Chapter10. String

You need to possess several qualities if you want to be a good puppeteer. You need to know which string to pull at the right moment to deliver a certain move. You need to have the patience to practice— you should make time for it. You need to know each part of your marionette like the back of your hand.

Of all Boy and Girl's parts, I've always loved the strings. I considered them the command centers, like what the brain was to a human. Strings were flexible, strong, light, and elastic. I wanted to be a string.

It rained that night after I got home. It rained so hard that I could hear the water lapping on the roof and hitting the windows. It made everything outside dark and foggy.

I sat on the bed and leaned my head on the wall. I listened to the slosh of the rain on the gutter. I smelled the scent of the water hitting the earth. My senses were on top gear. With a snap of a finger, a word, a song, I would crash and burn. It was now, more than ever, that I needed to be a string. Nothing could break me. Even Genesis.

On Tuesday morning, Spencer and Ester were back on my doorstep, picking me up for school. The two of them, plus dad who opened the door, shushed down when I appeared. Great. Now I had the power to stop conversations. Next thing you know, I'd be walking on water. Mind blown. Shook.

I stopped and stood on tiptoes as I was passing dad. His eyes widened when I gave him a peck on the cheek. "Bye," I said, then stepped out.

Everything was clearer after the rain. The sky, for example, was bluer than it had ever been. There was a certain clean feeling on the air too, as if the dirt and everything that came with it had been washed away. The twins tagged behind me as I whistled and turned my face to the sunshine. It was a beautiful day.

"I think she's on Marie-Joanna." Spencer's voice carried to me. "That's my cooler, hotter codename for Mary Jane, by the way."

"Stop it," Ester murmured.

"Stop what? I'm just stating the facts. Hold up, let me ask her."

Ester's reprimands were drowned out by Spencer's jogging. His hands were behind his head when he caught up with me. "Hey, Des. Got a bong?"

Ester shuffled beside us and slapped his arm. "I told you to quit it." She gave me a quick smile. "Never mind him. We found him on a farm."

"Nice try, sis. I would have believed you if you didn't look exactly like the Spencester. Lucky you, though."

I followed two birds with my eyes. They flew from one of the roofs to an electric power line. Ester could probably tell me in complete nerdy detail the reason why those birds weren't burned, but another question was waiting at the end of my tongue. "Do you think she still likes cotton candy? She always liked cotton candy."

"Told you," Spencer whispered. "Marie-Joanna."

Ester shoved his face and the rest of him out of the way to step beside me. "What did you say?" she asked.

The birds were flying away as I lowered my gaze to her. "Do you think Gene still likes cotton candy?"

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"How about you, Spence? Do you think she still likes it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know too. Did you actually talk to her yesterday? Is that why you're in a good mood?"

"Nope." I smiled at him. "But I talked to her bodyguard."

Ester yanked my bag so suddenly that it made my stomach drop. Being pulled back while my body was trying to go forward was a weird feeling.

Her face was set on a frown when I balanced myself. "You're acting stupid," she said.

"How so?"

She looked even more irritated as she turned to Spencer. "You're right. She's on marijuana."

Spencer released a breath. "I was kidding about that."

"Well I'm not," Ester retorted. "What kind of an idiot would do this to herself?"

I pulled the straps down. She was being harsh again. "We're not the same person, Es."

"Damn right we're not. I don't let other people hold me down."

"And I don't throw away relationships." I shook my head. "I'm not a coward to turn my back on someone just because we're having a rough patch."

She placed a hand on her waist, and with the other hand, snapped a finger next to my ear. "Wake up, Destiny. People change."

"We adjust then," I said. "We become resilient. I know I'm not the brightest. That title belongs to you. But if there's one thing I know, chopped wood doesn't stay broken. If you set them on fire, they'll give you warmth. If you chisel them, they'll become beautiful. Just don't leave them out to rot. That's a waste of potential. Imagine what will happen if all people gave up on their dreams just because someone told them they weren't cut out for it. The world would be a horrible place." The smile I made wasn't sad. I wouldn't go back to that anymore. "See you on Literary Club later. I'm looking forward to seeing your group."

"I need whatever she's eating," Spencer said when I hurried away.

The school provided each club a designated room to meet. The Literary Club was at the second floor, East wing. I was surprised to see that although the room was small, it was cozy. New and old members must have pooled their resources. There were mismatched couches, bookshelves, tables, and a television.

Tea was being served when someone opened the door after I knocked. Ester looked up from her book and smiled warmly to me. She hadn't given up on us. I wish she didn't give up on Gene too.

"Everyone, this is Destiny," she said.

"Hi, Destiny," everyone chorused.

The person who opened the door ushered me in.

"Hi," I greeted.

"What books have you read?" someone on my left asked.

"Which characters do you like?" another piped in.

"What story kept you up at night crying while hugging your pillow?" a third supplied.

Ester must have read the alarm on my face because she stood and came to my rescue. She and everything else in the room smelled like tea. "Destiny is new to the arts. Let's not bombard her with questions."

"Let's start you off with something easy then," the girl sitting on a sofa said. "A small passage, perhaps?" I recognized her as a senior. She was in one of my classes before, though we never talked. "How about the one for Humpty Dumpty?"

"Oh brother. . . Here we go again," someone said.

"What's your problem with Humpty Dumpty? There's a moral to his story."

"Like, don't be an egg?" I joked.

The girl on the sofa threw me a look. "That's preposterous. Nowhere in the original nursery rhyme said he's one. It's the illustrator's fault that made us think he is."

Ester steered me to a vacant chair. "Sit there," she said. "I'll get you tea."

I felt alien and defenseless while Ester left my side. Still, I listened to the others so I wouldn't embarrass her. My old classmate was the most passionate about Humpty, apparently.

