Playground Pariah

Written for Australian Writers’ Centre’s December 2019 Furious Fiction challenge
by Darcie T. Kelly

I scratch Alexander Fleming into my workbook, resisting the urge to gaze out the window. As I chew my pencil, Shep vies for attention. “Psst,” he hisses again. I toss a dirty look over my shoulder.

His carelessness broke our friendship, and now, I can’t afford to care about him. After my latest F, Mom says only Bs and higher will ensure a summer of barefooted freedom. So, I focus on Mr. Lehren’s lesson, set my jaw, furrow my brow, and wonder how to spell penicillin.

Shep tugs my ponytail. “Come on, Unika.” His urgent whisper tugs my heart toward ‘the before’. Before Christmas.

Over the holidays, Jill kissed Jack. Instantly the class split. Boys now stick with boys, throwing balls, taunting each other, and play-wrestling (which sometimes lands them in the principal’s office). Girls huddle together, endlessly discussing updos, outfits, and the boys. I drift around no-man’s-land, expelled by the boys because I’m a girl, shunned by the girls because I’m not girly. The number of un-kissed classmates decreases each day and Shep won’t even look at me. Afraid to be tainted by my social infection.

I’ve lost track of Lehren’s lecture. What does ‘serendipity’ mean and what does it have to do with Fleming’s mold? I scratch my head and squint at the blackboard. What did I miss?

Something sails past my ear. I’m about to spin around in anger – how dare he throw things at me – when a crumple of paper lands on my desk. My heart quickens. This is how we shared secrets. In ‘the before’. With a glance at Lehren’s back, I smooth the note.

It starts with messy printing I don’t recognize. you’re the last

Shep’s printing isn’t as neat as usual. Last what?

tongue kiss at recess

Shep’s last message is circled. Unika. He underlined my name. Let’s kiss at recess.

I fold the paper, slide it in my desk. Lehren’s monologue continues, “… it saved countless lives during World War II…” How’d he get from mold to war?

Shep taps my shoulder. “Well?”

Giving up on penicillin, I turn to the window. Let my thoughts drift on the breeze. Shep huffs. His breath tickles my neck.

I’m only half surprised he asked me. We’ve already kissed. Last year. In ‘the before’. Even that peck was gross. The idea of kissing with tongue makes my skin crawl. But, what if …?

My imagination fills the playground: Boys with leering boys, girls with tittering girls, and Shep and me in no-man’s-land. The infection. The infected.

What if we kiss? I see myself with an updo, a stylish outfit, and twenty girly-friends who don’t care about the real me. What if we don’t? I get my best friend back – two playground pariahs.

I wiggle my toes. Lehren drones on. “… It started with a careless scientist, some dirty equipment, and something unexpected carried through the window on a breeze…”

I slip off my shoes, savouring barefooted freedom, deciding which version of ‘me’ I want to be.