Daisy Lane (13 page)

Here was somebody who hadn’t known her for her whole life, wasn’t predisposed to look down on her because of her family history. Grace felt like she had this opportunity she might lose if she didn’t do something quickly, be super likable somehow, so that when some clique tried to co-opt him they couldn’t turn him against her.

Grace slammed her locker shut just as a group of noisy jocks passed by. She averted her gaze and willed herself to be small as she skirted their group and tried not to run into the water fountain. She slid around a circle of kids eagerly encouraging two boys who were pushing each other but looked like they wanted to cry instead of fight. Up ahead she saw the creepy-hugger choir teacher lurking in the hallway, and took an alternate route, which paid off in lack of traffic but took her out of her way and cost her time. She zigged and zagged through an impromptu cheerleader practice, and attempted to go past a large girl at the entrance to a back stairwell.

“You can’t go in there,” the girl said, snapping her gum and eyeing Grace with bored menace.

“I’ll miss my bus,” Grace said.

“Not my problem,” the girl said, leaning across the closed doorway to emphasize its inaccessibility. “My friend and her boyfriend are doing it in there.”

Grace groaned and turned around. Now she had to backtrack, through the cheerleaders, and past the creepy-hugger, who said, “Hey! You look like you could use a hug, young lady.”

Grace evaded him and flew down the stairs, but tripped over her own feet at the bottom and almost fell. Her backpack wasn’t completely closed and her books flew all across the hall. No one stopped or tried to help, they just kicked and walked over her stuff as she scuttled, stooped and attempted to gather her things.

When a breathless Grace finally shoved open the heavy entryway doors and scanned the crowd, her eyes finally came to rest on the back of Rowan’s head. He had on a jacket now, one of those barn jackets worn by people who had never done a day’s work on a farm in their lives. She worked her way toward him through the crowd, being jostled and elbowed as she made her way forward. She reached out and touched his shoulder. When he turned, she could see whom he had been talking to; it was Charlotte. He smiled that big generous smile, in direct contrast to the contemptuous glare Charlotte was now giving Grace.

It was then that Grace realized who Rowan reminded her of; it was Charlotte.

They both had dark hair and big brown eyes, rosy, glowing skin and beautiful smiles. Together the two of them looked like prototypes for a new race of beautiful people. They looked like models in an ad for expensive preppy clothing. They looked like the perfect couple.

“Hey, Grace,” he said. “Charlotte’s offered me a ride home.”

He turned to Charlotte and said, “Is there room for Grace?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Charlotte said with faux graciousness. “So sorry, Grace. Maybe some other time.”

“That’s okay,” Grace was saying as she backed away, mortified at how hot her face was becoming.

Grace backed into someone, apologized, and then turned. She scanned the crowd and saw Tommy waiting for her outside their bus.

“Gotta go,” she said. “Tommy’s waiting.”

Charlotte was again glaring now that Rowan’s back was turned to her. Grace was taken aback at the hatred she saw there. It wasn’t enough that Charlotte had betrayed a decade of close friendship and seen to it that she and Tommy were ostracized and ridiculed. Her look seemed to communicate a desire for Grace to disappear, permanently.

Without another look at Rowan, Grace darted through the crowd, and made her way to where Tommy was standing.

“Who’s that?” Tommy said.

“A new kid,” Grace said. “Charlotte’s giving him a ride home.”

Tommy glared over her shoulder until Grace said, “C’mon Tommy.”

Once seated, Grace and Tommy watched through the bus window as Charlotte led Rowan to the SUV that would take him back to Rose Hill. Of course there was plenty of room, just not for her or Tommy.

A boy passed their seat on the way back through the aisle and dropped something in Grace’s lap.

“From The Fixer,” the boy said.

Grace unfolded three sheets of paper wrapped around a pre-paid meal card, which could be used to pay for lunch in the cafeteria. The first outlined step-by-step guidelines for filing for the legal emancipation of a minor. The second sheet was a suggested reading list. The third was a note.

“Dear Grace,” it read. “Please see my phone number below. I would welcome an opportunity to continue our conversation any evening between the hours of eight and ten. I would also be honored to escort you to the Senior Prom, two weeks from this Saturday. My mother will drive; let us know where to pick you up. Best wishes and regards, Elvis.”

Maggie was going through invoices at her desk in a small office at the back of the store. It was the quiet time before the evening business picked up, so her bookstore staff was on break. When the bell on the front door jingled she looked up and saw Grace enter the store. The girl was so tiny and skinny that it didn’t surprise Maggie when she thought, “hungry,” whenever she looked at her.

But it was more than physical hunger that clung to the girl like a scent; she also seemed desperate for something else, but Maggie wasn’t quite sure what that was. She knew from Scott that Grace was from an impoverished background; the granddaughter of a skinflint like Jacob Branduff couldn’t be anything other than deprived. Maggie had been raised by a skinflint herself, but she had never wanted for hot food and a warm house to sleep in. Grace looked, for want of a more tactful word, homeless.

“Hi,” Maggie said as she approached her. “I met you the other night with my cousins when you and Tommy were going up to the library.”

Grace nodded but could hardly make eye contact.

“What can I help you find?” Maggie said, and then, worried she’d pressured the girl, said, “You’re welcome to just look around, of course, or hang out, if you want.”

Grace started to talk, croaked a little and then cleared her throat, blushing. Maggie was an Olympic blusher herself, so she could sympathize, and knew better than to tease her about it. There’s nothing a blushing person hates more than to have it pointed out.

“I’m looking for book three in the
His Dark Materials
trilogy,” she said.

