A Face without a Reflection

by Linda Lee Bowen

  “Are you okay, Lil?” she asked with a worried look on her face.

  I wanted to tell her I was fine, but I had a sickeningly sour taste in my throat that made my mouth water profusely, and all I could do was swallow repeatedly while I prayed to God that He would not let me throw up. After about the nine hundredth swallow, the horrible taste began to go away, but I was terrified that it might come back. So I sat perfectly still; took in short, shallow breaths of air; and waited for the queasiness to subside.

  I knew that the kid who sat across the aisle was staring at me with some degree of intensity, and it made me very uncomfortable. I wanted to look back at him, just to make him stop, but lifting my head triggered a sick sensation in the back of my neck, so I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. It almost seemed like he was in a trance, but at the same time, he appeared to be praying. Or possibly begging. Whatever he was doing, he sure wasn’t stopping.

  I thought he was being terribly rude at a particularly tough time. Then I remembered one very hot day in the beginning of the year. We were on our way home from school, and he suddenly turned a yucky shade of green. Without a single word of warning, he puked up his lunch and what looked like a whole bag of partially chewed, sugarcoated sour candy that smelled so bad, everyone else on the bus almost puked up their lunches too. Mr. Little stopped the bus and walked toward the boy with a handful of paper towels and a half-empty bottle of water and did his best to clean up the runny chunks that landed mostly on the boy’s backpack and the seat in front of him. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough paper towels or water to take care of the gooey slime that was on the boy’s pants and shoes. He had to ride the rest of the way to his stop smelling like throw up and listening to the creeps in the back of the bus making fun of him. One particularly mean kid stuck his head out the bus window and made vomiting noises at the sick kid, who was walking as fast as he could toward his house.

  This might have been the worst thing I could have thought about at that particular time, as the rancid smell of regurgitated candy filled up my brain and curled up my nose. I was certain that I was going to lose it when my stomach miraculously settled down and I knew I would be okay. Turning my head ever so slightly toward the boy, I smiled. But I don’t think he noticed. I can understand that. Anyone who’s had the misfortune of throwing up on a school bus or anywhere in public knows it’s one of the most humiliating things that can ever happen to you. Some kids, like the boy across the aisle from me, never fully recover. Even if you manage to put that fateful day behind you, there will always be creeps like the kids in the back of the bus who are waiting to make fun of you all over again.

  My head had stopped pounding, and the bad taste was gone from my mouth, but it wasn’t long before my eyes welled up with tears and my nose began to run. I looked to Maddie for help, but before I said a word, she’d already pulled out a pack of tissues and handed them to me with a smile.

  “Thanks,” I said, after blowing my nose.

  “No prob,” she assured me. “Everyone gets sick.” She glanced over at the boy, who had finally turned away. “So, what’s going on? Do you think you’re coming down with something?” Maddie was sincerely concerned about me, but I was too wiped out to talk.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I lowered my head once again.

  Not sharing everything that happened that day with Maddie might not have seemed like a big deal. But it turned out to be very big, as it was just one of many seemingly innocent things that wound up in a mountainous pile of mistakes that I would not soon get over.

  We rode the rest of the way in silence, although once in a while she’d turn to me and smile. She smiled at the boy across the aisle from me too, even though he wasn’t paying attention.

  Things only got worse when we arrived at my stop, as my mother and Spirit weren’t there to meet me. I leaned over Maddie and looked up and down the street, but they were nowhere in sight. As soon as the bus came to a full stop, I jumped up from my seat and made a mad dash for the doors.

  “Where could they be?” I wondered as I stepped off the bus and watched it slowly pull away.

  Everyone was staring at me from the back window, and I felt painfully alone as I walked quickly past the dense trees and wrought iron fence that separated Mrs. Robbins’ property from the rest of the world. The feeling intensified when I reached the front gate and found that it was closed.

  “It’s never closed during the day,” I thought.

