Just Like That

by Gary D. Schmidt

Very cool.

  Twenty-Eight

  Later that week, Meryl Lee met Matt in the lobby of Lesser Hoxne on the way to Mrs. Bellamy’s class. He whispered to her in the hall, “Are you going to kiss me again?” and she whispered, “Only if you see a dangerous bus driver,” and Matt whispered, “Is that the only way it’s going to happen?” and Meryl Lee whispered, “The only way,” and so they came to Lesser Hoxne 213, where Mrs. Bellamy assigned them to be dissection partners since Charlotte had sent a note that she would be ill that day.

  “Ill?” said Meryl Lee.

  “That we are to dissect locusts may have something to do with her absence,” said Mrs. Bellamy.

  To start, they had to pluck a locust from a large gray glass jar swarming with living specimens. “Aren’t they just splendid?” Mrs. Bellamy said. She almost clapped her hands at their splendidness.

  When it was her turn, Meryl Lee rolled up her sleeves, since Matt had said there was no way that he was going to reach into a gray glass jar of living specimens.

  “But you’re a boy,” said Meryl Lee.

  “You must have already taken some advanced science classes,” said Matt.

  Meryl Lee looked at him with her eyes narrowed.

  “I hate insects,” he said.

  So Meryl Lee reached in and the locusts swarmed over her arm and up toward her sleeves. She shook her arm and shook her sleeves and locusts fell back into the jar.

  Matt took one or two steps away.

  “Don’t be squeamish,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “Simply pluck one from the jar.”

  “Yeah,” said Matt. “Just pluck one.”

  Meryl Lee’s kick went past his right shin.

  So Meryl Lee plucked at one—and the one she plucked at was not only swarming but positively jumpy in her hand.

  Meryl Lee closed her eyes and pulled it out.

  The living specimen’s wings buzzed against her palm. Meryl Lee’s eyebrows got pretty high.

  “Take the specimen to your lab table,” said Mrs. Bellamy.

  Meryl Lee held the living specimen as far from her as she could while she walked toward the lab table. Its wings still buzzing. Meryl Lee walking a little faster now. A lot faster now. She wondered if the locust’s jaws were already snapping above some critical vein in her hand. She wondered if locusts excreted venom. Green insect venom. She closed her eyes.

  “Matt!” she said.

  No answer.

  Meryl Lee opened her eyes.

  Matt was standing by the classroom windows.

  Meryl Lee picked up the test tube on the lab table, opened her hand, and tried to shove the living specimen inside. But the living specimen held on to the edge for dear life. “Matt!” Meryl Lee said again.

  Matt still standing by the classroom windows, moving a little closer to the classroom door.

  Meryl Lee gritted her teeth and tried not to think of insect jaws and green insect venom. She shoved, and the living specimen went inside. She covered the top of the test tube with her palm, and the living specimen whirred against it, angrily. She grabbed the wad of cotton, shook the test tube sort of desperately so that the living specimen fell to the bottom, and then, before it could shake itself upright and figure out which way was her flesh, Meryl Lee stuffed the cotton into the opening.

  The living specimen glared at her venomously.

  Which is when Mrs. Bellamy came over with Matt, her hand behind his back. “Matthew,” she said, “Meryl Lee is your lab partner, and part of this procedure is learning how to work together with your lab partner.”

  Matt looked as if he would not mind at all learning how to work together with his lab partner. But he wasn’t interested at all in the living specimen.

  Meryl Lee handed Matt the test tube. “You hold this, and I’ll pour in the ethanol.”

  Matt took the test tube.

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Bellamy.

  And even though he closed his eyes, Matt held the test tube mostly steady, and when Meryl Lee was ready, she said, “Okay, Matt . . . Matt, you have to open your eyes,” and Matt did and she began to pull out the cotton a little bit—and the living specimen saw its chance. It waited, poised, and when Meryl Lee pulled the cotton out more than a little bit, it leaped and snapped its jaws and excreted disgusting green insect venom and Matt dropped the test tube and the locust was suddenly on Meryl Lee’s face and ethanol was infusing the classroom air.

