What others have to say about Shayna’s Shadows
Brown has written a fine book called Shayna’s Shadows about bullying, and how one school tried to do something about it. While the book sounds serious, you will find a lot to enjoy in it, especially seeing Shayna change from a scared, insecure and easily intimidated girl to a determined person, with the courage to face her tormenters.
~ Leila Speisman, Canadian Jewish News
Many issues that students face are touched upon in this book. Brown has observed, firsthand, what students undergo at the junior high and high school levels. This book can be a very important learning tool in dealing with anti-Semitism.
~ Rosalie Kurtz, Jewish Tribune
Brown, himself a teacher in the public school system for 30 years, wrote the book as an educational tool to help teach teenagers about the implications of what many consider “harmless fun.” Shayna's Shadows teaches that fun is not harmless when it is at the expense of others.
~ Aliza Libman, Afterword
Of Special Interest for Parents, Teachers and Youth Group Leaders
A good introduction to racism for any middle school class. Events in the novel triggered great discussions.
~ Joanne Laing, Middle School Classroom Teacher, Toronto District School Board
A great novel study book.
Very good for teaching us that prejudice is a bad thing, and what the consequences are.
A good example of how far bullies can go, and how much pain one victim of bigotry can feel.
~ Pierre Laporte Middle School Student Comments, Toronto District School Board
Shayna’s Shadows
Paul Philip Brown
Published by Educan Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 by Paul Philip Brown
Cover art by Batya Brown
Cover design by Eli Brown
This book is available in print at
www.educanpublishing.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter 1
She fought to stop the tears as she waited to be called in to Mr. Epstein’s office. The gum in her mouth was already tasteless, and she would normally have spit it out long ago, but the chewing kept her mind and mouth busy.
She shivered. Shayna shook it off and tried not to think about why she was here, and what was probably about to happen in that office. Her parents were already in there with Mr. Epstein. He was probably telling them all sorts of lies about her.
How she never did her homework. Not true! Once in a while, perhaps, but “not ever” was a lie.
How she was always forgetting to bring her books or pen or math set or reading book with her to class. Not true! Yes, it happened once in a while, but “always” was a lie.
How she failed almost every single test in all her non-religious subjects since the beginning of September. All right. So this particular fact was true. But it wasn’t her fault, that’s for sure. How did they expect her to do all that work at the same time as her Hebrew subjects?
Shayna could just bet he wasn’t saying a word about how well she was doing in her typing. How she’d gotten a score of 43 words per minute on her last speed test. Or the 77 per cent mark on the business letter assignment. Old Epstein would just tell his side of the story, knowing him, thought Shayna.
Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she pulled out one end of the wad of bubble gum as far as it would go, then stuffed it back in, quickly glancing at the boy sitting opposite her to see if he’d noticed. Some people, like her mother, thought this gummy habit she had was disgusting, but Shayna thought it was great. The stringy texture was neat, and it was almost like starting a brand new piece. Shayna pulled her brown, almost shoulder-length hair over her face for privacy.
Mr. Epstein’s face appeared at the door of his office. “Please come in now, Shayna.”
Shayna plodded into Mr. Epstein’s office. Her parents were seated in front of a desk that was covered with file folders. She wondered which one was hers, and what it said about her. Shayna especially wondered about the comments made by her grade four teacher. After all, it was his fault that she was in this mess now. He should be the one sitting here, not her.
Mr. Epstein cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Shayna, I’m sure you know why you’re here, so let’s get right down to business. Your parents and I have just been discussing your progress so far this year. You do realize how poorly you’ve been doing in your studies this past month. Last June, when your parents and I discussed the problem, we agreed to give you until the end of September as a trial, and if things didn’t improve by then, we said we’d have to withdraw you from some of your religious subjects and arrange for tutoring to help you catch up.
This was the second year that Mr. Epstein had been her counselor at the Louis B. Solomon Education Centre, a Jewish parochial school in which about half of each day was spent studying the Hebrew language, the Bible, Jewish history and Jewish traditions.
The other half of the day the non-religious subjects were taught—English, mathematics, science, history, French, physical education, typing, art and family studies. To do well in the non-religious subjects at Solomon was to do well in only half the work. The days were long -- 8:30 to 5:30 -- with lots of homework, projects and tests.
Mr. Epstein continued. “I’m afraid that it no longer makes sense for you to continue with our full double program of both Hebrew and non-religious subjects when you are experiencing such difficulties. Shayna, your parents and I feel that you should make the change as of Monday.”
Tears welled up in Shayna’s eyes, sliding down her cheeks. I’m just not good enough, thought Shayna. What everyone else can do, I can’t. Even when I try my hardest, I’m not good enough.
Mrs. Rosen could never stand the sight of her daughter crying. Immediately her right hand flew up to her cheek in dismay. “I will not have my daughter singled out as different,” she blurted. “Separating her from her friends for half a day every day would be very damaging to Shayna’s self-esteem.”
Shayna’s father asked, “Mr. Epstein, my wife is obviously uncomfortable with this plan. Are there any other options you can suggest?”
Mr. Epstein cleared his throat again, pushed his glasses back up his nose, and considered.
“Perhaps we could arrange for Shayna to be placed in a remedial reading program at our local junior high, Pierre Elliott Trudeau. That would give her a fresh start in a new school, and reduce her workload too.
“What do you think, Simi?” Mr. Rosen asked his wife. Mrs. Rosen nodded, her own eyes welling.
Funny how they were deciding her life, thought Shayna, without even asking her how she felt about it.
“Shayna, personally I’d prefer to see you staying on here, but I’m sure you will do well at Trudeau, perhaps even well enough so that you’ll be able to return here for grade nine, but in the meantime, grade eight at Trudeau is your parents’ choice.”
If anybody ever wanted to know whether Shayna Rosen was upset, all they had to do was look at her forehead, which immediately glistened with sweat at the slightest sign of nervousness, then her underarms, which would stain her top. It was always obvious, and now Shayna felt the telltale sweat starting to form in both places.
