A Certain Slant of Light (23 page)

  
I began to take dictation, printing with small neat letters as
close to Jenny's hand as I could manage. Dan was the one swing
ing his foot now as Cathy read.

  
"The prudent sees the evil and hides himself." Cathy waited
while I worked. Although the passage brought me no joy, the pen
itself was a wonder. The best invention since the printing press.

  
'"But the naive go on,'" read Cathy, '"and are punished for it.'"

 
 
I completed my writing and tentatively offered the pen to
Dan again. He took it and stood, glancing at me as he did. "Up."

  
Hesitantly I rose. He stood, hands on hips, never looked me in
the eye but scanned me: my face, my body, my legs. He gave
Cathy a small metal square from his pocket as she glared at him.

  
"It's a school dress," she said. "It didn't shrink." Cathy star
tled me by leaning over and checking the distance from my knee to the hem of my dress with the little measuring tape.

   
"She's growing," said Dan.

  
"She's not getting taller," Cathy complained.

  
"Turn," said Dan, as Cathy gave him back the tape. When I
hesitated, Cathy moved her hand in a circle, so I imitated the ges
ture and turned all the way around once. Dan scanned my body
again. "Take off your sweater."

  
Cathy seemed insulted, as if inspecting Jenny's clothes was her job and she was being demoted. "You saw this dress last
week," she told him. "The light doesn't show through, the straps
hidden, there's no jiggle."

  
"Cathleen." His tone warned of a danger close at hand. I began to peel back my sweater, but Dan waved us away. "Have a
good day, ladies."

As Cathy drove me to school, it finally began to occur to me what a
fish out of water I was. Because of her books, at least I knew that
Jenny was in a history, a government, a math, and a science class.
I felt a bit lightheaded with nerves, and the odd cherry-scented
perfume Cathy must've put in her car didn't help. We passed two
girls, one in a cheerleading uniform, walking to school.

  
"What do you think about cheerleading?" I asked Cathy, hop
ing this would tell me whether I was expected at a practice.

  
"We went over this in junior high. The uniforms have bare
midriffs and the choreography is inappropriate."

  
She pulled up to the curb in front of the high school.

  
"Have a good day, hon." She tilted her perfectly groomed
head toward me, so I gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  
When I got out, I leaned down and looked at her through my
open door. "Do I look all right?"

  
"You look fine."

  
"What about sports?" I said.

  
She blinked at me. "You want to play in a sport?" she asked.
"You gave up ballet lessons so you'd have more time to study."

  
"Never mind." I smiled and let the door close.

  
I tried not to make eye contact with the other students,
embarrassed not to know their names or which ones would expect to be my friends. I went to the administration office and waited at
the counter until the receptionist, Miss Lopez, hung up the
phone. Mr. Brown called her Olivia.

  
"What can I do for you, Miss Thompson?" she said.

  
"May I have a copy of my class schedule?"

  
She looked curious. "Who's it for?"

  
To my surprise, a spontaneous lie rolled off my tongue.
"Church."

  
"No problem." Olivia glided her rolling chair to the computer
on a table against the wall and typed in a few words. The room
smelled of glue and spilled ink.

  
I felt my heart skip a beat as a familiar voice struck my ear.

  
"Any messages?" asked Mr. Brown. He leaned over the
counter as Olivia handed him one small slip of paper from the
slot marked M. BROWN on the wall.

  
"Thanks," he said.

  
I looked up at him. He stood right beside me reading the note,
holding his briefcase, wearing the blue shirt he so often wore on
Mondays. He looked like he always had to me, but now I could feel the faint heat of his body, smell the leather of his case and
even the soap he'd showered with, like sage. I was stricken by his
solid, textured complexity. I could tell he hadn't brought his
novel with him. When he had the box squeezed into his briefcase, the latch nearly wouldn't close. Today his briefcase was light and
empty. For this I felt sorry But I was thrilled to be standing so close to him. I took a breath, meaning to speak to him, but re
membered suddenly that he wouldn't know me. He may not even
know Jenny. Without glancing up, Mr. Brown turned and walked
out. Although I had become as tangible as he, I was just as invisi
ble to him as I had been before. Olivia was on the phone again.

