Evil Returns Page 3

  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.

  I wish I were as smart as that, thought Devnee. If I were as smart as Victoria, and as pretty as Aryssa …

  Devnee drifted into a daydream of loveliness and intelligence.

  In the dream she drew praise and applause, smiles and dates. In the dream she was the center of the room, just as Victoria was the center of this room, and Aryssa had been the center in the last one.

  I’d like to be famous as well, thought Devnee. And rich, too. And very talented. Might as well have it all.

  But she let go of the wishes to be famous and rich and talented. They were secondary.

  Beauty was first. Then a mind. It would be so nice to have a mind that intrigued people.

  Her third escort was Nina, a short-tempered girl who was obviously sorry she had volunteered. Nina kept glancing at her watch with the irritation of somebody who wants you to realize she has important things to do, and you’re not one of them.

  Nina never smiled. She never quite met Devnee’s eyes, either, just glanced in the general direction of the new girl and set off. She didn’t walk so they could walk next to each other, but she strode on ahead. She didn’t glance back once to be sure Devnee was still trailing along. She waved to friends and called hello, but did not introduce Devnee.

  Nina had fabulous clothes. The sweater had definitely cost more than Devnee could spend on an entire year’s wardrobe.

  When they reached class, Nina sat down and did not look at Devnee again. There was not an empty desk, and this teacher shared Nina’s attitude; Devnee was a nuisance Mr. O’Sullivan could have done without. Devnee stood against the side wall, trying not to cry, trying to remember this was the same school where Mrs. Cort taught, and feeling at ease, and Victoria and Trey.

  Finally a boy in the back row pushed his chair toward Devnee. It didn’t reach her, so he kicked it again. It scraped on the floor, unwilling to travel toward Devnee. The class snickered. The boy kicked it a third time, and this time it sped over the floor and hit her in the kneecaps.

  The boy lounged on top of his desk, legs swinging, expression cruel. Mr. O’Sullivan seemed amused. Devnee sat exposed on the chair, no desk in front to protect her, hands folded on her lap, as if she were praying, which she was.

  When class finally ended, the boy launched himself off the desk like a rocket and vanished, while Nina took off with her friends. Devnee tagged after them, afraid of this huge school, these many floors and wings and courtyards. “Nina?” Devnee said nervously. “Can you show me how to get out?”

  Nina stared at her, repelled, as if finding a raw clam on her peanut butter sandwich. “How to get out?” repeated Nina, arching her eyebrows. “I suggest a door.” Nina and her friends laughed and walked on.

  Devnee forced herself to laugh, also. “I mean, the school is so big and I don’t exactly know where the front entrance is. Where my mother is picking me up.”

  “Your mother is picking you up?” said Nina, as if normal people stopped having mothers when they left elementary school. “You don’t have your own car?” Nina’s eyebrows went up again. Her friends imitated her.

  Their scorn filled the halls.

  Devnee hated them.

  Nina sniffed, making a big deal of Devnee being in her way. “Trey!” Nina yelled down the hall. “Hey, Trey! Show the new girl where the front hall is, will you? I’m not taking that much of a detour.”

  Trey had a bookbag on his back and an athletic bag in each hand. He was with William, who was similarly burdened, clearl
y heading for the gym and some sport or other. “Sure, be glad to,” said Trey.

  “Come with us, Dev,” added William.

  “You don’t have to take me,” Devnee said quickly. “It’s out of your way. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “The right direction includes several turns and two different stairs. Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about Nina, either. She doesn’t exactly have the greatest personality in the world.” William’s smile was like Mrs. Cort’s, as easy and kind as a backyard swing.

  “She does have the greatest car, though,” said Trey.

  “Does she ever,” agreed William. “What I wouldn’t give to be as rich as she is.”

  “How rich is she, Bill?” asked Devnee.

  William stopped dead, sneakers squeaking. He dropped his gym bag. “I’m William. No nicknames. Let’s get this relationship started out right. William, okay?”

  I can’t even talk right, she thought. She wanted to start crying right then, but tears would drive them off forever. Her father was right; no one could stand a whiner. “William. Okay.”