Mr. Epstein turned toward her parents. “Of course, it will be difficult for Shayna at first, new teachers to get used to, new friends to be made, but after a very short adjustment period, she’ll be just fine. And the fact that she’ll only have the General Studies subjects to deal with will make a great deal of difference. The work load will be greatly reduced from what it is here, and she will be getting the extra reading help she needs.”
Mr. Epstein turned to face Shayna. “Do you have any questions, Shayna?”
The only question in Shayna’s mind was whether or not she could make it out the door without crying.
“No,” she barely whispered.
Chapter 2
Shayna wasn’t going to let anyone see her crying again, not after the past three years of it, ever since grade four when her school problems had begun with Mr. Coulter. How she did not want to start thinking about all that now!
Shayna fought to control herself, but when she and her parents reached the car, a feeling of complete misery took hold. She sobbed quietly, the tears dripping from her eyes like water droplets falling from a melting icicle.
Mrs. Rosen sat in the back with Shayna, trying to comfort her.
“Shayna, dear, you heard what Mr. Epstein said. It really is the best thing for you right now. Maybe you’ll be able to go back to Solomon next year if you do well at Trudeau.”
Shayna was sitting quite rigidly, as if her body had turned to stone, with only her eyes and ears functioning. She stared straight ahead through the windshield, wanting intensely for her mother’s words to soothe, but her mother’s voice, sharp and shrill, only served to reveal her own nervousness.
Shayna took a Kleenex from her pocket and blew loudly into it. In rubbing her nose, her finger brushed against a small bump. It must be a pimple, she thought. Her first pimple. Yuckk! The shock of the discovery distracted her, and she ran her fingers back and forth over it. “Mom, is this a pimple?” she asked, pointing to her nose.
“It does look like the start of one,” her mother soothed, “but don’t worry about it, Shayna. We’ll stop off on the way home and get you something to put on it. Sam, let’s run into the drug store at the corner.”
“Okay, Simi.”
Mrs. Rosen’s voice had relaxed. Shayna knew that her mother was very glad that she had gotten over her upset so quickly. She hated having to deal with it.
As they drove up to the house, Shayna saw her neighbour, Gilbert Garrett, cutting the grass in his front garden.
“Mom, can I go talk to Gilbert for a few minutes? He goes to Trudeau, and I’ve got a million questions to ask him.”
“Sure, dear. I’ll call you in when supper’s ready.”
Shayna got out of the car and walked toward him. The hesitant way she moved suggested a person afraid she was about to step into a patch of quicksand. Shayna remembered her grade five teacher, Mr. Barber, once telling the class about how a person’s movements and habits had something to do with what they were thinking or feeling. She wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work, but she sensed that her walk lacked confidence.
As Shayna approached him, Gilbert smiled amiably and cut the power on the mower. “Want to clean up some grass, Shayna? Here, have a rake.” He bent over to grab the rake he’d left lying at the edge of the lawn. Shoving it into Shayna’s hand, he said, “How did you know I needed help?”
“Actually, Gilbert, I wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind.” Shayna could hear the hesitation in her voice. “It’s about Pierre Elliott Trudeau Junior High. You’re still there, aren’t you?”
“Where else did you think I was gonna be?” Gilbert started muttering under his breath as he pulled the rake from Shayna’s hand and began cleaning up. “I’m glad it’s fall already. I’ll tell ya, I’ve had it up to here with this gardening stuff.” Gilbert removed his wire frame glasses with his free hand to blow off a speck of grass that had landed in the centre of the right lens.
As Gilbert worked his way to the far end of the lawn, Shayna stood watching him, wondering what the best way would be to get him to answer her questions. She had so many. He certainly did seem very easily upset. She hadn’t talked to Gilbert much, even though they’d been neighbours for years, so she didn’t know if he was always like that, or just having a bad day.
It was at times like this that Shayna wished she could be more confident. Ever since grade four, she had always had difficulty asserting herself in such situations. She wished she could be stronger, but didn’t know how.
Every time Gilbert bent over, Shayna noticed that his longish, dirty-blond hair flopped down over his forehead. Gilbert absentmindedly threw his head back to flip the hair out of his way. His baby blue eyes, set in a round face, moved restlessly, giving him the furtive appearance of a fugitive. His heavy-set frame seemed well suited to physical work, although she supposed grass cutting and raking didn’t exactly fill the bill as heavy labour.
Gilbert was working his way back towards her. “You still here? Waddya want anyway? You’ve never hung around me before.”
Why did his mood change so suddenly, Shayna wondered? When she first got there, he was so friendly. Now, he was Grump City. Well, it was now or never. She took a deep breath and asked, “Gilbert, what’s it like at your school?”
“It’s a school,” Gilbert snapped. “A school’s a school. It’s bad news, right? Like my mom says about a lot of things, it’s a necessary evil, okay?”
“Not ah . . . really. Couldn’t you tell me something about it? What are the teachers like? Do they make you work hard? Are they nice to kids?”
Shayna surprised herself with her boldness, especially considering Gilbert’s unfriendly responses, but she just had to know what to expect.
Gilbert leaned the rake against the basket he’d just filled. Standing with hands on hips, he said, “Okay. I’m going to try extra hard to be nice to you ‘cause you’re my neighbour, but don’t blame me if you don’t like what you hear. I’m just telling it the way it is. If you want to know the truth, my teachers are rotten. They stink. They’re always yelling at kids or giving them detentions. The tests they give are so hard, most kids fail them. The worst thing is that if anything goes wrong in the room and you’re anywhere nearby, you’ll get blamed. It happens to me all the time.”
Gilbert sat down on the grass, jerking his head back to pull up the hair that had again fallen over his forehead. Shayna sat down facing him, her arms wrapped around her upraised knees. She did not like what she was hearing, but he ought to know what he was talking about.