“Philip Pullman,” Maggie said. “I know him well. I love the books but, just like with Harry Potter, I’ve got a contingent in this town who would like nothing more than to burn me at the stake for selling them. Even though the story is essentially about good versus evil, all they do is fixate on the magical element, which is exactly what makes them so fun to read. Silly, isn’t it?”

Grace nodded and followed Maggie back to the young adult section. There Maggie pointed out all her other favorite authors.

“Mary Hodgson Burnett, Bill Cleaver, S.E. Hinton, Madeline L’engle,” Maggie said. “But that’s showing my age I guess. There are some new books that are good; lots of them about vampires, obviously, and various dystopian-themed epics.
The Hunger Games
books are very popular.”

“I really just want the one book today,” Grace said.

“Sure, of course,” Maggie said. “I get a little too enthusiastic about my wares. Sorry.”

Maggie had all the books in the
His Dark Materials
trilogy in paperback and hardcover, as well as all three in a paperback set encased in a cardboard sleeve. She saw Grace touch the set but then draw her hand back as if she didn’t dare look at the price.

“For the price of the one hardcover you could get the whole set,” Maggie said impulsively, deciding to make that true even if it were not.

Maggie, who was raised to pinch a penny until it screamed, who loathed to mark anything down, was surprised at how badly she wanted to give Grace any book she wanted, all the books she wanted, for free. Whatever it was about this girl that had piqued Scott’s interest and aroused his protective instincts seemed to have affected her as well.

It wasn’t just that Grace was small for her age and dressed in what were basically worn out, ill-fitting clothing and holey shoes. It was the sense that the young girl seemed to long for things that she didn’t think she was entitled to. Maggie could remember very well what that felt like. As a child she wore second-hand clothes purchased at church bazaars and would not have dared to ask her mother for a popular brand of athletic shoes. When her mother bought her something new, it was for church, or was chosen to last a very long time. The teenage Maggie had borrowed her books from the library, and only received a new book on her birthday or at Christmas.

Maggie was also used to waiting on spoiled children (and adults) who felt entitled to everything, were impatient to have it, and didn’t appreciate it once they got it. Grace’s lack of pretention and grateful attitude were like a breath of fresh air.

“It’s a good deal,” Maggie said.

“Really?” Grace said. “I would love to have all three.”

She took the book set from the shelf and cradled it in one arm while she searched her pocket with the other hand.

She drew out a wad of crumpled bills and asked, “How much is it?”

“Fifteen dollars,” Maggie said, and was relieved to see Grace’s face light up.

“I can do that,” she said.

Maggie rang her up at the register and put the books down inside on of the small, handled shopping bags she reserved for only her most special customers.

“It just fits,” Grace said.

Maggie also put in several paper bookmarks and some coupons for treats from the coffee bar.

“Hey,” Maggie said. “Would you like something from the coffee bar? I usually throw away the morning stuff about this time and it’s a shame to let it go to waste.”

“Sure,” Grace said. “I mean, if you were going to throw it away anyway.”

“Go get a seat and I’ll join you,” Maggie said.

Maggie went to the coffee bar side and said quietly to her barista, “Put this on my tab.”

She filled a to-go bag with pastries out of the display case and made an extra large hot chocolate. This she covered with a lid and took everything to where Grace sat, lovingly admiring her book set.

“Here you go,” Maggie said, and sat down at the table.

“Really? All this?” Grace said.

“Every day,” Maggie said. “Show up here about this time and I’ll give you whatever we’re about to toss.”

“Wow, thanks,” Grace said. “This is delicious.”

Grace looked around the store and swung her feet like a child as she ate a large blueberry muffin and sipped cocoa.

“Your store is so nice,” she said. “You must love it here.”

“Well, some days I can’t see the forest for the invoices,” Maggie said, “But it suits me. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Are you looking for a part-time job?”

“I’ll be sixteen next week,” Grace said. “I promised Mr. Delvecchio I’d go to work for him at the IGA every day after school, but my grandfather wants me to quit school and work in the greenhouse.”

“Oh, Grace, no,” Maggie said, and then, “I’m sorry; that’s really none of my business, is it?”

Grace’s eyes filled and she blinked them hard as she avoided Maggie’s gaze.

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly thrilled about it, either,” she said.

“I don’t know what to say,” Maggie said. “I hope he’ll reconsider and let you stay in school.”

“He won’t,” Grace said.

“Even if he makes you quit school,” Maggie said, “when you’re eighteen you can get your GED and then go on to college. Lots of people do that.”

“Can’t get a scholarship with a GED, though,” Grace said.

“I bet you could find some way,” Maggie said. “I got a scholarship to go back to school last year and I’m as old as dirt.”

“You’re not that old,” Grace said. “Where do you go?”

“Right down the street to Eldridge College,” Maggie said.

“Wow,” Grace said. “Isn’t that pretty expensive?”

“Oh, it’s horribly expensive,” Maggie said. “I got a grant as a returning student. There are all kinds of grants, scholarships, and loans you can get. Don’t you worry about the money; just keep your grades up. When the time comes, I bet you will find a way to pay for it.”

“Maybe,” Grace said, but she did look cheered up. “Thanks, Maggie.”

Grace gathered her things and stood up.

“You’re most welcome, Grace,” Maggie said. “Come back anytime, even just to visit. And remember what I said about the food. I throw away an obscene amount of it every day about this time. You’re welcome to whatever you want.”

Maggie walked her to the door and waved to her as she left. When she turned around, her café staff was standing together at the counter, staring at her, open-mouthed.

“Who are you and what have you done with our boss?” the barista said.

“I for one would like to welcome our new alien overlord,” said a clerk.

“Oh, shut up,” Maggie said. “Get back to work.”

“It’s still her,” the cashier said.