"I think it tells us about life," she said. "If we look deeper into it, the moral is, what's broken can never be repaired. We should value everything we have. Things are fragile. Relationships are fragile. One minute it's there, then poof!" She slapped her knee. "Humpty Dumpty." She glanced at me. "What say you? How do you feel about it?"

"Err. . . Same, I guess."

Ester had made it back to my side with the tea she promised. The liquid burned my tongue as I took a huge gulp.

My old classmate waited for me to finish drinking before going at it again. "Can you expound your answer?" she said. "This is the Literary Club. We're supposed to exchange ideas about the notable books that we've read. It includes any, and all literary pieces."

"Uhh. . . Okay." I put the cup down on the table in front of me. "My take on Humpty Dumpty is. . . Uhm. . . I think. . . I think he did it on purpose."

"He did?"

Heat rose to my face. Everyone was looking at me. Didn't they know how awful that was? "Uhh. . . Yeah," I stammered. "I mean, didn't they have insurance policies those days? He could have staged his own death or something. He could have been pushed, but. . ." I bounced up from the chair. "I need some air. I'll be back before you know it." I didn't wait to see Ester's reaction as I streaked out of the room.

My decision was made when I made it to the hallway. I would never go back there. Ester would be so disappointed if I tell her later, but she'd understand if I give a valid excuse. Now to find that excuse.

I walked around the empty halls, searching for something to do. Everyone was either in the gym or their chosen club. I was alone.

Reaching the bulletin board, I looked over the notices, the papers pinned on the cork. Most of them were reminders: Don't leave trash on the gym. Submit your survey form for your favorite lunch. Don't give the code to your locker.

On the rightmost part of the board was a list. I moved closer to read it.

Be part of the welcoming committee this year and meet freshmen and seniors alike. Open to all seniors. List your name to get included.

My phone vibrated as I was reading the last line. I took the Blackberry out and read the message. It was Ester asking me where I went.

Tucking the phone in my pocket, I hurried away from the bulletin board and began to search. If she found me without an excuse, she'd drag me back to the Literary Club. God, have mercy on my soul. I'd break someone's egg if I heard one more word about Humpty Dumpty.

My phone had been vibrating for a good five minutes when I entered a room. I was a paranoid freak. To think that I was imagining Ester behind me.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the vibration stopped. No more Ester. No more Humpty.

I turned around and almost jumped in fright. Three girls were staring at me. They looked as surprised as I was to see me there.

"This is awkward," the closest to me said. The saw on her hand was poised on a piece of wood. She had grey gloves on, safety goggles, and earmuffs. Her plaid sleeve was rolled to her elbows. I only got a good look of her face after she removed her dust mask. She had an open, friendly smile as she pulled her hair loose from the ponytail. "Are you going to join?"

I faced them fully. The two other girls in the room had shorter hairs. They were wearing the same protective gear as the person who welcomed me.

"Join what?" I asked.

"The woodworking club. What else?" The girl on the plaid shirt stepped out of her table to offer a hand to me. She realized that she was still wearing gloves and removed it completely before reaching out. "It's about time, Destiny."

I looked from her to her hand. Was that supposed to mean anything?

The girl with the shorter hair removed her mask and smiled. She had an impish grin that matched her roguish features. "Forgive Woody," she said. "She's been dying to meet you."

"Or your dad," the third girl said. "Especially your dad."

"Woody? What Woody?"

The girl on the plaid shirt cracked a smile. "I'm Woody," she said. "Because I like wood."

"We're the potatoes," the girl with short hair said. "Both of us." She pointed to the third girl.

The three of them continued staring at me. The warm flush I got from the Literary Club earlier was back on full swing.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm extremely confused right now. My friend has been bugging me, and. . ." I ran a hand through my hair. "I just came in the room by accident."

"You won't be joining then?" Woody asked.

I shook my head. "No. I should probably leave too." I turned around and reached for the knob. "So sorry I crashed into your club. It won't happen again."

Today was full of unexpected meetings. I was a puppet pulled back and forth. Eventually, we had to go back to class. Back to the safe zone. Spencer and I passed notes while Mr. O'hara lectured. On one occasion, he passed me a piece of cinnamon roll. I swear he had a bunch of them in his backpack.

A plan has been brewing in my head the whole time. I knew it was bad. I knew it could get me in trouble. But when the last bell rang, I leaped from my chair and collected my things.

"Someone's in a hurry," Spencer said. He was stretching his arms and looked too lazy to get up.

"I need to do something." I dumped the last of my notes in the bag and shouldered the strap. "See you at the gates."

Students milled about in the hallway. I squeezed myself between large groups, and excused myself from the smaller ones. The amount of colognes I inhaled on the way made me nauseous, but I was glad to reach the second floor in one piece.

Someone was removing the papers from the bulletin board when I turned the corner. I dashed to the student, arms outstretched, saying, "Wait!"

He gave me a quizzical stare as I stopped before him, hands on my knees, panting. "Can I help you with anything?" he asked.

"Yes." I wheezed. "Can you let me borrow a pen?"

He patted his jeans, and after seemingly finding one, handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said. "Can I see that list?" I pointed to the stack on his hand.

"Which one?"

"The welcoming committee."

"Sure." He shuffled through the reminders and the notes, until he was handing out the orange bond paper I was asking for.

My hands were shaking. I had to press the paper to the wall so I could properly write my name. Destiny Jones. Underneath it, I wrote, Genesis Morgan.

To be a great puppeteer, you have to possess several qualities. Sometimes it wasn't enough to know the parts, you have to play the part too. From now on, I would be the string. Not the twins, not my dad, not Genesis would stop that. I wouldn't snap under pressure. I would pull and pull until she bounced back.

Destiny Jones' Playlist: