Read Identical for Free Online Page B

Contemporary
    Lit, still puzzling over it.
    Spanish II. Si, quiero
    venganza. I want revenge.
    I am on my way to history
    when opportunity falls
    smack in my lap, à la
    a quick bathroom break.
    As I start toward the girls’
    room, I notice Madison
    ahead of me. She reaches
    into her purse, roots inside.
    She glances around, but
    doesn’t see me watch her
    extract a tampon, palm
    it, and step through the door.
    I can wait to pee. And now
    I’ve got my ammunition.

I’ll Have to Wait to Use It, Though
    First I have to get through history.
    I sit in my usual seat in back,
    by the window, as Mr. Lawler
    passes out last week’s essays.
    I can’t help but notice how
    he moves with feline grace.
    A big cat. Jaguar, maybe.
    Or a tiger. Secure within his stripes.
    Pinstripes, actually, on dark
    trousers, snug at the waist
    and across his hips,
    before falling loosely
    down over his thighs.
    And just as my disgusting
    brain gloms onto a sick
    image of what those thighs
    look like, his voice descends.
    Interesting piece of writing.
    I’d like to discuss it further.
    Can you wait after class,
    or come in at lunch?
    Interesting, good? Or bad?
    My eyes drop, focusing on
    a large red A at the top of
    my paper. Apparently,
    good. “Let’s do lunch.”

Doing Lunch
    With Mr. Lawler will postpone
    exacting revenge. Lunch would
    have been a great venue for what
    I’ve got in mind. Instead I’ll wait
    for drama—not my class, but I’ll
    go to watch Kaeleigh rehearse.
    At least, that will be my excuse.
    Madison will be there too.
    And anyway, lunch with Mr. Lawler
    and his pinstripes could prove quite
    interesting. Sheesh. Sometimes I turn
    into a major vamp. It’s a fun game.
    I’m all into games, distractions
    from the day-to-day crap. All vamp,
    I open Mr. Lawler’s door. “Ready
    for me?” His smile tells me definitely.
    Come on in. I’m just finishing
    up here. Have a seat. He gestures
    to a chair beside his desk, scribbles
    something in his grade book,
    and finally looks me in the eye.
    I’m fascinated with your take
    on the Scopes trial. How did you
    arrive at your conclusions?
    I outline my research, add a bit
    about my father and his take on
    this sensational piece of history—
    how different attorneys might have
    made different arguments, the court
    might have allowed the jury to
    sentence Scopes, and the Bible
    might have been the only source
    for schoolchildren for many years
    to come. Hard to believe they were
    such cretins in 1925, jailing a high
    school teacher for offering evolution
    as an alternate theory to creationism.
    Just who were the monkeys in the “Monkey
    Trial”? Anyway, the entire time I talk,
    Mr. Lawler’s eyes stay fixed on mine.
    I’m very impressed. You took
    a relatively straightforward
    topic and gave it a unique
    spin. I appreciate the extra
    effort that went into this essay.
    And then, in a completely
    unexpected move, his hand
    settles gently on top of mine.
    I should pretend propriety, pull
    my hand away. But I like how
    it feels beneath the warmth
    of his. I give my most vampish
    smile. “Extra effort is my middle
    name. Thanks, Mr. Lawler.”

That Was Fun
    Maybe even more fun
    than what I’ve got on my
    agenda now. We shall see.
    I wander into drama, wearing
    “innocent”
    like baby powder perfume.
    Onstage, waiting for direction,
    Madison stands with a couple
    of girls and several guys.
    Perfect.
    God, she’s such a cow,
    hardly even worth my
    jealous
    response. I almost change
    my mind, but then she catches
    sight of me and her expression
    puts me on my feet. Totally
    guilt
    free, I saunter up the stage
    steps. Kaeleigh hasn’t yet
    appeared,
    and Ms. Cavendish won’t
    know the difference unless
    I try to sing. I pass Madison’s
    knot, sniff the air beside her
    dramatically,
    loudly project, “Ugh! What’s that
    smell? Madison, are you on the rag?”

Kaeleigh
    Everyone’s Laughing
    At Madison, whose face has turned
    the approximate color of pickled beets,
    as she