Chapter 20

The Principal’s Office

Spending so much time in the library before school, Heather improved in two aspects of her life. The first was in writing. Though many troubled students confided in her, she kept her thoughts to herself. With no one to confide in, Heather vented her frustrations through the written word. Though she no longer kept a public blog, she had become more prolific than ever through the unpublished version of Heather’s Letters. She poured out her frustrations, her observations, her goals, her thoughts, until she was empty of feelings for the moment. But hers was an ever-filling cup, and it filled quickly again with the bitterness of her situation.

Her writing came to good use when Ms. Phillips assigned an essay for her students to enter in the annual Freedom of Identity contest. Students at the high school level competed for the top regional position, earning a small scholarship. The winning essay was then entered in the national competition, with a $15,000 scholarship as the prize. In all Ms. Phillips’ years of teaching, no Orchard Valley student had ever earned the top regional spot—until this year. This year, Heather Primm’s essay had been chosen as the regional finalist, and it would go on to compete at the national level.

“You should be proud of yourself, Heather,” Ms. Phillips said in front of the class. “And your classmates should be proud of you as well. To write such an essay takes confidence in one’s true identity. Your essay clearly demonstrates that you possess that.”

Heather nodded in thanks, but her scar seared in pain as many of the students eyed her with renewed malice. Later, in the hallway, Heather heard whispers. It was as if the scar had given her overly-alert senses, allowing her to eavesdrop even when she didn’t want to.

“Enough is enough!” one student whispered to her friend as they shoved books into a locker. “She’s already gotten the journalism award. That practically guarantees her admission into college.”

“I know, and I’m sure she’ll find a full scholarship without stealing these opportunities from the rest of us.”

“Like, why doesn’t she move over and let someone else get recognized for once?”

Heather wished she could answer them, but she simply bowed her head and moved on. She whispered to herself as she ran her fingers along her scar. “But at what price did all this recognition come?”

The second skill Heather had honed in the past few weeks was managing the behavior of young Ruby, who seemed an entirely different person than the sister she had known for the last six years. It was as if someone had kidnapped Heather’s real sister and swapped her with a changeling, some kind of mischievous elf tasked with keeping Heather on her toes.

Ruby’s strange behavior during that first day in the library had only magnified in the days that followed. Not once had Ruby worn her journalist’s jacket, and she had even stopped taking pictures, formerly her favorite activity.

An errand involving both of Heather’s new skills brought her to Principal Elders’ office one morning. Ms. Phillips suggested that Heather bring a copy of her winning essay to Principal Elders in person. Heather dreaded the task. Since the day she was attacked, Heather had been avoiding Principal Elders. It was no secret that he disliked her. The principal had always loved those who brought fame to his school. Heather had done just the opposite—and given him a public relations nightmare, too! Despite Ms. Phillips’ suggestion to bring him a copy of her essay, Heather had resolved not to.

That is, until rumors started circulating about Ruby.

Ruby’s behavior in the library had continued for weeks now. She fought constantly with the other elementary school children. The other children never treated her nicely, it was true, but something about Ruby’s very nature had turned so antagonistic that even if they had treated her with courtesy, she would have scorned them.

It was whispered in the hallways and even in the teacher’s lounge that Principal Elders planned to forbid Ruby from staying at the school any longer. Everyone said he was under no obligation to allow her to stay there, and he had only tolerated it as a personal favor to Heather, perhaps to ease his own conscience. Heather dreaded the rumor; if it were true, not only would Heather’s mother have to find alternate arrangements, but Heather would lose her one real companion.

And so it was under the guise of delivering a copy of her award-winning essay that Heather made a visit to the office of Principal Elders.

Heather usually avoided the morning crowds by staying in the library. On this morning, however, necessity forced her to bring her sister through the crowded hallways to the main office. She became quite the spectacle. Wherever she went, an open space formed around her. No one dared stand too close to the girl with the scar.

As Heather walked past a group of boys wearing freshmen football uniforms, one of the boys laughed hysterically, then took his pen and pretended to carve a wound in the shape of a T on his friend’s face.

His friend laughed. “I’m no traitor. My face is clean!”

Heather ignored the comment; she had been accustomed to such torment over the weeks. But Ruby had not. Ruby had dressed herself as colorfully as ever, and Heather watched her as she lunged out to shout at the freshmen. She looked like an angry rainbow, her yellow sleeves striking out like bolts of lightning. She yelled in a tongue that was neither English nor any other known language, but it had all the effect on the boys as if it were a witch’s curse. It was shrill and accusatory, and it made even Heather’s skin crawl.

The boys’ smiles melted, and they backed up against the lockers.

“S-Sorry,” one of them muttered.

“Come here, Ruby,” Heather said, continuing down the hallway without acknowledging the boys.

But Ruby would have the last word: with a final squeal, she picked up an empty soda can from the floor. She crushed it against the wall, and then she threw it at the boys, hitting one of them squarely on the head—in the same place the imaginary T had been drawn.

