by Nancy Werlin
CHAPTER
9
There was also no message waiting from the Elf when Marnie checked back at eleven P.M. But he was sure to be online at midnight, as she’d asked. Wasn’t he? She wrote a little note reminding him, and read it over once, twice, a third time. Then she sighed and deleted it. She’d already asked him to be there. Nothing was more pathetic than multiple messages saying the same thing. Wait—could she maybe send a note about something else, and then add the part about being online at midnight very, very casually, at the end? That would be fine … except she could think of nothing else to say. And anyway, it was only an hour away. She thought of checking in on Paliopolis, of looking for him there, but somehow Paliopolis had lost its savor. She kept seeing Mrs. Fisher’s smug face. Addiction. She’d show them. She fingered her imaginary hatpin.
The Elf had to be on tonight. Was he truly mad at her, or was she making that up? Why had she made that crack about him selling papers? She was so utterly stupid. Skye would be disgusted. Spontaneity is fine, she’d say. But there are things you shouldn’t do without thinking first.
Marnie did think first—it was just that she always seemed to be thinking the wrong things.
But Self-pity is worse than useless, Skye had written in one of her books. Long-term, it’s damaging.
Marnie sighed again and felt her eyes slip shut. Rest. She needed rest….
A sudden scraping noise—a key turning in a lock. Marnie froze. Behind her, the door opened. She didn’t turn, couldn’t turn. She heard an indrawn breath, almost a gasp. And then Jenna’s voice, raspy and harsh.
“What are you doing here? This is my room!”
It was as if the very air had stilled. Marnie felt almost preternaturally aware. She could feel Jenna behind her, in the doorway. She could smell her smoky rage. In the space of a second, behind her closed eyelids, Marnie looked down a long corridor of future possibilities and saw them all leading to the same place: expulsion. Once Jenna reported her, this transgression, added to her academic problems, would put a finish to her career at Halsett. She didn’t know why she had ever thought leaving might be a good thing. It wouldn’t be. She knew now: it would be no different anywhere else. She would be no different anywhere else.
She was just … trapped.
Jenna slammed the door. It broke the spell, and Marnie got up and faced her. Jenna was breathing like a bull. But her face was blotchy, her eyes puffy, and—and—
The words popped out of Marnie’s mouth without volition. “What’s happened? Are you okay? My God, Jenna, what’s wrong?”
Jenna’s whole body was shaking, as if the floor were being jackhammered. Marnie had never seen anything like it. She crossed the room in two strides and grabbed Jenna’s arms.
“You’re hyperventilating,” Marnie said. “Sit.” She forced Jenna to sit on the floor—it took surprisingly little effort—and to put her head down between her knees. “Close your eyes,” Marnie said. “Empty your mind. One deep breath. Hold it. Now let it out slowly. And now—again. Shhh. Slow. Again.” She could hear Skye’s soothing tones in her own voice. She kept her hand on Jenna’s back, feeling her breathing, feeling the shaking, rubbing a little, alarmed. Should she run and pound on Mrs. Fisher’s door? But she couldn’t leave Jenna, not like this. She felt as if she needed to physically keep Jenna from falling apart.
Jenna was crying, messily, snuffily.
Marnie’s mind whirred. That hockey boy. This must be about him. “It’s okay,” she murmured, over and over, not because she believed it, but because it was the kind of thing one said. She wondered exactly what had happened.
After a while, Jenna’s shaking slowed to a fine trembling. At least she was definitely getting air in, Marnie thought, her own anxiety lessening.
Jenna kept her head down.
“It’s okay,” Marnie said again. And again.
Eventually Jenna replied. “No. Not okay.” Her breath caught and Marnie returned to rubbing her back. Vaguely she was aware that this was wildly ironic, her trying to comfort Jenna Lowry. But she was the only one here.
Her right leg went to sleep under her, and then turned completely numb, and occasionally she looked up from the floor and bleakly watched Jenna’s screensaver speed through an endless tunnel of stars. Beneath it, she knew, was her own online session, still engaged. Twelve o’clock had come and gone, and even if the Elf had logged on and sent an e-mail message, Marnie would not be able to respond. Meanwhile, Jenna cried as if she needed to flood the world.