  
Next I glanced out the window. There was James, standing on a stone bench, scanning the crowd of students. Blood surged into
my cheeks.

  
"Here you go," said Olivia, handing me the sheet of paper.

  
I practically ran out of the building and into the quad, but
James was nowhere to be found,
I
was the one scanning the crowd
now.

  
I knew the school, the numbering of the rooms, and the
names of some teachers but not many students. Two girls I could
n't place greeted Jenny as they passed, but I only smiled. I sat
dumbly through a lecture on sediments, Building A, room 100. I
jumped so when the passing bell rang that the boy sitting behind
me laughed.

  
I was making my way through the crowd toward Building C
when I saw a familiar head in the distance, the dark hair blowing.
James was turning around, stretching on his toes to see over the
others. I was paralyzed with excitement, standing perfectly still
until he had turned toward me. He froze when he saw Jenny's
face. I watched while he wove through the crowd in my direction.
Finally I started to weave too, losing sight of him at once because I was not tall enough.

  
When he sidled around a group of girls and was suddenly
standing only a few feet in front of me, I stopped short.

  
"Helen?" he asked.

  
I nodded. There was an odd moment when I didn't know
whether we should pretend that we were just meeting each other.
It lasted only a heartbeat. Both our book bags hit the ground, and
he pulled me into his arms so hard the breath went out of me. It
was overwhelming, actually feeling his face pressed to me and his
arms so hard and his heart beating. The scent of his hair. The
heat of his skin unlocked my tears. I heard a few students make
rude noises and one girl laughing. James let me go, but took my
hand, pulling me along through the crowd. I had to run to keep up. He swung me behind the recycling bins where we had first
spoken, took my face in his hands, and kissed me, struggling in
wonder at my realness—probing at the muscle and bone and
moist moving warmth of me.

  
We stopped when the bell rang again. This could have been
an hour or five minutes, I couldn't tell. He was pressing me
against the wall and put me on my feet now. We were both out of
breath. James glanced toward the pathway to see whether we
were being watched, but the few students visible there were run
ning to their classrooms. I had no restraint. He was better than
food. Tasting him only made me hungrier. I threw my arms
around his neck again and breathed him in.

  
A jolt of memory hit me—my fingers in wheat-colored hair
and a whiskered throat with a tiny half-moon scar. The sensation
was chilling. I shook the image off, and there was only James, his
dark hair fallen over one eye. I slid my hands under his shirt, feeling the smooth heat of his back. I pressed my face to his
chest, but he took my hands and held them in front of him.

  
"Wait," he said. "What class do you have now?"

  
It took me a moment to remember. "Government."

  
He was still breathing hard. "What about third period?"

  
"Library Practice."

  
"What about fourth?"

  
"Study hall."

  
"Meet me right here before study hall."

  
Our book bags were, fortunately, still lying on the ground where we had abandoned them. He picked mine up and put the
strap over my shoulder.

  
"James," I said. I just loved the way it felt to say that word out
loud.

  
He smiled. "Do you know where your classroom is?"

  
"I've been at this school longer than you have."

  
"I forgot." He glanced quickly around and kissed me again,
iis hand on the back of my head. He pressed into me deep, as if he had to make sure I was real. Next moment, he had turned and was running up the path.

  
I managed to find my next class, but when I walked in, every
one stared.

  
"I'm sorry I'm late," I said, giving a small curtsy. Someone
laughed and the teacher made a mark in her attendance book,
but that was the extent of my punishment. I sat in the back and
lever heard a word. All I could think of was the way his skin was
tender over the hard muscle of his throat under my lips. And
the clean cool forest scent of his hair.