Lauren Holmes - Barbara the Slut and Other People

• • •

Roger told everyone that he fucked me, and he started calling me a slut whenever he saw me. Like, “Hey, slut,” or “What up, slut?” Then the rest of the baseball team started saying hi to me and calling me slut . And then some girls who liked Roger started calling me a slut, but not saying hi. When I finally ran into Jesse again he didn’t look at me and I knew he was mad. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t sleep with Roger but I knew he wouldn’t believe me.

I tried to forget about Roger and Jesse when we left for Turks and Caicos for Thanksgiving, but on the plane George said that he saw my boyfriend, and my mom said, “Boyfriend?” and George said, “I said Christopher is the retarded one,” and my mom said, “What is he talking about?” and I said, “I have no idea.” For the rest of the week whenever I looked at George, I imagined Roger calling him a retard and I felt dizzy.

• • •

Roger did not shut up about me being a slut. I started counting how many times he called me one, and by December 15 it was fifty-four. That was it for the day because at eleven thirty I left school with a note from my mom. At home I logged in to my application account, and from eleven fifty to eleven fifty-nine I ran up and down the stairs. At twelve I got into Princeton.

I called my mom and she started screaming, “I knew it! I knew it!” before I could even tell her. She must have pushed her twelve o’clock back, and I thought about the patient sitting in the waiting room and listening to her yell, “I knew it!”

Then I called my dad and he said, “Congratulations, angel, that’s very exciting,” which is exactly what I knew he was going to say. Everything went exactly the way I thought it was going to go. I had tried to pretend that I didn’t know I was going to get in, but like I said, the odds were pretty good. In addition to my grades and test scores, it just so happened that both of my parents went to Princeton. When I was in the process of applying, the admissions counselor at school told me that one other student from Ashwell had been admitted to Princeton, three years ago, and she wasn’t a legacy but she was black. What she actually said was, “She had a diverse background,” which didn’t make any sense.

I spent the afternoon looking at the course catalog and making a list of classes I wanted to take. When I was done with that I downloaded a picture of four girls on the Princeton cross-country team and Photoshopped my face onto the one who looked the most like me. The girls had their arms around each other like older, sweatier versions of the girls in my elementary school yearbooks. It took me an hour but I did a good job. I printed it out on photo paper and put it in my mirror with the pictures from Turks and Caicos and a math team picture from when we won the New England Meet junior year.

I went for a run and let my parents pick George up from after-school. When they got home with him we went out to dinner at the Indian place, and when we got back my mom took a new Princeton sweatshirt out of her bedroom and a cake box out of the cabinet over the stove. My dad got a bottle of champagne out of the fridge and poured glasses for the three of us and a glass of milk for my brother.

“To Barbara the mathematician,” said my dad and raised his glass.

“To Barbara, my college girl,” said my mom.

“To Barbara the Slud,” George said and thumped me on the back.

I froze.

My dad put his glass down on the counter too hard.

“What?” said my mom. “What did you say, George?”

George looked at her and at my dad. He looked at me and then looked away and drank all of his milk.

“George, that sounded like a bad word,” said my mom. “Did you mean to say a bad word?”

“No!” said George. “It’s not a bad word.”

“Where did you hear that?” said my dad.

“It’s not a bad word,” said George.

“I’m sure that’s not what he meant,” I said. “I’m sure it’s not what it sounds like.”

My mom looked at me and started cutting the cake, a coconut cake like the one from Connie’s on Cape Cod. Everyone was silent. I ate two big pieces and tried to calm down.

“Here come the freshman fifteen,” my dad said when I finished.

“Neil!” said my mom.

“Sorry.” My dad winked at me. “But keep up the running.”

My mom rolled her eyes.

When we were done eating I went to my room. My stomach churned. I e-mailed my guidance counselor about Princeton and finally my mom knocked, even though the door was open.

“Hi honey,” she said. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“No,” I said.

“Is everything okay at school?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, when George…” she said.

“George is retarded,” I said.

My mom studied me. “I can tell you don’t want to talk about this, Barbara. But calling your brother retarded is not the way to get out of it.” My mom’s therapy voice makes me want to crawl back into her womb where I can’t hear her.

“Everything is fine,” I said. “I don’t know where George got that. But everything is fine.”

“Okay,” she said. “I need you to tell me if I should worry.”

“Okay,” I said. “I will.”

• • •

The next day was Friday and I tried to forget about my mom and dad and George. I wore my new sweatshirt to show everyone at school that I was out of there. When I got to homeroom Ms. Constantino congratulated me. Then the bell rang and she made announcements about next week’s finals that nobody listened to.

“And we have our second early-admission notification,” she said. “Barbara Murphy was admitted to Princeton University.” Somebody booed. Ms. Constantino looked up and frowned. “Barbara is the second student from Ashwell ever to be accepted to Princeton, so congratulations, Barbara.”

“Slut,” said a girl in the back of the room.

“Kelsey! See me after the bell!” said Ms. Constantino. She looked at the paper in her hand and read, “The shoe drive will end next Friday, December twenty-third. Please bring in new or gently worn shoes and deposit them in the boxes by the main office and the gym entrance.”

I tried to hurry out of the classroom when the bell rang.

“Who do you know in admissions?” said Joanna DeMarco. She stuck her tongue in her cheek and pumped her hand like she was giving a blow job.

• • •

At lunch I went to the cafeteria to get chocolate milk and somebody yelled “whore” so I went to eat in my car. When I finished my coconut cake I felt better and decided to spend the rest of the period reading in the library instead of listening to “Tiny Dancer” on repeat.

Roger Vasquez was sitting outside the library with Lacey Hill on his lap and Melissa Knight next to him.

“Hey Princeton slut,” Roger said when he saw me.

Lacey turned around. “Barbara the Slut,” she said and stood up.

I walked into the library and headed for the desk across the room. The librarian had headphones on and was looking at her computer.

“Not so fast,” said Melissa. She grabbed my bag and it slid off my shoulder and onto the floor.

Lacey got in front of me. “You think you’re so great.”

“No,” I said.

She pushed my chest and I had to take a step back. I felt like I was going to pee. I tried to get out from between her and Melissa. Roger was standing in the door of the library.

“What’s the re-tard going to do when you’re being a sl-ut at P-rince-ton?” said Melissa.

I thought Lacey was going to push me again, but she grabbed my boobs and dug her fingers in. I took her wrists and tried to get her to let go. I wanted to say something but no words would come out. Finally I yelled, “Help!”