The Taylor story revised-Chapters 1-2

We’re all in this together (and we can’t get out.)1

“I wonder what she’s doing,” wondered Aisha. “ That’s easy,” I replied. “She’s in the basement smoking.” Marissa paused near my desk and asked “Really?” I didn’t bother to respond. Now who was this mysterious “she” we were talking about? The latest Rent-a-sub Greystone public had tried to pawn off on us. Ms. Lombardo had been away for three weeks on maternity leave and every second day some newb came in to take her place. 2

This was the dumbest one yet, proved by the fact that she had left us alone for any length of time. Of course, with no adult in the room, 8a’s perpetual party had started up again. Stephan and Jack were wrestling, Tanya and Justin were flirting, and Nat was riffling through the teacher’s desk. Everyone else was talking or just throwing paper airplanes into the ceiling fan. 3

“I wonder where Nix is, he’s never late.” “Hmmm…” I mused. “Maybe him and mystery sub are on a date?” Marissa groaned. “Taylor, you have a nasty mind!” “Me, nasty minded?! When was the last time I –um well…” The greatest part of intelligence is knowing when you are wrong. The other part is knowing when you are very wrong. The door creaked open and a mystery figure covered in a black hoodie stumbled in (yes, the door really creaked; the last time the janitor treated his job as anything more than one long smoking break was when he heard the shocking news about Nixon.) “Wharg!” screamed Mars. “Stalker!” Who has the nasty mind now?4

Before the class from hell degenerated into more violence, the “evil stalker” pulled off his hood. It was Phoenix. Forget that. It was Nix’s evil twin because there was no way that Nix would come to school with hair like that. His blonde hair, usually as spiky as the manga hair he drew, fluffed out strangely-like a toilet brush. As the class began to quiet down (to normal level, 290 decibels), Nix slid into the seat next to me with a cranky grunt. 5

“Nixter!” I whispered. “Are you nuts? Walking into our class like that? You’re lucky none of them had pepper spray on them!” Nix put his head in his hands. “I couldn’t let them see me like this! I look like a whack-job!” I resisted saying that in this class, he’d fit in. In my best psychiatrist voice, I replied, “Ah, the root of the matter. Why does your hair look like that?” Then I ruined it by saying, “You look like Sweeney Todd … except …younger and –er-without the white streak!” 6

Nix’s mouth wavered into the slight beginnings of a smile. “Thanks. Alot. One, my hair is like that because I tried to jell it back last night. Two, your obsession with that movie is beginning to scare me.” I countered, “I am not obsessed, I just think that it’s a good movie! And No Place like London has the best line ever! There’s a hole in the world/like a great black pit/and it’s filled with people who are filled with shi-” “Good morning, girls and boys! I’m afraid to say that your substitute, Ms. Murdoch, has not yet arrived, so I will be teaching you for today. Please take your seats!” Please stuff your head in a Dumpster! (Speaking of filled with s***...)7

There is nothing worse than listening to our vice principal talking, like hearing some cranky old muzzy from another century. It’s a tie of who’s worse between her and Soulja boy, our “hip” and “urban” principal. We named him Soulja boy because he is probably old enough to have been in WWI, and because at the last school dance, he broke his hip trying to do the dance of the same name. It was not pretty. The voice of Ms. Mackintosh cut though my thoughts like a rusty saw. “Open your Language arts textbooks to textbooks to page thirty-six. Nix passed me a note in his blue-ink scrawl. London has nothing on Greystone, it proclaimed. 8

“I understand that you have been studying Orwell’s 1984. (Apparently, that book is a classic. Whatever, I still like V for Vendetta better.) Today, we will be looking at what makes up a dystopia. Here are your sheets.”9

I looked over the characteristics of a dystopia, and a long, slow smile spread over my face.10

Dystopia-Greystone11

In a dystopia, the citizens are brainwashed to believe everything that the rulers say. {check}12

Citizens are dehumanized {Well, I always said we were herded like cows into the lunchroom.}13

I was dragged back to reality by the rusty saw again (@#$%) “… I know it’s very exciting for you all that the weekend is coming up soon. (Two days without her, yessssss!) But that does not permit you to indulge in frivolities. Matthew Leblanc, put your cellular telephone away (Cellular telephone? Isn’t that what it was called when Alex Graham invented it!?). If any more of you attempt to test me again today, there will be harsher consequences.” She began talking again. When will she finally learn that students only hate her when she opens her mouth? Next to me, Nix seemed intent on what he was drawing. I caught a glimpse of it. It had sharp teeth, was very ugly, and was saying “blah blah blah”. I felt like I recognized it from somewhere. 14

