Television had rotted parts of Meg’s brain. She had decided it was Sesame Street, specifically, that had crippled her with a short attention span.
Oh, Sesame Street! Bert would whine. Ernie giggled. There was a valuable lesson about cooperation, friendship, and the joys of rubber playthings before the image flickered and the joyful ruckus of the Honkers filled your ears. The ambiguous duo? Forgotten. Nothing else mattered in the whole, wide, wonderful world except those honks.
How could you retain any worthwhile information when you were programmed to accept fast moving, four-minute vignettes of felt puppet bliss as the norm?
Still, television had some uses. Meg may not have been able to get through fifty pages of Pride and Prejudice, but she had watched the BBC miniseries several times and sighed at Mr. Darcy along with most of the western world. She must have absorbed something worthwhile because her paper on Jane Austen returned with a pert red C instead of the usual failing grade.
She was still sitting at her desk, staring at that beautiful looping curve, long after the lunch bell had rung.
“Hey, that’s pretty good.”
Johanne was standing next to her, peeking down at the C.
“Sister’s very extreme when it comes to grading.” Her books were tucked under her arm, and her smile was wide. “She gives As or Fs. Cs are very rare.”
“Should I frame it then?” Meg’s happiness bubbled up inside her. She was so pleased she almost forgot she was talking to Lucy’s worst enemy. Meg, like a lonely shelter dog, still hopeful despite being abused and abandoned, couldn’t help but respond to any kind of positive attention. If she had a tail, she’d have wagged it.
Once Meg had learned of the silent war between Lucy and Johanne, she had tried her best to keep her distance from Johanne. Even when they were paired up for in-class assignments, Meg tried to speak as few words as possible. She had nothing against Johanne, who seemed extraordinarily nice, but it was Lucy she wanted as a friend. Anyone else would be second best.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Johanne paused from gathered up her belongings and looked over at Meg. Her eyebrows were perfectly arch. Meg wondered if she plucked them herself or got them done. “Did you go to Boston Jefferson? Before?”
“Why do you ask?” Meg said. Her voice was perfectly calm. Casual. But her hand was shaking.
“It’s in my neighborhood. I probably would have gone there too, if I hadn’t gotten a scholarship to Rose.”
“I did.” Meg tucked the traitorous hand underneath her elbow. “Just for freshman year. But my mother wanted me to come here. She was concerned about me getting into a good college.”
“Oh? I heard it was because she didn’t like your boyfriend.”
“Yeah. My mom loathed Danny.”
“Danny?” Johanne echoed, her eyebrows knitting together.
The thought of Danny Vasquez as her star-crossed lover, her one true soul mate, was so ridiculous, Meg almost laughed. With one look at Johanne’s face, the laughter fizzled away. Johanne lived near Jefferson. She probably knew Jefferson kids. Of course. Anyone familiar with Jefferson would know Danny Vasquez, or they’d at least known him by reputation.
It was too late, though. Meg couldn’t take it back.
“Yeah well, we’re not together anymore,” she said and forced her eyes to water a bit. If Johanne thought she was upset, she might not want to pry further.
It worked.
“Well, good job on the paper.”
“I didn’t read the book,” Meg admitted as she rose from her seat.
“Really? It’s so good.” Johanne was facing away from the door, so she didn’t see Lucy come in. Lucy’s expression darkened when she spied Meg standing next to Johanne. She stomped over to them. “It’s my favorite Austen.”
“Jane Austen is for unsatisfied middle-aged women.” Lucy snatched the paper from Meg’s hands. “Pride and Prejudice? That’s not a love story. She can’t stand Darcy until she finds out that he gets ten thousand a year.”
“The movie seemed romantic,” Meg said.
“Because it’s a movie, and movies are not real,” Lucy said with a wry smile. “In real life, everything is about money. Or sex,” she added, shooting a vicious look at Johanne. “Is that right, Johanne? Some poor unfortunates are absolutely obsessed with sex.”
