Edwart was looking at me, too. Maybe it was the fluorescent lighting, but his eyes seemed darker—soulless. He was seething furiously. His computer was open in front of him, and the synthesized melody from before had ceased. He raised his fist at me in anger.
I wiped the chemical dust off my clothes and sat down. Without looking at Edwart, I pulled out my textbook and notepad. Then, without looking at Edwart, I looked at the board and wrote down the terms Mr. Franklin had written. I don’t think other people in my situation could do quite so many things without looking at Edwart.
Facing straight ahead, I let my eyes sort of slide to the side and study him peripherally, which doesn’t count as looking. He had moved his computer to his lap and resumed playing his game. We were sitting side by side at the lab counter, yet he hadn’t started a conversation with me. It was as though I hadn’t applied deodorant or something when in reality I had applied deodorant, perfume, and Febreze. Was my lip gloss smudged or something? I took out my compact mirror to check. Nope, but I did have a few developing pimples up by the hairline. I picked up a pencil on Edwart’s desk and pressed it against the soft, supple flesh of my face. They were the projectile kind. Satisfaction attained.
I turned to thank him kindly for the use of his pencil, but he was looking at me in horror, his mouth agape, an open invitation to all sorts of airborne organisms like birds. He grabbed the pencil and started wiping his hands with baby-wipes and rubbing the pencil with Purell. Then he drew a circle around himself in chalk and returned to copying notes from the board, singing this jingle amiably to himself:
“Germs contagious. Contagion alert. But Edwart and Purell are stronger than dirt.”
I reached out to borrow the pencil again for my notes, but the moment my hand breached the chalk line he screamed. It was an unnaturally high pitch for a boy. The right pitch for a superhero, though.
Mr. Franklin was talking about flow cytometry, immunorecipitation and DNA microarrays, but I already knew that stuff from the audiotape I listened to in my truck that morning on my way to school. I moved my eyes in circles, like they were on a Ferris wheel. This is the best way I know of to keep myself from falling asleep. Every time my eyes moved towards the right, though, they kind of hovered there for a little bit. I couldn’t help it—they wanted to see Edwart. Then my eyes would go to the top of the sockets towards the ceiling and stop because, hey, nice view.
Edwart continued to jab at his computer. With each pounding finger I could see the blood surging through the bulging veins on his forearms to his biceps, straining against the tight-fitted, white Oxford shirt pushed cavalierly to his elbows as though he had a lot of manual labor to do. Why was he typing so loudly? Was he trying to tell me something? Was he trying to prove how easy it would be for him to fling me up into the sky and then catch me tightly in his arms, whispering that he would never share me with anyone else in the entire world? I shuddered and smiled coyly, terrified.
When the bell rang I stole another glance at him and shrank into a deeper sense of worthlessness. He was now staring furiously up at the bell, shaking all the muscles in his fist at it, glowering at it with his dark, heated eyes and loathing lashes. He clenched his hair in exasperation, clinging to the tussled tufts as he raised his head to the ceiling. Then he slowly turned to me. Looking into his eyes I felt waves of electricity, currents of electrons charging towards me. Was this how it felt to be in love, I wondered, for robots? Caught in his ionized hypnosis, the old adage came to mind: Beautiful enough to kill, gut, stuff, and frame above your fireplace.
Suddenly, he jerked out of his daze and sprinted for the door. As he ran, I noticed how tall he was, his long legs leaping in strides the size of my entire body, his arms so firm the impact didn’t make a ripple. My eyes welled. I hadn’t seen something this beautiful since I was a kid and the Skittles in my sweaty fist turned my hand rainbow. His shoulder blades jutted against his shirt as he ran. They looked like white wings beating majestically before takeoff. Demonic white wings.
“Wait!” I called after him. He had left his computer at his seat. “Game Over,” the screen read. Game over, indeed, I thought, using a metaphor.
“Can I copy your notes?” asked a regular human male. I looked up and saw a boy of medium height, with dark hair and a lean but muscular frame. I felt drawn to him. He smiled at me. I lost interest.
