MELINDA WENT TO SLEEP with the words she’d heard being spoken to her playing over and over again in her mind. And she awoke to the sound of the alarm clock’s gentle chimes. Their volume increased incrementally. It was the most pleasant an alarm clock could possibly be.
In between, she’d slept oddly. Her night had swung between wild dreams and deep, heavy slumber. No wonder, she thought, because the dreams had been exhausting. She’d relived the mugging over and over, and each time, she had reacted differently. Once she had flipped the mugger over her shoulder and stomped on his throat. Once she had elbowed him in the rib cage, spun around and kicked him in the chin. Once she had fought off ten of him all at once, armed with a ballpoint pen that she wielded like a sword. And every single time, she had held on to her purse and walked away unscathed. And empowered. Damn, she’d felt a full foot taller in those dreams.
Smiling a little, she got out of bed and went through her ordinary morning rituals of showering and shaving her legs—but she stopped short afterward, as she eyed her reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror. “I look like a wimp,” she whispered. “I need a change. A drastic one.” There were scissors in the cup on the back of the sink. She trimmed her plain brown hair every six weeks, without fail, to get any split ends that might have shown up since the last time.
But today, she thought, a little more was in order.
She knew how to cut hair. She’d cut her kid sister, Tracy’s, their entire lives. Besides, what she had in mind wasn’t all that difficult. She wiped the mirror with a towel, then picked up the comb and the scissors. As she snipped, and snipped and snipped, she wondered if she had any clothes that would suit her new look. She hoped so. Because she felt different, and the old things were no longer suitable. They wouldn’t fit anymore.
By the time she finished, she had a short, spunky new haircut, with spikey bangs that made her eyes look bluer than they had ever looked before. She had forgotten the coppery highlights in her hair. They’d been hidden by the heavy, thick weight of her locks, but now they showed through as vividly as if she had added highlights.
She found a pair of leggings she’d bought on a whim and never worn, paired them with a long sweater and tall, fur-trimmed boots that she’d received as a Christmas gift two years ago and never even put on. She thought about trying her hand at some makeup, but the only stuff she had was years old, and besides, she had so little practice applying it that she didn’t dare.
She was nearly out of time, anyway.
Sighing and taking a last look in the mirror, she decided she liked what she saw. It wasn’t so much that she was changing back into this woman she had allegedly been before—the female superspy. It was more that, now that she knew what she had been, she wanted to test it a little. See how it felt to try on a little bit of that former persona. She still wasn’t convinced that the newfound knowledge came from anyplace other than her own imagination. But unless she stretched a little bit, saw how it felt, she would never know.
And if this new look was the only change that her session with Rodney ever brought about, she decided, then it had been worth the effort. She liked her new look.
She walked to the station to catch the train, and she watched for the man who’d taken her purse. She hadn’t been able to identify him for Lieutenant Conlan—but she knew perfectly well who he was. It had been one of the thugs from the house on the corner, the fat one, and if she saw him, she intended to…to look him in the eye and let him know she knew what he had done.
Oooh, boy, that’ll fix him, a sarcastic little voice within her said. But hey, for her, that was a big step!
Still, she didn’t see him. Too early for his kind to be up and around, she supposed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she got on the train, headed for the only remaining empty seat, and spotted that same fellow who’d stolen her seat the night before. He stood an equal distance from the seat, in the opposite direction, and he was eyeing it, too. He started toward it.
Something inside of Melinda tensed up, like a cat preparing to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. Did she dare put her newfound self-knowledge to the test?
What would it hurt to try?
She lunged forward and slid into the seat before the rude passenger could do so, even though it made her stomach tie itself in knots. She didn’t want anyone to see her as rude or pushy or obnoxious or—
The pimply faced young man scowled at her and she felt herself begin to shrink like a delicate violet in the path of scorching sunlight. But then an older woman in the seat beside her leaned closer and said, loud enough for the jerk to hear, “Good for you! That brute almost knocked me off my walker last week, to take my seat. It’s about time someone was woman enough to stand up to him.”
The punk looked away, ashamed perhaps. And Melinda felt herself grow, somehow. As though she was getting taller, only she knew it wasn’t on the outside. It was on the inside. She felt a foreign sense of strength unfolding its iron petals over those of her shrinking violet. And it felt good.
She was eager to push herself just a little further as she walked from her train stop in the very suburban village of Sentinel, to the school building and into the office where she opened her satchel and took out the stack of still ungraded essays. Guilt tried to assault her, but from somewhere down deep inside her, a little voice asked her why she should feel guilty for not doing someone else’s job.
It was a smooth, female voice, very much like her own, only more confident, firmer, louder, stronger. It didn’t waver and was pitched a bit lower. She thought of it as the voice of her former self. Her inner kick-ass chick. “You’re right,” she whispered.
