out of reach?

  Caught Fish

  It looks like my sister got her wish.

  Dad came home the other night

  smelling like beer and first date.r />
  He’d gone to dinner with a marine biologist

  named Susan.

  She counts the salmon every season,

  she’s the one who decides if the population is stable.

  Like my sister says, there are plenty of fish in the sea

  and here is a woman who knows

  exactly how many.

  Meatless

  My father’s new girlfriend is vegan

  so that’s why tonight

  we’re having squash and stir-fry for dinner.

  My father used to be a man who loved meat

  but now it seems he’s lost his taste for flesh.

  Susan says that’s how they met.

  It was at a barbecue at the Snyders’;

  he asked her what a tofu dog tasted like

  and she said, Here, try a bite of mine,

  and he did.

  My sister and I look at each other.

  This does not sound like our father,

  a man who doesn’t like new food

  or new people or new anything,

  and yet there he was,

  eating some meatless wiener

  out of the palm

  of a strange woman’s hand.

  Seven Minute Window

  There’s only one more week left of junior high, but I am

  treasuring each moment of it because every day

  between 2:10 and 2:17 Jenny Arnold’s boyfriend walks

  by my sixth period science class. Every day between

  2:10 and 2:17, Jenny Arnold’s boyfriend looks at me,

  or winks, or smiles, or stares, or waves at me through

  the window and it feels like my body is being hijacked

  by the ocean or the wind or a lightning storm and I

  wonder, Can you love someone if you’ve never spoken

  to them? Can someone be telling you they love you

  just by looking at you? I don’t know what love is,

  but if it’s anything less than this, how could it possibly

  matter?

  Things They Say About Love

  When I break up with Randall,

  everyone wants to know why

  I’d do something so dumb.

  What I want to know is,

  haven’t they ever heard a song

  or read a poem or watched a movie?

  If they had, they’d know

  that love is a school