It’s the end of another school day in December, 1984, but I don’t run for the buses with the other kids. I have to stay after school today to make up work, having been absent two days in a row due to the flu. I hate getting behind, but this time I have no choice. Now I have a ton of assignments to make up, even in wood shop. I wait until the hallways have cleared out and walk over to the wood shop classroom to do shellacking on the wooden coat rack we’ve been working on all marking period. At the beginning of the marking period, we chose three planks of wood – two beige ones to go on the top and bottom, and a brown one for the middle. Over the next few weeks, we sanded them, glued them together, drilled holes in the middle one for the dowel rods, smoothed the sides. All that’s left to do is shellacking. My top beige plank has a brown knot in it, and I like the way it looks. I chose that plank specifically because it was there. I’m sorry we have to soak the project in varnish; I think the wood looks brighter and more natural without it. But our teacher said we have to add finish. So I’m in a back room in the wood shop with two seventh grade boys who also missed Monday’s class. (We only have special subjects once a week in my middle school. I have wood shop Monday, music Tuesday, computers Wednesday, art Thursday.) I have seen the two boys around; both are members of the popular crowd. One is engraving JAY into his brown plank. We all had the option of engraving but I decided against it. Jay is adding wispy lines on the left side of the J and the right side of the Y the way the band Van Halen does with the “V” in their name. I don’t know much about Van Halen, but I know that like Jay, they’re popular with most of the seventh grade. I keep my eyes firmly on my top plank, spreading the wet brush carefully over the grains, as Phil and Jay talk. “Have you ever had sex?” Jay asks Phil, B.S.’ing as he thumbs the wood dust out of the Y. I know it’s B.S. because this is only seventh grade, this is the suburbs, and it’s 1984 – not the middle of any sort of revolution – and as far as I know, no one in my grade has Done It. “Well,” Jay persists, “Have you?” “Not lately.” Jay laughs. “Ever?” Phil keeps a straight face and shrugs. “I can’t say.” “Come on.” Phil shakes his head, feigning sincerity. “I gave her my word.” “Who was it? Your sister?” “I gave her my word.” I feel the back of my neck get hot. I know it’s inevitable that they get to me, and I won’t know what to say. To me, this talk is dirty and embarrassing. I don’t have much experience in this kind of joking around. And whatever I say to the popular kids is always wrong and ends up getting me picked on more. I’ve learned that it’s best to keep my mouth shut. I poke my brush into the small can of shellac, then bring it out and sweep it across the bottom plank, the bristles black and gleaming like a dog’s nose. Jay looks at me. “Are you a virgin?” I keep my eyes on the plank. “If,” Phil adds, “you know what it means.” They both stare at me. I bite my lower lip. They look at each other and laugh. “Do you know what ‘doggie style’ means?” I paint faster now, needing to get out of there as quickly as possible. In a matter of seconds, I am done. I drop the brush back into the can and walk outside with my rack, leaving the pungent smell behind. I hand my project to my teacher. “Good,” he says. “Now set it out to dry.” I put it on the heater by the window, next to the others. I walk out of the room to go to the late bus. I’m angry with myself. Even though I have never had the courage to talk back to the kids who pick on me, I’ve always made a point of not letting them interfere with my schoolwork or with anything I really, really want to do. But I worry that I messed up in rushing to finish the coat rack to get away from Phil and Jay. Later, I find out that I’ve gotten a B on the project, which means a B for the marking period. I’d previously been expecting an A. I don’t know if the grade was because of Phil and Jay, but what’s done is done. I take the rack home and nail it to the back of my door, which is also dark and wooden, and it hangs my winter coat just fine. I run my index finger around the knot at the top, then the concentric circles inside. I like the way it looks and I’m proud of it.