This Girl: A Novel

me.
    God, this is going to be the hardest two weeks of my life. I need to keep my distance from her, that’s a fact.
    When the audience begins clapping, I snap back to reality. I’m supposed to be judging tonight, but I haven’t heard a single word any of the performers have said. I hold up the standard 9.0 on my scorecard without even looking up at the stage. I don’t even want to be here tonight. In fact, I don’t want to be anywhere tonight.
    When the scores are tallied, the emcee begins to announce the winners. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, hoping the night goes fast. I just want to go home and get to bed so graduation will come and go tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m dreading it. Probably because I’ll be the only person there who couldn’t find enough people to give my graduation tickets to. The average person never gets enough tickets for graduation. I have too many.
    “I would like to perform a piece I wrote.”
    I jerk up in my seat at the sound of her voice, the sudden movement almost causing my chair to flip backward. She’s standing on the stage, holding the microphone. The guy next to me laughs along with the rest of the crowd once they realize she’s interrupting the night’s schedule.
    “Check this chick out,” he says, nudging me with his elbow.
    The sight of her paralyzes me. I’m pretty sure I forgot how to breathe. I’m pretty sure I’m about to die. What the hell is she doing? I watch intently as she brings the microphone back to her lips. “I know this isn’t standard protocol, but it’s an emergency,” she says.
    The laughter from the audience causes her eyes to widen and she spins around to look for the emcee. She’s scared. Whatever she’s doing, it’s completely out of character for her. The emcee nudges her to face the front of the room again. I take a deep breath, silently willing her to keep calm.
    She places the microphone back in its stand and lowers it to her height. She closes her eyes and inhales when the guy next to me yells, “Three dollars!”
    I could punch him.
    Her eyes flick open and she shoves her hand into her pocket, pulling out money to hand to the emcee. After he takes the money, she prepares herself again. “My piece is called—” The emcee interrupts her, tapping her on the shoulder. She shoots him an irritated glance. I expel a deep breath, becoming just as irritated by all the interruptions. She takes the change from him and shoves it back into her pocket, then hisses something at him that makes him retreat off the stage. She turns back toward the audience and her eyes scan the crowd.
    She has to know I’m here. What the hell is she doing?
    “My piece is called Schooled,” she says into the microphone. I swallow the lump in my throat. If I wanted to move at this point, my body would fail me. I’m completely frozen as I watch her take several deep breaths, then begin her piece.
    I got schooled this year.
    By everyone .
    By my little brother . . .
    by The Avett Brothers . . .
    by my mother , my best friend , my teacher , my father ,
    and
    by
    a
    boy.
    A boy that I’m seriously, deeply, madly, incredibly, and undeniably in love with.
    I got so schooled this year.
    By a nine -year-old.
    He taught me that it’s okay to live life
    a little backward .
    And how to laugh
    At what you would think
    is unlaughable .
    I got schooled this year
    By a band
    They taught me how to find that feeling of feeling again.
    They taught me how to decide what to be
    And go be it.
    I got schooled this year.
    By a cancer patient.
    She taught me so much. She’s still teaching me so much.
    She taught me to question .
    To never regret.
    She taught me to push my boundaries,
    Because that’s what they’re there for.
    She told me to find a balance between head and heart
    And then
    she taught me how . . .
    I got schooled this year
    By a foster kid .
    She taught me to respect the hand that I was dealt .
    And to be grateful I was even dealt a hand .
    She taught me that family
    Doesn’t have to be blood .
    Sometimes your family
    are your friends .
    I got schooled this year
    By my teacher
    He taught me
    That the points are not the point ,
    The point is poetry . . .
    I got schooled this year
    By my father .
    He taught me that heroes aren’t always invincible
    And that the magic
    is within me.
    I got schooled this year
    by
    a
    boy.
    A boy that I’m seriously, deeply, madly, incredibly, and undeniably in love with.
    And he taught me the most important thing