She slid the stack of essays into Mary Blesser’s in-box, snapped her bag closed and turned to the secretary, who was just settling in at her desk. Melinda smiled and said, “Good morning, Sally,” though again, her stomach was still churning at the notion of bucking the current that had carried her for so long.
Yet, she realized, that current had been tumbling her around at will, dashing her against rocks or rushing past her and eroding her spirit. Now, she thought, it was time to ride its waves instead of letting them ride her.
The secretary said, “Good morn—” and stopped mid-greeting as her head came up. Her eyes met Melinda’s, then widened. “Wow! You look fantastic!”
Melinda lifted her brows. “Really? Thanks. I just…I decided it was time for a change.”
“You’re right, it was. I love it.” Then she tipped her head to one side. “Did you do something to your eyes, too?”
“No. Not even makeup. I figured I’d take baby steps.”
“Funny, I could have sworn. There’s something different, Melinda. More than just the hair.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a good change, whatever it is.”
Odd. Did the burgeoning change in her actually show? How could that be? “Thanks,” she said. “Who does Danny O’Brian have for homeroom?”
“MacGuire.”
Melinda tried to school her features and not show her powerful reaction to his name. What was he going to think of the new her? He’d liked her just fine the way she was, if yesterday was any indication.
She swallowed hard, reminding herself that always acting based on what other people might think was one of the doormat tendencies she was trying to leave behind. Certainly her superspy alter ego wouldn’t be worrying about what some math teacher thought of her new haircut, would she?
“Oh, the new guy?” she said, trying to sound as if she was only barely interested.
“Yeah, 221,” Sally said. “Have you met him yet?”
“Yes, yes I have.”
“Then you know. God, what a hunk, huh? If I were single…”
She pictured him in her mind’s eye, his brown eyes, those Cary Grant dimples that etched deep into his face when he smiled. She heard herself whisper, “Fortunately, I am.”
It was a cocky, confident thing to say, and for a moment, she was shocked to hear the words spill from her own lips. And a little embarrassed, too, but Sally seemed pleased as punch.
“You go, girl!” she said with a broad smile.
As Melinda turned to leave the office, Mary Blesser walked in and went straight to her in-box. She spotted the fat envelope there, called, “Thanks, Melinda. You’re a gem.” And by gem, Melinda thought, she meant sucker. “Not anymore,” Melinda replied. She felt the truth of those words right to her soul. Wow. The other woman frowned, clearly not understanding at all, but Mary didn’t bother continuing the conversation. Instead, she opened the envelope, pulled out the stack of essays and started flipping through them while humming to herself.
The hum stopped abruptly, and she looked up fast. “These aren’t graded.”
“No. No, they’re not.” Melinda felt a surge of guilt rising up in her chest. Mary was going to be furious and would probably hate her for this.
The other woman was still blinking at Melinda in shock, noticing, Melinda thought, her changed appearance for the first time, when Sally, from the desk, said, “Gee, Mary. It looks like you’re going to have to actually do the work you’re paid for around here, doesn’t it?”
Mary huffed loudly and then strode out of the office, clearly angry. But Sally let loose a snort of laughter as soon as the woman was out of earshot. Melinda looked at her, a question in her own eyes, and the secretary said, “You’re finally learning to stand up for yourself. It’s about time.”
Melinda smiled wide. For once, it wasn’t the weak, forced, false smile she’d grown used to bestowing. She really felt it this time. Apparently, everyone around her had seen her more clearly than she had seen herself. She’d been a victim long before that mugging. Rodney had been right about that. And she’d done it to herself. But maybe now that she was aware of who she really was, all of that would change.
She was still smiling when she got to room 221, and came face-to-face with Matthew MacGuire, who nearly mowed her down on his way out, then apologized as profusely as if he’d committed a crime. “Whoa, sorry!” He backed off, smiling down at her, but then his smile froze in place and he went as still as stone.
She forced herself to hold his gaze, wondering if he would approve of the change in her appearance or hate it.
His eyes flashed with something potent, then slid down to her boots and up to her newly sassy haircut again. “You look…wow. Amazing. Gorgeous. I mean—not that you didn’t before, but this is…wow.”
She didn’t think he was pretending. She smiled, felt her face get warm, knew she was probably blushing. She wasn’t used to compliments from men. Hell, she didn’t think she’d ever received one before.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction I would get. But so far, it’s been fairly positive.”
“You’re not going to get anything else. Damn, lady.”
She almost lowered her eyes and her head shyly, but that, she reminded herself, wasn’t who she was anymore. So she lifted her head, looking him right in the eyes. “Thanks,” she said.
The late bell rang, and students dashed around. Then, like magic, the halls were empty and just as silent as the space between the two of them.
“It’s more than the hair. It’s something about the bearing, the attitude. Hard to put a finger on.”
