Scanning the lockers, I didn’t have to look too hard or too long before I spotted my assigned number twenty-four, and realized my prayer hadn’t been answered. There stood Piper with her swarm of friends circling around their queen—Missy—like honeybees. With their even tans, perfectly faded jeans, and colorful summer flip-flops, they glowed and seemed carefree—even young—in a way I’d never experienced. With al our environment-saving missions to impoverished countries, my parents had imbued me with such a strong sense of responsibility to the world at large that I never real y felt happy-go-lucky. If I ever had a minute to spare, I felt like I should be volunteering more hours at the local soup kitchen instead of just hanging out.
I knew I shouldn’t care about their little pack, and real y, truly didn’t care most of the time. After al , Piper had “invited” me to be part of her inner circle back in middle school, and I rejected her. Even then, I just couldn’t stomach being part of a group that routinely voted their friends “off” the lunch table, relegating them to some “loser-ridden backwater table” until they were voted back “on.” Stil , in such close proximity to their light, I couldn’t help but feel like a black hole, with my dark hair and jeans.
Missy, the most malevolent of the group, leaned directly on locker number twenty-four. My eyes rol ed at the thought of having to cut through al Missy’s nastiness to get to my locker before the bel rang. She caught my gesture, and I braced myself for some sort of backlash. Instead, Missy flipped her golden brown hair over her shoulders and said, “Hey, how was your summer?” With a smile.
I turned to look behind me, wondering just who she was talking to. My relationship with Piper ensured that Missy never bothered to belittle me, but she sure never bothered to be nice, either.
She repeated herself. “How was your summer, El ie?”
“Fine,” I answered warily, as I opened my locker. I busied myself inside it, slowly organizing my books in the hopes that she’d disappear by the time I emerged.
It didn’t work.
“Where’d you go this time?” Missy asked when I peeked out.
“Kenya,” I said as I shut my locker. That she admitted to knowing my name and the fact that I took summer trips abroad was beyond me.
“You’re so lucky your parents take you al over the world. I was stuck here in Til inghast al summer long.”
I didn’t know what to say to her, especial y since Piper and the rest of the golden group were watching with expectant grins on their faces. And especial y since I was pretty sure that Missy’s glamorous vision of my world travels didn’t jibe with the third-world reality. So I didn’t say anything.
Missy fil ed in the silence. “The girls and I were just talking about meeting at noon for lunch. Want to join us?”
I was just about to ask why when Ruth walked down the hal toward me.
Ruth’s pace slowed and her shoulders tensed when she spotted me talking to Missy. Ruth knew that she’d have to pass by her to get to me, and that the immunity my relationship with Piper bought me didn’t extend to her, even though she was my best friend.
I watched as Ruth bravely squared her shoulders, tucked her long red hair behind her ears, and approached me. Compared to the suntanned perfection of Missy and her friends, Ruth looked plain with her pale skin, wire-rimmed glasses, and basic T-shirt and jeans. But I knew that she hid a quiet prettiness behind that camouflage; it was just that she hated any kind of attention, even the positive variety.
“I think the bel ’s about to ring, El ie,” she said. Our first class was AP English, and rumor had it that the tough Miss Taunton was a stickler for timeliness.
Before I could respond, Missy swatted her hand in the air. She said to her little audience, “Did you guys hear something?”
The other girls snickered. I shot a quick look at the unchar-acteristical y quiet Piper. I didn’t expect Piper to defend Ruth, but I was happy to see that she didn’t chime in.
“No?” Egged on by her friends’ laughter, Missy batted the air and continued with her little charade. “Must be some nasty fly.”
“What did you just say to Ruth?” I said, unable to keep the anger from my voice, which only made me real y mad at myself. Missy’s clique delighted in belittling those who could not—or would not—wear the “right” skinny jeans or date the “right” senior jocks. The bigger the reaction, the better. I didn’t like to satisfy them—or feed their little games—with any sort of reaction. Particularly since Ruth was plenty capable of defending herself in the classroom and in the hal ways, if she so chose. And today, she did not so choose.
Missy waved her hand around again, and this time, it nearly brushed up against Ruth’s cheek.
I felt anger sweep over me like a wave, something I’d promised my peace-loving mom to avoid ever since I got into a nasty argument this summer with a spiteful member of our mission. I sensed my fair skin turning a fiery red and experienced the oddest sensation of my shoulder blades lifting and expanding.
Without thinking, I grabbed Missy’s wrist. Suddenly, the school hal way faded away, and I got a vivid flash of six-year-old girl Missy as if I were her.
She stood at the edge of the pool at the posh Til inghast country club she so often bragged about. In the image, a group of boys and girls teased her about her buck teeth and knock-knees. Missy turned around, looking for the protection and consolation of her mother. Her mother was indeed watching. But rather than answer the cal for help in her daughter’s eyes, she gripped her gin and tonic and walked over to her own gaggle of friends, many of whose children were teasing Missy. Her mother kept pretending she’d never seen the weakness in Missy’s eyes. In that very moment, the young Missy promised herself to never show that weakness again. She vowed instead to create that weakness in others, to make others buckle at her feet.
I started to get another, more recent, image. Missy was locked in a tight embrace with a guy. Looking through Missy’s eyes, I couldn’t see the guy’s face, but I could hear his low, gravel y voice whispering in her ear. At first, I couldn’t make out his words, but I could feel the warm, feathery sensation send shivers down Missy’s spine. Then the words became more distinct, and I swear he said, “El ie.” But the guy could only know my name from Missy, and why would she bother to talk about me?
Lost in that thought, I was jarred back to reality by Ruth, who was trying to pul my hand off Missy and whispering, “C’mon, El ie, she’s not worth the bother.” The image disappeared as quickly as it came, bringing me back to the horrible, and very real, teenage Missy. Yet, of the two images, the childhood scene remained so real to me that I felt Missy’s six-year-old feelings and thought her six-year-old thoughts as if I were the six-year-old Missy, and I experienced a deep sense of pity for her.
It wasn’t the first time I’d had this kind of flash, as I’d come to think of them. They’d been occurring more often since my sixteenth birthday in June, although they usual y didn’t amount to much. Usual y, they showed me what people had for lunch or told me what they thought of their friends’ outfits.
In the beginning, I thought my imagination was just going into overdrive, but it wasn’t long before I realized that what I was hearing and seeing in my mind wasn’t made up. It was true. One of the first times it happened, I imagined the girl sitting behind me in Spanish class was wondering about whether to break up with her boyfriend, and then a few seconds later she turned to her friend sitting next to her and asked about that very thing. But who could I tel without getting locked up for delusions?