Evil Returns (3 page)

“Hey, Aryssa,” said several people, waving and beaming.

Aryssa, Devnee repeated to herself. Aryssa, Aryssa. I have to remember that. I will remember that. I have a three-syllable brain.

She and Aryssa went into biology lab together. Aryssa introduced Devnee all around. The teacher welcomed her and gave her a textbook and a lab notebook, and Devnee found herself on a stool in front of a dead frog.

While the teacher discussed dissection methods, Devnee took the opportunity to study Aryssa.

Aryssa was very preoccupied with her beauty. How could she not be? There was so much of it.

Aryssa would run the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, as if savoring her own taste and shape. She would flip her gleaming hair back with her left hand, tuck it behind her ear, and sort of kiss the air when the black locks immediately fell back where they had been. Her face was constantly in motion, it never fell into repose.

In her right hand, Aryssa held a designer pencil: tiny gold stars on silver, which she flipped between her fingers like a miniature baton.

Her hands, too, were lovely: slender and aristocratic and with perfect nails and polish that probably never chipped.

“You’ll do the frog, won’t you?” whispered Aryssa. Now she smiled, and the row of white teeth and the turn of red lips overwhelmed Devnee.

“Of course,” said Devnee, and she did the entire lab, even doing all the notes and answers, because Aryssa clearly used her pencil only for effect, not for writing things down.

“You’re a sweetie,” whispered Aryssa. She actually patted Devnee’s knee, and again Devnee felt like a dog on a leash. It was just that Fuzz had turned her over to a new mistress, and from now on Aryssa would lead her.

Devnee blinked back the tears. She was jealous now, too, and it was a horrible feeling, rather like the formaldehyde in which the frog was pickled; it was liquid bathing her heart, this jealousy.

Oh, to be beautiful like Aryssa!

What a pair we must make, thought Devnee sadly. Beauty and the beast.

The teacher talked for several minutes about the next step, and Devnee had time to look around. She felt safe with the high lab table in front of her, and her feet tucked around the stool, and the sharp steel scalpel in her hand. She studied the rest of the girls in the lab.

Well, she was not a beast. No, Devnee was average in this particular class; half the girls were plainer than she. Stubbier, thicker, duller.

But she remained average.

Mediocre.

Whoever set that as a goal?

Devnee forgot the dead frog and stared at Aryssa, thinking,
If only I could look just like that …

I wish
…

She tried not to complete the wish. She tried to be satisfied with her lot in life.

She failed.

I wish I were beautiful!

How satisfying it sounded. What a deep intense relief to have said the whole wish, let all her pain out, let the powers that be know what she yearned for, ached for.

I wish I were beautiful!

She felt much better for having wished; it was as cathartic as a good cry in the night. She brightened and went on with her work.

The wish—complete—entire—slid out of the schoolroom to the dark path waiting outside, where it was swallowed up, and taken home, and caressed.

A
RYSSA SIGHED IN RELIEF
when biology lab ended. Even her sigh was lovely, as if her soft pink lungs expired only the finest air. “This is my second time taking biology,” confided Aryssa. “I just can’t seem to pass a science class. I don’t like thinking about any of that science stuff anyway. It makes me nervous. I don’t think it’s fair to have to know what’s under the skin.”

Devnee could identify with that.

Aryssa stroked her own hand, admiring her skin, taking pleasure in a beauty so pure it was like ice: something to skate on, something only Aryssa would ever be. The world could witness, but not have, such beauty.

But Devnee was thrilled to be addressed in that confiding voice. Even though it would cast Devnee in that always-to-be-pitied role of dull escort next to shining star, she wanted to be friends with Aryssa. “What
do
you like thinking about?” she said, to keep the conversation going.

Aryssa considered this tough question while they gathered their books and walked to the door. Devnee’s second buddy was already there. Trey. Devnee gulped slightly. Two such perfect humans, and for a day, for a passing period, for lunch, they were there for her.

I wish it would last, thought Devnee.

She had a weird sense that her wishes were actually being addressed to Somebody; that Somebody was listening; that Something was happening.

Aryssa literally took Devnee’s hand and stuck it in Trey’s.