Johanne opened her mouth. Lucy stood, waiting, and Meg gripped the back of her seat, terrified of whatever bomb was about to explode, but Johanne just took an enormous breath, spun on her heel, and walked away.
Lucy watched her leave. When she turned her attention back to Meg, she was the old Lucy. Charming. Witty.
Almost harmless.
“So a C, huh? Happy with your mediocrity?”
“Very,” Meg countered. Her voice sounded strong even though her knees were wobbly. “I hope this won’t ruin my perfect D average!”
Lucy snorted. Meg tucked her paper into her notebook and followed her out into the hall. Together, they walked toward the stairwell.
“Careful,” Lucy said, grabbing Meg’s arm. She gestured to the stairwell door. A thin, fake cobweb was stretched across the door frame. “Looks the Debs have started decorating for Halloween.”
“The Debs are the ones doing all the decorating?” Meg asked. “That seems like too much of an effort for them. Sure it’s not the Scolders?”
Lucy reached up and tore at the web until it broke free. As she stomped off down the stairs, she rolled the web into a sticky ball and tossed it over her shoulder.
“The Scolders hate Halloween. They think it’s demonic. Disrespectful. Secular.”
“And the Debs?”
“When else can they dress like naughty nurses or naughty day traders or naughty pet groomers? Not to mention the yearly tradition of getting groped by Biff Biffington at the St. Martin’s Halloween dance. The same thing happens at the Winter Formal, too,” Lucy added, as they stepped out into the first-floor hall. “But they don’t like getting bodily fluids on their designer dresses.”
“So, I take it you’re not going to the dance?” Meg tried to keep her voice light and jokey so that her disappointment wouldn’t show. She was looking forward to the dance. She’d even started planning her costume.
“I would rather have oral surgery. Or a pap smear. Or both. At the same time. Have you ever seen a St. Martin’s student?” She shuddered. “All the money in the world can’t fix those hot messes. I like Halloween, but I’d much rather go to a real party, you know? With real boys.”
Rose School referred to their cafeteria as a Tea Room, a throwback to another age, a time when elegant young ladies would break from their studies to nibble on cucumber sandwiches and drink Earl Grey, pinkies extended. Now it housed modular seating, plastic trays, and soda machines, but here and there were subtle reminders of grander days. The tables were round and tiny, and the curtains were faded chintz.
Like other school cafeterias, Rose’s Tea Room couldn’t be navigated without a map of the school’s social hierarchy. The Debs lurked in a dark corner, at several small tables pulled together. Their heads were bent as they whispered their illicit secrets. The Scolders sat by the window, basking in their Lord’s light. They clasped hands and prayed over their nutritious, homemade, lunches.
Lucy headed for a table in the center, far away from either cluster. Elena was already sitting down, staring off into space. She looked beautiful and serene, a vision in plaid until she spotted Lucy. She started to jump up and down in her seat, like an excited little kid at Christmas, desperate to unwrap a Red Ryder BB gun.
“Oh my god, I’m starving!” She clutched her flat stomach. “What do you have today?”
Lucy threw a brown paper bag on the table. Elena dived for it, tearing at the paper until she found a large Tupperware container.
“Manicotti,” Lucy said.
Elena peeled off the lid.
“Ooh, it smells so good.”
The aroma of tomatoes and cheese hit Meg like a blast from an Uzi, fired at close range. She swayed where she stood.
“That’s quite a spread,” she managed.
“My mom.” Lucy shrugged.
“Your mom is an angel.” Elena’s cheeks ballooned as she stuffed herself full of food. Even gorging, she was beautiful.
“You wouldn’t think so if you were forced to eat this way three times a day.” Lucy was practical. “I’d have a heart attack if I ate all this for lunch.”
“Oh, but what a wonderful way to die!” Elena said, licking the fork.
