Fifteen

“You’re smiling again.”

I look up from the coloring book I’ve been doodling in for the past half hour. Beth is giving me a quizzical look.

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Beth says. She turns around in her chair and looks over at Chael, who is off in the corner trying to hold a conversation with a Heam abuser who is also a paraplegic. An addict who, two months ago, tried to take a short walk off a freeway overpass when he didn’t have any more money to get high. Even though he can no longer feel his body, he can still feel the urges. The last time I was here, I could hear him screaming from his room, begging anyone to help get him high—or put him out of his misery.

Chael insisted on coming with me today when I came to visit Beth. I made the mistake of telling him that Ramona suggested I’d be good in the therapy business and he wanted to see me at my best.

My best? Right. I can’t save a flea from an itchy cat.

“You’re happy,” Beth says without taking her eyes off of Chael. “He’s making you smile again.”

“Yes,” I say.

Beth picks up a green crayon from the table. Coloring is a bit young for her but she wanted to do it. She said it calms her and she enjoys it. She’s much better than me. I’ve spent the last half hour trying to make the black-and-white sky look blue and all I’ve managed to do is color outside all the lines.

“That’s good,” Beth says. “You do a lot of things for everyone else. You deserve this.” She turns around again and I swear there’s almost a hint of a sparkle in her eyes. “And he’s really cute.”

I grin at her.

We continue to work on the coloring book. Beth presses very softly with her crayon, making her page turn a series of pretty pastels. My blue sky is uneven from where I’ve pressed too hard. It’s a wonder I even made it to high school.

From across the room, Chael continues to speak softly to the addict in the wheelchair. I can’t hear what he’s saying but it must be working. The boy is nodding and I’m pretty sure he’s crying. But not in a bad way. Either way, he’s calmer than I’ve ever seen him before. A few of the other kids have come over to join them. There is now a circle of young drug addicts sitting by Chael’s feet and listening to whatever stories he’s entertaining them with.

Chael looks at me from across the room and blows me a kiss. I cover my smile with my hand and look down at the table.

“Do you think there’s still beauty in this world?” Beth suddenly asks, and I pause to ponder the question. Should I answer truthfully or should I lie? Will it make a difference? Beth is so impressionable; I don’t want her thinking that the future is going to be ugly.

“If you asked me that a month ago, I probably would have said no,” I tell her. “But I was in a completely different place then.”

“You’re happy now,” Beth says.

“Yes,” I tell her. “But you can’t rely on others for your own happiness.” My fingers absently stroke the Celtic necklace that Gazer gave me. I have yet to take it off. “I think I’ve started to learn a few things lately. I’ve spent so much time being miserable and bitchy I’ve forgotten that there was a part of me that could still enjoy simple things. I thought I enjoyed my hate. I thought I could look at everyone who hurt me and take pride in knowing I would get revenge. But now I’m not so sure.”

And when I say these words, I know they’re the truth. It takes so much energy to hate. I feel like I’ve been floating at the bottom of the sea for too long. Good God, at the rate I’m going, I’ll be writing greeting-card poetry before long.

“I like the moon at night,” Beth says, looking down at her crayons. “I like the way it sometimes manages to find its way through the clouds. I like the raindrops on the leaves in the garden. And I love the way a bakery smells when you go inside.”

“All completely enjoyable,” I agree.

“And I think that maybe I want to stick around a little longer and see the summer again.”

I smile at her and my heart lifts up inside my chest.

“Ramona says there’s a school that will take me and I can continue to live at the clinic for as long as I want.” She picks up a pink marker and starts to doodle on her chewed fingernails. When she’s done, she lifts her hand to the light and admires her work. “I think I want to do that.”

“Now I’m extra happy,” I tell her. I get up and go around the table to give her a hug. She throws her skinny arms around my waist and pulls me tight. When I look up, Chael is watching me. He smiles and winks.

Afterward, we walk home hand in hand.

“She’s coming around,” I say happily. I kick at a pile of mushy leaves in the gutter and giggle when they stick to my shoes. I want to twirl around and pirouette in front of the parking meter. I want to jump up on top of the burned-out car and scream to the world.

“You were brilliant,” he says.

“So were you,” I say. “I think Ramona is in love with you. The way she gushed and begged me to bring you back tomorrow.”

Chael grins and throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close.

I helped her.

Maybe Ramona is right. This could be my calling.

For the first time in ages, the revenge doesn’t press against my mind, reminding me of where my place is.

I feel free.

Paige is waiting for me when I get home.