Finally she stopped. She jerked her body forward away from Marnie’s hand and, her face concealed, said huskily but very clearly: “Get out.”
Marnie was both relieved and alarmed. “Jenna, are you sure—”
“Get out!”
“All right,” Marnie said. Somehow, on her numb leg, she managed to stand. Jenna didn’t raise her head, and Marnie cast one look at the computer. All her messages were sitting there; a mere click would open any of them. She wanted desperately to at least reboot the computer, break the connection. Part of her mind screamed at her to do it, that Jenna was in no condition to intervene.
“Get out!” If Jenna’s throat hadn’t been raw, the words would have been a scream.
Marnie left and closed the door behind her. Through it, however, she could hear Jenna’s gasps, renewed, though not as dreadful as before. She stood uncertainly in the corridor, wondering again about getting Mrs. Fisher. But if she were Jenna—if this were about the hockey boy—she’d want to be alone.
Marnie stood in the corridor for quite a long time. Eventually she sank down on the floor, her back against the painted concrete block wall, and closed her eyes against the harsh glare of the corridor lightbulbs. She spent the rest of the night like that, counting her life’s mistakes like little black sheep and wondering drearily why she felt she had to be there … just in case Jenna needed someone.
“Marnie? Marnie, wake up! What are you doing here? Marnie!”
Marnie’s eyelids did not seem able to come unstuck. She could feel someone shaking her shoulder. She knew exactly where she was: in a cold little heap on the linoleum floor outside Jenna’s room. And she knew why. She swallowed a groan and managed to open one eye. Mrs. Fisher was kneeling, leaning over Marnie, her forehead furrowed.
“Why, hello there,” Marnie croaked. She put one hand up—her whole arm was stiff—and managed to rub her other eye open. Ow. “Mrs. Fisher. Good morning.”
The door of Jenna’s room opened. Jenna stood there, looking more or less ordinary in a robe. Marnie gaped at her, and then at Mrs. Fisher. She sat up and tried to get her brain in gear. Mrs. Fisher was looking from one girl to the other, frowning.
“Jenna?” Mrs. Fisher said. “I thought you’d gone home for break. Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” said Jenna quickly. “I just—um, some of my little cousins were over and I realized it was impossible to get any work done at home, so I just stayed for the weekend. I, um, I had my mother drop me off last night. I’m sorry, I should have called you first….”
Jenna’s parents thought she was staying here at school throughout break, Marnie realized with a sudden flash of insight. While Jenna skipped off with hockey boy …
Mrs. Fisher was frowning at Jenna.
“Me,” said Marnie brightly, “I just fell asleep out here. Wow, how embarrassing. And how awful for you, Mrs. Fisher. Coming across me like that. I’m really embarrassed. Well, I guess I’ve figured out why they invented the bed.” She staggered to her feet. “Have you ever slept on linoleum? It’s hard, you know? And cold. In fact, what I really think I should do is go and take a hot shower. So if you’ll both just excuse me—”
“Marnie.” Mrs. Fisher stood in the way of escape.
“Oh,” said Marnie. “I suppose you’re wondering what I was doing here. Well. It’s very simple. Very simple. I saw Jenna coming in last night, and this morning I had a question I wanted to ask her, but she wasn’t up yet. Uh, this was early this morning. So
I just sat down to wait and well, the rest you know.”
“Really,” said Mrs. Fisher skeptically.
Marnie stood her ground. “Yes, I just fell asleep. I must have been more tired than I realized.” She couldn’t resist adding: “I’ve been working hard, you know. I passed several chemistry quizzes yesterday.”
Mrs. Fisher’s lips compressed. She studied the two girls. “Jenna is up now,” she said to Marnie. “Go ahead and ask her your question.”
Marnie turned to Jenna. When you looked carefully, from straight on, you could see the night’s tears. “No,” Marnie said clearly, drawing Mrs. Fisher’s attention back to her. “I’m sorry. I can’t ask Jenna my question in front of you. It’s private.”
Mrs. Fisher’s whole being radiated disbelief and suspicion. But she said only: “You and I will talk about this later. Go get that shower now.” She turned to Jenna. Marnie ran upstairs and into her room. Perforce, Jenna would have to take care of herself now.