  “Open the windows,” cried Mrs. Bellamy—maybe because of the ethanol, but that’s not how the living specimen saw it. The locust made its escape.

  This time, Meryl Lee made Matt reach into the locust jar for a new living specimen—even though the escape hadn’t been his fault, he said.

  “It isn’t that big a deal,” she said when he began to reach in.

  “He won’t bite you,” she said when he grabbed one.

  “It’s not like he’s poisonous,” she said when Matt tried to shove him into the test tube.

  “Push him in with your finger,” she said when the locust wouldn’t drop down.

  “Be sure you—”

  “He’s in, all right? He’s in. So get the cotton,” Matt said.

  So Mrs. Bellamy poured in the ethanol and when the locust was quiet, they tapped it out of the test tube—examining its abdomen for holes through which air could pass, and making sure it was not dead—and pinned it to the wax slab in their lab tray.

  Actually, Meryl Lee did the tapping and the pinning.

  Matt was back by the classroom windows again.

  “Next,” said Mrs. Bellamy, “slice off the wings with your scalpel, then cut through the exoskeleton with your scissors.”

  Meryl Lee did the slicing and the cutting, and every time she slid the scalpel or closed the scissors, Matt made a noise from somewhere deep inside him that sounded like a hurt animal.

  This did not give Meryl Lee a steady hand.

  “Next you will identify and remove the esophagus, the gizzard, the Malpighian tubules, and the colon,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “Please note their positions in the sketch on the board. The partner who did not cut through the exoskeleton should perform this task.”

  Meryl Lee handed the scalpel to Matt.

  Matt looked at the pinned locust. He looked at Meryl Lee. He looked at the scalpel’s blade.

  “It’s okay,” said Meryl Lee.

  But it was not okay with Matt. It was definitely not okay.

  Because suddenly all Matt saw was the knife the Big Guy was wiping off on the Small Guy’s shirt. The way he laughed while he wiped it off.

  Matt handed the scalpel back to Meryl Lee.

  It was not okay.

  So Meryl Lee removed the esophagus, the gizzard, the Malpighian tubules, and the colon, and Matt held his breath. But when Meryl Lee unpinned the locust and it started to move as if it was trying to whir its missing wings, Matt was out the door, and nothing Mrs. Bellamy could do would bring Meryl Lee’s lab partner back.

  Again.

  And Meryl Lee went to the classroom windows and watched Matt cross the campus lawn at a run, and she almost saw the Blank running after him, until falling snow hid them both from view.

  * * *

  Snow sheeted the grounds of St. Elene’s during Algebra (which Matt did not come for) and Domestic Economy, so by the time Meryl Lee walked back to Netley, the commons was already covered in a couple of inches, and the walkway up to Newell, and the sidewalks between Sherbourne, and, well, everyplace else was already starting to cover up as well. Meryl Lee could feel the flakes decking her hair, and gathering in her eyebrows, and lowering onto her shoulders. Around her, girls were hurrying and sliding and pulling hoods over themselves. On the other side of the commons, sharp-ars—Mrs. Connolly walked stiffly and quickly, as if she wasn’t going to be intimidated.

  By Evening Meal there must have been five or maybe even six inches everywhere—not counting the drifts blowing up between the buildings. Towels were spread all over Greater Hoxne lobby to catch the snowfall from the girl
s when they came in, and Bettye was rolling up the wettest ones and throwing down new ones as fast as she could.

  “Bettye,” said Meryl Lee, “how are you going to get home?”

  Bettye looked around behind her, and then she said, “I’ll stay here tonight if I have to.”

  “Where?”

  “There’s a cot in the basement.”

  “Come to our room.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Bettye, you . . .”

  Bettye looked around quickly again. “Meryl Lee, I can’t.” She took the rolled-up towels, dripping wet, and lugged them back across the lobby.

  Bettye served Meryl Lee’s table again that night.

  Meryl Lee did not ask for another glass of water.

  Afterward, she walked back from Greater Hoxne in snow that kept falling as though it had something to make up for. There must have been seven or eight inches, maybe more, and the fantastic billows beside Putnam—not to mention those bulging in front of Newell—were well past Meryl Lee’s waist.

