She’s just as I remember her. Mid-twenties. Beautiful, with flowing dark hair. I remembered all that perfectly. But what I wasn’t certain about is now staring me right in the face.
Her clear blue eyes.
Chapter 12
26 Years Earlier
During lunch, Tiffany gets the idea to wad up little white pieces of paper and turn them into spitballs. She sticks one into her straw, purses her little pink lips, and blows into the straw. The spitball flies into the air and lands square on the back of Marjorie Baker’s stringy brown hair.
Marjorie swats at the back of her head, where the spitball is wet and shiny between strands of hair. She knows something hit her, but she’s not sure what. Tiffany clasps a hand over her mouth and giggles. Tiffany is always the one leading the attacks on Marjorie lately. Tiffany has long blond hair that’s silky and beautiful, and every boy in the class has a secret crush on her. But she doesn’t care about boys—all she seems to care about is picking on Marjorie. It’s her favorite thing.
“Let me try!” Amanda Cutraro says. She takes her own straw and repeats the process. Soon enough, a second damp spitball has lodged itself in Marjorie’s hair. A third bounces off her hair and falls into her hoodie.
The worst part is Marjorie can’t seem to find thespitballs. We watch her feel around the back of her head, her fingers searching, but she’s nowhere close. She turns around to glare at us, and the table dissolves into giggles.
“Nora,” Tiffany says, “you want to try?”
I shake my head no.
“Why not?” Tiffany says.
I shrug. “I don’t feel like it.”
If I were someone else, Tiffany probably would’ve twisted my arm to get me to do it. But Tiffany doesn’t mess with me. She and I have an understanding.
By the end of the lunch period, when Marjorie brings her tray to the garbage, she’s got no less than a dozen spitballs still in her hair. She managed to get a few out, but most of them are stuck to the strands of her hair like glue. She’ll probably have them in there all day.
After lunch is recess. Marjorie has her book as always and I watch her walk (orwaddle) to the far end of the playground to read alone. The other girls are going off to play hopscotch, but I don’t join them today. Instead, I walk over to where Marjorie is sitting. Without waiting for her to say anything, I sit down next to her.
“Hi,” I say.
Marjorie looks up at me. “Did the other girls send you over here to make fun of me?”
“No.”
She narrows her watery brown eyes at me. “Then what are you doing here, Nora?”
“You were all alone. I thought you might want somebody to talk to.”
Marjorie snorts. “If you talk to me, the other girlswon’t be friends with you anymore. They’ll think you’re a loser, like me.”
“I’m not too worried about that,” I answer honestly.
For the first time since I sat down, I see a little seed of hopefulness on Marjorie’s face. In all the time I’ve known her, since we’ve been in first grade, she’s never had a real friend. And even though I have had groups of girls that I’ve hung out with, she knows I’ve never had a close friend either. She thinks maybe there’s something here.
That’s exactly what I want her to think.
“Listen,” I say. “I promised Tiffany I would play with them today, but I think we should hang out sometime. If you want.”
“Um…” Marjorie chews on her lower lip. “You really want to?”
I bob my head. “I think you’re nice. It’ssounfair that the other girls are mean to you.”
A teeny tiny smile blossoms on Marjorie’s lips. “Well, okay. We can hang out if you want. When?”
“How about after school today? We can walk home together.”
She makes a face. “My mom is picking me up right after school today. I’ve got a dentist appointment.”
