ARYSSA SIGHED IN RELIEF when biology lab ended. Even her sigh was lovely, as if her soft pink lungs expired only the finest air. “This is my second time taking biology,” confided Aryssa. “I just can’t seem to pass a science class. I don’t like thinking about any of that science stuff anyway. It makes me nervous. I don’t think it’s fair to have to know what’s under the skin.”
Devnee could identify with that.
Aryssa stroked her own hand, admiring her skin, taking pleasure in a beauty so pure it was like ice: something to skate on, something only Aryssa would ever be. The world could witness, but not have, such beauty.
But Devnee was thrilled to be addressed in that confiding voice. Even though it would cast Devnee in that always-to-be-pitied role of dull escort next to shining star, she wanted to be friends with Aryssa. “What do you like thinking about?” she said, to keep the conversation going.
Aryssa considered this tough question while they gathered their books and walked to the door. Devnee’s second buddy was already there. Trey. Devnee gulped slightly. Two such perfect humans, and for a day, for a passing period, for lunch, they were there for her.
I wish it would last, thought Devnee.
She had a weird sense that her wishes were actually being addressed to Somebody; that Somebody was listening; that Something was happening.
Aryssa literally took Devnee’s hand and stuck it in Trey’s.
Trey laughed. His laughter was neither kind nor unkind, but removed, not worried about the things Devnee worried about: looks and popularity and strength and friends. “I don’t think Devnee needs that much help to find the next class, Aryssa.” He let go of Devnee’s hand. Her hand stayed warm and tingly where he had momentarily pressed it.
Aryssa said seriously, “I didn’t want anybody to get confused. This buddy system, you know—people forget who goes with who.”
“You and your room temperature IQ,” said Trey. “Normal people don’t forget.”
Aryssa’s was the contented laugh of a beautiful girl who doesn’t care in the least about her lack of brains—because it doesn’t matter in the least.
It’s not fair, thought Devnee. Aryssa doesn’t need to do anything but stand there and people adore her, while I have to struggle with everything from mascara to homework just to get noticed. She wished that Trey had not let go of her hand. She wished that she could be as beautiful as Aryssa and have people speak to her so indulgently, so affectionately.
“See you tomorrow, Devnee,” Aryssa said. She ran her hand lightly over Devnee’s shoulders, not a hug, but sweet, passing affection.
The knife of jealousy vanished, replaced by yearning for friendship. But there would be no friendships. She knew too well the realities of high school. Her buddies would not last. They would be shepherds for a day or two and then forget her.
I am a forgettable girl, thought Devnee, and this time the jealousy sliced her heart into thin ragged strips of pain.
Aryssa looked carefully around the hallway and drifted to the right, skirt wafting, hair shining. Trey caught her arm and turned her around. Aryssa, nodding gratefully, set off in the new direction.
“She’s great to look at,” Trey said, eyes following Aryssa in admiration, “but as a navigational aid, you need to be careful, Devnee. Aryssa’s best ability is studying the mirror.”
Devnee did not want to be disloyal. “If I looked like that, I’d study the mirror, too.” She dreamed that Trey answered with a shower of compliments: You do look like that, Dev! You’ll give Aryssa a run for her money! Till you moved here, Aryssa had no competition, but now! Whew!
Of course he didn’t. He searched to find something about her that was interesting. “So where in town do you live, Devnee?”
Devnee told him.
He whistled without pitch. “The mansion at the bottom of the hill? Jeez. I knew the girl who used to live there. Creepy? Whew! I mean, that girl was creepy the way Aryssa is beautiful.” He made a terrible face like he’d gag if he ran into that girl again.
Somebody behind them took part in the conversation. “Mega-creepy,” said the person.
“Seriously creepy,” added another.
“I was at that house for a party once,” said Trey. He shuddered his shoulders on purpose. “Yeccchhh!”
“We’re fixing up the house,” said Devnee quickly. She did not want to be linked with some creepy girl who had made everybody gag. “We’re going to paint it yellow to get rid of that dying mansion look.”
“Take more than paint,” muttered the voice from behind.
She thought of her shadow, of the cracks in the floor, and the shapes in the dark.
Yes. It would take more than paint.
“Here we are,” said Trey. His face turned dark and threatening again. “English,” he said regretfully. He studied Devnee for a minute. “I bet you’re a real brain, huh?”
She flushed and shook her head. Trey figured someone as dumpy and dull as she was had to have something to offer. He was waiting to see it. He had a long wait.
English was her scariest subject. She was no student. She didn’t mind reading homework, although it took her a long time, but she hated classroom reading. While the rest of the class flipped speedily along, page after page, she’d be slogging through the second paragraph. There were always pitying glances as the class tapped impatient fingers and waited for Devnee to catch up.
And in English, there were writing assignments. Devnee had a hard enough time putting her thoughts together inside her own head. To write them down was like being tossed in a cement mixer—upside down, head whacking against rotating walls.