Now, that is something I never expected to see. Paige may be a lot of things; I can think of a lot of choice words I’d use to describe her. But gutsy? Brazen? Nope. Never saw that one coming. And she’s determined too. She refuses to get out of the way when I try to push past her.

She stands her ground by the church steps, shivering in her brand-name jacket. In her left hand is an umbrella that’s managing to keep most of the rain away; the other hand holds a slightly damp-looking envelope.

“What do you want?” I ask cautiously.

“I want to talk to you. Please, Faye.”

I go around her but she steps in front, blocking me effectively. She leans against the door to make sure I can’t try to sneak past.

“My father is an attorney,” she says very quickly. “I told him what happened. Everything. He already knew about the party so it’s not like that was a surprise. And then I told him about what the school did. It’s cruel.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was on a scholarship. They had the right to end it.”

“No they didn’t,” Paige says exasperatedly. “As I said, my dad is a lawyer. He’s agreed to take on the case. He says what the school did violates your civil rights. He’s pretty sure he can get you back in. And he’s not going to charge you either. He’s doing it for free.”

“Huh?” Yep, that’s right. I’m speechless.

“He’s drafting the paperwork right now,” she says. “And I’ve got these.” She holds up the envelope and hands it over to me. “Open it.”

It’s heavy and unsealed. I open the flap and reach in, taking out at least twenty pieces of paper. It’s a petition. And there are a lot of signatures on the pages. Hundreds of them. I shift through the sheets and it’s all the same thing. Name after name after name. Some of them I recognize. Most of them I don’t.

“It’s the entire school,” Paige says proudly. “Except maybe one or two. Everyone signed.”

“For what?”

“For you to come back.”

“Huh?” I swear, my IQ has dropped fifty points.

“The students are upset,” Paige says. “The school tried to cover it up but everyone pretty much knew all about it by the end of the day. And Mr. Erikson’s gone. He resigned in protest. We’re gonna try and get him back too.”

“Mr. Erikson’s gone?” I put my hand out on the rail to steady myself. I can’t believe it. I mean, I knew he was against what the school was doing but I never thought he’d quit his job. That seems so extreme.

“Yeah,” Paige says. “So now we’re going to fight to get you both back. I’ve spent the past few days gathering all these signatures. There’s eight hundred and ninety-seven. Not bad, huh?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” she says without missing a beat. “Come on, Faye. I know I said some wrong things and I can’t take them back. I’m not always the best at making the right decisions. Look at Jesse. Can I pick them or what?” She laughs bitterly. “I’ve always been the girl who gets everything she wants. The spoiled little rich girl. Don’t look so shocked. I’m quite aware of what I am. And as you know, I’ve got no problem using that to my advantage.”

I can’t help smiling. This is the Paige I know. It’s funny to hear her speak so blatantly about it.

“And I guess it took this to make me really appreciate it,” she says. “When I saw your scars. And then the way you looked right at me and everyone else when you walked down the hallway. You were so proud. Like an Amazon queen. I know I can be a bitch most of the time. But at that moment, you made me feel so ashamed of myself. I would have done anything to take it all back. And then later Mr. Erikson told us about all the rules you had to follow. We spent the entire class talking about it. It’s not fair. They had no right to treat you that way. Because of a drug?”

“That’s just the way it is,” I say. “Heam addicts aren’t exactly liked out here, in case you didn’t notice.”

“You don’t look like an addict to me. When was the last time you actually took Heam?”

“When I was eleven.”

“Eleven?”

“It’s a long story and I’m not going to share. But it wasn’t my fault. And I’ve never touched the drug since.” I look right into her eyes as I say this. I don’t know why but suddenly it’s very important to me that she believes me. Maybe it’s because no one has ever stood up and fought for me before. All those signatures. I can’t believe they all signed the petition.

“I can’t expect you to trust me after all I’ve done to you,” Paige begins. “So you don’t have to. Everything I’m doing should be proof enough. And you don’t have to do anything. I’ve got it all taken care of.”

Is she being honest with me? I can’t tell. I want to believe her but that was my problem in the first place. Just like I wanted to believe I could get an education without ever having a problem. I think back to our lunch and when she talked about how dying would be better than having scars. Is it possible that she’s simply trying to make good on her words? Is the guilt real? Or am I just some new project for her to take on. Something to look good on a college application?

“Do you really live here?” Paige finally asks, breaking the silence and my thoughts. She looks up at the church in awe. She’s actually impressed. I find that funny, considering I was so amazed at her place. I guess that’s what happens when you lead completely different lives.

“Yeah,” I say. “Do you want to come in?”

“I’d love to.”