“Take today,” Gilbert said. “I’m sitting in music class at the beginning of the period, holding the mouthpiece in one hand, the trombone in the other. I’m about to put it in so I can start practising, right? This joker beside me thinks he’ll be funny, so he takes his mouthpiece out of his trombone and blows into it, making an awful racket. Then he ducks down real fast, leaving me sitting there laughing my head off, enjoying the stupid noise like everyone else, when the teacher looks over, sees me with the mouthpiece in my hand and the grin all over my face and kicks me out. Just like that. No questions, no explanations allowed, no nuttin’. You wouldn’t believe how stupid those teachers are.”
Droplets of perspiration had appeared on Shayna’s forehead. This was worse than she’d imagined. “But all the teachers can’t be so bad, Gilbert. Maybe it’s just the music teacher.” Shayna’s voice was strained.
“All I can tell you is what happens to me, and it’s always the same thing. I bet they all talk about me in the staff room at lunch and plan how they can get me. I’m fed up to here with all of them!” Gilbert gestured toward his neck.
Shayna wondered whether to continue. There were so many questions to ask. She had to risk one more. “Gilbert, tell me what the kids are like. Are they snobs, or can you make friends with them?”
“Hey, how come you’re so interested in Trudeau all of a sudden? You planning to go there or something?”
“I’m not planning to go there, but my parents and my counsellor have decided to switch me.”
A smile formed on Gilbert’s face, spreading quickly outward from his mouth, like a fire-darkening piece of paper that has just been ignited at its centre. Enjoying his position as instant expert, Gilbert drawled, “Wellll, why didn’t you say so? I’ll tell you everything you wanna know.”
Chapter 3
Shayna lay sobbing quietly on her bed face down, her face pushed into the pillow so her mother wouldn’t hear her. Mrs. Rosen became flustered and agitated whenever Shayna cried. Shayna’s mother had never learned to express her feelings because her own parents came from Eastern Europe and were part of a culture which frowned on open displays of emotion as unseemly and out-of-place. In her experience, feelings were something you covered up.
Gilbert’s answers to Shayna’s questions had really upset her, but she would have kept asking anyway if her mother hadn’t called her in for supper.
Gilbert had said that the teachers at Trudeau were slave drivers. The work was very hard, there were tests all the time, and often teachers in different subjects gave tests the same day, so you had to study for two or three tests at a time. That was in addition to all the homework they gave.
Then there were the projects. The projects alone could kill you. One teacher made you type it, double-spaced, on white paper. Another had you write it in pen on lined paper. A third wanted a cover page with a great illustration. It didn’t matter if you couldn’t draw for beans, and if you forgot to number the pages, you lost five marks before you even started.
The teachers were idiots, Gilbert had said. If you talked once or twice to your friend, they moved you to another seat, but not until they’d given you the biggest lecture you ever heard and called you every name in the book. Of course, they didn’t swear. They just used words you never heard before and told you to look them up in a dictionary. You might learn something for a change, they said.
Gilbert had also talked about how the kids were all a bunch of snobs. They didn’t know what the word “friend” meant. If you weren’t a member of the in-crowd, you could just forget it. He said it angrily, so she guessed that Gilbert wasn’t “in” himself.
The worst thing of all, though, had been the answer to the last question she’d asked. Shayna wanted to know if the teachers made you read out loud in class. They just about all did, Gilbert had said.
Shayna was horrified.
Shayna’s greatest fear was to have to read aloud in front of others. Ever since grade four, and that dreadful day in Mr. Coulter’s class, Shayna made sure she didn’t read aloud. She went to the washroom, pretended she had laryngitis, she even lied—she used all kinds of tricks, both on her teachers in school and on her parents at home to sometimes avoid going to school, so that never again would she have to face the pain and humiliation.
Shayna tried not to think about that day, but, in spite of herself, the painful feelings came rushing back.
§ § §
It was drizzling lightly the day after Shayna’s ninth birthday. The school bus was a few minutes late, but Shayna made it to her grade four classroom just as the bell imperiously announced the commencement of the school day.
Right after the morning exercises, Mr. Coulter had the class take out their readers as usual to read aloud the story they’d read silently the day before. He said it was a good review and it gave all the budding actors a chance to work on their pronunciation.
The day before, Shayna had been absent, helping her mother get ready for the party. It was the only time available, her mother had said, and she would have to stay home, so she’d missed the story. Mr. Coulter must have been taking his nasty pills that morning, thought Shayna, because he was snarling a lot more than usual.
Mr. Coulter chose Shayna’s row to read. Each of the two students in front of her made several errors. Mr. Coulter growled at them for their carelessness.
Then it was Shayna’s turn. She reminded Mr. Coulter she’d been away the day before, but to no avail. Mr. Coulter snapped at her, “Shayna Rosen, you are going to read your lines from the story, ready or not. You do know how to read, don’t you? Or did all that birthday cake and ice cream frazzle your brain and turn it into mush? Now let’s get started. We haven’t got all day.”
Hurt and upset, hardly able to get any sound out of her mouth, Shayna considered refusing. But if she didn’t try, Mr. Coulter would get even nastier, so she went ahead with it.
Fixing her eyes on the page, she began, “Mr. Pooper was an absent-minded house painter.”
The class burst into laughter. Shayna looked up, red-faced, wondering why they were laughing. Mr. Coulter laughed along with the class. When the noise subsided, he said, “That should have been ‘Mr. Popper,’ Shayna. Now try it again.”
Shayna felt her throat tightening. “Mr. Coulter, couldn’t I please stop now, just for today?”
“No, Shayna. Again.”
Shayna tried to put all distracting thoughts out of her mind, but couldn’t help noticing the illustration of a very well-groomed dog on the next page. Shayna read, “Mr. Popper was an absent-minded house painter who loved to read about people travelling to the South Poodle.”
