The teacher rolled his eyes. “I suppose so, Gabby. Just don’t use this as an excuse to meet Ms. Winters for a hallway powwow. I expect you back here in five minutes.”
“Obviously,” Gabby said with a grin and a roll of her eyes. “Em’s in English right now, anyway. She’d never bail.” There were some appreciative snickers as Gabby sailed over to Skylar. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing Skylar’s arm and tugging her out the door like they were on some kind of bonding mission, not complete strangers.
Out in the hallway Skylar fumbled for something to say. She was angry with herself for being nervous. Fortunately, the pretty blond girl saved her the effort of speaking first.
“Hi! I’m Gabby Dove.” The name fit her perfectly.
“I’m Skylar. Skylar McVoy. I’m new,” she answered, and then mentally kicked herself. Obviously she was new. She might as well have it tattooed on her forehead.
“Thanks for getting me out of there,” Gabby said, as though Skylar had done her a favor on purpose. “I cannot stand math. Which is so stupid because I’m, like, actually okay at it. Not great, but I get it. I just wish it wasn’t so painfully boring. Anyway, can I see your schedule?”
Skylar handed it to her mutely.
“Ah, you have bio now. Bummer. I do not get science. So, we’re going to want to head back toward the cafeteria—you know where that is, right?—and then turn toward the back of the building.” Gabby was walking now, tossing words over her shoulder, and Skylar scurried along to keep up. She checked out what Gabby was wearing—a deep-red tunic, black jeans, and black wedge boots that gave her at least three inches. Skylar could see that without them, Gabby would be short, like her. She tugged on her cardigan, which suddenly felt too small.
“So, how long have you been in town?” Gabby slowed down to let Skylar catch up.
“Just since Saturday,” Skylar said.
“Where are you from?”
“I came from Alabama.” She was about to offer a bit more information, but they passed a group of students standing by a row of lockers, and she clamped her mouth shut, suddenly shy.
“Hey, Gabs,” several of them called out.
“Hi, guys,” Gabby said, waving over her shoulder as she kept walking. Then she stopped, turned around, and kept talking to them as she walked backward down the hallway. “Can’t wait to hear about the hot tub incident.” They all cracked up as Gabby turned a corner. “It’s right down here,” she said to Skylar.
Skylar smiled too, as though she had any idea what the hot tub incident was and why it was funny. Maybe someday she’d make people laugh like that. Maybe someday she’d be in on the joke.
“Okay, here we go. Room 209. That was room 209 too,” Gabby said, moving her head in the direction they’d just come from. “But it’s 209A. Totally dumb system. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you so much,” Skylar said, trying not to sound gushy. She’d already come off as enough of an idiot. It was important to try, but not seem like you were trying. That was the rule of the pageant circuit too. Make it look easy.
“No problem, happy to help. See you around, Skylar,” Gabby said as she turned back toward her math class. Skylar watched her go, then looked down to smooth her shirt before heading into bio. Ugh. All of a sudden she couldn’t help but see herself as Gabby must have seen her—plain, lost, pathetic. With a knot in her throat, she opened the door to face the next humiliation.
? ? ?
Flat. Flat and stringy. Skylar hated hair spray, mousse, any type of hair product at all. The sticky-sweet smell made her think of being backstage at the pageants. But her hair, which she was currently fluffing in the bathroom mirror between third and fourth periods, fell limp against her head—nothing like Gabby’s bouncy curls.
As she stared at herself she felt the slightest shimmer of a presence behind her. She whirled around, even though she knew that she was alone in the bathroom. She turned back to the mirror. And then, as though steam was clearing after a shower, the space behind her opened up and she could practically see Lucy smiling at her pityingly.
Oh, it looks fine, Dumpling.
Dumpling. The “affectionate” nickname Lucy and their mom had bestowed upon her in third grade. Skylar leaned against the sink and turned on the water, cupping some in her hand and gulping it down thirstily. She willed herself not to cry, ordering the Lucy in her mind to go away. This is your chance to start over, she told herself. She straightened up, rooted in her purse for a tube of lip gloss, and slammed out the bathroom door. She wouldn’t be late for her last class before lunch.
? ? ?
When she finally made it to the cafeteria later, it was clear where she should try to sit—at the tables below the skylights, each bathed in white winter light, where students were gossiping, sharing plates of fries, and finishing last-minute homework. Everyone sitting at those sun-bathed seats seemed touched by a confident glow.