  My heart was pounding as I poked at the keypad that activated the hydraulics and squeezed through the gate before it could fully open. My backpack got stuck on the latch and I yanked it as hard as I could just as the gate released it, which nearly sent me tumbling to the ground. Looking down the alley of giant white elm trees that covered the only path to the house, I saw my mom and Spirit meandering toward me.

  “Hey,” she waved cheerfully as I ran frantically toward her. “You’re early!” she called out.

  Every bit of life seemed to rush out of me as my shoulders fell forward and my head dropped back. I felt like an old rag doll whose stuffing had been knocked out of her.

  “I thought you were dead!” I cried.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, suddenly aware that I was in crisis mode. “We’re fine!”

  Stating the obvious made her laugh, and I lightened up a bit when Spirit grabbed one of my shoestrings and growled as he gave it a tug.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Lil,” Mom said as we walked toward the cottage. “I guess I lost track of the time. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Oh, Mommy, this has been the worst day ever!”

  She took my face in her hands as she smiled and pulled me toward her. “Well, my darling, you’re home now,” she said as our foreheads touched. “Let’s go in, so you can tell me all about it.”

  The weight of the world was lifted from me when she put her arm around my shoulder. Spirit ran in front of us and then behind as he entangled us in his dangling leash, and we giggled as we stumbled toward the back door of our cottage, tripping over ourselves, the dog, and each other.

  “Spirit, stop!” my mom commanded halfheartedly. He paid no attention. “This dog needs training,” she declared. “I hope we can find a good book on the subject.”

  My jaw dropped, and my eyes grew wide as I reached for her arm. Holding on to her, I began laughing so hard that I couldn’t stand up. When the laughter became contagious, I brought us both tumbling to the ground as Spirit ran back and forth, planting kisses on our faces. We were hysterical with laughter as we lay on the soft grass, trying to catch our breath. Spirit sat panting between us, entangled in love, laughter, and his leash.

  “I found a dog-training book today.” I turned my head toward her and smiled.

  “Perfect timing,” she said as she watched the clouds drift by. “I made brownies,” she offered, never shifting her gaze from the sky. Then, with a very mischievous tone in her voice, she grinned and said, “Race ya!” And off we ran.

  A big plate of brownies was waiting on the kitchen table. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw them there. Spirit headed straight for his water bowl, and Mom poured two big glasses of milk and then sat down at the table across from me.

  “So,” she began, as if things were perfectly normal, “how was your day?”

  I had just taken a big bite from the brownie, so I looked at her and rolled my eyes before trying to speak.

  “You won’t believe it, Mom,” I said, with brownies all over my teeth. “But it all started when I went to the library to get the dog-training book.”

  She laughed, finally understanding what all the hilarity was about earlier. Then with both elbows on the table and hands holding up her chin, she gave me her undivided attention.

  “Tell me all about it,” she said.

  We sat there for an hour as I relived each agonizing moment of the day that was now behind me. She listened to every word I said without ever asking me why I did this or that or what I could have been thinking.
Every now and then she would let out a “What?” or “No way!” just to assure me she was on my side all the time. Nothing she could have done would have been more important to me at that moment. Everything seemed far less serious now that we were together, and the two of us were soon laughing at how silly the whole ordeal was.

  “What shall we do with this young lady?” my mother asked, pretending to be the principal. Then she draped a dish towel over her shoulders and held a wooden spoon in the air like a scepter as she declared, “Off with her head!”

  I had completely forgotten about the trouble I’d been in, and I laughed so hard that milk came out of my nose. Then we laughed some more. I was almost too tired to climb into bed that night, but something popped into my mind just before she turned out the light.

  “Mom, Mr. Rubello said something today that was really strange.”

  “Just one thing?” my mother asked sarcastically.

  I thought her comment was funny, but I was too tired to even giggle, so I gave her a little smile to let her know I got her joke.

  “So what did His Highness say?”