  She and Jennifer watched out their dorm windows through the evening as it snowed and snowed and snowed, and Meryl Lee thought of Holling, and what he would do with those drifts, and she wondered if Matt was looking out his window too.

  Nine o’clock, and still snowing hard.

  Ten o’clock, and still snowing hard. Mrs. Kellogg walking through the halls of Netley, shutting off lights, checking the windows, tidying here, straightening there, then going down to the lobby to lock the outside doors.

  Eleven o’clock, and Meryl Lee lying in her bed, Jennifer asleep, and everything quiet, and Meryl Lee realized that she no longer heard the wind, or the light taps of snow against glass. She looked: the moonlight was coming bright, almost bright as day, through the window. She got up—of course—and looked over the grounds of St. Elene’s Preparatory Academy for Girls, where the long folds of snowy down sparkled like a thousand slivers of mirrors in the moonlight.

  Meryl Lee got dressed.

  She found her Camillo Junior High sweatshirt.

  She found her coat.

  She crossed the room in the dark, opened the door as slightly as she could, and listened for a prowling Mrs. Kellogg. No sound. She walked out into the hall.

  And Charlotte from Charlotte came out of the bathroom.

  She had on a hairnet over her auburn curls.

  They looked at each other.

  “What are you doing?” said Charlotte.

  “It stopped snowing.”

  “So—”

  “And the moon is bright.”

  In the half-lit hallway, Charlotte looked out the window.

  “I’m going out,” said Meryl Lee.

  “You are?”

  Meryl Lee nodded.

  “Me too,” said Charlotte.

  It was not what Meryl Lee had expected.

  “Wait for me,” said Charlotte.

  Meryl Lee waited, and a few minutes later Charlotte was back without the hairnet and they were sneaking through the halls of Netley, still watching for Mrs. Kellogg, but she wasn’t in sight and they got to the bottom of the stairs and crossed the lobby and tried the front door.

  Locked.

  Back across the lobby and down a hall to the rear door.

  Locked.

  Back to the lobby to figure out what to do and guess who was standing by the door?

  “You girls are up awfully late,” Mrs. Kellogg said.

  What could they say?

  “Since there is a ten o’clock curfew, I have to assume that—despite the coats—you are sleepwalking.”

  They waited.

  “I see,” Mrs. Kellogg said. She began to smile, and nodded a little bit, as if she had made up her mind about something. “Years ago,” she said, “when I was a girl here, there was once a beautiful, enchanting snow. It fell deep and thick before the full moon came out. It was lovely. So that night, Nora Thaxter—your current headmistress—and I snuck out after curfew and walked all around the campus.”

  Meryl Lee and Charlotte stood absolutely still.

  “It’s a night I’ve never forgotten.” Mrs. Kellogg walked across the lobby, took a key from around her neck, unlocked the front door, and turned around and walked up the stairs. “Sleep well, girls,” she called back.

  Meryl Lee and Charlotte looked at each other, and then they laughed quietly—giggled, almost—and went out.

  It was a night they would never forget, either. The hush of everything, the way a gleam of light coming from Sherbourne House reflected on Newell Chapel, snow piled like phantasms all over, a million reflections of the moonlight—so bright they prismed.

  Things can be different, in the bright darkness, in the deep snow, at night, everything looking new. Things can be different, in the close and deep cold, alone together, hand in hand. Things can be different.

  For a long time, they didn’t say anything. But when they got all the way down to the main gate, Charlotte suddenly said, “You’re so brave in Mrs. Bellamy’s lab.”

  “Not really,” said Meryl Lee.

  “No, you are. I could never do what you do.”

  “Charlotte,” said Meryl Lee, “yes, you could.”

  “Ashley says I’m afraid of everything.”

  “You’re not.”

  “How do you know?” And Meryl Lee saw Charlotte looking at her as if this was really an important question. Like she really, really wanted to know.

  “You’re out here with me,” said Meryl Lee.

  Charlotte looked at her. Then she looked away. “Ashley says I spend too much time on my looks. Do you think I spend too much time on my looks?”

  “Yes,” Meryl Lee said.