  They shook on it. Her hand was sweaty and damp, and his was strong and smooth.

  “Nina,” said William, answering the question, “could probably buy and sell the town.”

  Devnee would settle for the sweater. And palms that did not sweat.

  Trey and William not only took her to the door, but right on out to the car, where her mother sat with the engine idling.

  “See you tomorrow, Devnee,” said Trey.

  “Thanks so much, Trey,” she said, turning to wave goodbye. “Nice to meet you, William.”

  Behind the two boys, the school loomed large and solid, red bricks glowing in the afternoon sun. As the boys charged back into the building to get to practice on time, Devnee’s shadow slipped out the school door, rushing to catch up.

  Nobody else saw it.

  A slip of black, coasting on a sidewalk.

  Quivers of sickness climbed up her throat like a scream. Why weren’t you with me? I can’t be a person without a shadow!

  “So how was school?” said her mother happily. “My day was wonderful. Wait till you see all I’ve accomplished!”

  Devnee held the door open, and her shadow got in the car and disappeared against the upholstery.

  Chapter 4

  THAT NIGHT, THE TOWER was ordinary.

  The hours of darkness passed serenely. She slept well.

  In the morning, the sun smiled, the snow glittered, and the sky was pure. School was perfect. It was too soon to have friends, but everybody was friendly. Trey and Aryssa, William and Victoria and all the rest—what a fine school this was! What a fine life she was entering!

  Only that last period, with Mr. O’Sullivan’s sneer and Nina’s contempt, was difficult. He did not order another desk, and Devnee remained exposed on the chair, taking notes on her lap. But now she knew the school well enough to run down the hall alone when class ended, catch Trey and William, and be escorted to her car by two laughing handsome boys.

  Over the weekend she went shopping with her mother, looking for clothes similar to what Aryssa wore. (Nobody would want to dress like Victoria, and nobody could afford to dress like Nina.) It was one of those wonderful shopping expeditions when everything fit, every price was right, every style was flattering. Devnee spun home, twirling in delight.

  Her father and brother had been at work in the tower.

  The interior shutters had been opened and fastened by the strangely heavy, prisonlike clasps. “One window was broken, Devnee,” said her father. “I just reglazed it, and your brother and I washed the windows inside and out. I hung on to Luke’s knees while he sat on the sill to do the outside. He also fixed the banging shutter on the outside.”

  “Hey, great,” said Devnee. How airy, how bright the room was! A special room for a special person. A room for giggling friends and silly slumber parties. Devnee danced. Her father went downstairs with the tools.

  Luke stayed in the tower, a strange expression on his face. He started to laugh but it turned into a croak. Started to shrug, but twitched instead. Started to talk, but mumbled incoherently.

  “Luke, you’re so worthless,” said Devnee with a sisterly laugh.

  “I think you should take the downstairs bedroom after all,” he said.

  “What? You bum! You want the tower now, huh? You think just because you washed a window you get the tower? Forget it.”

  “No! I want—” He broke off. He looked around him, as if thinking they would be overheard and punished. He whispered, “I want you to be all right.”

  For a moment her heart crashed, her hands iced. She remembered her shadow, the slimy touch in the night, the breathing room in the dark. What had Luke felt up here, touching those shutter slats where her shadow’s long black fingers had explored? What did Luke know, from this creepy room that knew all the secrets of night?

  “Place is spooky,” muttered Luke. He headed for the stairs. His movement broke the spell.

  My own stairs, thought Devnee, laughing again. Wait’ll I have Aryssa over. Will she ever be impressed! “Honestly, Luke,” she said. “I have a chance to be happy and you try to make things up to scare me.”

  “I’m not making anything up. And the least you could do is thank me for fixing your stupid window. I hate having a sister.”

  “Well, I hate having a brother. Get out of here.”

  “Not till you say thank you!”

  “Thank you. Now get out. I want to try on my new clothes.”