  “Well, it was when I first went into his office. He was looking at my file, and he said I was one of the better students at school.”

  “Point for the principal,” she said with a smirk.

  “Yeah, but then he said I was also one of the more privileged. What do you think he meant by that?”

  The shock that registered on my mother’s face was off the charts and was followed by an equally alarming look of sheer rage.

  “He said what?” she shot back at me, not waiting for a reply. “Why, that little weasel. If I ever get my hands on him, so help me—”

  “Mom!” I said loudly, bringing her back to her senses.

  “I’m sorry, honey. That man just makes my blood boil!”

  “I know, Mom. But the thing is, he was kind of mad when he said it. I really don’t know what he meant by ‘privileged.’ Do you think Mr. Rubello thinks we’re rich because of where we live?”

  The rage on my mother’s face slowly turned to sorrow as I continued.

  “That would make sense,” I said, ignoring her discomfort. “I mean, it’s not as if where we live is a secret. I guess if I weren’t me, I’d think I was rich too.” This made my mother smile. “But what I don’t get is…why would he be mad about it?”

  “I don’t know, kiddo,” she said sincerely. “Not knowing the truth can make people jump to the wrong conclusions. And I guess in our case, it makes them jealous.”

  “It still doesn’t make any sense. Just because he thinks we’re rich—even though we aren’t—shouldn’t make him mad, even if it does make him jealous.”

  “He’s not mad because he thinks we’re rich, Lily. He’s mad because he thinks we don’t deserve it.”

  The idea that anyone might be jealous of me made me very uncomfortable. How was I supposed to deal with something that was unspoken?

  “Mom, do you think my friends are jealous?”

  My mother’s thoughtful words said, “Of course not.”

  But her face said, “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER 8

  OFF WITH HER HEAD

  We were halfway through breakfast when my mother announced that she was going to call Principal Rubello to discuss what had happened the day before. I was suddenly sick to my stomach.

  “Aw, Mom, do you have to? I don’t want to make a big deal of it. School’s almost over, and everyone will forget about it. Can we just let it go? Please?”

  “I don’t think so, honey. If I don’t contact him, he might assume I don’t care about what happens at school. Nothing could be further from the truth. I promise I won’t make a big deal of it. I will be very calm and polite. But it’s important that we speak up when we believe we have been treated unfairly. Do you understand?”

  I stared at my breakfast with my face buried in my fists.

  “Lily?”

  “Yes, I understand.” But I dreaded what would come of the day.

  We barely spoke as we walked under the shelter of the elms to the bus stop. I grumbled, and Mom stood her ground, while Spirit walked happily in front of us with the leash clenched between his teeth.

  “He thinks he’s walking us,” my mother said, chuckling, while I continued to pout. As the bus rolled slowly toward my stop, she assured me everything would be fine.

  “Nothing to worry about,” she insisted.

  “That’s what Mrs. Olson said,” I mumbled as I lumbered toward the bus.

  The door opened. Mr. Little gave me a quick smile as he waved to my mother. It seemed unusually quiet as I stepped onto the bus, especially for a Friday morning. Ordinarily there would be lots of chatter and laughter as the year-end excitement became more and more difficult to contain. But everyone was seemingly preoccupied or talking quietly with their heads down.

  What was going on? Did someone die? I sat down next to Maddie, who was staring out the window again.

  “Hi, Maddie,” I said as I did every morning.

  “Hi” came her reply. But she didn’t look at me.

  The ride to school felt very strange, and then I found myself walking to my class alone. This had never happened before. Maddie and I had always walked together until we got to her classroom, which was just down the hall from mine, and then we’d say, “Bye! See ya after school!” And that’s how we’d start our days.

  But on this morning, she disappeared as soon as we stepped off the bus, and even though I looked around, she was nowhere to be found. About half the class was in the room when I arrived, so I quietly made my way to my desk.

