Orfe Read Free Page A

big—like parents—”
    â€œNobody can stop parents from beating their kids.”
    â€œAnd the kids snivel, like Enny, or they’ll scream if it’s bad enough—”
    â€œAnd the parents like that, a lot of them do. It’s a turn-on. Know what I mean?”
    â€œShe wouldn’t know. She doesn’t know anything about anything.”
    Orfe raised her face to look at me. What’s wrong with you? I could hear, as clear as if she’d said it.
    I didn’t know. I couldn’t help it.
    *  *  *  *  *
    â€œI really hate it when you cry like that,” Orfe said.
    My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t say anything, for fear of crying if I tried to say something.
    â€œLook,” Orfe said. “I didn’t say you shouldn’t cry. I said you shouldn’t cry like that. When they start in on you, the way you sort of weep with your head bent like some . . . slave or something.”
    â€œI know. I’m sorry,” I said, tears oozing out and mucus thickening in my nose and thickening my voice.
    â€œJust letting them get away with it,” Orfe said.
    I nodded and wiped my nose with the back of my hand, then wiped my hand on the seat of my jeans.
    â€œHelpless, I hate it when you—”
    I shook my head, to clear it, to get her attention, to tell her she’d better stop saying that, please. “I can’t help it,” I explained.
    â€œI know.” Orfe’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them clear. “I know. I know exactly. You have to do something to those boys.”
    â€œThey’d just laugh. It wouldn’t make any difference.”
    â€œJust because you’re crying doesn’t mean you can’t hit someone—or throw something—your lunch box or your desk. That desk could hurt somebody. Or you could kick—kick Rab because they all do what he tells them to, that’s what they’re doing. You know what I mean?”
    I knew what she meant.
    â€œOr yell at them, at least. You can cry and still do all those things. It doesn’t have anything to do with crying. I would too, I don’t blame you.”
    â€œI do,” I said. I turned to go home.
    â€œWait.” Orfe’s hand held my arm and she tried to pull me around.
    â€œI’m sorry.” I just wanted to get away and go home.
    â€œFor what?” Orfe asked.
    I wished she’d leave me alone.
    â€œWhere are you going, Enny?”
    â€œHome.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause—” But I couldn’t say it. “Because—”
    Orfe shook her red hair and lost patience with me. “You make me so mad, you really—”
    â€œI said I was sorry.”
    â€œYou act like you’re nothing, some absolute nothing. You’re as pretty as Frannie and you know it, even prettier in your own way. And better at math than anyone in the class. But you act as if, if you can’t be one particular way, you’re nothing. As if there was one way you had to be—”
    I stared at Orfe, but she didn’t notice me.
    â€œIt’s so dumb and you’re really smart.” Her feet danced on the sidewalk in impatience and anger. “You’re more like me than anyone I ever met before!”
    â€œNo, I’m not.” I was shocked. “Orfe, I’m not at all like—I’m not musical at all. I care about school, I like school. I’m not brave. I care about other people, I pay attention, I’m not self-centered. I’m just or -di-nary.”
    â€œIt’s ordinary to be self-centered,” Orfe said to me. She was standing still now andabout to burst out laughing—I could see that in her eyes. “Maybe you’re the one who’s extraordinary.”
    Orfe cared about having me for her friend. She cared about me. Nothing much else mattered at that moment. “I feel better,” I said, which was the truth.
    But