Ruby ran to catch up with her sister, a mischievous smile on her face. Her eyes looked questioningly into her sister’s, searching for approval. Heather, however, simply touched her scar and moved on. As Heather continued towards the main office, the number of students diminished, and Heather took relief in the short respite. But as had become usual in the mornings, Ruby’s very presence brought its own kind of torment. As Heather composed herself, thinking about what she would say to Principal Elders, Ruby zig-zagged down the hallway, flittering from one trophy case to the next like a bee searching for pollen.

“Heather!” Ruby called from in front of the trophy cases. She giggled. “Look how shiny these are!”

Heather shook her head. “Come on, Ruby! We’ve got to hurry to the main office.”

But Ruby would not listen. She stared, transfixed, at the glittering gold and silver and bronze of the school’s trophy displays. The trophies dated as far back as the 1950s and covered all manner of activities—from basketball to debate team, from school newspaper to football. The displays were draped in black or red velvet, accentuating the trophies within them. Each case twinkled with its own set of track lighting and perfectly-polished glass casing.

“Ruby!” Heather called again.

But still, Ruby flitted from one case to the next. Heather turned back to retrieve the child.

“Ruby,” Heather said, putting a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “Let’s go!”

“Look!” Ruby squealed, oblivious to her sister’s pleas. She pointed to a large, golden trophy shining in its case against a rich red backdrop. “This is the prettiest one of them all!” Ruby pressed her nose to the glass.

Heather’s heart skipped a beat. The trophy Ruby stared at was none other than the school’s first football state championship trophy from two years earlier—the one they’d been allowed to keep. At least for now. Heather couldn’t help but stare at the impressive display: to the left of the trophy was a framed picture of the winning football team. Most of Thunderbolts had been seniors that year and had since graduated. But there in the corner, the sophomore prodigy of the team, stood Jared Winters. Like the other boys, Jared rested his helmet on his knee and faced slightly to his left. But while the other teammates’ faces were proud and elated, Jared expressed only a stern arrogance, as if he were staring down even the photographer.

To the right of the trophy, where Heather stood, was a framed photograph of the crowd gathered in the stands to watch the championship game. It seemed the whole student body—and even the faculty—had crowded into the stadium. The bleachers were decked out in spirit wear, the red and black colors of the Orchard Valley Thunderbolts. If Heather looked hard enough, she could spot herself in the stands. It was her freshman year, and she had gone to the game with Adam—then an unknown member of the freshman team.

Heather squinted at the picture until she found herself. She was bundled up in a red scarf. A black knit hat blended so well with her dark hair that she could barely tell where one ended and the other began. And there next to her stood her best friend, Adam Hollowcast. He wore a bright red cap, and he had painted half his face red and half his face black, a tradition for members of the freshman football team.

But as Heather refocused her eyes on the picture behind the glass, she became aware of an image superimposed upon the photograph. It was a reflection—her reflection—hovering on top of the photo like a ghost. As she examined the image more closely, she saw that her scar—the one that ran down her forehead and the bridge of her nose—was reflected against the glass case, superimposed against the photograph in such a way that it ran down the center of the place where she and Adam sat. It was, for her, a visual representation of the work the scar had actually done, dividing her from her would-be boyfriend and former best friend.

“Come on, Rue,” Heather said when she’d had enough of the disturbing image.

“I see your T.” Ruby giggled into the glass.

Heather shied away from the trophy’s awful reflection.

“No use hiding,” Ruby said before skipping away from the display. “Everybody else can see it, too. Bright as a star.” Heather hurried after her sister, who continued skipping from one trophy case to the next. “They’re so sparkly! I want one!” she squealed.

Heather shook her head. “They’re not mine to give, Rue.”

“But I want one!” Ruby cried.

“Shhh! We have to prove to Principal Elders that you can behave. You’ve got to be good today, Rue. Today of all days, please just behave!”

Ruby plopped herself on the floor right there in the hallway. She crossed her arms and twisted her face. She spoke slowly and directly to her sister.

“I. Want. A. Trophy.”

Heather knelt down so as not to cause a scene and whispered to her sister. “Ruby, I don’t have a trophy to give you. You’ll have to earn your own.”

Ruby motioned for Heather to lean in closer.

Heather did.

Ruby whispered into her ear. “You’re a liar, and you were the one who always told me to be true.”

Heather sat back up. “What do you mean, I’m a liar?”

“You do have a trophy. It’s broken and on the floor in your closet. You do have one, Heather, you do. Why isn’t it here like all the rest of them?”

Heather shook her head and took Ruby by the hand, pulling her into the main office. So Ruby had been snooping around in Heather’s closet! The day of the attack, after she’d come home from being stitched up, Heather had dumped the broken trophy in her closet. It sat there, like a black void, with the colorful clothing and shoes she used to wear. Whenever Heather opened her closet to find clothes, she did not look down. Rather, she kept her eyes level, chose the first clothes she found, and closed the door as if the trophy might try once again to attack.