Now the class broke up completely. Loud laughter, whistling and hooting enveloped her. Her lower lip quivering, Shayna peered up toward Mr. Coulter. He was laughing so hard that tears were running down his cheeks. Shayna slammed her book down on the desk and fled from the room.
§ § §
What a fool she was for letting herself think about it all again! She knew it would upset her. It always did.
Shayna was sitting on her bed crying softly, her pillow held over her face to muffle the sound so that her mother wouldn’t hear her. The telltale perspiration had broken out under her arms and on her forehead.
At least this time there was no one there to see it.
Chapter 4
According to the instructions she’d received, Shayna’s homeroom class was supposed to be in Mrs. Fraser’s room. A girl in the front hall of Pierre Elliott Trudeau Junior High School directed her to Room 214. Almost choking on the wad of bubble gum in her mouth when she asked for directions, Shayna reflected thankfully that that ugly pimple on her nose had gone away. It was one less thing to worry about.
The school was a modern one. Light streamed into the hallways from skylights overhead. The brightly painted walls and rows of blue, yellow and green lockers pleasantly surprised her as she walked in that hesitant way she had toward the room. Other kids were standing around in groups at their lockers talking and laughing. Not wanting to stare, Shayna looked at each group out of the corner of her eye as she passed them, thinking about what Gilbert had said. She wondered if any of these kids would turn out to be her friends, or whether these were some of the snobs that Gilbert had talked about.
If Gilbert was right about the teachers at Trudeau, Mrs. Fraser would be a real pill. So would all her other teachers, for that matter. She had meant to ask Gilbert about Mrs. Fraser, but the way he was talking, each teacher was worse than the next one, so it was probably just as well she hadn’t. This way she could find out the bad news in person, instead of having heard it ahead of time and then worrying herself sick all weekend.
The classroom door was open. Shayna thought she should get rid of the gum before she went in. Reluctantly, she tossed it into a garbage can just outside the doorway.
Shayna walked in slowly. The lady working at the front desk looked up, smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Mrs. Fraser. You must be Shayna. I’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Trudeau. You’re the first one here today. The other students will be along soon. How about putting your things down on that desk there and we’ll get you all the supplies and things you’ll need.”
Shayna put her things down. Mrs. Fraser’s friendly and helpful manner was unexpected. Maybe Gilbert was wrong about some of the teachers after all.
Mrs. Fraser was busy collecting supplies from various parts of the room—pencils and pens, an eraser, a ruler, several notebooks, a smaller-than-normal workbook, a combination lock and a yellow sheet that Shayna thought resembled a crossword puzzle. A tall, blond woman, Mrs. Fraser possessed a naturally warm smile, which brightened her whole face as she talked.
“These are the things you’ll need to get started, Shayna,” said Mrs. Fraser. “When Jessica gets here, I’ll have her show you where your locker is. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Shayna hesitated. Could she trust this lady? Was the friendly manner an act, or was it real?
“I’m really embarrassed to be here in this dummy class, Mrs. Fraser.”
Shayna surprised herself. Whatever possessed her to blurt that out? Somehow, in the space of a few short minutes, Mrs. Fraser had made her feel comfortable and relaxed. She already felt she could trust her. “I don’t think I’m stupid, but I just couldn’t manage to do the work at Solomon. My mother said she’s . . . ah . . . mortified, whatever that means, about this whole thing.”
“Actually, Shayna, you might be surprised at some of the nice things I’ve heard about you from Mr. Epstein.”
Shayna was indeed surprised that Mr. Epstein, her counsellor at Solomon, had anything nice to say about her. “What did you hear about me, Mrs. Fraser?”
Mrs. Fraser had finished putting all her supplies together in a neat pile. “Well, one of the things he told me was that you did a project on skating and it was neatly typed and very well illustrated with photographs, some of which showed you figure skating. Do you skate often?”
“I haven’t been allowed to skate much lately because of my low marks,” said Shayna, “but I sure do like it a lot.”
Just then, a black-haired, black-eyed girl bounced into the room as if she’d just left a nearby dance floor. “Good morning, Mrs. Fraser,” she sang. Then she smiled at Shayna. “Hi. I’m Jessica Morris. You must be Shayna. Mrs. Fraser asked me yesterday to be your guide and helper for a few days. Grab your stuff and I’ll show you where your locker is.”
“Are you in the reading class too, Jessica?” asked Shayna as they wove their way through the crowded hall.
“Yes and no. I used to be full time up until this year, but I’ve improved enough so that I only spend one period a day there. As a matter of fact, I was told I could try this year without any special reading help at all, but I felt I could still use it. Besides, this way I get a chance to see my friends from last year every day, and Mrs. Fraser too.”
They were standing in front of a row of bright green lockers. “This one’s yours, Shayna.”
Shayna stretched up high to put her things onto the upper shelf, took back one notebook and her pencil case, and closed the locker door, snapping the combination lock shut. “Jessica, what’s Mrs. Fraser like? Is she really as nice as she seems?”
“She’s terrific, Shayna. Always smiling. I’ve never once heard Mrs. Fraser raise her voice to anybody. Why do you think I wanted back into her class this year? She’s been helping me with my homework, and, oh, you should have seen that history project I did last year. It was like the before and after ads you see in the paper for those weight loss places. What a difference! You wouldn’t know it was the same project after Mrs. Fraser got her hands on it.”
This was too good to be true, thought Shayna. “Maybe it’s going to work out after all.” Oops. That had slipped out.
“What did you say?” asked Jessica.
“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud. When does homeroom class start?”
“Now. We’d better get back.”
There were now about ten or so other kids milling around in the classroom. As Shayna and Jessica came in, they all turned toward them. Silence enveloped the room as if a sudden gust of wind had torn all sound away. Jessica’s voice snapped the spell as she introduced Shayna around. Mrs. Fraser asked the class to take their seats for the opening exercises.