Meg felt her stomach gurgle. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten pasta, real pasta, and not Chef Boyardee.
“Elena, I hate that you can eat all that and not gain a pound,” Lucy said.
“I have a thyroid problem,” Elena said, shaking her fork at Lucy. Meg noticed she had a slight accent. It made her voice seem musical. “It’s true. I wish I could gain weight. My calves are way too bony. I’m a freak.”
Elena never seemed to stop moving, even when she was shoveling deep spoonfuls into her mouth. She was either bouncing in her seat or swinging her leg and waving her utensils in the air. No wonder she couldn’t gain any weight. Meg wanted to reach across the table, grab the tall girl by her shoulders and hold her down until she stopped fidgeting.
“I’m so excited for tonight!”
“I told my parents that we’re going to a poetry slam in Dorchester,” Lucy explained to Meg. “But we’re really stalking this really hot guy. I finally found out where he lives, so Elena and I are going to walk around his neighborhood, and see if we can run into him.”
“Stalking, huh? Sounds fun.” Meg said. She paused for a moment, waiting for an invite. When it didn’t come she shifted in her seat and pretended to yawn.
“What if Scott’s not there?” Elena said. “Or what if he like, doesn’t leave his apartment?”
“Damn it, he’d better be there. It took me ages to convince my dad that this poetry slam thing was legit. And my hair looks so cute today too.”
“Scott?” Meg was confused. “So, that guy Zach isn’t your boyfriend?”
Meg had very limited experience with boys, but even she’d noticed all the stars crowding Zach’s eyes every time he looked at Lucy. If he had been a cartoon horse, he would have neighed happily and shoved his pixilated head into Lucy’s shoulder, or done something else to mark his territory.
Elena laughed. Meg knew she wasn’t laughing at her, not really, but it filled her with rage anyway. Elena was the worst. No one should look so gorgeous, especially with a mouth full of pasta.
“No! Yuck! No. I’ve known Zach forever.” Lucy made a gagging noise. “He’s practically my brother. Gross. Scott is Zach’s cousin. He’s beautiful. He’s nineteen. Goes to Berklee. I’ve been trying to get him to notice me, for like, forever, but he still thinks of me as a kid.”
Meg muttered the appropriate apologies, but Lucy didn’t want to listen to them.
“He will be mine. I always get my man.” Her smile was wicked as she popped open her soda. “Should I get a salad? AKA wilted lettuce and a cherry tomato?”
“If you do, get me a cookie!” Elena giggled.
Lucy rolled her eyes and turned to Meg.
“Aren’t you eating?”
“I’m not hungry,” Meg began, but her stomach rumbled loudly, betraying her.
She’d managed to avoid the cafeteria for weeks. At first, it was because of the social dilemma it posed. She had no one to sit with. It was also filled with food. Disgusting cafeteria food, but food none the less, more tempting than the spoiled condiments that were in her empty fridge. And much more fattening. Luckily, she didn’t have any spare money for lunch so she wouldn’t be able to buy anything if tempted.
Meg wrinkled her nose. “I’m sort of on a diet.”
Elena’s look was incredulous. “You’re kidding me. You’re tiny.”
Meg pulled her sweater closer to her. She wished she hadn’t admitted to being on a diet. Now they were sure to scrutinize her and watch every morsel that passed her lips. She didn’t need any more eyes on her figure. Her own were enough.
“Not a diet to lose weight,” she added, thinking fast. “A natural diet. Organic, raw foods. From local farms. No chemicals. No processed junk.”
“You won’t find anything like that here,” Lucy said as she watched Jeanette McCarthy walk by with a plate of cheese fries. “Oooh, those look good. I guess the Scolders aren’t on a hunger strike.”
“Scolders?” Elena looked confused.
“The Holy Scolders. I didn’t tell you? Meg has fantastic nicknames for everyone.”
“I love nicknames,” Elena gushed. “What’s mine?”
Replaceable, thought Meg.