Trey laughed. His laughter was neither kind nor unkind, but removed, not worried about the things Devnee worried about: looks and popularity and strength and friends. “I don’t think Devnee needs that much help to find the next class, Aryssa.” He let go of Devnee’s hand. Her hand stayed warm and tingly where he had momentarily pressed it.

Aryssa said seriously, “I didn’t want anybody to get confused. This buddy system, you know—people forget who goes with who.”

“You and your room temperature IQ,” said Trey. “Normal people don’t forget.”

Aryssa’s was the contented laugh of a beautiful girl who doesn’t care in the least about her lack of brains—because it doesn’t matter in the least.

It’s not fair, thought Devnee. Aryssa doesn’t need to do anything but stand there and people adore her, while I have to struggle with everything from mascara to homework just to get noticed. She wished that Trey had not let go of her hand. She wished that she could be as beautiful as Aryssa and have people speak to her so indulgently, so affectionately.

“See you tomorrow, Devnee,” Aryssa said. She ran her hand lightly over Devnee’s shoulders, not a hug, but sweet, passing affection.

The knife of jealousy vanished, replaced by yearning for friendship. But there would be no friendships. She knew too well the realities of high school. Her buddies would not last. They would be shepherds for a day or two and then forget her.

I am a forgettable girl, thought Devnee, and this time the jealousy sliced her heart into thin ragged strips of pain.

Aryssa looked carefully around the hallway and drifted to the right, skirt wafting, hair shining. Trey caught her arm and turned her around. Aryssa, nodding gratefully, set off in the new direction.

“She’s great to look at,” Trey said, eyes following Aryssa in admiration, “but as a navigational aid, you need to be careful, Devnee. Aryssa’s best ability is studying the mirror.”

Devnee did not want to be disloyal. “If I looked like that, I’d study the mirror, too.” She dreamed that Trey answered with a shower of compliments: You do look like that, Dev! You’ll give Aryssa a run for her money! Till you moved here, Aryssa had no competition, but now! Whew!

Of course he didn’t. He searched to find something about her that was interesting. “So where in town do you live, Devnee?”

Devnee told him.

He whistled without pitch. “The mansion at the bottom of the hill? Jeez. I knew the girl who used to live there. Creepy? Whew! I mean, that girl was creepy the way Aryssa is beautiful.” He made a terrible face like he’d gag if he ran into that girl again.

Somebody behind them took part in the conversation. “Mega-creepy,” said the person.

“Seriously creepy,” added another.

“I was at that house for a party once,” said Trey. He shuddered his shoulders on purpose. “Yeccchhh!”

“We’re fixing up the house,” said Devnee quickly. She did not want to be linked with some creepy girl who had made everybody gag. “We’re going to paint it yellow to get rid of that dying mansion look.”

“Take more than paint,” muttered the voice from behind.

She thought of her shadow, of the cracks in the floor, and the shapes in the dark.

Yes. It would take more than paint.

“Here we are,” said Trey. His face turned dark and threatening again. “English,” he said regretfully. He studied Devnee for a minute. “I bet you’re a real brain, huh?”

She flushed and shook her head. Trey figured someone as dumpy and dull as she was had to have something to offer. He was waiting to see it. He had a long wait.

English was her scariest subject. She was no student. She didn’t mind reading homework, although it took her a long time, but she hated classroom reading. While the rest of the class flipped speedily along, page after page, she’d be slogging through the second paragraph. There were always pitying glances as the class tapped impatient fingers and waited for Devnee to catch up.

And in English, there were writing assignments. Devnee had a hard enough time putting her thoughts together inside her own head. To write them down was like being tossed in a cement mixer—upside down, head whacking against rotating walls.

If I talk out loud in English, thought Devnee, Trey will know I’m practically as dumb as Aryssa. But without the looks.

I wish I could look like that. But I wish I could be smart, too. If I were both beautiful
and
smart, what a wonderful life I would have!

This teacher was prepared to have a new student in the class; Fuzz had called ahead. Mrs. Cort had made a packet for Devnee of current readings and assignments. Mrs. Cort even said for Devnee not to worry about today or tomorrow, but just to concentrate on feeling at ease and finding her place.