I peeled off my sweater. Mac the Wack’s head swivelled to face mine, and her beady eyes narrowed. Wondering what I had done other than my usual crime of existence, I realized exactly what I was wearing. My halter top. I tried to pull my sweater on, but too late. “Ms. Delaney, I don’t know why you feel that it’s necessary to dress like you are on “MTV” (If I was on MTV, they would kick me off for unnecessary skin coverage. And non-sluttyness) In fact, that sort of dress is not permitted at our prestigious school. Do you remember the three finger rule?” No, I thought darkly, but I’m about to give you the middle finger rule. Out loud, I said, “It is three fingers wide!” as I stacked all my fingers on top of each other. Unmoving, she replied; “Now I must add sass to your list of crimes. Go wait outside the classroom until the end of class, and contemplate why you are being sent out there.” 15

Feeling like those prisoners in the Bastille who were kept in there for twenty years finally getting to see the sunlight, I walked slowly out. The rest of my classmates gave my longing, desperate looks and Nix mouthed LUCKY!!! at me. I quietly whispered “All hail Big Brother,” and threw my sharpest middle finger salute at her fat, ugly back. 16

“Ms. Delaney, the principle has called us down for an inspirational assembly. I will be watching (Stalking) you to see that you are on your best behaviour.” Omg, the beast surfaces from her lair (sorry ‘bout the unintelligent txtspeek). Basically we have to listen to some bum doing a pep rally. 17

At least she let me walk down to the gym with my friends. “Honestly,” Mars grumbled. “That woman is just like Umbridge, she doesn’t give us a second’s peace. Except, instead of making us write “I must not tell lies” it would be “I must not tell the truth.”18

Still stung by the unfairness of my banishment, I slouched down the hall. “Big a-hole is always watching.”19

A flashily grinning blonde woman stood at the front of the gym, clutching the mike like it was the only talisman keeping the zombie hordes (us) at bay. In spite of that, she managed to look quite cheerfully nutty, helped along by her shirt. The shirt was the same colour as your puke, if you had just eaten five green glow sticks and a pot of hippie paint. Briefly, I wondered if she bought all her clothes at Excretive’s (puss yellow socks, crap brown loafers and her creepily gigantic smile, which was an excretive of its own) Behind her was a diagram reading “Self Confidence” with a smiley face. 20

I have no problem with people who advocate self confidence. I do have problems with all the weirdoes our craphole school hires to teach it. And being crammed into our sardine can gym with squirmy grade ones who think this is the best thing since the last Sharon, Lois and Bram concert. Thank goodness this time we grade eights had the gym to ourselves. 21

As all of us got settled in, I wondered why they had brought her in instead of the usual Officer Rick presentation about drugs, given to people who are too young to even spell the word drugs. Maybe because our school has the biggest attitude problem since those kids on the “Sweet Sixteen” show. Apathy, Cynicism, “Attitude”, Rebellious behaviour, Independent thinking, and having a life (and a pulse); Greystone’s six deadly sins (and I am proudly guilty of them all). 22

Despite all my making fun of her, as the speaker talked, I listened (because Mac the Wack was giving me her beady little unibrow-full glare. God, she is just like Umbrige, especially the looks). “Hello everybody! I am so honoured to be speaking to such an excellent audience! My name is Justine Ray, and I am here to talk to you about Self Esteem.” You could hear the capital letters. The crowd went wild, stirring up a sluggish burst of applause.23

“I know how hard it is, going through this time of changes. I was a teen just like you!” Uh huh, keep on telling me that. “But I realized that a positive attitude would really keep me going through those difficult times! And feeling good about yourself is one of the most important parts of that!” She certainly must have felt good about herself to preach this gospel to a group of cynical grade 8’s. “What you should do is find something that you are really good at (whining at people?) and just being good at something will help you feel more empowered. Mine was public speaking, and I put my all into it.” 24

By now, I was wondering if her never-wavering smile was glued into place like her hairspray-frozen hair. She was scarily preppy, just like those people on High School Unmusical. Ai, Mars and me had a sleepover once, and we watched it just to laugh at it. Halfway through the movie, Ai said, “I can’t stand this bull one second longer,” and heaved a slipper at the T.V. Mars responded, “We’re all in this together-and we can’t get out!” For some reason that was the funniest thing ever, and we tried to karaoke along with We’re all in this together like we could actually sing. After that, we snuck down to the kitchen, and got high on Pepsi and chocolate cookies. That was one of the best nights ever, other than that time… 25

