chapter 6
By the morning, I'd convinced myself that I had imagined the whole thing. My lifelong love of horror movies could have easily contributed. My parents always told me I had an overactive imagination. They were right. I had enjoyed the company of imaginary friends until I met Jenna to replace them. The one thing that I couldn't reconcile was the fact that normally I didn't scare too easily. And last night I had been terrified.
Hugh joined me for breakfast.
"I had a talk with Claire last night," he said.
"About what?" I asked, completely forgetting our chat during the car ride home the day before. Unforgiveable, considering how important the ability to come and go on my own was to me.
"You know what," he said. "Your suggestion that you walk to school. I tried every bargaining technique I know." He buttered his toast with a steak knife. I almost told him it was an inappropriate use, but I let it drop considering he held my fate in his hands. "Believe me; I put up the good fight."
"And let me guess, she said no way in this lifetime," I said, sighing as I finished my soggy cereal. I swirled the little Os around with my spoon.
"Actually, she agreed to it. After intense deliberation. The only stipulation is that you have to send me a text message when you get to school and when you leave to come home."
I raised my eyebrows. "No joke?" I couldn't believe it.
"No joke."
I got up and gave him a hug around his neck. Hugh laughed softly.
"Thank you!" I said. "You don't know how much I appreciate that!"
"This is on a conditional basis, though," he warned, as I gathered up my books and shoved them in my backpack. "Don't get too excited. You have to follow the rules every time, or I reserve the right to personally revoke it."
"I will," I promised.
After cleaning out my bowl, I went downstairs to finish getting ready. I dressed quickly in my favorite shirt, dark violet with lace-trimmed sleeves, and rushed upstairs. Grabbing my backpack, I slipped outside and started off on my first walk.
Fog hung low to the ground, obscuring the landscape. The sky a flat, dull gray, preceding dawn. Despite the early morning chill, I felt happy to be breathing in the fresh air. I sucked in a lungful, until I couldn't inhale anymore. The walk, as I suspected, only took about fifteen minutes. I had opted not to use my bike; I didn't have a bike lock and it was clunky besides. Plus I'd feel like a dork on my bike, when in my not-so-distant future I would hopefully have a car.
I felt only a little out of breath when I arrived at school, and more energized and awake then I normally did. I'm not normally a morning person, but it felt as though I'd drank an entire pop and caffeine rushed through me. I walked into the commons in a more uplifted mood that I hadn't expected. There were ten minutes until school started, so the commons was packed and loud as everyone carried on discussions. But it wasn't as jarring as it had been yesterday. I didn't have the immediate urge to run anymore.
Sitting together at one of the rectangular tables were a couple of girls I'd been friends with for years, Becky Long and Sarah Abbot. We had often occupied the same lunch table, although it seemed like a different life now.
"Ariel!" Becky called out. I didn't know what she wanted, but I wandered over to their table.
"Hey, do you want to sit with us?" Becky asked amiably, gesturing to the unfilled seat across from her. The offer surprised me, but I was more than willing to comply. I couldn't stand feeling singled out anymore.
Pulling out the chair I sat down. The only spot for my backpack was in my lap, as the entire table was filled with girls I couldn't remember if I knew, and there wasn't a lot of room. It felt awkward, but I didn't want to protest.
"How are you?" Becky asked, clasping her hands together on the tabletop and tucking her pointy chin on top.
"I'm fine," I replied lamely, for lack of a better adjective.
"That's good," she said, smiling tightly. "I'm glad to see you. I've been wondering how you were doing. We heard rumors that you weren't coming back. Someone said your dad was going to homeschool you this year."
"No, of course not," I said, trying to play it off lightly and attempt a smile. I hoped it didn't look like a grimace, as my smiles lately too often did.
Awkward silence followed, in which the other girls avoided my gaze. It seemed like they didn't know what to say to me. But I was glad to be sitting there, even as I searched my thoughts for a suitable topic and came up short.
"Did you hear they're playing Loveless at the theater?" Sarah piped up, and the other girls jumped on the topic as if it was food and they'd been up in the mountains for days.
The girls started chattering away about the movie, which was apparently my least favorite kind, a romantic comedy. I didn't have much to say; I'd never heard of it. Even as they moved onto school gossip, I remained oblivious. Mostly I just hunched behind the backpack. I became a little irritated with myself, but I didn't have it in me to make the effort. What if I said something that came out wrong?
The day went faster than the first, and rather uneventfully. Lainey and Madison pretended I didn't exist in gym, which I greatly preferred to being teased or almost knocked over. I sat at Becky's table again at lunch, still only listening to what the other girls had to say. I'd lost my opinions somewhere along the way. They didn't seem to mind. It was easier for everyone to pretend I was wallpaper.
