Public Secrets

latest Billy Joel album. She was convinced he was right. Catholic girls did start much too late.
“Emma, you’ve had that ice on your ears for twenty minutes. You should have frostbite by now.”
Ice was melting cold down her wrists, but she kept it firmly against her ears. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course I do.” Marianne’s hips swayed in her prim cotton nightgown as she walked to the mirror. There, she admired the little gold balls in her newly pierced ears. “I watched every move my cousin made when she did mine.” She switched to an exaggerated German accent. “Und ve have all de instruments. Ice, needle.” Gleefully she held it up so it glinted in the lamplight. “The potato we ripped off from the kitchen. Two quick jabs and your dull, dreary ears become sophisticated.”

Emma kept her eye on the needle. She was searching for a way out, ears and pride intact. “I never asked Da if it was all right.”
“Jesus, Emma, ear piercing’s a personal choice. You’ve got your period, you’ve got your boobs—such as they are,” she added with a grin. “That makes you a woman.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to be a woman if it meant having her best friend stick a needle in her earlobe. “I don’t have any earrings.”
“I told you, you can borrow some of mine. I’ve got scads. Come on, let’s see that British stiff upper lip.”
“Right.” Having a deep breath, Emma took the ice from one ear. “Don’t screw up.”
“Me?” Marianne knelt by the chair to draw a tiny x on Emma’s earlobe with a purple felt-tip pen. “Listen, just in case I miss and drive this into your brain, can I have your record collection?” Then she giggled, held the potato behind Emma’s ear, and plunged.
It was a toss-up as to who was more queasy.
“God.” Marianne tucked her head between her knees. “At least my parents don’t have to worry about me becoming a drug addict. Shooting up must be disgusting.”
Emma slid bonelessly out of the chair. “You didn’t say I’d feel it.” As her stomach roiled, she concentrated on keeping very still and breathing. “Oh gross. You didn’t say I’d hear it.”
“I didn’t. But then Marcia and I had swiped a bottle of bourbon from Daddy’s bar. I guess we weren’t feeling or hearing anything.” She lifted her head, focused. There was blood, just a drop of it on Emma’s earlobe, but it made her think of the slasher movie she and her cousin had seen over the summer.
“We’ve got to do the other one.”
Emma just closed her eyes. “Oh Christ.”
“You can’t go around with one ear pierced. We’ve come this far, Emma.” Her hands were clammy as she clipped the needle free of the thread and prepared it for round two. “I’ve got the hard part. Just lie there.”
Gritting her teeth, Marianne aimed and fired. Emma only groaned and slid the rest of the way to the floor.
“It’s over. Now you have to clean them with peroxide so they don’t get infected. And keep your hair over them so none of the sisters notice for a while.”

When the door opened, both girls struggled up. But it wasn’t Sister Immaculata. Teresa Louise Alcott, the bright and annoying girl from across the hall, popped in wearing her pink cotton robe and feather mules.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re having an orgy.” Marianne flopped down again. “Don’t you ever knock?”
Teresa only grinned. She was one of the feverishly pert girls who volunteered for everything, always completed her assignments, and wept at the Stations of the Cross. Marianne detested her on principle. Being thick-skinned as well as pert, Teresa considered the insults signs of friendship.
“Wow. You’re getting your ears pierced.” She knelt down to study the strings dangling from Emma’s lobes. “Mother Superior’ll have a cat.”
“Why don’t you have a cat, Teresa?” Marianne suggested. “In your own room.”
But Teresa only grinned and sat back on her heels. “Did it hurt?”
Emma opened her eyes and wished Teresa to everlasting hell. “No. It felt great. Marianne’s going to do my nose next. You can watch.”
Teresa ignored the sarcasm and studied her newly manicured fingernails. “I’d love to have mine done. Maybe after Sister Immaculata comes through you could do it.”
“I don’t know, Teresa.” Marianne pushed herself up to change the record to Bruce Springsteen. “I haven’t finished my report on Silas Marner . I was going to work on it