PROFESSOR THEODORE, TALL AND attractive, with lots of wavy dark hair, pushed her glasses into place on her nose, and sat down in Phoebe Sayward’s empty chair. “Woolgathering, Ms. Keene?” she asked with a smile that was not unfriendly.
“I guess I was daydreaming,” Molly apologized. She ran a nervous hand through her long, thick hair. She felt confused. The professor didn’t seem annoyed with her. If she wasn’t displeased with the paper, then what …?
“I would like to discuss your most recent paper, Ms. Keene,” Dr. Theodore said abruptly, ending the suspense.
Molly sat up straighter. Her face felt hot. She crossed, then uncrossed her legs. “I’m really sorry. I know ‘Solitaire’ isn’t my best work. I guess I just wasn’t concentrating. If you could give me a little more time, I’ll rewrite it. I know I can do better.”
The professor laughed. “Rewrite it? Now, why on earth would you want to do that? It’s quite good as it is. Actually, it’s one of the better pieces of writing I’ve seen since Joan Graham was in my class fifteen years ago.”
Molly Keene’s mouth dropped open. Of all the things she’d expected to hear, praise certainly hadn’t been one of them. “Joan Graham? The writer?”
Dr. Theodore nodded. “The same. Pulitzer Prize, three years ago. Of course, I wasn’t surprised. Knew she had it in her the very first time I laid eyes on her work. She had that special spark.” The hazel eyes fixed themselves on Molly’s astonished face. “You may have that same spark, Ms. Keene. Too early to tell yet. Have you done a lot of writing?” Molly was speechless. It took her a while to find her voice. “No, not really, I …” She had always done well in English, and had been asked to work on the high school newspaper. But family financial problems had forced her to bypass that opportunity so that she could leave school early every afternoon to work. So she’d never had the chance to find out what she could do.
“Each year,” Dr. Theodore said, “I select a group of students to work on Odyssey, Salem’s literary magazine. Some act as copy persons, some as file clerks, a few with a little luck and a lot of hard work, may one day make their way up to writer or even editor. But I also pick one person out of my classes with real potential, and that person gets to write, to see their work published, right from the start. It’s taken me longer this year than usual because you, Ms. Keene, were hiding your light under a bushel. It was your piece, ‘Solitaire,’ that made my decision for me.”
Molly remained speechless.
“Most of the writing for Odyssey,” Professor Theodore went on, “is submitted by upper classmen who’ve paid their dues working for the magazine. But I also like to encourage some freshmen to consider writing as a profession. This year,” she said, “I’ve chosen to encourage you.”
Molly tried, and failed, to return the smile. She was too stunned.
“Now,” Professor Theodore said briskly, standing up, “here’s what I want you to do. I have taken the liberty of speaking with Melanie Rheis, Odyssey’s editor, and Hank Seagrove, the managing editor. About you, of course. Hank would like to see you in his office at noon. Upstairs, second floor, third door on the left. I trust you’ll be there?”
Shock wrapped Molly in a speechless, immobile cocoon. Managing editor? Literary magazine? Wanted to see her? “I … I …”
“Good thing your written skills, are superior to your verbal skills,” Dr. Theodore said drily. “By the way,” she added as she moved back to her desk at the front of the room, “both Rheis and Seagrove have read ‘Solitaire.’ I believe their intention is to have you develop the idea further for the magazine. Now, go ahead,” she said over her shoulder as Molly stared, wide-eyed, at her back. “I’ve kept them waiting up there long enough for my decision. Don’t waste any more of their time.”
When Molly remained speechless, merely shaking her head, Dr. Theodore said, “Ms. Keene? Was there something else?”
Molly shook her head. Moving automatically, as if she were in a trance, she got up, slid her backpack on, and moved toward the door. She was almost there when she remembered to turn and say, “Thank you, Dr. Theodore.”
The woman shrugged. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who did all the work.”
Flushing with pleasure and embarrassment, Molly left the room, feeling as if she were floating. Was it true? Could she possibly have some special talent? All of her life she’d been convinced she was ordinary. She hadn’t been happy about that, but it was hardly something she could change. And now here was Dr. Theodore, telling her there just might be something special about her.
Just like Norman had said at the “initiation.” “We’re all special,” he’d said. And she hadn’t believed him.
She couldn’t wait to tell him. He’d be happy that he’d been proven right.
She ran from the building with a bounce in her step.
Norman was waiting on the steps, pacing back and forth, his face flushed from the unusual autumn heat, his pale hair plastered to his forehead. “Sayward said you were being chewed out by Theodore,” he said when she burst through the big double doors. “Don’t sweat it. The woman is an idiot.”
“No, she isn’t,” Molly declared happily. She led Norman over to the low stone wall in front of the building and made him sit down. Then she told him her news.
And was shocked and dismayed when he brought her back down to earth with a nasty thump.
His reaction was exactly the opposite of what she’d expected. “You can’t seriously be considering working on that rag,” he said with contempt. “Molly, I’m surprised at you.” He fixed his steely blue eyes on hers. “That kind of rah-rah stuff isn’t for us.”