“I suppose that makes sense.”
“Does it?” He smiled. “I’d love to hear why.”
She looked past him, leaning sideways to do so, and saw that his classroom was full of students who were watching them curiously. He followed her gaze. “Oh. Right. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I need to speak to Danny O’Brian. Just for a moment.”
He lifted his brows, then turned toward the students in the room at his back. “Daniel, could you come out here please?”
The kid took his time, but he came out. Cocky and smirking until he caught sight of her, and then he looked surprised and maybe a little bit uneasy. Melinda crooked a finger until he came closer, then she leaned in and said, “Do you know who I am?”
He frowned, and looked a little less confident. “Yeah. Why, did you forget?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I just remembered. Among other things, Mr. O’Brian, I’m the person who decides whether you end up taking my class all over again next year. And whether you spend your summer vacation sitting in a classroom instead of doing…whatever asinine garbage you generally do. I don’t think that would be any more pleasant for you than it would be for me.”
He blinked, maybe a little shaken, but not enough. Not yet. “My grades are good. You can’t fail me if my grades are good.” He turned to Matthew. “She can’t do that, can she, Mr. MacGuire?”
“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear a thing.” He sent Melinda a wink, then went back to studying the attendance book in his hands.
Melinda snapped her fingers in front of the kid’s face, bringing his eyes back to hers. “I’m the one who gives you the grades, Danny, and if you act up in my class one more time, your grades will drop and they’ll drop radically. Do you understand?”
He stared at her. “You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
She held his eyes, and she made hers deadly serious. Finally, he lowered his head, looking at his shoes.
“I’m done with your bullshit, Danny. If you plan to go running to your father, you go right ahead and do so. I have tenure. He has no power over me. I’ll expect you to sit still and shut up for the forty-five minutes a day I am forced to bear your presence from now on. No more warnings, no more chances.”
She waited, but he didn’t reply. So she waited some more. Finally he nodded and said, “Okay.”
“Good. You can go now,” she told him.
He scurried away, just the way she usually did from any sort of confrontation. The voice inside her whispered, Congratulations. You intimidated a fifteen-year-old.
She sighed, feeling a little bit mean. He was just a kid. Then again, she’d needed to do something. Her entire class was following his lead and sliding out of control. As he turned and slunk back to his desk, she heard a low, slow whistle from Matthew MacGuire. She looked up quickly. “I was too hard on him, wasn’t I?”
“You were brilliant.”
Her brows rose. “I was?”
“Sure. Hell, it’s prison logic. Pick the biggest bully, kick his ass and no one bothers you for the rest of your stay.”
“You’re an expert on prison logic?”
He shot her a quick look, then averted his eyes. “All I know is what I see in the movies. But it seems to be a widely held belief. I just never thought of applying it to freshmen before.”
“Unfortunately, no one saw me, er, kick his ass, as you put it. So it won’t do much good.”
“No one needs to see. Kids talk, and even if they didn’t, they’ll notice his attitude toward you has undergone a radical change. I predict any problems you’ve been having with Danny and his cohorts will vanish in short order.”
“I hope you’re right.” She nodded toward his room. “You’d better get in there or you won’t even have time to take attendance.”
“Yeah.” He started to turn away, but turned back. “Do you mind if I pick your brain a little more? I could use some advice from someone who really knows this job.”
She lifted her brows. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Good. Um, lunch?”
She smiled. “I usually eat out by the fountain.”
“Good. I’ll see you there.” He held her eyes for a moment longer than normal. As if he was stuck in her gaze or something. It was like a physical touch, and it sent a shiver of awareness right down her spine.
Then he tore his eyes away and ducked back into his classroom. She turned to hurry away toward her own. But the entire time she hustled through the hallways, she was fighting a sense of amazement. She’d only known about her past for a single night, and already her life was changing radically.
What a difference a little bit of knowledge could make. She smiled more widely as she entered her classroom, where wadded-up papers were sailing through the air and students were raising hell. Sweeping the room with her eyes, she said nothing, simply walked up to the chalkboard and wrote in giant letters, “ANY DISRUPTION OF MY CLASS BY ANYONE TODAY RESULTS IN A ZERO IN THE GRADEBOOK FOR THE ENTIRE QUARTER.”
The classroom quieted as students read her message, frowning and whispering to one another.
“You have five minutes left of homeroom, and six hours left in your day. Unless you’d like to spend those six hours in detention, you will sit down and shut up for the remaining five minutes. Fair trade?”
They quieted. They sat. She moved behind her desk, flipped open her book, began taking attendance. Midway through, she caught her own reflection in the mirrorlike surface of the computer screen on her desk. It brought her up short. She really did look different today, and it really was more than just the new hair or the different clothes.
She looked sure of herself. She looked confident. She looked…tough. And she liked it.