If I talk out loud in English, thought Devnee, Trey will know I’m practically as dumb as Aryssa. But without the looks.
I wish I could look like that. But I wish I could be smart, too. If I were both beautiful and smart, what a wonderful life I would have!
This teacher was prepared to have a new student in the class; Fuzz had called ahead. Mrs. Cort had made a packet for Devnee of current readings and assignments. Mrs. Cort even said for Devnee not to worry about today or tomorrow, but just to concentrate on feeling at ease and finding her place.
What a nice, comforting smile Mrs. Cort had. And what a nice assignment: feeling at ease.
Devnee distracted herself thinking of smiles. Would she like a gorgeous, stunning smile like Aryssa? A tough, wrestling-partner smile like Trey? A kindly, neighborly smile like this teacher?
No contest.
Gorgeous and stunning. With a tough wrestling partner smiling back at her.
The class launched into a book discussion, and Devnee was surprised and delighted. Not only had her old school used the same curriculum—they’d been ahead! She had just finished reading the same book. What a gift! For several nights she would not have to do her English.
“We’ll begin, please,” said the teacher, “with a summary of the theories stated in the preface to the novel.”
Everybody moaned. Devnee knew—because she had had this same class two weeks before in another state—that nobody ever read the preface.
A girl sitting one row ahead and one seat to the right, directly in Devnee’s line of sight to the teacher, raised her hand.
“Yes, Victoria,” said the teacher wearily, and Devnee knew instantly that Victoria was the kind of girl who always read, remembered, and analyzed the prefaces.
Victoria was a sort of reverse of Aryssa: a bold, sweeping, athletic, rich beauty—a girl on a yacht, or on skis. A girl who skimmed the problems of life, laughing and full of energy. What a good name Victoria was for her.
As for her clothes, they were astonishing. Old corduroy pants, sagging socks, gaping shoes, coatlike sweater. It was clear that Victoria didn’t care. Clothes were nothing to Victoria. She transcended clothing. What mattered to Victoria was exhibiting her brainpower.
She had a lot to exhibit.
Victoria more or less kept her hand up all period while the teacher looked around hopefully for somebody else to know at least one little fact, but nobody did, whereas Victoria always knew everything.
Devnee considered making a contribution. (In fact, it would be a quote from the smart kid in her last school, but who was to know?) However, Victoria also liked to argue, and Devnee was afraid she’d be in some academic argument on the first day of school, which she would certainly lose, so she said nothing.
The most surprising thing was that Victoria was interesting, even funny. It was a pleasure to listen to her comments, her unusual opinions, her scholarly jokes.
Devnee liked her immensely. She found herself smiling throughout the class, enjoying Victoria.
As Trey led the way to the cafeteria—it was one of those interrupted classes; thirty minutes of class, twenty-five minutes of lunch, another twenty minutes of class—Devnee said, “Victoria seems like a nice person.”
He grinned again. Grins seemed to come easily to him. “Hey, Vic!” he bellowed. “The new girl thinks you look like a nice person.”
The class’s roar of laughter filled the hall.
“Vic’s smart,” said one of the boys, “but nice? Ha!” But the boy was also smiling, both at Victoria and at Devnee. He, too, was handsome. Had she stumbled into a world where everybody else was a perfect physical specimen? Was she doomed to be a toad among princes and princesses?
“Nice,” said Victoria, laughing, “is not a word we use very often around here. Nice is not the local specialty. But you do look like a nice person, Devnee. Have I pronounced it right? It’s such an interesting name! Do you ever get called Dev?”
Victoria dropped back to link arms with Devnee. “I represent all scholarly talent in this building, Devnee. We have a very small brain pool.”
Everybody was laughing.
“Now William here,” she said, introducing the other perfect male specimen, “pretends to have brains. But no proof has yet emerged.”
William smiled. “I’m the nice one,” he promised Devnee, and this time nobody laughed, so it must have been true.
Everybody sat together for lunch; she was jammed between Trey and Victoria. There were so many names revolving in Devnee’s brain.
Trey took Devnee’s tray back for her so she didn’t have to clear her own place the first day. “You’re too ladylike for this chore,” he said to her, which prompted a fierce argument between him and Victoria on what made a lady, and whether such a creature existed, or should exist.
They went back to English at a trot; twenty-five minutes was barely enough time to stand in line, bolt down lunch, and make the return trip.
Devnee felt like taking a nap, or perhaps going back for another dessert, but Victoria, who had done extra reading, made pertinent comments about the author they were studying.
The class listened carefully. Devnee did not have the impression that anybody else was inspired to do extra reading, but they loved having Victoria around to be their brain, make great remarks, and know all the answers.
I wish I were as smart as that, thought Devnee. If I were as smart as Victoria, and as pretty as Aryssa …
Devnee drifted into a daydream of loveliness and intelligence.