  Billy Gabershevski was clowning around, as usual, but stopped throwing spitballs across the room long enough to say, “Oh, look whose back. Little Miss Perfect! Ha-ha! Looks like you’re not so perfect after all.”

  The boys who were the targets for his saliva-soaked paper wads hooted as I walked to my seat.

  “Woo-hoo! The Queen of Perfect is back in town,” Billy Gabershevski said, and the paper-wad kids laughed.

  “What’s their problem?” I snarled to myself.

  Things were nearly out of control, with spitballs and erasers flying through the air by the time Mr. Wicket walked in. The particularly foul mood that he arrived with was only exacerbated by the turbulent atmosphere in the classroom.

  Slamming his briefcase down on his desk, he clapped his hands together and shouted, “That will be enough!” The room was still. “I don’t want to hear a single word from any of you for the rest of the day. You will speak only when you are spoken to by me. Is that clear?”

  Everyone, including Billy Gabershevski, said, “Yes, Mr. Wicket.”

  We stood as we recited the Pledge of Allegiance, and everyone remained silent as the morning announcements were made over the school intercom. We were about to lift our history books out of our desktops when Mr. Wicket advised that we were going to take a pop quiz on the Civil War. There were several groans from Billy Gabershevski and his crew, to which Mr. Wicket responded by tapping his ruler loudly on the desk.

  “Silence! Put your books and papers away this instant. I want to see nothing more than a single number-two pencil on the desk in front of you.” He pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and walked to the first row of desks by the window.

  “The quiz is to remain facedown until everyone in the class has received a copy and I have given you permission to turn it over. Anyone who looks at the quiz before being instructed to do so will receive an automatic zero, which will affect fifteen percent of your overall grade.”

  A few gasps were heard throughout the room as he handed the packets to the first person in each row. He kept his eyes on the class to ensure no one tried to catch a glimpse of what was awaiting us. When every quiz had been passed out, he stood in front of the class. “You may turn over your papers.” Glancing at the clock, he announced, “The quiz begins…now.”

  I printed my name and the date at the top of the page before reading the first questi
on. It was much easier than I expected, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The questions became more difficult as the quiz went on, which made me nervous, but I made it through without blanking out, which had happened in the past.

  I always got good grades, which surprised me since I usually felt like I was flying by the seat of my pants. But my mother assured me that I was very smart and that all I needed was confidence. The night before a test was always grueling because something would switch off in my head before I was finished studying, and I couldn’t focus on anything, which freaked me out. It never seemed to bother my mother, though. She told me that all the information was tucked away in the back of my brain and would come to the front when I needed it. Her words didn’t stop me from worrying, even though she was usually right. On this day, I appeared to be fully prepared for the Civil War. What I wasn’t prepared for was lunch.

  By the time the bell rang for lunch, I had forgotten about all the weirdness that happened on the bus and during class. I was getting quite hungry and hoped there was something delicious being served in the cafeteria. It wasn’t often that my mother allowed me to buy lunch, as it became too expensive. But she had no time to prepare something for me this morning, so I picked up a tray and stood in line to check out the specials for the day. I surveyed the steaming trays behind the glass-domed serving station where the women in plastic bonnets and gloves stood poised to place precise nutritional portions onto plates.

  “I’m not really in the mood for a hot lunch,” I thought. “Though the green beans and ham look good.”

  I smiled at the women as I moved toward the salad bar. One of the kitchen workers had just delivered a clean stack of plates that came straight from the dishwasher. The dish was still hot when I picked it up, which startled me. I nearly dropped it on the floor.

  “Whoa!” I said loudly. And I heard a few giggles from behind me.

  The vegetables and fruits looked very fresh, and I piled the food onto my plate—romaine, cucumbers, tomatoes, grated cheese, sunflower seeds, hard-boiled eggs, raisins, and a few strawberries on the side. I topped my salad off with a scoop of creamy Caesar dressing and then filled a cup with water from the soda dispenser before getting in the checkout line.