“Sure, whatever,” I said, handing him my notepad and suddenly noticing that I had doodled a picture of Edwart. In the drawing he had fangs, dripping with a dark substance. Soy sauce.
“I’m going to need that back,” I said. That drawing was going on my wall.
“Thanks, Lindsey,” he said, mistaking me for Lindsey Lohan. He smiled again. What a nice boy. He had nice neat hair and nice clear eyes. We were going to be great friends. Great Just Friends.
“Walk me to the administration office,” I said. We all had gym next, but I needed my wheelchair. I have a condition which makes my legs become paralyzed every time I think about gyms.
“Okay,” he said, letting me put my weight on him. “I’m Adam, by the way. I think I saw you in my English class. That’ll be great! As long as one of us takes notes, the other one—me—doesn’t have to go to class.” He was getting kind of out of breath as he dragged me along. Being close to me makes some guys nervous.
“Did you notice anything funny about Edwart in class? I think I love him,” I said nonchalantly.
“Well, he did look kind of angry when you fell and disconnected his computer charger.”
So it wasn’t all in my mind; others had noticed Edwart’s awareness of me. There was something about me that evoked very strong feelings in Edwart.
“Hmm,” I said scientifically. “How interesting.”
“Here we are.” After propping me upright against the wall, Adam staggered backwards, huffing and puffing.
I dismissed him and stepped inside the office.
“I’m paralyzed for the next hour,” I announced to the secretary.
“Go sit in your car, dear,” she said, looking up from her copy of Daylight.
I skipped outside to my car, trying to daydream about its powers as king of the cars, but I was too disturbed. First of all, if I had gotten my car for free, that meant that everyone else had paid more money for tinier cars. Secondly, I was pretty sure there was something supernatural about Edwart—something beyond rational speculation.
So I stopped speculating about him and watched a procession of ants go by. Life would be much easier if I could carry things twenty times my body weight.
2. RESCUE
THE NEXT DAY WAS WONDERFUL … AND TERRIBLE. So, overall, I guess it was okay.
It was wonderful because it was raining less. It was terrible because Tom hit me with his car.
“I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you!” he said, driving away to find a parking space before the lot filled up. I picked myself up and smiled knowingly. Tom’s constant attempts to get my attention were flattering and sometimes surprising.
Adam sat next to me in English again. I began to worry that this would become a pattern, that he would expect to occupy the seat next to me forever, even when I was just eating breakfast at home with my Dad. Mr. Schwartz called on him and he mumbled something—I think that the sombrero I was wearing was both alluring and practical for the weather—but my mind had drifted. I was thinking about Edwart. I took out the list I made of rational reasons he wouldn’t talk to me:
—too scared
—too sad
—too mute
—not human
I was about to start a new list, Places I’d Like to Visit, when I heard someone saying my name.
I looked up. It was Adam.
“Class is over,” he said, and walked out. I wasn’t used to all this attention from boys.
“Yeah,” I called after him. “I knew the whole time!” He didn’t respond. I sighed. I should have known no one would get my sense of humor in English class.
On my way out, I bumped
into a desk, which bumped into another desk, which bumped into a table with a Popsicle-stick and marshmallow model of the Globe Theatre on top of it. The model wobbled dangerously. Knowing my luck, it is a miracle it didn’t topple over onto the desk. Instead, it toppled onto the floor, where I accidentally slipped on it and somehow got marshmallow in my hair.
At lunch I sat with Tom and Lucy’s friends again. Looking around at all the other tables, I realized this must be the popular table. It was definitely the closest to the door—optimal for getting to class on time. Also, everyone at the table had a bag lunch with their name on it. I felt bad for the kids at other tables, who were probably nice, but just not socially connected enough to sit close to the door or use paper bags. Tom’s lunch had “My Little Sugar-Pie” written on it. When I asked him why his mom only made him a little sugar-pie, he pretended not to hear. I made a note to pack some vegetables for that boy.