In the dream she drew praise and applause, smiles and dates. In the dream she was the center of the room, just as Victoria was the center of this room, and Aryssa had been the center in the last one.
I’d like to be famous as well, thought Devnee. And rich, too. And very talented. Might as well have it all.
But she let go of the wishes to be famous and rich and talented. They were secondary.
Beauty was first. Then a mind. It would be so nice to have a mind that intrigued people.
Her third escort was Nina, a short-tempered girl who was obviously sorry she had volunteered. Nina kept glancing at her watch with the irritation of somebody who wants you to realize she has important things to do, and you’re not one of them.
Nina never smiled. She never quite met Devnee’s eyes, either, just glanced in the general direction of the new girl and set off. She didn’t walk so they could walk next to each other, but she strode on ahead. She didn’t glance back once to be sure Devnee was still trailing along. She waved to friends and called hello, but did not introduce Devnee.
Nina had fabulous clothes. The sweater had definitely cost more than Devnee could spend on an entire year’s wardrobe.
When they reached class, Nina sat down and did not look at Devnee again. There was not an empty desk, and this teacher shared Nina’s attitude; Devnee was a nuisance Mr. O’Sullivan could have done without. Devnee stood against the side wall, trying not to cry, trying to remember this was the same school where Mrs. Cort taught, and feeling at ease, and Victoria and Trey.
Finally a boy in the back row pushed his chair toward Devnee. It didn’t reach her, so he kicked it again. It scraped on the floor, unwilling to travel toward Devnee. The class snickered. The boy kicked it a third time, and this time it sped over the floor and hit her in the kneecaps.
The boy lounged on top of his desk, legs swinging, expression cruel. Mr. O’Sullivan seemed amused. Devnee sat exposed on the chair, no desk in front to protect her, hands folded on her lap, as if she were praying, which she was.
When class finally ended, the boy launched himself off the desk like a rocket and vanished, while Nina took off with her friends. Devnee tagged after them, afraid of this huge school, these many floors and wings and courtyards. “Nina?” Devnee said nervously. “Can you show me how to get out?”
Nina stared at her, repelled, as if finding a raw clam on her peanut butter sandwich. “How to get out?” repeated Nina, arching her eyebrows. “I suggest a door.” Nina and her friends laughed and walked on.
Devnee forced herself to laugh, also. “I mean, the school is so big and I don’t exactly know where the front entrance is. Where my mother is picking me up.”
“Your mother is picking you up?” said Nina, as if normal people stopped having mothers when they left elementary school. “You don’t have your own car?” Nina’s eyebrows went up again. Her friends imitated her.
Their scorn filled the halls.
Devnee hated them.
Nina sniffed, making a big deal of Devnee being in her way. “Trey!” Nina yelled down the hall. “Hey, Trey! Show the new girl where the front hall is, will you? I’m not taking that much of a detour.”
Trey had a bookbag on his back and an athletic bag in each hand. He was with William, who was similarly burdened, clearly heading for the gym and some sport or other. “Sure, be glad to,” said Trey.
“Come with us, Dev,” added William.
“You don’t have to take me,” Devnee said quickly. “It’s out of your way. Just point me in the right direction.”
“The right direction includes several turns and two different stairs. Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about Nina, either. She doesn’t exactly have the greatest personality in the world.” William’s smile was like Mrs. Cort’s, as easy and kind as a backyard swing.
“She does have the greatest car, though,” said Trey.
“Does she ever,” agreed William. “What I wouldn’t give to be as rich as she is.”
“How rich is she, Bill?” asked Devnee.
William stopped dead, sneakers squeaking. He dropped his gym bag. “I’m William. No nicknames. Let’s get this relationship started out right. William, okay?”
I can’t even talk right, she thought. She wanted to start crying right then, but tears would drive them off forever. Her father was right; no one could stand a whiner. “William. Okay.”
They shook on it. Her hand was sweaty and damp, and his was strong and smooth.
“Nina,” said William, answering the question, “could probably buy and sell the town.”
Devnee would settle for the sweater. And palms that did not sweat.
Trey and William not only took her to the door, but right on out to the car, where her mother sat with the engine idling.
“See you tomorrow, Devnee,” said Trey.
“Thanks so much, Trey,” she said, turning to wave goodbye. “Nice to meet you, William.”
Behind the two boys, the school loomed large and solid, red bricks glowing in the afternoon sun. As the boys charged back into the building to get to practice on time, Devnee’s shadow slipped out the school door, rushing to catch up.
Nobody else saw it.
A slip of black, coasting on a sidewalk.
Quivers of sickness climbed up her throat like a scream. Why weren’t you with me? I can’t be a person without a shadow!
“So how was school?” said her mother happily. “My day was wonderful. Wait till you see all I’ve accomplished!”
Devnee held the door open, and her shadow got in the car and disappeared against the upholstery.