I unlock the door and we’re greeted by silence. Thankfully, Gazer isn’t home. So I give her the whole tour. The living area that’s surrounded by empty pews, the kitchen with our bipolar refrigerator; I even show her the basement with the broken-down gym equipment. Eventually we end up in my bedroom. I try not to act embarrassed because there are clothes on the floor and my bed’s not made. I’m sure her room would be the same if it weren’t for the maid.

“I love this place,” she says. “It’s so beautiful.” She sits down on my bed and bounces up and down a few times. “You’re so lucky.”

“Me? Your place has a pool and, like, twenty bedrooms. We don’t even have heat half the time.”

“But a church has character,” she says. “Anyone can live in a big house. How many people get to say they live in a cool place like this?”

“Most people get weirded out by it.”

“Not me. I’d kill to live here. It’s so unique. You’ve even got stained-glass windows. So pretty.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. But not in a mean way. I think of the few people who have been here over the years and most of the time they react the same way Detective Aggett did when he was here. They get nervous, as if they’re offending God or something. No one has ever called this place pretty.

There is definitely more than one side to Paige. But which one can I trust, if any?

“Anyway, you can keep that,” Paige says as she points to the envelope still in my hand. “It’s just a copy. Dad’s got the real deal and he’s going to use it when he files the complaint with the school.”

I open my desk drawer and toss the signatures inside. Best not to leave it out in the open. I still haven’t told Gazer I’ve been expelled. If Paige actually follows through on this, then I might figure out what to say.

“So what do you think?”

“It’s probably a waste of time,” I tell her. “You’re trying to change the laws. That’s not easy to do.”

“They need to fix things,” Paige says. “They’re biased. This whole damn world is biased. Times are changing. Everyone deserves a chance. Just think. Getting you back in school could be the first step.”

I can’t help smiling. She’d make a great politician. She’s obviously got a flair for the dramatic. I understand why she’s doing this now. I’ve officially turned into a cause. There’s something wrong and Paige is determined to right it. I guess I can’t complain. I think of Beth and her skinny arms and how her parents treat her differently now that she’s got her own scars. Let Paige fight. It’s not just for me. It’s for Beth and Chael and even Arnold Bozek. It’s for the thousands, if not millions, of people out there that need more help than this world is willing to give them.

If Paige has her way, she’ll probably change history. Thinking about all this actually makes me like her a little bit more.

“I should probably go,” Paige says as she gets up off the bed. She actually holds out her hand to shake mine as if we’ve come to a truce. “Is there anything else I can do?”

I look down at her perfectly manicured gel nails and an idea comes to me.

“Actually, yes,” I say. “There is something.”

Half an hour later we’re at the beauty salon and a lady with an eyebrow ring and a purple-and-black spiked style is lathering up my hair. I shouldn’t have let Paige talk me into this. All I wanted was for her to take me to the place so I could buy Beth a gift certificate. I promised to take her out tomorrow and do something fun and I was thinking along the lines of getting her nails done, maybe a pedicure too. I think it will do wonders for Beth’s self-esteem to have a girls’ day out.

But Paige has managed to convince me during that short car ride that the one thing I need in the world is a new hairstyle.

“You look beautiful already,” she says. “But this will make you gorgeous.”

I’m such a sucker.

“So what do you want done?” the stylist asks as she tousles my damp hair.

I look at her spiked style and try not to cringe. “Nothing major,” I say. “I don’t want to lose the length. But I do have a date tonight. Maybe something nice?”

The stylist picks up her scissors. “I know just what to do with you.”

I try not to look too worried as she begins to cut.

Paige drops me off with promises to keep me fully informed of her new goals. She’ll let me know the second the school responds to her father’s petition. And she plans to take it further. Maybe the newspapers. Or television reporters. But small steps first. I won’t lie and pretend that the thought of seeing Mrs. Orman’s face when she gets the complaint doesn’t make me feel all warm and bubbly inside.

Paige actually asks me if I’m willing to go have coffee with her sometime. Part of me thinks she’s just looking for some new way to slum. .

I’m still not going to put her on my friends list just yet, but I say yes because deep down inside, I really do think she wants to change. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment but only time will tell. And helping me get a new hairstyle and a manicure sure did up her brownie points a bit. I won’t admit it out loud but I actually had fun.

Back at home, I sit by the fire with Gazer while we both try to keep warm. It’s raining more heavily than usual tonight and the church seems engulfed by a cold draft that just won’t be tamed. The fire crackles and sputters and I toss in another log and glance up at the clock. It’s just a bit after seven. I promised Chael I’d meet him at nine. He’s going to show me his apartment tonight and I must admit, I’m dying of curiosity to see it. I pick up the poker and shove the embers around.