As far as classes themselves, I enjoyed Warwick's the most and not because he was Hugh's buddy. I knew I wouldn't just get a good grade because of that fact. But listening to him embellish the events that happened in our country with outlandish tales made the experience endlessly interesting. We were trying to get through the revolutionary war as fast as possible, and George Washington was crossing the Delaware today.
Henry seemed to be busy chatting with his new friends. The group of guys were all laughing like they had known each other for years, in the way that people like that seem to do. Sticking with their own kind. Several of them wore gold and purple school jerseys.
The brief thought that I'd lost him flashed through my head. He was never mine to begin with, I rebuked myself. It should have been easier for me, because I didn't have to try. It should have been a relief.
In English, the same alone-in-the-dark feeling overtook me when the lights went out for the overhead projector. Luckily, Ms. Fellows didn't seem to notice as my eyelids drooped and I began to zone out. My thoughts still automatically went to Jenna, the empty hole in the room.
By the end of the day, I wanted out, though for no particular negative reason. Sleep chased me after the previous night, and my clothes reeked of ground pencil lead and cafeteria smells. I felt much less optimistic than yesterday, but I tried not to dwell on it. In art, I sat in the same place, with the same indifferent male, because the other seats were full up.
"All I'm saying is, since it's Hell, we should be able to sin and get away with it," Henry joked around with Lainey. His charming voice carried over to my seat, broken by Lainey's high-pitched, fake giggle.
"You're really bad," she tittered. "I'm surprised you've lasted this long without getting in trouble."
She tossed her shiny blond hair. The strands shimmered like a waterfall as they caught the light. For the slightest moment, I wished I was her. The biggest thing that scared her was that she hadn't put on enough eyeliner. Not that her best friend was never coming back. Or that pretend boogeymen lurked in her basement.
I dutifully texted Hugh as I set out on my journey back home. As I came around behind the house, I noticed my neighbor sitting on the swingset next door. She scribbled in the sketchbook on her lap, never taking her eyes from the paper. She wore a poufy, tutu-like black skirt and black and white striped leggings, and her glitter today was red, matching the vivid, artificial red of her hair. Her glasses kept sliding down her nose and each time she would push them up with two fingers. She didn't look so intimidating now; in fact, considering how little she was, she didn't look intimidating at all.
An impulse hit me. I was prone to them, but up until then I very rarely acted on them. I peeked my head inside my own house.
"I'm home," I said to Hugh, who sat at the table. "But I'm going to hang out in the backyard for a few minutes."
He saluted me and went back to his laptop. Paint drops splattered the shoulder of his shirt. He chewed the end of a pen to ruin, which meant he was concentrating deeply on something. I tossed my backpack on the floor of the dining room and slid the door shut. As I walked over to the fence, I anticipated what to say, and whether it was a good idea to say anything at all.
"Hey!" I called to the girl. She startled, and almost fell off the swing. The sketchbook went sprawling on the grass.
"Sorry!" I said.
I hadn't expected that kind of reaction. Most of the alt-kids in our school were tough and aloof, and talking to them was risking getting your teeth realigned. I noticed a bandage around her ankle, pushing up her left legging.
"What do you want?" she asked, picking up her book and sitting back down on the swing. The words didn't come out rudely, merely curious. She capped the pen she had been using to draw and looked up at me. I had never seen such vibrant green eyes; they were the color of limes. I assumed contacts.
"I just wanted to know if I've done something to offend you," I said calmly. "As far as I know, I've never talked to you before today, but it seems like I've done something to you."
She looked caught for a second. "No," she said. "Your friends just don't like me."
"I don't really have any friends at Hawthorne anymore," I said matter-of-factly. Saying it felt odd, like I should feel worse about the fact. I knew that I was discounting Becky, but to be honest with myself, I felt more like a charity case to her than a friend anymore.
"I thought you and that Lainey girl were friends," she said, leaning over to gather her sketchbook back up. I laughed for about the first time in a month.
"What would give you that idea?" I asked, leaning on the fence. "I am way too dorky for them, and also" — I gestured to my house — "I don't live in a mansion."
"Never mind, then," she said.
She started to stand up, but I found I had a sudden desperation to talk to someone who I wasn't related to. Someone who didn't know me and hopefully wouldn't make assumptions.
"Where did you move from?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Chicago."
"Do you miss it?"
"Every day." She looked up at the sky, as if there were an invisible dome there. "I don't like this town."