  He was almost down the stairs when he turned to look at her. His body was no longer visible, only his head. Decapitated, the lips moved anyway. Devnee shuddered, and a hand ran gently over her back, and stroked her neck under her hair. She whirled to face it, but of course there was nobody there.

  “You deserve whatever you get,” said Luke. “So there.”

  The next Thursday, Devnee was late to school. She had to spend a few minutes in the office getting yelled at and being marked Present after all. The secretary seemed to feel that if you were going to be late, you should just be absent, and save everybody the trouble of reentering you in the day’s computer list. Devnee didn’t mind. She loved this school now, and could even love a sulky, short-tempered secretary.

  She was happy within these walls.

  As for nights in the tower and shadows at her feet, she could only assume that the first day in a new town had scared her so badly she’d given herself bad dreams.

  Devnee gathered her things and went slowly down the hall.

  Was she lucky that her new down jacket was so slippery it slid from her grasp? Was she lucky that she had to kneel and scoop it up with her two free fingers, then try to stagger to her feet without also dropping six books, homework, and chorus folder? Was she lucky that everything slid onto the floor a second time, so she remained bent like a clumsy acolyte kneeling in front of a school altar?

  Kneeling like a beggar or a slave, Devnee heard two voices.

  Just around the corner, laughing and low, each voice had a rich texture. Talking between classes—telling secrets—had thickened the voices. But they were not so thick that Devnee failed to recognize them.

  “She’s absent today!” said the first voice. Aryssa’s voice. From the throat of velvet and the lips of red. “What a relief.”

  “I know,” said the second voice. Trey’s voice. “If I have to waste time with her much longer, I’m going to puke.”

  Devnee’s knees crunched on the floor. Her new clothes did not seem so pretty, nor her jacket so trendy.

  “The trouble with the buddy system,” said the first voice, “is that they really think you’re their buddy.” It was Aryssa.

  Dread clamped down on Devnee’s joy. I don’t want to hear this, she thought. Go away. Don’t say it out loud. I can guess now. Don’t make me know the truth. Please. Let me pretend I’m pretty and nice.

  “That’s the trouble with being friendly,” Aryssa went on. “You
can’t just be friendly. You end up with this person who thinks she’s really your friend.” Aryssa laughed.

  Trey clucked sympathetically. “There’s nothing really wrong with Devnee,” he said. “We’ll let her tag along for a while. Eventually she’ll make real friends and drift off.”

  “No,” said Aryssa, “I know that kind. She never catches on. She never picks up a clue. She’ll be there forever. You’d have to run over her with a truck to convince her you don’t want her around.”

  Trey laughed. “Why did you volunteer to be her buddy anyway?” he asked.

  “Because I’m failing biology again,” said Aryssa. “She looked smart and I figured she could do my labs for me and during tests I could crib off her. But she turned out to be just as dumb as I am. You should see us in bio lab, Trey. We’re pathetic.”

  Trey laughed. “She’s pathetic,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

  Aryssa laughed. “Thank you, darling.” There was a smoochy sound.

  Devnee was gripping her books so hard she broke a fingernail.

  “Why did you volunteer?” asked Aryssa.

  “You know why. I wanted to make time with Victoria, and Victoria approves of being decent to the pitiful ones. Victoria’s very big on charity. Look how Victoria is sitting with Devnee at lunch.” There was another smoochy sound. “But Victoria doesn’t matter now, either, does she?” said Trey, and he and Aryssa laughed together.

  Devnee was still crouched over her belongings. One of the pitiful ones to whom Victoria felt people should be charitable.

  If Trey and Aryssa came this way, they would find her, like a dog outside its kennel, waiting to be kicked.

  But they walked in the other direction. Trey’s heavy shoes and Aryssa’s delicate heels played a duet on the hard cold tiles. And Devnee Fountain remained a solo, as she had always been, without friends, without beauty, without hope.

  The strange thing was that Devnee did not hate them.

  Instead she felt guilty for being a burden. They were beautiful people, interesting people, and they were right: She had attached herself like a poison ivy vine to a tree. Of course they didn’t want her there. She was giving them a rash.