Mercifully, the sisters arrived at the main office, and Heather could stop thinking about the trophy. Mrs. Talbot sat at her computer. When she saw Ruby, her eyes lit up. “Why, it’s my little friend Ruby! And dressed even more imaginatively than the last time I saw you! Come in, come in!” Mrs. Talbot insisted, ushering Ruby behind the desk. “Let’s see if we can’t find you some more stickers.”

Mrs. Talbot’s expression grew more serious as she turned to Heather. “What can I help you with, dear?” As she looked up, her eyes lingered on the scar. Once again, the scar burned as if it were blocking Mrs. Talbot’s eyes from penetrating into Heather’s soul.

“I need to speak with the principal,” Heather said.

Mrs. Talbot frowned. “I’m afraid he’s in a meeting right now. He’s meeting with some important young men. He can’t see you now.”

Heather touched her scar as if for courage. “I’ll wait.”

She took Ruby’s hand, pushed past Mrs. Talbot’s desk, and walked down the small hallway leading to Principal Elder’s office. There were three chairs lining the hall, and Heather took a seat in one of them. Ruby, as usual, could not be convinced to sit. Rather, she flitted from here to there, examining what she could of the waiting area.

Heather stood up to examine a series of somber-looking men glaring down at her. They were the past principals of Orchard Valley, all painted in portraits that were dedicated upon their retirement. Underneath each oil painting was a small plaque with the principal’s name and the dates he had served. The more recent principals had expressions more amenable to human interaction. But where Heather sat—these were the first principals of the school, the first one serving from 1954 until 1960. Their stern faces suggested that they never smiled. Even stranger, their grim countenances seemed to be staring down at a point in space just to Heather’s left.

Heather looked down to see that Ruby had already found the thing that so interested the grim, painted men. Just next to the chairs was a pile of boxes. Ruby had managed to crawl behind them, and Heather heard her muffled giggles.

“Ruby!” she scolded in a hushed voice while bending towards her sister. “Principal Elders might come out any second now! Get out of there!”

But her only reply was another giggle.

Heather knelt down for a better view of Ruby. She craned her neck behind the chair and peered at the boxes. Ruby was crammed in a corner, her face partially obscured by shadow. A single ray of light shone in between two of the boxes, revealing a look of delight on the young girl’s face.

But it was not the devilishly happy look on Ruby’s face that made Heather shudder; it was the object that had snatched Ruby’s attention. The same object that had seemed to catch the gaze of the somber old men in the portraits. It was a trophy stashed between two boxes. Heather knew what it was without squinting to read the inscription on the plaque. It was last year’s state championship football trophy. The high school sports commission had required that the trophy be taken down while a full investigation was conducted.

Ruby knelt right next to the trophy. “I’m looking at my face in it, but I don’t see any T.”

“That’s because your face doesn’t have one,” Heather whispered.

“Not yet,” Ruby said.

As Heather considered her own words, she felt compelled to look more closely at the trophy. The lighting came in at just the perfect angle to show Heather her own reflection in its polished golden surface.

But the reflection was anything but perfect. The trophy’s convex surface distorted Heather’s face, magnifying it beyond reality like a fun-house mirror. In the trophy’s warped reflection, her scar stood out above all of her other facial features. Even her eyes, once so full of conviction and ambition, paled in comparison to the raw red edges of her scar. Heather sighed as she realized that her distorted reflection did a fair job representing the way she looked in the eyes of everyone else in the school: the scar had become her identity.

Ruby reached out from the boxes and put a hand on Heather’s shoulder. “Do you know why the sad men look so seriously at the trophy?” Ruby asked, motioning to the grim portraits hanging above them.

“I don’t,” Heather said.

“It’s because it’s the wrong trophy. This is the wrong one! It would be better if yours was displayed.”

But before Heather could respond, Ruby had sprung to her feet and dashed out from behind the boxes. By the time Heather pulled herself to her feet, Ruby was already down the hall at the window. Like the window in Principal Elders’ office, this one overlooked the courtyard. It was open, allowing the fresh autumn scents to fill the otherwise grim room.

“I want to play out there!” Ruby squealed.

“No, Ruby. You’ve got to behave yourself. We have to talk to the principal; he might not allow you to spend your mornings with me anymore.”

Ruby’s face twisted into a pout. “But there are such beautiful flowers. I want to pick one!”

“You can’t, Rue. They’re not yours.”

“What kind are they?”

“Chrysanthemums.”

“Chrysanthemums! I love them! Get me one!”

“No.”

“But I want one.” Ruby pouted. “They’re the bestest flowers in the world. Even the cold weather can’t kill them. They’re the only flowers left when all the others have died. I. Want. One.”

Ruby put one knee upon the windowsill as if she would climb out the window and into the courtyard. But she instantly sprang back and quieted when she heard the door to Principal Elders’ office open. The imposing man stepped out into the waiting area with two familiar people following closely behind. Two people whose combined presence made Heather shudder, and all of a sudden Ruby was the least of her problems.