After lunch was Biology—with Edwart. I wished my heart wasn’t beating so fast as I walked down the hall. I especially wished my armpits weren’t sweating so much; I must be secreting pheromones like crazy, which would only heighten Adam and Tom’s frenzy. Drenched in my natural secretions, I walked into class and braced myself for their wild attacks. Instead, I saw Edwart. He looked like a boy in an ad for deodorant, which I definitely would have bought if he were selling it, even if it had aluminum in it, which causes AIDS. I slid into the seat next to him. To my astonishment, he looked up from his computer with a slight nod.
“Hi,” he said in the quiet voice of a boys’ choir of angels.
I couldn’t believe he was talking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as last time, probably because of the smell, but he seemed to know I was there instinctively, like some sort of animal.
“Hi,” I said. “How did you know my name was Belle?”
“What? Oh, I didn’t know that. Hi, Belle.”
“Yeah, Belle. How did you know that? Belle is a nickname.”
He looked about confusedly. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, looking towards the blackboard. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation for all of this.” After that he stopped talking. I doodled a picture of what I’d look like if I got bitten by a vampire. I’d look very feminine.
Mr. Franklin explained that we were going to dissect a frog in class today. He gave each group a specimen, taken from a cold, anesthetic-smelling plastic bag. Our frog lay in the metal tray on our table, lifeless. It made me shudder to think of all the harmless flies it had probably eaten.
“So … should we start?” Edwart asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said quickly. I picked up the knife, and stuck it into our frog.
“Wait!” Edwart declared. “You have to read the procedure first!”
“It’s so easy,” I said, slicing the frog down its middle. I’d done this lab before. At a pond, when I was a little girl.
Mr. Franklin came over to our table. “Careful there, Belle! You want to be able to examine the inside!”
“I know,” I acknowledged. “I was in the advanced class at my old school.”
Mr. Franklin nodded, “I see,” he postulated. “Why don’t you let Edwart handle the rest of this dissection?”
I shrugged. It didn’t matter to me; if Mr. Franklin thought this lab was too easy for me, he was right. I leaned back in my chair, bored already. Edwart carefully stripped away layers of the frog’s skin and made notes on his diagram. I leaned forwards, suddenly mesmerized by his handwriting. For a second I thought that maybe I was looking at the handwriting of an angel. Then I remembered angels don’t have hands. He must be something else—something else supernatural.
“So … uh … are you going to write any of this down in your lab report?” Edwart asked. He held up his sheet for me to copy, as if just because he did all the observing, he knew more about frog organs than I did.
“I already finished it,” I told him. I held up my sheet. I had drawn much more advanced pictures depicting what it would look like if you removed a human’s organs and replaced them with those of a frog. Below the diagrams, I listed a few organizations that take organ donations in case Mr. Franklin wanted to do the charitable thing and donate all these frog organs to people who needed them.
Edwart looked at my picture and frowned, suddenly ashamed of his own report in comparison. “Let’s turn our labs in individually,” he said, knowing I deserved all the credit. As he spoke, his eyes lit up a brilliant green.
“Were your eyes green yesterday?” I asked quickly.
He looked at me with a blank stare—the blank stare of a god. The kind of god in a commercial for a hubcap repair shop.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I have green eyes,” he said.
The bell rang, and I started in my seat. I had lost track of time, staring into Edwart’s odd green eyes. He hurriedly left the classroom. I exhaled and inhaled deeply, trying to breathe in his scent, but all I could smell was lab frog. I stood up, knocking over several other students.
• • •
I checked my e-mail after school, and I already had forty-four e-mails from my mom. I clicked one at random.