Everyone was so friendly that Shayna was completely relaxed by the time they had to go to their first period class. That yellow piece of paper that Mrs. Fraser had given her turned out to be her timetable. Jessica said she’d go over it with Shayna at lunch, but for now, all she had to do was follow Jessica. Today’s reading classes were in the afternoon. Period one was family studies.
“Family studies and history are the only subjects we’ve got together besides reading, Shayna. I already checked.” Jessica led the way.
The family studies room was double size, with the kitchen arranged at one end of the room and the sewing machines at the other end. Shayna sat down next to Jessica at a table in the cooking section of the room.
Several girls came over to see who the new kid was. Jessica introduced them to Shayna.
The teacher, Mrs. Simpson, had not yet arrived. A tall girl with an athletic build named Darla Williams asked Shayna, “What school are you from?”
Self-conscious about telling them that she was there because of her reading problems, and unsure of how these kids felt toward Jews, Shayna hesitated, her eyes cast downward. Should she tell them that she’d come from a Jewish day school? Maybe they’d dislike her just for being Jewish. Maybe they thought Jews were all rich snobs. Lots of people had that mistaken idea. She’d learned that in class discussions at Solomon.
They’d called it a stereotype—a common picture that people have about a particular group, a picture that was based on ignorance or gossip, or sometimes an unpleasant experience with one member of that group. Jews were often stereotyped as money hungry and clannish, they’d learned. She remembered thinking how she wished her own family would have fit the mold, at least the part about being wealthy, but her dad’s income as an office manager did not qualify them to entertain the mayor at dinner, that was for sure.
“I’m from another school in the area,” said Shayna. “What difference does it make where I’m from, anyway?”
Shayna hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly. She was trying to keep her head above water. Why did she have the feeling she was drowning? This was supposed to be a new start.
Darla sneered. “You must be a rich Jew from Solomon who’s afraid we’ll find out, but your nose gives you away. I would be too if I were you. Why don’t you go back to Jewschool where you came from? While you’re at it, you can take all your fellow Jew bums with you.”
Shayna’s forehead began to glisten. She could feel the moisture under her arms. Soon there would be large stains forming on her top.
Shayna felt trapped. Her first period at Trudeau hadn’t even begun, and the roof seemed to be caving in.
Without thinking, Shayna closed her hand into a fist and, swinging up and over in a lightning-swift motion, returned Darla Williams’ greeting with one of her own, right between the eyes.
Chapter 5
It’s your turn, Jess! Geez, I’m really getting annoyed with you and that iPod of yours. How anybody can play Monopoly and listen to that at the same time I’ll never know.”
“Calm down, Shayna. The volume’s only set halfway up. I can hear you just fine.” Jessica picked up the iPod from the beige broadloom to check the setting of the volume control. “Yup, it’s only set at five—that’s half, like I said.”
“Likely story. Then how come you didn’t answer me when I called your name three times?”
“Three times? Are you serious? Sorry about that, Shayna. I was just thinking about the look on Darla Williams’ face on Monday after you punched her in the kisser. That expression of hers was priceless.” Jessica laughed out loud. “You made yourself an instant hero at Trudeau, you know.”
Jessica jumped up, pantomiming Shayna’s lightning fist unexpectedly meeting Darla’s face, then Darla’s surprised body being caught off balance and falling heavily to the floor. Following this with a victory dance, Jessica turned off the iPod, draping the full-size earphones around her neck and resuming her seat on the floor.
It was Wednesday evening. Shayna had invited Jessica over after supper. She wanted to talk over her first three days at Pierre Elliott Trudeau Junior High School, affectionately nicknamed “PET” by many of its students, she’d learned.
They were sitting on the floor in the family room, the game board spread out between them. Shayna, chewing on a newly replaced gum wad, was banker, and also close to winning, judging by the piles of money heaped in front of her.
“All of the kids who hate Darla Williams are going to form a new group. It’s called the Shayna Rosen Fan Club,” said Jessica.
“Yeah, sure thing, Jess. It’s a funny thing, but no one was more surprised than me that I actually hit Darla. It’s just not me, you know. Well, I guess you don’t know yet, do you?”
“I don’t usually have a complete profile of my newest friends in the first week, Shayna.”
“Not unreasonable, Jess. Gila, my best friend at Solomon, still does things occasionally that I don’t expect—and that’s after five years together, so I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised at myself either, but making up my mind’s always been a problem. I feel like the milkman Tevye in the movie ‘Fiddler on the Roof’. Every time one of his daughters wanted to marry a man Tevye didn’t approve of, he’d say to himself, ‘On the one hand, maybe he’s not such a bad fellow after all. On the other hand, maybe she can do a lot better.’ I’m the same way whenever I have to make a decision.”
“You’re not the only one who’s like that, Shayna. But this thing with Darla was different. You didn’t have time to think about it. It was a gut reaction.”
Chewing her wad of gum thoughtfully, Shayna reflected. What Jessica was saying made sense. There had been no chance to think things through. She had merely acted out of . . . instinct, if that was the right word. “I think you’re right, Jessica, but I hope this kind of thing doesn’t become a habit. It could get me into a lot of trouble.”
“Oh, don’t be such an alarmist, Shayna.”
Shayna, looking puzzled, stuck two fingers in her mouth, pulling one end of the bubble gum wad as far as it would go, then stuffing it back into her mouth. “What is an alarmist? You always use such big words, Jess. And will you take your turn already?”
Jessica looked dejectedly at the two stacks of Monopoly bills, her meagre one and Shayna’s huge pile. “It’s too bad they don’t have a game of Monopoly based on the City of Toronto. Then I’d have half a chance of winning when I play you.”
“Now that’s a compliment, coming from the Toronto Encyclopedia herself. I’m soooo honoured.” Toying absentmindedly with some of the play money in front of her, Shayna said, “Come to think of it, I did see a Toronto version of Monopoly in a hobby store one time, but it wouldn’t make any difference. You’re a hopeless case.”
As if to emphasize the point, Shayna started to count her money. “Say, Jess, where did you learn all that stuff about Toronto, anyway?”
