Woman of Silk and Stone (23 page)

"Boy, you're lucky you missed the next
number, huh? Bet that locker's cursed or something." He gave a
casual laugh and I took a closer look at him, surprised to see that
for the first time I hadn't been assigned an overachieving computer
geek.

Preston was tall and solid-looking; I was
willing to bet he was on the basketball team. His hair was blond
and shaggy, hanging just below his chin, softening somewhat sharp,
pointed features. All in all, he was probably the kind of boy who
coasted through high school on moderate good looks and athletic
talent; typically harmless and generally uninteresting.

He handed me the slip of paper with the
locker combination on it and I fumbled with the padlock until it
popped open. I sighed in exasperation; it was one of those stupid
half-lockers shared with another student. The top half was empty,
so I placed the afternoon textbooks I was given on the clean shelf
and hung up my jacket. Slinging my messenger bag back over my
shoulder, I slammed the door shut and turned to the still eager
Preston. Repressing the urge to roll my eyes and groan, I stood
quietly waiting for the next exciting development in our tour.

"Ok, well then, let's get to your first
period. We're a little late, but Mr. Tesh won't care." He glanced
down at my schedule. "Hey, it looks like we have two classes
together; gym and English. We can sit together in English, and if
you need a partner in gym I'd be happy to help you out."

I just bet you
would,
I thought. Like every other male mentor I've had,
Preston had that same 'I got dibs on the new girl' look on his
face. I gave him a noncommittal smile and trudged along at his
side, resigning myself to the usual stares, humiliating remarks
about the strangeness of my wardrobe, and barrage of well-meaning
representatives from every social group in the cafeteria. When
you've been to as many high schools as I have, you know the
drill.

After an interminable walk through a
labyrinth of identical hallways smelling strongly of bleach, we
ended up in front of the typical wooden door with its thin
rectangular mesh-screen window.

"Ready?" Preston asked with a raised
eyebrow. I nodded solemnly and he opened the door. As predicted,
the class was already in full swing and of course every head turned
to watch me enter. Preston led me to the teacher, who was standing
in front of the whiteboard clutching a marker looking confused and
hurt, as though by interrupting his class I had insulted him
personally.

Mr. Tesh was short, stocky, and balding; a
few last, defiant hairs greased across the top of his head in an
unfortunate mimicry of every Wal-Mart manager I've ever seen.
Preston handed him my paperwork and stood silently as Tesh reviewed
my information. After a moment he looked up at me with more
confidence and nodded a dismissal to Preston. My guide backed out
the door, giving me an encouraging wave and engaging in a little
manly shoulder punching with a boy in the front row. I shifted my
bag on my shoulder and waited for instructions.

"Class, we have a new student. This is..."
Mr. Tesh squinted at my name on the paper in some consternation,
apparently defeated by the small type.

"It's Elizabeth, but I go by Liz, sir." I
decided to help him out, doing anything I could to speed up the
process of the uncomfortable introduction. He nodded gratefully and
began again.

"This is Liz Hannigan. She's joining us
rather late in the term, so hopefully some of you will help her get
caught up." He glared at the class intently, willing them to behave
like human beings for a change. After a lengthy moment of scrutiny,
Mr. Tesh finally gestured to an empty desk in the exact center of
the room. I would be placed in just the right spot for everyone to
stare at me.

Just what I live for.

I took my seat and immediately tried to
become less conspicuous; after a few moments of avoiding eye
contact by studiously staring at my pencil, I felt the myriad eyes
shift back to the front of the room and let out the breath I'd been
holding. Finally looking up, I caught the eye of the guy sitting
diagonally in front of me. He was turned around completely in his
desk, apparently not worried about being yelled at for not paying
attention. He had a knowing smile on his face and I steeled myself,
guessing what was coming.

"Hey, new girl," he whispered in what he
thought was a sultry voice. "Wanna have a study session?" He
smirked and I rolled my eyes; I'm sure he thought he was being
original, but I had heard every variation on this line in
existence. It never failed that on the first day I would be picked
out by the obligatory hot jerk as easy meat, be subjected to
derogatory remarks from the trademark "mean girls," and eventually
end up eating lunch alone in whatever corner of the school I
managed to hide in.

I was exhausted by the process. High school
was redundant for me anyway. I already knew more than the faculty
at Shank High in the economically depressed town of Pound, West
Virginia, could ever possibly teach me. Only my father's insistence
that I would draw less attention as a normal high school student
than an eccentric recluse kept me locked in the endless cycle. At
the age of 16, I could qualify for a doctoral degree in any subject
I chose, never mind a high school diploma.

I ignored my unwanted admirer, despite his
persistence in whispering increasingly obscene suggestions at me,
and finally, predictably, he called me a frigid bitch and left me
alone. With a sigh of relief, I turned my attention to Mr. Tesh,
discovering belatedly that I was in a history class, presently
focused on the American Revolution.

As the class progressed I began to feel
sorry for Mr. Tesh. He obviously cared deeply about his subject,
but his attempts to elicit discussion were thwarted by his pupils'
indifference. When he asked 'who was Thomas Paine' and got no
response, I caved.

"Yes, Miss Hannigan?" His wistful look as he
responded to my raised hand was painful to see.

"Paine was the author of
Common Sense
, a pamphlet distributed to American
colonists that advocated independence from Britain and was used to
incite the revolution. Later, his highly popular
Rights of Man
became the foundation for the
Enlightenment and was instrumental in inspiring the French
Revolution."

As soon as the words left my mouth I was
sorry; the dawning hope on Mr. Tesh's face and the baffled looks
from my peers told me I had drawn attention to myself with my
textbook answer, the last thing I wanted to do. I cursed inwardly,
appalled at my blunder so early in the game. Usually it took
several weeks for me to get on the faculty's radar, and a few more
months before they were recommending me for early graduation and
college interviews. Each time I had to move I promised myself I
wouldn't let it happen again, I would keep my mouth shut and fake
my tests by purposely putting down mediocre answers. But every time
it became impossible; it was as though the information that was
stuffed in my brain was constantly seeking a way out and
side-stepped my intentions at every turn.

I kept quiet for the rest of the class,
avoiding the teacher's eye as he continually sought me out after
every question. By the time the period ended, I was actually glad
to see Preston's blond locks outside the door and dashed to meet
him before anyone else could corner me. Unfortunately, he misread
my flight for eagerness and gave me his homespun grin, taking my
arm in his in an old-fashioned gesture. I recoiled from his touch
and yanked my arm away reflexively, feeling chagrined as I took in
his stricken expression.

Despite the gloves and long sleeves, the
jeans and scarves, I was always terrified of touching. There was
always the chance that somehow the protection of clothes would be
breached and there would be that dreaded moment of skin on skin,
when there would be no defense against the onslaught of information
from which I could never escape. Since awakening from the accident
four years ago, every instinct I had told me to avoid contact at
all costs, never let anyone get close, and run if they did.