Page 7 of Life and Death
Mrs. Banner passed some quizzes back when the class was almost done. She handed me one to give to the girl. I glanced at the top automatically—one hundred percent . . . and I’d been spelling her name wrong in my head. It was Edythe, not Edith. I’d never seen it spelled that way, but it fit her better.
I glanced down at her as I slid the paper over, and then instantly regretted it. She was glaring up at me again, her long, black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from the hate radiating from her, the phraseif looks could killsuddenly ran through my mind.
At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edythe Cullen was out of her seat. She moved like a dancer, every perfect line of her slim body in harmony with all the others, her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.
I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after her. She was so harsh. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block out the confusion and guilt that filled me. Why should I feel guilty? I hadn’t done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn’t actually even met her.
“Aren’t you Beaufort Swan?” a female voice asked.
I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, her hair carefully flat-ironed into a pale blond curtain, smiling at me in a friendly way. She obviously didn’t think I smelled bad.
“Beau,” I corrected her, smiling back.
“I’m McKayla.”
“Hi, McKayla.”
“Do you need any help finding your next class?”
“I’m headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it.”
“That’s my next class, too.” She seemed thrilled, though it wasn’t such a big coincidence in a school this small.
We walked to class together; she was a chatterer—she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. She’d lived in California till she was ten, so she got how I felt about the sun. It turned out she’d been in my English class also. She was the nicest person I’d met today.
But as we were entering the gym she asked, “So, did you stab Edythe Cullen with a pencil or what? I’ve never seen her act like that.”
I winced. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, thatwasn’tEdythe Cullen’s usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.
“Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?”
“Yeah,” she said. “She looked like she was in pain or something.”
“I don’t know,” I responded. “I never spoke to her.”
“She’s weird.” McKayla lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. “If I got to sit by you, I would have talked to you.”
I smiled at her before walking through the boys’ locker room door. She was kind and seemed to like me. But that wasn’t enough to make me forget the last strange hour.
The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform, but she didn’t make me dress down for today’s class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here P.E. was mandatory all four years. My own special version of hell.
I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained—and inflicted—playing volleyball, I felt a little nauseated.
The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had faded away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I zipped my jacket up and shoved my free hand into a pocket.
When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.
Edythe Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. Impossible not to recognize her tangled bronze hair. She didn’t seem to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the balding receptionist to be free.
She was arguing with him in a low, velvety voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time—any other time.
This couldnotbe about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I got to the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about some other problem. It was impossible that a stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. I wasn’t interesting enough to be worth that strong of a reaction.
The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, waving through my hair. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edythe Cullen’s back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me—her face was ridiculously perfect, not even one tiny flaw to make her seem human—with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt the oddest thrill of genuinefear, raising the hair on my arms. As if she were going to pull a gun out and shoot me. The look only lasted a second, but it was colder than the freezing wind. She turned back to the receptionist.
“Never mind, then,” she said quickly in a voice like silk. “I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” And she turned on her heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.
I went robotically to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed him the signed slip.