What a nice, comforting smile Mrs. Cort had. And what a nice assignment: feeling at ease.

Devnee distracted herself thinking of smiles. Would she like a gorgeous, stunning smile like Aryssa? A tough, wrestling-partner smile like Trey? A kindly, neighborly smile like this teacher?

No contest.

Gorgeous and stunning. With a tough wrestling partner smiling back at her.

The class launched into a book discussion, and Devnee was surprised and delighted. Not only had her old school used the same curriculum—they’d been ahead! She had just finished reading the same book. What a gift! For several nights she would not have to do her English.

“We’ll begin, please,” said the teacher, “with a summary of the theories stated in the preface to the novel.”

Everybody moaned. Devnee knew—because she had had this same class two weeks before in another state—that nobody ever read the preface.

A girl sitting one row ahead and one seat to the right, directly in Devnee’s line of sight to the teacher, raised her hand.

“Yes, Victoria,” said the teacher wearily, and Devnee knew instantly that Victoria was the kind of girl who always read, remembered, and analyzed the prefaces.

Victoria was a sort of reverse of Aryssa: a bold, sweeping, athletic, rich beauty—a girl on a yacht, or on skis. A girl who skimmed the problems of life, laughing and full of energy. What a good name Victoria was for her.

As for her clothes, they were astonishing. Old corduroy pants, sagging socks, gaping shoes, coatlike sweater. It was clear that Victoria didn’t care. Clothes were nothing to Victoria. She transcended clothing. What mattered to Victoria was exhibiting her brainpower.

She had a lot to exhibit.

Victoria more or less kept her hand up all period while the teacher looked around hopefully for somebody else to know at least one little fact, but nobody did, whereas Victoria always knew everything.

Devnee considered making a contribution. (In fact, it would be a quote from the smart kid in her last school, but who was to know?) However, Victoria also liked to argue, and Devnee was afraid she’d be in some academic argument on the first day of school, which she would certainly lose, so she said nothing.

The most surprising thing was that Victoria was interesting, even funny. It was a pleasure to listen to her comments, her unusual opinions, her scholarly jokes.

Devnee liked her immensely. She found herself smiling throughout the class, enjoying Victoria.

As Trey led the way to the cafeteria—it was one of those interrupted classes; thirty minutes of class, twenty-five minutes of lunch, another twenty minutes of class—Devnee said, “Victoria seems like a nice person.”

He grinned again. Grins seemed to come easily to him. “Hey, Vic!” he bellowed. “The new girl thinks you look like a nice person.”

The class’s roar of laughter filled the hall.

“Vic’s smart,” said one of the boys, “but nice? Ha!” But the boy was also smiling, both at Victoria and at Devnee. He, too, was handsome. Had she stumbled into a world where everybody else was a perfect physical specimen? Was she doomed to be a toad among princes and princesses?

“Nice,” said Victoria, laughing, “is not a word we use very often around here. Nice is not the local specialty. But you do look like a nice person, Devnee. Have I pronounced it right? It’s such an interesting name! Do you ever get called Dev?”

Victoria dropped back to link arms with Devnee. “I represent all scholarly talent in this building, Devnee. We have a very small brain pool.”

Everybody was laughing.

“Now William here,” she said, introducing the other perfect male specimen, “pretends to have brains. But no proof has yet emerged.”

William smiled. “I’m the nice one,” he promised Devnee, and this time nobody laughed, so it must have been true.

Everybody sat together for lunch; she was jammed between Trey and Victoria. There were so many names revolving in Devnee’s brain.

Trey took Devnee’s tray back for her so she didn’t have to clear her own place the first day. “You’re too ladylike for this chore,” he said to her, which prompted a fierce argument between him and Victoria on what made a lady, and whether such a creature existed, or should exist.

They went back to English at a trot; twenty-five minutes was barely enough time to stand in line, bolt down lunch, and make the return trip.

Devnee felt like taking a nap, or perhaps going back for another dessert, but Victoria, who had done extra reading, made pertinent comments about the author they were studying.

The class listened carefully. Devnee did not have the impression that anybody else was inspired to do extra reading, but they loved having Victoria around to be their brain, make great remarks, and know all the answers.