“Here and there. Actually, I suppose it’s mainly my dad’s doing. He’s an architect, and he often talks about the terrible things that are happening to some of the old downtown buildings. All I can tell you is whenever I hear something about Toronto, it makes my bones tingle, and, no matter what it is, I never forget it.”
“Yeah, like yesterday when Mr. McTavish was teaching us about the early history of Toronto, and said something about the Toronto Street Railway Company. You raised your hand and made a big speech all about how the Young People’s Theatre on Front Street used to be the stables for the Railway Company horses. What a performance you put on!”
Jessica removed the earphones from around her neck and lay them down on the broadloom beside the iPod. “Mr. McTavish is used to my long speeches. I think he even plans his lessons to allow time for them. We always finish right on the button. I tried an experiment once. I prepared a talk for ten minutes on the underground city in Toronto. Well, I only lasted for about six minutes, but guess what? We finished right on time anyway. I can’t figure out how he does it.”
“Jessica, what’s an underground city?” asked Shayna. She had finished counting her money and was rearranging it neatly in stacks.
“Are you serious?” Jessica asked incredulously. “Don’t you know what goes on under the streets and office buildings downtown? It’s a regular shopper’s paradise down there—dozens of malls with over 1200 retail stores, restaurants and services, plus hotels, banks, cinemas and office towers with a population of over 100,000 workers—all connected by 17 miles of bright, marbled tunnels and walkways. Did you know that you can walk south from the Toronto Coach Terminal, at the corner of Bay and Dundas Streets, through the Eaton Centre all the way to Union Station and the Toronto Convention Centre on Front Street in the middle of January and not even need a sweater to keep warm and cosy?”
“Sounds like you could almost live underground and never breathe any fresh air at all. I think I’d suffocate.”
“No, you’re wrong. First of all, you’ve got all those flowers, plants and trees creating oxygen, and second, there’s no traffic to worry about, no rain or snow or slush, and third, PATH, as it’s called, is always a comfortable 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Or, as we say in Canada, 21 degrees Celsius.”
Shayna glanced down at the Monopoly board. “All this talk about banks, hotels and office buildings has convinced me that it’s time to invest in some more real estate. Let’s see, I’ll take three houses each for this group over here.”
Jessica said, “Aw, let’s quit this game. You’ve almost won anyway. I concede. Besides, I’d rather talk about Darla Williams.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Listen, Shayna, you’d better face it. You have made yourself one first class enemy. She is definitely not the type to take what you did to her lying down. I mean, you embarrassed her in front of a lot of kids. You are just lucky that Mrs. Simpson arrived when she did or you would have been dead meat.”
“Okay, so tell me all about Darla Williams. What’s with Her Highness?”
“She happens to be one of the most feared girls in the school. I guess she’ll never win an award as Miss Popularity, but she’s Gilbert Garrett’s right hand man.” Shayna laughed. “I mean girl. They’ve been known to get some friends together and beat up more than a few kids who’ve crossed their paths over the past year.”
“She’s a friend of Gilbert Garrett? Oy vayz meer! He lives three houses down the street from me. I’m done like dinner!”
“Even if he lived on Mars you’d be a goner because all they have to do is find you alone at school once. Once is all it’ll take, kiddo. Just be sure you never travel through the halls alone, and for sure don’t hang around after school. Get right out of the building with the crowds as they leave.”
“You mean they’re going to try and jump me in the school? Come off it, Jess! There’s people around all the time.”
“Not all the time, Shayna. My advice to you, if you value your health, is to stay alert!”
Chapter 6
Talk about hunger! Was Shayna ever starved! Dashing down the stairs to the cafeteria, Shayna had her mind on one thing and one thing only—food. Even the thought of her mother’s cheese and lettuce sandwich made her drool.
As she made the last turn on the staircase, Shayna was bumped hard into the metal railing, knocking her lunch bag flying. Stopped dead in her tracks, she turned around in time to see Monica heading around the stairwell and out of sight.
“Turkey!” screamed Shayna at Monica’s disappearing figure. Oh gosh, another gut reaction. Luckily, Monica was long gone. Monica was one of Darla’s friends, a short, blond, chunky girl who never smiled, at least not when Shayna was around.
Shayna picked up her lunch, then cautiously continued on her way down the last flight of stairs. The line up in the cafeteria was shorter than usual. It wouldn’t take long to get her drink. Shayna supposed a lot of kids must have gone out for lunch.
How Shayna wished that Jessica wasn’t away from school today! That bump from Monica had reminded her of Jess’s advice to never go through the halls alone.
Since there was no one in sight that she knew, Shayna headed for an empty table at the far end of the lunchroom and spread out her lunch.
A group of boys Shayna had never seen before, carrying food-filled trays, approached her table. They were about to sit down, when one of them, noticing her Magen David necklace, called out loud, “Look out! It’s a Jewgirl. I’m not sitting next to her.” The group moved away, the boy’s friends nodding their agreement. Shayna, her hands suddenly shaking, removed the sandwich from her lunch bag and started to unwrap it. More friends of Gilbert? she wondered.
“Hi, Shayna. Can I join you?” Shayna jumped, startled by the unexpected voice. She did not know the girl standing opposite her.
“I guess so. I don’t own the table.”
“Thanks. I’m Nadira. You’re Shayna, right?”
“Right. How did you know?”
“Lots of people know who you are since you flattened Darla Williams last week. Mind if I eat my lunch here?”
“Not at all.” Shayna, blushing at the compliment, pulled her lunch closer to her side of the table. “Tell me how you heard about it.”
Nadira set her tray down across from Shayna, quickly seating herself on the long cafeteria bench. Her dark skin and long, black hair were beautifully complemented by sparkling white teeth, which flashed along with a ready smile. As she sat down and removed her dishes from the tray, Nadira continued talking.
“The whole school knows. Stuff like that gets around fast. You probably wouldn’t have done it if you’d been here a few days and knew who was who.”