Belle! Answer this e-mail right now or I’m calling the police! Too late! I just called the police! They’re asking me if it’s an emergency and I’m saying yes! I’m saying you’ve been ignoring your mother! I’m saying you’re being held hostage at a dock! That should do it. Love, Mom
I quickly wrote her back, trying to sound as cheerful as possible, but it was hard to conceal my depression from her. She knew me too well. She knew that when I wrote that I had met a nice girl to be friends with, it meant that most of the people at school were boring. She knew that when I said Dad and I were getting along fine and he had even bought me a car, it meant that a demonic boy at school was being mean to me. Thank God we came up with this secret code when I was little to confuse cyber-stalkers. I wanted to tell her that Switchblade wasn’t so bad. If only something dangerous would happen. Or not necessarily something dangerous, but someone dangerous. Then maybe my Mom wouldn’t have to be so concerned for my well-being.
I whipped up a few racks of lamb for dinner.
“Belle, you really didn’t have—” my dad began as he sat down at the table.
“No, Dad,” I said. “I used to cook all the time in Phoenix. Really. It’s fine.”
“I wish you’d let me cook every once in a while,” he said. “It’s just—I mean, I love your cooking, but I told you I was a vegetarian, and…”
“You don’t like it, Dad?” I asked concernedly, worried that I hadn’t cut the meat into small enough pieces or fun enough shapes.
“No, no, it’s great, Belle. I know it’s been hard for you here. It’s great.”
I smiled as he took another bite. At least Dad was trusting me a little more in the kitchen.
By the next morning, the rain had turned to snow. I wasn’t too thrilled. I liked being able to travel to and from class via puddle, jumping from one to the next and rating the puddle on the Belle-Goose scale—a scale from 1–5 where 1 represents dry land and 5 represents a tsunami. Jim had already left by the time I got up. I spent a half-hour worrying that he hadn’t found the bread I had left for him in the cabinet, or the milk I had left in the milk-carton. Then I put on my puffiest snow-cape and hurried outside.
My U-HAUL was snowed in, but fortunately I have arms—optimal for picking up huge amounts of snow and putting it elsewhere. The only trouble was, I didn’t have any place to put the snow besides my front yard. So, I put the piles in the back of my U-HAUL. Then I realized this was a great opportunity to make a giant slushie. I ran back inside for the sugar and red food coloring. I sprinkled both onto the snow. As I started the truck, I thought about what I’d name my cooking show. The first thing that came to my mind was: Goose Cooks Geese. The second thing that came to my mind was: “Perfect!”
I kept hitting the breaks as I drove to avoid skidding on ice and to create a rocking sensation
in my U-HAUL that would mix all the ingredients in the back into one delicious slushie. At red lights, I simulated ice-cream truck music by humming.
When it snows, the rules of parking no longer apply, so I stopped in the street and began to walk towards the school’s side entrance. That’s when it happened.
It wasn’t in slow motion, like an old person walking, but it also wasn’t in fast motion, like an old person running. It was like when you sip an energy drink with a skull on it, even though your mom said not to, and your brain kind of speeds up as you sip and then goes slower as you swallow and then speeds up and goes slower until you throw up. And then you drink another one on a dare.
It was careening towards me across the sky in a perfect arc, careening so quickly that I knew I wouldn’t be able to get out of the way. I’d never imagined how I would die, but I had kind of hoped it would be in a war. I had never thought it would be like this: by snowball.
And then suddenly, Edwart was in front of me, his dark, curly-yet-disheveled tresses blocking my view as I heard a giant squish. I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t even possible. Edwart had saved me.
“How did you—how?” I asked, looking from my perfectly pristine snow-cape to his jacket, soiled with snow. But Edwart wasn’t listening. A wide, almost otherworldly grin was spreading across his face.
“Prepare for doom, Nemesis!” he hollered, gathering up some snow and hurling it towardss the school.
I couldn’t believe it. Now Edwart was defending me!
“Edwart! Edwart!” I screamed, relinquishing any attempt at self-control. I rushed towardss him as he swiftly bent down to pick up more snow. Pinning his arms to his back, I stopped him from exciting the snowball-hurler any further. “You saved my life!” I cried. “Isn’t that enough? Stop this endless cycle of vengeance!” I perched on his back to stop him from the demonic violence he was capable of, two snowballs hit him in the face.
Nightlight Page 2