  Charlotte was quiet for a long time. “You don’t know what it’s like, growing up without any real friends.”

  “You’ve been living with the same girls at St. Elene’s for forever.”

  “You’re not listening,” she said. “I mean real friends. Like when you and Heidi and Marian and even that girl Bettye leave St. Elene’s. I’ve seen you. I wanted you to ask me to come.”

  “I didn’t think you would come.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “I thought you didn’t like me.”

  “You were wrong about that, too.”

  They walked by the wall, where snow covered all the poison ivy vines.

  “I thought,” Meryl Lee said slowly, “maybe I might go down to the shore tomorrow. Right after classes. It will be beautiful in the snow.”

  Charlotte quiet.

  “Would you like to—”

  “Yes,” Charlotte said. “I really would.”

  “It may be against the rules.”

  “So is this,” said Charlotte.

  And that, just like that, is how things begin again—because poison ivy looks a whole lot nicer when it’s covered with white snow sparkling in the moonlight.

  It really was lovely.

  * * *

  At breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Mott reminded the student body of St. Elene’s that young ladies do not wander the grounds of the school at night—most particularly during a nor’easter—and those who might violate this rule should be aware that they are within easy sight of Sherbourne House. She would be more attentive in the future, she promised.

  The whole time, Meryl Lee and Charlotte were trying not to look at each other, because if they had, they would have burst out laughing.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Kellogg was carefully buttering her English muffin.

  Mrs. Kellogg might really be a good egg, thought Meryl Lee.

  Maybe Charlotte, too.

  * * *

  The night that Meryl Lee and Charlotte were wandering the grounds of St. Elene’s during a nor’easter and within easy sight of Sherbourne House, Matt was looking out the bay window in the parlor of Mrs. MacKnockater’s house, watching the swirls of snow, listening to the wind curl around the cornices and push against the clapboards. The heat of the wood stove was solid and hot, but still he could feel th
e draft come right through the panes of glass, and he put his hand out to the window to hold the glass from rattling.

  He wondered if he might one day really be a part of St. Elene’s. Mr. Wheelock was okay, and he was kind of interested in algebra—maybe even figuring out the pleasures. He’d finished the homework—and all the makeup homework for the quarter—in just a couple of hours. And once they cut out the dissection stuff, maybe he’d like Mrs. Bellamy, too. So even though it was a girls’ school, maybe he’d be a part of it.

  What would Georgie say to that?

  He moved closer to the window, because he could, since not even Leonidas Shug would be out on a night like this, and it was safe.

  Captain Hurd had come for supper that night. He’d asked how school had gone, and Matt told him what he’d told Bagheera: it was fine. The Captain had asked if Matt would come out in Affliction on Saturday, and Bagheera said he might be busy with homework, but Matt said he’d be down to the docks before sunup. Captain Hurd asked if he was learning anything important, and Matt told him about Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones.

  “Why didn’t they just take a boat across?” said Captain Hurd.

  “Hush, you old fool,” said Mrs. MacKnockater.

  “Well, why didn’t they?”

  Matt listened to them happily. And now, as he thought about Captain Hurd and Bagheera, he wondered again if maybe he could be a part of that, too.

  Later, Matt banked the wood stove for the night, and Bagheera sent him upstairs with a couple of rough towels to lay against the drafty windowsills, but they didn’t do much to keep out the cold. He undressed shivering, and shivering scuttled between the cold, very cold sheets, pulling two woolen blankets and a down quilt over him and feeling their lovely weight on his chest and legs.

  If Myrna Two had been there, it would have been perfect.

  He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ladder that led up the chute to the roof. It had stopped snowing. Maybe there would be stars.

  Suppose he didn’t run?

  Suppose he stayed after all?

  Twenty-Nine

  February had a bruised sky that never seemed to heal, and it was all the more dismal in Meryl Lee’s room because Alden, sweet Alden, had written to say how heartbroken he was that his father insisted on his taking up some of the charitable responsibilities of the family and so he would be appearing at the opening of several museums and concerts to represent the estate but all the while, he knew Jennifer understood that his heart was with her on St. Valentine’s Day—and on every day.