Us? Oh, the Others.
“They’ll have you pushing pencils, running errands, doing dumb stuff like that,” Norman went on. “You’d hate it.”
“No, Norman,” Molly explained, feeling vaguely uneasy. Why wasn’t he as elated as she was? As she’d thought he’d be? “I’m going to be writing. Dr. Theodore showed the editor the paper I wrote, and they want me to expand on it for the magazine.”
“Sure. Right. Like they’re going to let a nobody like you share in the glory. Get real, Molly.” He shook his head. “Boy, I’d hate to see you get hurt like that.”
Stung, Molly echoed, “A nobody like me? Norman, you said that night at the initiation that we all had special talents, that they just hadn’t been recognized yet. Well, now someone … Dr. Theodore … has recognized mine. Why aren’t you happy for me?”
“Your special talent belongs to the Others now, Molly.” Norman jumped up and began pacing back and forth again. “That’s the whole idea. We’re going to get all of the really talented people on campus together, form our own group, and then all those other phonies can take a flying leap. You took an oath, remember? At the initiation. Your talent is part of our group now.”
“No,” she said quietly, “no, I didn’t. I didn’t take an oath. I’m not joining the Others.”
She wasn’t prepared for his reaction. He stopped pacing, his head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed to slits. Molly was reminded again of the menacing jack-o’-lantern her grandfather had carved. She shrank backward on the stone wall, her pulse suddenly racing.
“You’ve already joined,” Norman said, his voice encased in ice. “You took a lifetime oath during the ceremony, Molly.”
“No, I didn’t.” She said defiantly. “I didn’t repeat any of the things you were saying. I’d already decided that the group wasn’t for me, so I wasn’t even really listening. I’m sorry, Norman,” she added more softly. “I should have told you right away. But,” her voice brightened with false cheer, “you’re getting new members all the time, right? So what difference,” her voice hardened, “does one little nobody like me make?”
The double doors flew open then and a noisy crowd of students swept past them. One or two cast a curious glance at Norman and then at Molly, but most ignored them, brushing past them as if they didn’t exist.
“See?” he said, waving his hands in her face.” Did you see who those guys were? Boomer Sorensen, ‘superior’ quarterback, highly overrated. Stacey Cotter, ‘superior dancer,’ also overrated.” His words were heavy with sarcasm. “Tony Scaparelli, ‘superior’ artist. He works on that superior magazine of yours. And not one of them spoke to you, or even acknowledged your existence. They’ll all treat you like that, everyone on that magazine. The superior writers, artists, cartoonists, they’ll all ignore you. You don’t belong there. You belong with us.”
It was the longest speech Molly had ever heard Norman make. And the most heated. Well, except for the initiation. And she hadn’t been listening to that. She was completely bewildered by his reaction.
His voice softened then, and he said quietly, earnestly, “Molly, I’m just trying to protect you from getting hurt, that’s all.”
Molly stood up. “Norman,” she said in a shaking voice. “I don’t need protection. I didn’t take any oath, I’m not joining the Others, and I’m keeping my appointment at the magazine. I’m going there right now.” All of the tension left his body, and he sat back down on the wall, his hands clasped. He sat silently for a few minutes. Molly waited. Then a look of pained regret softened Norman’s features, and he slapped a hand to his forehead. “What is the matter with me?” he cried. “I shouldn’t be giving you such a hard time about this.”
Molly watched him cautiously. Did he mean it?
“I really am happy for you,” Norman said, looking over at her with a wry smile. “Of course you have a right to develop your talent. I was just being selfish. Besides, the door is always open, you know that. When you’re ready, you can come back to us. Sorry I flipped,” he added, laying a gentle hand on her wrist. “I just hate to lose you so soon, that’s all. Forgive me?”
She nodded silently.
“Well, okay then. I wish you luck. We all do. If there’s anything we can do to help, just let us know.”
We? Us? Did Norman only think in those terms now? It sounded like it. And he’d done an awfully fast about face.
“I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that,” Norman continued. “It’s just … well, you were one of the first friends I made on campus, and I thought our friendship meant something. And here you are, jumping ship before my group really gets off the ground. I got mad because I was so disappointed, that’s all. I really am sorry.”
Confused, Molly said, “It’s okay, Norman. But I meant it about the Others. I really won’t have time for that now. I’m sorry.”
“Sure. No problem. Just remember, if you ever change your mind, we’ll be there for you. I mean, you don’t know how this magazine stuff is going to go, right? If it turns sour …” He shrugged and removed his hand from her wrist.
Uneasy, Molly nodded. “Right. I’ve got to go now. Talk to you later.” And she turned and went into the building.
Behind her, Norman called, “Don’t forget! The Others will still be there. Always.” He may have been trying to comfort her. But to Molly, it sounded almost like a threat.
She took the steps two at a time. She told herself it was because she was so eager to get to the Odyssey office.
But she couldn’t help wondering if she was really just trying to get away from Norman.