"Me neither. And I've lived here my whole life." I brushed away a fly that landed on the fence.
"That sucks," she said, her nose twitching for a moment like a rabbit.
"What's your name? I'm Ariel."
She paused for a second, tucking a lock of ruby hair behind her ear. "Theo. Theo Weaver. Nice to meet you." She came over and stuck out her hand above the fence posts for me to shake, an oddly formal gesture I found charming.
"Likewise," I said. "Theo, that's a pretty unusual name for a girl."
"It's short for Theosophia. My mom has strange taste."
As if on cue, Theo's mom appeared in the doorway of their colonial-style house. To my astonishment, I saw that it was Ms. Vore, our art teacher.
"That's your mom?" I asked, even though I could already tell the answer. Theo nodded sheepishly. I could definitely see the resemblance, and it wasn't just the glasses. It was the same serious, smart look on their faces, the same small nose.
"I'll see you at school, okay?" Theo said, and retreated swiftly back to her house. I stood wondering what exactly had just happened, and if we were on good terms now or not.
In Gym the next day, I discovered I wouldn't be able to go two days in a row without being the target of mockery.
"Nice gym shorts. Did you snag them from a clothing drop off box?" Madison asked me when I was changing.
"No," I said. I looked down at the mesh black shorts I wore. I hadn't realized they were that bad. Sure, I had owned them for years, but so what? It was gym class, not a fashion show. At least not to me.
Madison herself was prancing around in pink ones with Juicy printed on the butt. They were so tight they could have been spray painted on. Logic told me that clothing was not my most pressing issue. But the other half of my brain wondered if I should beg Claire to take me to the mall for sportswear. It would probably make her think I was moving on. She would be pleased. The thought made me physically cringe.
I tried to ignore Madison and Lainey like my authority figures preached in kindergarten. Ignore the bullies, and they will eventually stop picking on you. The problem with that little theory is that I had been trying to do that for years, and it hadn't ever worked. If anything, they only found new, innovative ways to torture me.
Inside the gym, the bleachers were pulled out halfway in anticipation of some kind of social event that weekend. Theo sat on the bottom row by herself. I noticed her ankle bandage was gone. I immediately navigated to the empty spot next to her. She felt safe.
"Hi," she said with some surprise, raising her eyebrows over flashing emerald glitter. It looked pale compared to the unusual bright green of her irises. "Didn't expect you to talk to me in school."
"Why is that?" I asked. "You're the only person with a functioning brain around here."
She smiled and looked out over the masses. She didn't seem so twitchy now that she was away from her house and her mom.
"I didn't know you had gym this hour," I said. I didn't remember seeing her yesterday or the day before.
"Well, I got to miss the first few days because of my ankle," she said, pulling her leg up and gesturing. "I could have sat out today in study hall, too, but I figured I had milked it enough." She leaned in and admitted, "My ankle's been fine for a week."
I was curious as to how she had gotten hurt in the first place, but I didn't want to pry.
"Plus, I had to avoid that fitness test," she continued. "Fitness is the one test I know I would fail. I run at top speeds of two seconds an hour."
"You can't be that bad," I protested.
"Oh, I can," she said chuckling. "And the less that they know about my lack of athletic skill here at cheerleader camp, the better."
"Good idea," I agreed.
It was comforting talking to someone I actually could talk to. I no longer felt like a target, dodging around and waiting to get hit. Gym class became no more pleasant, but at least it wasn't dreadful anymore.
At lunch, I sat with my old acquaintances again. I even interjected into the conversation a bit at first, discussing some news I had caught on TV that morning. Being around Theo had bolstered my confidence a little. But the girls were all making plans to go on shopping in Ann Arbor that weekend, and they didn't invite me. Just when I finally started to find normal. I withdrew behind my backpack again. It was quickly evolving into a protective shield.
After English class, I went to my locker to drop off my books and take the ones I needed for homework. As I was headed to art, a crowd of people blocked the hallway in front of me, preventing me from going past. I peered around to see what the fuss was about.
Ambrose Slaughter had pinned another boy up against the wall by his shirt collar. I groaned. I knew he had been keeping too low of a profile. Last year, Ambrose bloodied more than one kid's nose in the first month, and he never seemed to get in trouble. Mostly due to the fact that his father owned all three of the car dealerships in town.
A junior, Ambrose was tall even for seventeen. Leather tanned, with gelled golden hair and blue eyes, he looked like a demented cherub. He slammed the other boy up against the wall again. I could practically hear his teeth rattle from where I stood. The boy was puny, and looked like a freshman.
"Are you deaf? Do you have a listening problem?" Ambrose barked.