The real Ai punched me and indicated towards the front as if to say, get a load of her! “I find it helpful to begin a mantra of self-confidence. It works best if they are simple! This is mine… If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands!” 26

The gym echoed with the sound of no one clapping.27

The effect in the gym was as though a thousand deer had become trapped in the headlights of her dentally edited smile. Despite my own pain and suffering, I began to feel sorry for her. Maybe she was like those people that you see on National Geographic who have been raised by wolves and cannot live in normal society. Because no way would a normal human being go up and sing “If you’re happy and you know it” to a group of thirteen year olds. And that shirt… 28

Then, finally, the revolutionary inside of me realized what was going on! I tapped Mars quietly on the shoulder and whispered, “The enemy is forcing us to listen to their propaganda!”29

“Tay, you know I never tell you this, I’m only telling you this for the sake of your image of sanity. Shut. Up.”30

Great, my own friends had been brainwashed. I looked up out of my despairfullness, only to see Mac giving me the glare reserved for students who walk through the left door instead of the right. 31

Yep, the Thought Police had caught me.32

Chapter two 33

In 1984, the Thought Police are evil agents of the Man who run around punishing you for thoughcrime (thinking against the government). That was basically what Mac the Wack was doing. And, because the Thought Police would wreak death upon all who they caught, I decided in an un-Taylor-like moment to stay quiet. It went like this; Blah blah blah respect blah detention blah suspension blah blah blah blah blah... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. 34

When I woke up from my hypnotic trance minutes later, her ugly toad-face was staring into mine. The only thing that could have possibly made it uglier would’ve been a small moustache. “Do you understand the seriousness of your situation?”35

No, not really.36

“Well, if you break any more rules, I can safely say you will be in much more trouble than you bargained for.” 37

As I was lead, half-drooling, back to class, I already thinking of the stories I would tell at the block party that night. Now, before any adults reading this get all worried about me, block parties are not where we rulebreaking teens hang out and smoke joints. No, they’re semi-impromptu hangouts where only the biggest wastoid grade tens even think to bring smokes. All, in all, a very G-rated atmosphere. 38

Stepping out into the still warm twilight air, I followed the loud music and the line of disapproving old people. Arriving at the block party, I unfortunately realized its entire population seemed to be made up of wastoid grade tens. Just as a general rule, don’t hang out places where the very air can get you high. So much for my evening of fun, partying and dancing like there’s no such thing as cellphone cameras.39

I knew Aisha was owning some other team in soccer, and Mars was probably yelling at her brother. Maybe the Nix and I could have a block party of our own, without worrying about someone with more authority than annoyed neighbours disturbing us.40

I flipped open my @#$% old Samsung, responding when I heard his less-than-perky voice. “Get your ass down to the park in ten minutes.” Not to put too fine a point on it or anything… 41

Nix approached, looking weary. “God, I’m so tired,” he proclaimed, before flopping down on the cold grass.42

Judging from that, I knew where he had been.43

“How’s Dave?”44

Nix turned his face into something that would look better on Gene Simmons that a (semi) normal teen. 45

“Same old, same old. His train of thought runs on one track and that track is girls.”46

Dave is the resident “person who is weirder than even me”, the guy who thinks spin the bottle is an Olympic sport. And with the Graduation dance fast approaching, he has made it his Mission Impossible to get Nix hooked up with someone. Nix, who has spent ages battling an introverted streak you could drive a Hummer down. He has tried to tell him that he doesn’t need a pimp, but to no avail. Of course, with a resume like that, he’s immensely popular. 47

“If that’s all you called to tell me about, I might as well go back to my lecture on Why I Should Date Skank-ho Bimbos.”48

“Fascinating! Actually, I didn’t just call to save you from the Dateinator; I wanted to have a session of Heartbreak Café.”49

Heartbreak Café was an insane idea masterminded by us in grade two. Whenever our parents let us go down to the park, we would climb our favourite tree and have a picnic, declaiming our woes to each other and tossing back fake cocktails. We even had a sign, witch we used to think was so cute and clever, “Heartbreak Café, Always room for one more.” Back then, we thought spin the bottle was where you went into the closet and beat each other up. Back then, our woes consisted of lost toys and of not getting the last cherry Popsicle. Now, I had an insane vice principal on my case. 50