“Funny you should say that. I just said the same thing to my friend Jessica. I wouldn’t have done it at all normally, but I . . . well, I guess it’s too late now.”
“Darla and Gilbert and their gang have been terrorizing kids like us around here since last September, and the worst thing is they’ve been getting away with it. Nobody’s done a thing about it.”
Leaning toward Nadira, she inquired quizzically, “What do you mean ‘kids like us’?” Shayna picked up her sandwich, taking a hefty bite.
Nadira was no longer smiling. She spoke earnestly, her dark eyes firmly fixed on Shayna’s. “I mean minorities like us—blacks, Jews, Chinese, Vietnamese, you name it. If you’re different, you’re fair game.”
“Nadira, do you have any idea what started this whole thing, or why the school doesn’t put a stop to it?”
“I think bigotry always starts for the same reasons—a lack of real knowledge of others—you know, what they call stereotyping. Sometimes, though, it’s just an excuse people use to distract themselves from their own problems, or maybe to blame others for their own problems. I would say that Gilbert and his friends probably suffer from both causes.”
Shayna put down the sandwich. Nadira’s lunch sat untouched. Shayna persisted, “But why hasn’t the school done something about it?”
“Probably because they don’t know about it. None of us has had the guts to tell them. Everybody’s too scared.” Nadira stopped talking, sat pensively for a short time, then said, “I think it was Gilbert.”
“What did you say?” asked Shayna.
“I said I thought it was Gilbert. I mean, he was the one who started this whole business last year. He is one very nasty person, and together with Darla, you’ve got the boss and First Lady of Hate City.”
“Nadira, that’s crazy. I’ve lived three doors away from Gilbert Garrett for years, and I’ve never had a problem with him. Mind you, I haven’t had much to do with him either.”
A warning bell sounded. That meant that they had ten minutes to get to their class.
“Geez, that sure seemed like a short lunch hour. Gotta run. Nice to meet you, Nadira. We’ll have to talk some more. Bye.”
Shayna grabbed her lunch bag and dashed out of the cafeteria towards her locker. Walking around the corner from her homeroom, she realized that there was not a single person in sight. The halls were deserted. Where was everybody? Why weren’t people at their lockers getting their books for afternoon classes?
Out from behind a recessed doorway, Darla and Gilbert appeared. Shayna stopped abruptly, wheeled around and started running in the opposite direction, only to smack right into Monica.
Darla’s menacing sneer caused Shayna’s heart to race. “Well, well, if it isn’t the little Jewess. You’re about to get a new name. From now on we’re all going to call you Juice, just so you don’t ever forget what you are. We’re not ever going to forget our new name, are we? I wish all you Jews would go back to Jewland where you came from.”
Darla’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the Magen David, the Star of David, suspended on a necklace hanging around Shayna’s neck. “If there’s anything I can’t stand it’s Jew crosses. Get that disgusting thing off your neck! Better yet, let me.” With one swift motion, Darla’s extended hand grabbed the Magen David and yanked, snapping the chain.
Shayna was in a turmoil. Her brain sent a hundred words to her mouth, but no sound came out. There was no point anyway, she realized. Alone, she was powerless to stop them.
Darla flung the necklace under a nearby storeroom door. Gilbert gloated, “Nice shot, Darla. Ah, what I really mean is, gee, isn’t that a shame, Juice, the necklace got looost.” Gilbert dragged out the last word for emphasis. “I sure hope you had insurance ‘cause you ain’t never gonna see that thing again. I can guarantee it.” With that, he held up a ring of keys in front of her face and looked meaningfully toward the door under which her necklace had disappeared.
On the verge of tears, Shayna tried desperately to control herself. She would not give these ignorant clods the satisfaction of knowing they’d gotten to her. She hoped they didn’t notice the sweat building up on her forehead, or the stain starting to spread from her underarms.
It was Monica’s turn now. “Look what we brought for you, Juice. It’s our little present from us to you.” She held up a shiny, red apple. “To get to keep it, all you have to do is roll it along the floor from here to the corner over there. Look, I’ll even put it on the floor for you. Now, that doesn’t sound too hard, does it?”
“Of course it doesn’t,” chimed in Darla. “The only hard part is that you have to do it with your overgrown, uglified Jewish nose.” Darla grabbed Shayna’s top and yanked her down to the floor. Shayna suddenly found herself on all fours, with Gilbert and Darla pushing down on her head until her nose was jammed hard against the apple.
“Now push, Jewgirl! Push!” Gilbert’s face reddened. His calm demeanour was suddenly transformed into irrational, almost hysterical anger. Gilbert started kicking Shayna in the ribs. “I said push, you Kike!” he screamed.
Her eyes smarting, chest sore, Shayna found herself crawling along the floor, pushing the apple more or less forward with her nose as best she could, to the accompaniment of taunts, catcalls and laughter.
Then, a strange thing happened. The hurt Shayna felt began to change. Something else stirred inside her. It wasn’t only anger; it was indignation, accompanied by a firm resolve, and its heat turned her cheeks beet red.
Without warning, Shayna heard the drumbeat of feet running along the floor. She looked up to see Darla, Gilbert and Monica tearing away down the hall. A teacher was approaching from behind.
Relief overwhelmed her, instantly dissolving her hard-won composure. She burst into wrenching sobs just as Mr. Lee bent over to help her to her feet.
Chapter 7
Mr. Lee listened sympathetically as Shayna poured out her story of prejudice and bullying. It had taken Shayna quite a while to calm down. They were sitting in one of the small counselling rooms in the Guidance office. Two comfortably upholstered chairs with vertical green stripes faced each other. A small, plain wooden desk sat against the wall. As well as teaching English, Mr. Lee worked part-time as a Guidance counsellor.