He wrenched the other boy's shirt, and the sleeve tore with a loud rip. Fat tears rolling down his reddened face. His crying elicited cruel laughter from the crowd around them.
I noticed then that Lainey and Madison were both standing by.
Henry was, too.
It surprised me more than it should have. Part of me still held out that he was one of the good guys.
As I watched, Lainey leaned on Henry's shoulder. The very fact that she was touching him made me queasy. A smug smile spread over her face, contorting her beautiful features into an ugly caricature.
"You need to stay out of my way!" Ambrose yelled in the other boy's face. He reared his thick arm back to punch. "I'll teach you, and you won't forget."
"Stop it!" I yelled. The second after the words were out I realized I had actually spoken aloud, not just in my head. My fingers flew up to my lips, trying too late to catch the words.
Color rushed into my cheeks. What had I done? Every face in the crowd of jerks turned towards me. Henry's lips lowered into a frown, a line forming between his eyebrows. His wide brown eyes met mine and he looked — what, guilty? Like a little boy caught pulling a cat's tail. Or at least being complicit in the event.
Ambrose smiled at me. It was the meanest smile I had ever seen. Everyone else looked merely irritated that I had interrupted their fun, but still ready to pounce. I took a step backward on instinct. I'd never been beaten up, but I had the feeling today was my day.
Principal McPherson appeared suddenly out of nowhere beside me.
"Break it up, break it up," he said sternly, waving his hands. "No fighting in the halls."
As if he could call it a fight, the implication being that it had been two-sided. He swooped his sleeves around in a circle, conducting the traffic away. The crowd, including Henry and Lainey, dispersed as the bell rang. McPherson patted Ambrose's shoulder and sent him off.
"That's all now," he said, smiling and revealing all of his yellowed teeth.
He turned to the other boy, who still cowered against the wall, not quite understand he'd been saved for the moment. His shirt hung limply at the torn shoulder, his hair a messy mop.
"Don't be a troublemaker," McPherson told him. "If I catch you involved in anything like this again, I'll suspend you."
The frightened boy scuttled away, holding his shirt together. McPherson ignored me completely, striding back to whatever cave he crawled out of.
I headed quickly to class, worried because I knew I was late. But Ms. Vore didn't seem to notice; in fact, she smiled and greeted me as I came in and she shut the door behind me. Shutting me in with my troubles.
Theo patted the seat next to her, an inviting smile on her face. It was a stark contrast from the other day. I sat hastily beside her, happy to not be near Lainey or Henry. I realized I liked being around her not only because she was interesting, but because I didn't have to pretend to be happy, to fake a smile to put her at ease like I did so often with everyone else.
Theo and I both pulled out our sketchbooks. We had to turn them in at the end of every week, which meant today. All of my drawings looked lopsided, suffering from near holes in the pages from erasing and redrawing so often. Because of Hugh's hopes in me I had become neurotic. I figured as long as I tried, it would be impossible to fail Art, but I could be the exception.
My apple from our shading homework last night looked more like a wad of cookie dough. I glanced at Theo's book, and was instantly both impressed and deeply jealous. Drawings already crammed the pages — birds, horses, and a strange, exotic fish with looping fins. When she flipped to a page that held a drawing of human lungs, I couldn't help but say, "Wow."
"What?" she asked, nonchalantly. As if she'd drawn merely stick figures.
"You're so talented," I said. I knew I was gushing, but it was honest gushing.
She blushed, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "It's not a big deal. I just draw all the time. If you do something enough, you get better at it."
Turning to a fresh sheet, she smoothed out the paper. It was at least three quarters of the way through the book. I watched as her face became more serious, as though she were getting into creative mode.
"That's really impressive, is all," I said.
She just continued with the line she had started.
"Why don't you want people at school to know Ms. Vore is your mom?" I asked, taking a pencil from the plastic cup on the table. I'd been curious about it since yesterday, when Theo seemed to be horrified that I saw Ms. Vore coming out of their house.
"Wouldn't you be embarrassed if your mom was your teacher?" she asked, pausing for a moment.
"Well, yeah," I agreed. "I get embarrassed when Claire comes up for parent teacher conferences. Last time she grilled my teachers on their educational qualifications. I practically had to grab her arm and drag her outside."
"It was just another thing for people to tease me about back home," she said. "I'm not Goth enough for the Goth kids. Not common enough for the regular kids. I was lucky enough to have a few good friends. Here I don't have that protection."
I nodded, fully understanding now that my own defense had disappeared.