“Are you expecting someone?” Gazer asks, his eyes peering from the top of his book. Moby-Dick. A classic. The pages are worn and swollen from constant creasing.

“No, why?”

“Because you keep looking at that clock every other minute,” he replies. “Either you’re expecting time to stop altogether or you’re waiting for someone.”

“Neither,” I say, and I pick up my book. A cheap romance, nothing nearly as deep or exciting as what my mentor would ever read. I’ve been turning the pages for over an hour but I can’t say I’ve read a single word.

“Are you going out tonight?”

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “In a little while.”

“Who is he?”

I look at Gazer and he’s staring at me intently. There might be a twinkle in his eyes or it could be just the fire reflecting in his pupils. I can’t tell.

“What makes you think there’s a boy?” I ask.

Gazer chuckles and I toss my book at him.

“You’re transparent, Faye,” Gazer says. “Completely, utterly transparent. Of course, having a new hairstyle might have something to do with it.”

“Is it that terrible? I knew I shouldn’t have let her use the curling iron.” I jump up, ready to run to the bathroom and try to dismantle it bit by bit. There’s a lot of hair spray. What if it doesn’t come out?

“You look beautiful. You’re going to knock him flat on his back. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

I laugh but my hands sneak up toward the top of my head to make sure the curls are still in place.

“I hope I’d approve of him.”

“You would.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Chael.” I don’t offer him a last and I pray he doesn’t ask. I don’t actually know. I guess I could use Bozek.

“Sounds like a gentleman. When will you bring this Chael by?” Gazer picks up my book and studies the cover. He wrinkles his nose and tosses it back in my direction. Gazer still can’t fathom why anyone would want to read something that doesn’t involve philosophy or has been written in the past century.

I stand up and stretch. One last glance at the clock and I decide it’s time to get ready. “I didn’t think you’d want to meet him.”

Gazer grins. “Of course I want to meet him. Someone’s got to be here to walk you down the aisle.”

I make a big show of rolling my eyes before retreating to the coldness of my room. I spend a lot of time at the mirror trying to tie my hair up in a way that won’t get it wet or ruin the curls. Thankfully, the hot water is working and I’m able to have a shower. The water burns against my back, sending steam off my body and leaving my skin a nice pink color. Afterward, I quickly dress myself in a pair of nice jeans. Standing in my bra, I dig around in my closet until I find a tank top. Chael isn’t ashamed of my scars so neither am I. There are no more rules for me to follow. After that, I add a sweater for warmth that can come off later if need be.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not planning on doing anything I shouldn’t be doing tonight. I’m not there yet. But at the same time, I’m ready for a little more.

I let my hair down and thankfully it didn’t get ruined during my shower. I swear, I’ve never put this much effort into making myself pretty before. It’s exhausting. I put on a bit of makeup, smudging my cheek with mascara twice before finally getting it right. I’m just not experienced enough at this sort of thing. I ignore the twinge of pain when I think about how my mother used to sit at her mirror and apply her face. I used to hang out on the bed and watch her, fascinated with the way she expertly used those tiny brushes to make her eyes appear twice as big and a thousand times more exotic. That was back in the days when my father was still around and she was happy.

“Don’t open your eyes,” she’d say as she used the brush to apply the tiniest amount of blue shadow around my eyes. “Just a bit more. Okay, take a look. You look like a fairy princess.”

I was always enthralled by the way my eyes looked with shadow on them. I felt so grown-up. I know it’s such a cliché but I truly felt different. Transformed.

Only, princesses usually didn’t have secondhand clothing with holes in the sleeves, but I didn’t know enough to care about that. Even Cinderella had her rags for a while. The faded picture on my shirt was of a white stallion and I wore it all the time. I’d never even seen a horse before.

But none of that mattered. Mom had given me one of her older lipsticks and I loved twisting the cylinder over and over, watching the pink column rise up and down from the darkness of the tube.

“Remember to blot it,” Mom would say, holding out the box of tissues. I’d reach out and take a handful at a time. Removing the lipstick was more fun than actually wearing it. I liked seeing the color on the Kleenex more than on my face.

“So pretty.”

“That’s way too much, darling.”

“But I like it this way.”

“You won’t when you’re older. But don’t worry, I’ll show you how to do it properly then.”

Now I sit in a dingy room and try to figure all this out on my own. I still find it hard to imagine that my memories are actually real. I once had a mother who loved me and didn’t toss me out in the cold, calling me a little slut, and telling a complete stranger to take me away so she didn’t have to ever see me again.

But I’m not going to feel sorry for myself. Not tonight. Not anymore.