Marnie’s phone rang five minutes later. It was Jenna. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to,” she said, “but I want to be very clear about something. Keep away from me. I don’t need your help.”
Marnie listened to Jenna’s breathing. “Okay,” she said finally, but by then she was speaking to no one. Jenna had hung up.
After a minute, Marnie did too.
CHAPTER
10
“Ready for the section test?” said Ms. Slaight the instant Marnie came into the chemistry classroom.
“I still want to give it a try, but …” Marnie trailed off in the middle of her prepared excuses and frankly stared. Ms. Slaight was dressed with unusual formality, in a red suit with a long jacket. The outfit screamed its newness. And Ms. Slaight had a new expression on her face, too—sort of excited and also, Marnie thought, maybe a little frightened. Marnie had never seen her wearing makeup before. Her thickly applied lipstick actually glittered.
Marnie had been staring too long; she had to say something. Lots of people dressed up for work, right? So what if Ms. Slaight never had before? And so what if it was only Marnie here today? “Er, you look very nice, Ms. Slaight.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Slaight said, smiling directly at Marnie.
Maybe Ms. Slaight had a date later—though somehow Marnie couldn’t quite imagine it—and she’d not only dressed up for it, but it had put her in an excellent mood.
Marnie couldn’t help herself. “Are you going somewhere special, Ms. Slaight?”
“Well, Marnie.” The lipsticked lips smiled yet again, looking even more surreal. “You worked so hard yesterday that I thought you deserved a treat. So, after the test, I’d like to take you out for lunch. To the Halsett Grille.” And as Marnie gaped in astonishment, Ms. Slaight finished awkwardly, “I’m aware we got off on the wrong foot. I’d like us to start again.”
Marnie was reeling. Lunch? Out? With Ms. Slaight? Had she stepped through the looking glass?
Ms. Slaight added, all in a rush, “I’ve never been to the Halsett Grille—I just haven’t had the opportunity before, but I understand it’s very nice.”
“Yes, it is,” Marnie managed weakly. “I’ve been there with my guardian.”
“Well?” said Ms. Slaight. “Will you come with me?”
Marnie looked at her teacher’s transparently hopeful face and was consumed by curiosity. Here was Ms. Slaight, turning the other cheek with a vengeance. Why? Plus, that new outfit, and her open desire to go to the stupid Halsett Grille, where they put out three forks when you ordered a glorified grilled cheese … In short, Marnie couldn’t help feeling just the tiniest bit sorry for Ms. Slaight. Didn’t she have anyone else in her life to go to lunch with?
“Yes,” said Marnie. “Thank you. I’d be very pleased.”
Ms. Slaight positively beamed. “Wonderful. I felt sure we could be friends if we just got past our misunderstandings. We can agree to let bygones be bygones. Right?”
“Sure,” said Marnie uncertainly. Polite, maybe. But friends?
“We’ll leave right after you take this test, then. Um … after you change, of course.”
Marnie clenched her teeth for just a second. She knew perfectly well that, despite the restaurant’s haughtiness, the people having lunch at the Halsett Grille would be wearing casual, preppy clothes. Ms. Slaight’s suit would fit in no better than Marnie’s own loud attire. Oh, well, why not make the teacher happy? Marnie knew there was a short black dress stashed somewhere in her closet. “Okay,” she said grimly. “I’ll change.”
Ms. Slaight nodded as if there’d been no other possible outcome. Utterly bemused, Marnie sat down to take—to try to take—the chemistry test.
The world is a strange place, full of strange people, including us. Another of Skye’s aphorisms, and Marnie supposed it, too, was true.
“Order anything you like,” said Ms. Slaight expansively. Her good mood, Marnie figured, would dissolve after lunch when she corrected Marnie’s test. Marnie had worked hard on Monday, but she didn’t fool herself. If she passed, it would be a near thing. Jenna’s fault. The test material had been in Marnie’s head yesterday, before she slept in the corridor.
No. Not Jenna’s fault. Her own.
And what would the Elf be thinking about Marnie’s no-show last night? She had to find another way to get her e-mail….
Ms. Slaight ordered filet mignon.