I'd never had the occasion to brag about Hugh owning a gallery, as Jenna never really had any interest in the subject. But I took this opportunity to do so.
"My dad owns Erasmus, the art gallery in town."
Her eyes became huger and rounder than they naturally were, as though I just handed her a Christmas present.
"Get out. Really?"
I nodded, bemused.
"That is...wow..." She looked at the piles of thick reference books and art supplies on her mother's desk. "I haven't been there yet, but I was impressed Hell had any kind of culture at all. When my mom told me where we were moving, I assumed there would be five houses and a watering hole."
"It was his dream to open it. I remember when he was still painting full time in a closet, before Claire finally let him have his own room." A smile found my lips at the memory. "He has a section devoted to local artists. You should show him your work." I normally wouldn't bug Hugh about his business, but Theo was so talented it felt criminal not to at least suggest it.
"That would be great. Not that I'm anything really special. But just to have the opportunity..." She trailed off, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. "If you can't tell, I'm kind of shy. I mean, I know I am, but it's hard to get past it."
"I could tell a little," I admitted. "It's not a bad trait. It serves you well here. But we're talking, so you seem to warm up. That's the important thing."
She peppered me with questions for a while, wanting to know when Hugh started the gallery and what kind of work was displayed there.
Later in class, I brought up the situation that had occurred in the hall to Theo. I felt like I had to decipher it, although I didn't know why it mattered. I had suspected deep down that Henry might be a jerk in good disguise because of how quickly he had become friends with the popular kids. My suspicions were just confirmed, that's all. But it bothered me deeply. More than I cared to admit.
"Maybe he had an excuse," Theo offered. We were whispering back and forth while Ms. Vore was talking about different drawing techniques throughout the ages. I knew it was rude to talk while the teacher was, but once I started spilling theories, I couldn't plug my mouth back up again.
"Like what?"
"Who knows? Sometimes it's better not to assume things, though, no matter how obvious they look," she said. I wondered briefly what brought her to that theory.
"That's very deep of you," I said.
"Thanks." Her pencil hadn't stopped moving since she put it to the paper, and her art was making me stunningly aware of my lack of artistic talent. But I didn't mind. I was just amazed that anyone could create that kind of beauty with the same instrument I used to doodle smiley faces. I often felt the same way about Hugh when I watched him paint.
"But why even be there in the first place?" I knew I couldn't let it go, and I was probably being annoying. Theo shrugged in response, eyes fixed on her drawing.
My eyes went to the back of Henry's head. His dark brown hair fell to the nape of his neck, where a short, inviting expanse of skin was exposed above his shirt collar. He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. I wondered for a crazy second if he could feel me watching him, then dismissed the thought as absurd. He looked like he was drawing in his sketchbook, too. I wondered how his talent fared.
While still looking at him, I started to say, "And also —"
"Ms. Donovan, repeat back to me what I just said." Ms. Vore was standing right in front of my desk, with her arms crossed. I looked up at her face slowly, heat spreading across my cheeks, completely powerless. Nothing could save me now.
"Um. Techniques. Throughout the...history. Of art," I said, fully aware of how lame I sounded. I was terrible lately at coming up with answers on the spot.
"What artist was I just discussing? Give me his name." Her monotonous voice complemented her I am not amused face as she peered at me over the top of her glasses. I wracked my brain desperately for a moment, trying to think up any fudged answer, but I couldn't. In fact, the only artist whose name I could remember was Theo's.
Great, now she would think I was not a serious student, even though her class was one of my favorites.
"In the future, I suggest you pay more attention to your education, instead of staring at Henry. You can do that on your own time. Instead, focus on your artwork." She seemed to find it amusing now, the corners of her lips jerking. So did everyone else in class, apparently, as they laughed at me.
"And the answer was Cezanne," she added as an endnote, clucking her tongue.
"I wasn't....staring..." I sputtered, but she had already moved on, and was continuing with her instruction at the chalkboard.
I hadn't been staring. Not really. There was a distinct difference between looking and staring and that difference was obvious, right? My cheeks were red-hot and I felt dizzy from embarrassment. Maybe I would pass out and they could just ship me off to the nurse's office. Theo had buried her face in her hands beside me.
"Mom..." she whispered to no one in particular, "Why was that necessary?"
Henry turned around slowly in his seat, his face holding a look of confusion. For a brief moment our eyes met, as my stomach swan dived. Lainey was glaring daggers at me, I could feel it. I imagined her drawing her finger across her neck to let me know I was toast. But I couldn't take my eyes off of Henry. Slowly, his lips curled into a smile.
I looked down at my wasted sketchbook, wishing I could jump into the empty pages.