“We haven’t done that for, like five years.”51

“Why not?”52

That was how I came to be up a tree, a well-earned rest after like ten trips to both of our houses. The old sign, miraculously retrieved from Nix’s basement, hung in pride of place off a scrawny limb. Nix had lugged his old acoustic up the tree after a drama king routine of huffing and puffing. Nix started humming a tune, soon taking shape as our favourite retro themesong. “There’s a lady who’s sure – all that glitters is gold – and she’s buying a stairway to Heaven…”53

We had our faces to the cool twilight air and our mouths stuffed with chips and pop tarts. This was what freedom tasted like. 54

I looked up all the soft velvet twilight, heard the soft rush of music on the wings of a summer breeze (and just the faintest nauseating smell), and the closest to pure poetry flooded my cynical heart. 55

Of course, around me, things get screwy fast. 56

A small lump at the base of the tree stirred. The poetry that flooded my soul earlier became colour flooding my cheeks. Oh Lord. Someone had heard me singing the Ultimate Retro. And even worse, someone my age.57

It was as is a piece of the Sixties had detached it’s self from time and flown here to be with us. Her long, thick blonde hair was braided with tiny ribbons and a clump of the same hung off her jean jacket. Her shirt read “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” which I desperately hoped she didn’t understand. And she had these amazing LSD vision converse. 58

“Parlez vous francais?”59

No, that was not me, in case you were wondering. It was my worst nightmare occurring, a situation where I would actually have to speak French. Nix, the trilingual freak, smirked at me under his “gangsta” shades, making it clear that this was my terrain. In the most fumbling of bilinguality, I “Parlered” franglais.60

“Um…je only parle un peau de francias.”61

Maybe she was on a grad trip from Quebec…a month early. 62

“J’habite au Montreal, et je reste chez ma cousine en Toronto.”63

Waitasecond. Her cousin had let her unilingual ward out on the streets of Toronto, three blocks away from a crack party? And don’t they all speak English in Montreal anyways? 64

“You’re at your cousin’s?” I asked, forgetting that she didn’t parler anglais. 65

“Oui, sallop!” she snapped.66

I bristled. If she thought I didn’t understand what that meant, she had a… Waitasecond. She had answered my question.67

She realized that a second after I did. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, and she made to jump out of the tree. Nix, who had been perfecting his fade into background meditation until now, grabbed her arm and loudly asked, “What the hell?”68

She shifted to confrontational. “Shut up, ! You’ll blow my cover!”69

Only problem – there was no one else around here. Unless you counted her possible multiple personalities. My deep brown eyes looked straight through her, until she sighed and began to spill the beans. 70

“I am from Quebec,” she muttered, with barely a trace of French. “I am here with my cousin. But that loser left me in the house on a Friday night while she went off to some stupid party.”71

“But if anyone she knows sees me, then I am in sooo much trouble. I just pretended not to know English as a disguise. And it wasn’t that hard for me because I kind of know French already.”72

I was full of the outrage of the lied-to, conveniently forgetting how much I did it. 73

Nix looked at her with almost bemused green eyes, not understanding why someone would go to so much trouble just to go out. 74

I guess that was one thing for us to know and him to guess. 75

Apparently noticing the battered acoustic, her eyes almost glowed. She picked up the threads of melody still hanging in the air, continued with, “There’s a sign on the wall – but she wants to be sure – cause you know sometimes words have two meanings…”76

We both gaped at her with the gape of the impressed. “What, “ she asked, “Isn’t that what you were singing?”77

Exactly. NO ONE knows Stairway to Heaven. I didn’t really care now if she had lied to us or even killed someone. Nix, who is almost as obsessed with music than I am, was grinning widely, finally having found a new ami. Whose name, we later learned, was Sophie. 78

And that was how our party really kicked off, with the almost hauntingly beautiful tempo under two lovely voices and one really fugly one. We all started to manger the pop tarts and we got happier and happier, our laughter filling the empty dusk. It ended at nine thirty with a furious phone call from the Nixter’s mom, asking why he wasn’t home and . It broke up after that, without our quiet lodestone to keep us together. Walking home under the diamond-studded sky, I thought quietly about the evening. Listening to the faint wail of police cars from about three blocks over, I admitted that it had been awesome. But there had been something…just…not…right. And not just my terrible French. 79