“And you, miss?” said the waiter, turning too quickly to Marnie. Ms. Slaight had to clear her throat to get his attention back so she could order a salad. Marnie winced. She had seen the waiter’s eyes flick disparagingly over Ms. Slaight’s cheap, too-dressy suit. It made her angry, perhaps most of all because she was harboring the same thoughts.
Her imp seized her. She could control which of them he gossiped about in the kitchen!
“I’d just like a plate of mashed potatoes, please,” said Marnie, with grand disregard for the contents of the menu. “With a lot of butter. Oh, and I won’t need these.” Retaining only her fork, she handed the rest of the cutlery over.
“Yes, miss,” said the waiter, and left. Marnie looked up at Ms. Slaight and realized, too late, that she was shocked. Had misunderstood, and thought Marnie was insulting her.
There was no way to explain without making the situation worse.
The silence lasted a full two minutes. Then Ms. Slaight appeared to gather herself. She swallowed once or twice; Marnie saw the movement of her throat. And then she said, “Marnie. I wanted to ask you some things about … about Skye.”
Something inside Marnie snapped.
Afterward she couldn’t remember exactly what she had said. That she had made some kind of a scene, she knew. That she had yelled, she knew. Some of the words floated through her head. And by the time Marnie finished, she was trembling, not unlike the way Jenna had the night before.
How dare you think you can buy my confidence with a lunch! Do you think I’m stupid? Or were you imagining you could buy stories about Skye with a passing grade? So you could sell them to some tabloid? Was that what you were thinking? Well, you’re not fit to even say her name! You’re nobody! Do you hear me? You’re nobody!
Ms. Slaight sat across the table, her eyes glistening, her body rigid.
Finally Marnie stopped yelling. The fog around her began to clear. Vaguely she became aware of other people in the restaurant, listening.
Ms. Slaight got up. She was not without dignity. She walked out, only tripping once, slightly, on her unaccustomed heels.
Suddenly, fully conscious of all the stares, Marnie held her head high. She summoned the waiter and paid the check for the meal that hadn’t been delivered. When she’d figured in the tip, she had exactly ninety cents left to her name.
It was ten miles back to campus. Well, Marnie would have a lot to think about while walking. Like her newly inevitable expulsion. And … and other things.
When had her life become such a mess? How?
She had a terrible headache and a dark, dark feeling of
impending doom. She hadn’t a clue what Skye would have done in this situation. She wasn’t sure Skye—even Skye, so famous for airing her emotions, her opinions—would have let loose in the restaurant.
You should only alienate folks when you mean and want to do it.
Well, that was fine. A fine philosophy. For those who could control themselves. For those who weren’t on the edge …
How had she got here?
Marnie left the restaurant. To her surprise, Ms. Slaight’s battered Volkswagen Jetta was pulled up to the curb just outside the door. Ms. Slaight sat upright in the driver’s seat, her window rolled down and both her hands flat on the wheel.
“I am a teacher,” she said evenly. “You are a student in my charge. I am responsible for getting you back to campus. Get in.”
“I’ll walk,” said Marnie.
Ms. Slaight turned her head and looked fully at Marnie. “You will get in now.”
Marnie got in. Ms. Slaight started the motor. Marnie closed her eyes, feeling the tension in the car like a physical force. Miles passed, and then Ms. Slaight stopped the car. “Get out,” she said.
Marnie opened her eyes. Everybody was telling her to get out, these days. They were not on campus. Where were they? “You want me to walk the rest—”
“Get out,” said Ms. Slaight.
There was something in her voice. Worse than before. Worse than ever before.
My fault, Marnie thought. My fault.
Marnie got out. She would rather walk anyway.
But Ms. Slaight got out too. She grasped Marnie’s arm and forced her away from the car. She looked down into Marnie’s face, and her expression was like nothing Marnie had ever seen before. It hypnotized her. As if from a distance, she could hear Ms. Slaight speaking.
“I didn’t want it to be this way between us, Marnie Skyedottir. But from the very first time I met you, I think I knew that it would have to be.” And she raised her other hand. There was something in her clenched fist.
Marnie later remembered everything else, but not the actual feel of the sharp blow to her head.