As a teacher and a caring adult, Tran Lee was upset with the racist aspect of Shayna’s story. As an anti-racist educator, he was also concerned about the anti-Semitic overtones of the incident that Shayna was describing. His eyebrows knitted in concern. A quick check of the storeroom where Darla had thrown Shayna’s necklace turned up nothing.
Back in the counselling office, Mr. Lee said, “I don’t teach any of the three people involved, Shayna, so I don’t know them, but what I do know about bullies is that they are usually people who feel poorly about themselves. The reason they push others around is so they can feel better than the other guy.”
A slim, athletic-looking man in his thirties, Tran Lee’s short, black hair framed an angular face, his eyes reflecting a sincere compassion. As he spoke, he repeatedly and absentmindedly pulled the skin of his neck, right in front of his Adam’s apple.
“As far as prejudice goes, people who are prejudiced against one group, such as Jews, are usually prejudiced against all groups except their own. That’s why we have to try to stop people like them as soon as we can.”
Shayna looked thoughtful. “That fits in exactly with what Nadira was saying at lunch today. This gang has been picking on a lot of kids who are different from them.”
“How long has this been going on?” asked Mr. Lee.
“Nadira said since the beginning of school last September, when Darla and Monica first came here. That’s makes it a little over a year ago now.”
Mr. Lee shook his head in disbelief. “And nobody ever complained?”
“They were all too scared.”
Mr. Lee pulled at the skin on the front of his neck. “Let me see what I can find out about these three, Shayna. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Do you feel able to go back to class now?”
Shayna nodded. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”
Mr. Lee handed her an admit slip and Shayna headed out. History was her first afternoon class. Mr. McTavish was the teacher.
Shayna enjoyed Mr. McTavish’s sense of humour and his pleasant manner. He was firm but not overbearing, friendly but not palsy-walsy. The students usually behaved in his class.
Today’s lesson had to do with their planned trip to downtown Toronto for a walking tour the following week. Since it was already mid-October, Shayna hoped it wouldn’t be too chilly on the day of the outing.
“Now students, “ Mr. McTavish said as he placed a transparency on the overhead projector, “this is a map of downtown Toronto. Please direct your eyes to the blue line. That line indicates our planned itinerary—now there’s a $64 word for you. Susan, what’s an itinerary?”
Shayna could tell from the look on her face that Susan had no idea at all. Shayna was hoping not to be asked, although she thought she’d heard the word before, but she wasn’t absolutely sure of its meaning, and she certainly didn’t like taking a chance on answering in front of the class if she wasn’t one hundred percent positive.
“I know, sir. Itinerary is a place in Ireland near Tipperary.”
That was Samantha’s predictable attempt at humour, and, as usual, Mr. McTavish just smiled at her and continued the lesson.
“Anthony, tell us what an itinerary is, please.”
“Sir, I believe it’s a planned list of places to visit,” Anthony replied. Anthony was the class brain and could always be relied on to supply a correct answer when needed, but for some reason he always said “I believe” before, during or after his answers.
Shayna decided that Mr. McTavish must be in a real get-down-to-work mood today to call on Anthony so early in the class.
“That’s correct, Anthony. Now, as I was saying, the blue line covers our itinerary for the walking tour. You’ll note that we start at Toronto’s first post office, which is located on Adelaide, just east of George Street. Inside that building is an excellent model of what Toronto looked like in 1834.”
“Sir,” asked Margaret, “is the post office set up the way it looked a hundred years ago?”
“Yes, Margaret, although it’s more than a hundred and fifty years ago. We’ll also get to see some actual examples of what mail looked like at that time and how mail was handled in those days. The system was quite different from today.”
Shayna was really curious to know if the tour would include the Young People’s Theatre. After what Jessica had told the class about how it used to have stables in it for the horses that pulled the Toronto Railway Company’s early streetcars, she wanted to know if it was possible to see any trace of that background in the present appearance of the structure.
She couldn’t see the theatre marked on Mr. McTavish’s map, and was reluctant to ask him in front of the class.
The other stops on the tour were the St. Lawrence Market, the Toronto-Dominion Bank at King and Yonge, the Bank of Nova Scotia at King and Bay, and Union Station at Front and Bay.
“Later in the week I’ll be saying more about the St. Lawrence Market, which houses Toronto’s first City Hall. You’ll find the Safety Deposit Vault in the basement of the Toronto-Dominion Bank particularly interesting, class, since it was at one time the largest vault in Canada.”
Mr. McTavish replaced the overhead map with a photo of the vault. “It’s quite a fascinating story, this vault. The door is four and one-half feet thick, and is one of the largest and heaviest doors ever built. You can see that it’s circular in shape. How much would you guess it weighs?”
Mark said, “10,000 pounds?”
Luisa offered, “20,000 pounds?”
Mr. McTavish raised his hand as a signal that the game was over. “It weighs over forty tons. That’s 80,000 pounds. Before it could be installed, a team of 18 horses was used to haul the door up Yonge Street from the waterfront.”
Jessica had a question. “Sir, what good is a door like that unless the rest of the vault is also burglar proof? Can’t it be entered from the side, say, or maybe the top?”
“A very good question, Jessica,” answered Mr. McTavish. “I was going to discuss the construction of the vault another time, but since you’ve raised the question, let’s deal with it now.
“If you look closely at the photo, you’ll notice that there is a space all around the vault. That’s because it was constructed separately from the building, and actually stands apart from the building that surrounds it, kind of like the yolk of an egg inside the shell. The white part of the egg represents the space between the vault and the rest of the building.
“To make sure that no one tries to sneak into the space around the vault, there is a three-foot wide patrol passage all around it with full-length mirrors placed at the corners at such an angle that the entire space around the vault on all sides, as well as the top and bottom, can be checked by security guards. The bottom of the vault is even built so that no one could possibly tunnel into it from below.”
Mr. McTavish removed the photo from the overhead projector and replaced the map. “Let’s be sure to keep the vault in mind as one of the highlights of our walk. Now, while I’m giving out the permission forms, are there any questions?”