touch her.”
I blinked at the piece of paper. Jane had stuck up for me after all, and that’s why she’d gotten into trouble. My mother and all those people were saying mean things about her because of something that wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for me. I’d taken her to the lake in the first place, and if she hadn’t defended me to Tad, maybe he wouldn’t have touched her at all. Maybe he just would have looked at her.
But instead the other thing had happened, and then she’d come home and I’d tattled on her to her mother. Billy was wrong: Jane would hate me forever. I’d hate myself forever.
Billy tapped me again and passed me a second note. “I thought that might cheer you up, but don’t tell anybody or they’ll put it in the paper. What’s going on with you, anyway?”
“Nothing,” I wrote on the bottom, as neatly as I could, and passed it back to him. It came back again a few minutes later.
“You really look rotten,” it said. “You should go see Jane’s mom. She likes you.”
I always looked rotten, because I was fat. “Mind your own business,” I wrote, and passed him the crumpled piece of paper. It didn’t come back again.
I tried to stay in my body after that, so people wouldn’t keep asking me questions, but it was nearly impossible. Health class consisted of a boring lecture about anorexia, hardly anything I had to worry about, I dozed in my seat, paying only enough attention to know when to gaze alertly at the teacher, In art I played dreamily with clay, and when the teacher asked me what I was making I said, “An abstract sculpture.” In math the teacher solved equations with mixed variables while Jane threw spitballs at my back; I escaped all of it by thinking about Disneyland. Would my father promise to take us there, if Mom was dying?
And then, blessedly, came lunch. I’d taken to spending it curled in a chair in the school library, supposedly reading but actually soaring above the lake. Today, even more than usual, I couldn’t wait to get there, but the lake seemed cloudy, as if a storm was coming, and when Ginny joined me she frowned and said, “You look lousy.”
“Yeah,” I told her, remembering Billy’s cruel concern that morning, “everybody’s telling me that. So what else is new? I can’t help it if I’m not beautiful. You were the beautiful one. Be grateful. Anyway, you don’t look so good yourself.”
She’d gotten very pale, the way Mom had been that morning, the way ghosts are supposed to be, and the wind from the water was too cold. “When Mom found out she was going to have you, she said she hoped she’d have another beautiful baby. I told her not to want that. Why would I tell her that, Emma?”
“Because you didn’t want the competition,” I said, and flew away from her. Why was she doing this to me? The lovely dream couldn’t be turning into a nightmare, not now, please, please, when I needed it so much. “You were probably afraid I’d get too much attention if I were beautiful. Oh, shit, Ginny, I’m sorry, I don’t want to be mean to you. Look, can’t you please make the sun come out? Please?”
“If you’ll talk to me,” she said.
“Huh? Of course I’ll talk to you. What else have I been doing?”
“Flying in circles. You’ve been spending so much time here that you can’t be doing much else. What about school?”
“Oh, come on! Now you sound like Mom! Next you’ll start telling me how you used to sit in bed in that stupid frilly nightgown, doing your homework even after you were supposed to be asleep because you loved school so much. Studying the Atlas with a flashlight under the covers. ‘Ginny loved geography,’ Mom always says, but I think she just likes the alliteration.”
Ginny laughed, and the sun came out. “I loved maps, that’s for sure. Different places… I hated that nightgown, though. She thought I looked so pretty in it, but I was always afraid all those ribbons were going to
I blinked at the piece of paper. Jane had stuck up for me after all, and that’s why she’d gotten into trouble. My mother and all those people were saying mean things about her because of something that wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for me. I’d taken her to the lake in the first place, and if she hadn’t defended me to Tad, maybe he wouldn’t have touched her at all. Maybe he just would have looked at her.
But instead the other thing had happened, and then she’d come home and I’d tattled on her to her mother. Billy was wrong: Jane would hate me forever. I’d hate myself forever.
Billy tapped me again and passed me a second note. “I thought that might cheer you up, but don’t tell anybody or they’ll put it in the paper. What’s going on with you, anyway?”
“Nothing,” I wrote on the bottom, as neatly as I could, and passed it back to him. It came back again a few minutes later.
“You really look rotten,” it said. “You should go see Jane’s mom. She likes you.”
I always looked rotten, because I was fat. “Mind your own business,” I wrote, and passed him the crumpled piece of paper. It didn’t come back again.
I tried to stay in my body after that, so people wouldn’t keep asking me questions, but it was nearly impossible. Health class consisted of a boring lecture about anorexia, hardly anything I had to worry about, I dozed in my seat, paying only enough attention to know when to gaze alertly at the teacher, In art I played dreamily with clay, and when the teacher asked me what I was making I said, “An abstract sculpture.” In math the teacher solved equations with mixed variables while Jane threw spitballs at my back; I escaped all of it by thinking about Disneyland. Would my father promise to take us there, if Mom was dying?
And then, blessedly, came lunch. I’d taken to spending it curled in a chair in the school library, supposedly reading but actually soaring above the lake. Today, even more than usual, I couldn’t wait to get there, but the lake seemed cloudy, as if a storm was coming, and when Ginny joined me she frowned and said, “You look lousy.”
“Yeah,” I told her, remembering Billy’s cruel concern that morning, “everybody’s telling me that. So what else is new? I can’t help it if I’m not beautiful. You were the beautiful one. Be grateful. Anyway, you don’t look so good yourself.”
She’d gotten very pale, the way Mom had been that morning, the way ghosts are supposed to be, and the wind from the water was too cold. “When Mom found out she was going to have you, she said she hoped she’d have another beautiful baby. I told her not to want that. Why would I tell her that, Emma?”
“Because you didn’t want the competition,” I said, and flew away from her. Why was she doing this to me? The lovely dream couldn’t be turning into a nightmare, not now, please, please, when I needed it so much. “You were probably afraid I’d get too much attention if I were beautiful. Oh, shit, Ginny, I’m sorry, I don’t want to be mean to you. Look, can’t you please make the sun come out? Please?”
“If you’ll talk to me,” she said.
“Huh? Of course I’ll talk to you. What else have I been doing?”
“Flying in circles. You’ve been spending so much time here that you can’t be doing much else. What about school?”
“Oh, come on! Now you sound like Mom! Next you’ll start telling me how you used to sit in bed in that stupid frilly nightgown, doing your homework even after you were supposed to be asleep because you loved school so much. Studying the Atlas with a flashlight under the covers. ‘Ginny loved geography,’ Mom always says, but I think she just likes the alliteration.”
Ginny laughed, and the sun came out. “I loved maps, that’s for sure. Different places… I hated that nightgown, though. She thought I looked so pretty in it, but I was always afraid all those ribbons were going to
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