In English, we discussed the three forms of irony.
In Media Studies, we dissected the hidden messages in various advertisements.
In gym practice, Noe regaled me with tales of E. O. James gymnasts past and present. There was Lindsay Harris, whose tampon fell out when she lifted her leg for a split in the middle of her beam routine. There was Mindy Chafik, who got drunk before a gym meet and did a spinning projectile vomit from the top of the bars. There was Cassidy LaClaire, who nobody had realized was a cutter until she appeared on the floor in her leotard, a ladder of scars running down each inner thigh. Noe was an expert on these girls and many others. Noe knew every secret, had the inside scoop on every transgression. I listened with a mixture of horror and awe. There were so many ways for a girl to ruin herself, Noe seemed to imply. How lucky we were to be above all of that.
A few days before Halloween, we had a mini meet at the Catholic high school, St. Barnabas. There weren’t too many teams there, and everyone from E. O. James got at least one ribbon. Mostly, we huddled on the bleachers and made fun of the St. Barnabas gymnasts, who were matronly and stout and looked like jiggling sides of ham in their pink and white leotards with the St. Barnabas cross on the butt. I got third place for my bar routine, our whole team erupted in applause, and on the bus ride home all Noe could talk about was how incredible I was. “You should have seen yourself, Bethy. I wish you could have seen yourself. You looked like a gymnast!”
In Business Math, we learned about compound and simple interest.
In Drama, we acted out scenes from various Shakespeare plays.
In Art, we had a mini opening during the last ten minutes of class wherein we got to wander around the room looking at one another’s self-portraits and discussing their merits among ourselves, although nobody actually did. The art was pretty bad. Most people had done charcoal drawings of themselves, except for Steven, who had done a photomosaic consisting of a thousand tiny pictures of Noe, and Amy McDougall, who had done a pen-and-ink rendition of herself as an anime character, complete with the mile-high legs and miniskirt. And, of course, my bundle of sticks.
Steven and I trailed around the classroom together, peering at the portraits.
“Is that what I think it is?” said Steven.
I squinted at Amy’s drawing, which was tacked to the bulletin board in a sea of charcoal faces.
“Panties,” said Steven. “You can see her panties.”
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, wow.”
You could see her panties. You actually could.
At the end of the class, we got to collect our self-portraits along with our grade. I saw Amy check the back of her anime drawing and smile. Steven’s Boy with the Rainbow Heart had a P for Pass. My bundle of sticks had a slip of paper underneath with an R for Redo.
“This is an outrage,” I said as Steven and I walked out of the room. “How can he fail RAW MATERIALS but pass anime-panties McDougall?”
“You have to admit that anime-panties displays a fine mastery of the art of shading,” said Steven. “I cannot say the same for RAW MATERIALS.”
“Anime-panties is the visual equivalent of fan fiction,” I said. “RAW MATERIALS is a raw and powerful gesture.”
“RAW MATERIALS is a pile of sticks,” said Steven. “Lest we forget.”
“How can you say that?” I screeched. “You’re the one who told me to hand it in. Ooh, I’m Steven, I’ve been getting straight A’s in art for years.”
Steven looked pained. “The hallmark of great artists is being misunderstood. That Redo is just a sign that we’re on to some heady shit.”
We strolled down the hall and came to the bathrooms. I headed for the girls’. Steven followed me. I paused. “You’re coming in? It’s the girls’ bathroom.”
“I have to pee too,” said Steven.
“So go in the guys’ bathroom.”
“But we’re having a conversation!”
I hovered by the sinks. “Seriously, go away.”
“Oh, please, Annabeth. Like nobody’s heard you pee before.”
“Steven.”
“What? I thought we were friends.”
“Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean we need to be pee sisters,” I said.
“Pee sisters! Pee sisters!” Steven sang.
He went into a stall, the door swinging free behind him. A few seconds later, I heard a voluminous splashing.
“Come on, Annabeth. Pee with me.”
I opened my mouth to scold him, but instead I shrugged and went into a stall myself. Steven talked the whole time.
“You know that unisex bathrooms are the new thing. In fifty years, our grandchildren are going to think we’re so old-fashioned because we grew up with segregated toilets.”
I started talking too, mostly to cover up the sound.
“There will be pee riots,” I said. “The gender symbols will be ripped from bathroom doors and burned in public squares.”
“Exactly!” said Steven.
“Thousands were arrested in the great pee riots of 2024,” I said in my best news-announcer voice. “But in the referendums of 2025, bathroom suffrage was achieved at last.”
We joined at the sink to wash our hands.
“Pee sisters?” I said as we exited the bathroom.
Steven made a cockeyed salute. “Pee sisters forever,” he said.
We came upon Noe a few steps later. She was walking down the hall with Kaylee and Lindsay from the gym team.
“You guys looks awfully pleased with yourselves,” she said.
“We’re pee sisters,” I said.
Kaylee and Lindsay exchanged a look.
“Excuse me?” said Noe.
Steven giggled. “We subverted the dominant paradigm of gender-specific bladder relief.”
“We brought an antidisestablishmentarianist perspective to bear on the issue of male/female urination roles,” I said.
“O-kay,” Noe said. It was strange to see her like this, performing for Kaylee and Lindsay instead of joining in on our fun. It gave me a curious urge to poke her. The other day in gym practice, I’d overheard Noe telling them that she and Steven had come this close to doing it the last time she was at his house, which struck me as a pretty big elaboration considering what she had told me. Sometimes I forgot that Noe’s self-confidence had limits. When it came to other girls, she could be downright insecure.
“Speaking of gender roles,” Noe said to Steven, “you’re driving us to the movies at eight o’clock tonight.”
He seemed to sober up. “Yes, ma’am,” Steven said.
He fell into step beside her, hooking his pinky finger through hers like they always did. I groaned inwardly. Surely, Noe wasn’t worrying about what Lindsay and Kaylee thought of Steven. She was Noe. Who cared what anyone thought?
“You two are too cute,” said Lindsay Harris, she of the fallen-out tampon.
It was jarring to hear Lindsay Harris commenting on Noe and Steven in a familiar way, as if they belonged to her. What are you doing? I almost said. That’s mine.
As we walked down the hall, I found myself at the back of the group, and wondered how that had happened.
“Does anyone know what lunch is?” said Noe.
I tried to tell her it was spaghetti and slaughter balls, but everyone was talking so loudly I don’t think she heard.
22
BOB WAS LISTENING TO HIS audiobook again when I went in for my second appointment. He was doing something on the computer and didn’t notice me slip into the room until I’d been sitting in the Sorting Chair for almost five minutes. I didn’t try to catch his attention. I rested my head on my chin and listened to the story. It was pretty dumb—something about fairies and swords and people trapped in ice—but I found myself getting sucked in anyway. Bob realized I was there when we both laughed out loud at something the Jocular Wizard said.