The Chic Shall Inherit the Earth Page 8

  The tiniest pause. If I hadn’t already been prepped for weirdness by Carly, I’d have missed it, especially during such an upbeat conversation. “Let’s talk about that, okay?”

  “What’s to talk about? I thought we were set.”

  “I sold my book!” he shouted instead of replying. What was he—Old Faithful? Blowing off steam at regular intervals? I had to laugh.

  “Okay, you get with Danyel and let me know what you guys decide. If you don’t come, you should just expect me anyway. This is too good not to share.”

  “I hear ya. You’re the first one I told.”

  “What, not even your parents?”

  “Well, you know Dad. He’ll be happy once he sees the check, you know? That’s what he considers real, not the pages and panels.”

  I made a rude noise. “This is real. Didn’t I tell you you’d sell it someday? Huh?”

  “Yeah, you did. And now I have. Woooooot!”

  “Get off the phone and call Danyel, you crazy. And congratulations!”

  Laughing, he disconnected, and I looked up to see Carly standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “Good news?”

  “The best. Kaz sold his graphic novel.”

  Her eyebrows disappeared up under her bangs as her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding.”

  “Total truth. So they’re either coming up here next weekend, or I’m going down there. This calls for a major celebration. I wonder if I can get them to do fireworks over San Francisco Bay.”

  “You could,” she said. “But Kaz probably wants something a little more personal.”

  “You’re right. I have to think of something really special.”

  She looked at me as if she was going to say something and then shook her head and pushed off the doorframe. “Papa says if you’re hungry, we can go over to Santana Row and grab something to eat. He’s going to take Antony to see a movie, and you and I can shop.”

  “That’s the second best plan I’ve heard all day.”

  I practically bounced as I hurried to change into something to be seen in. Kaz had sold his book! I couldn’t wait to give him a great big hug. Surely Carly and Gillian couldn’t find anything wrong with that.

  By Sunday night I was still feeling pretty bouncy, between finishing my paper and Kaz’s news. Even Carly’s search for fabric was interesting. Her mother had been lightning fast with responses, as if she thought Carly might change her mind if she didn’t do exactly what she said. They’d decided on both design and fabric before we’d left San Jose at three o’clock, and sure enough, she’d chosen the calla lily suit.

  At Britex, just before they closed for the day, Carly bought a heavy white peau de soie (“It means ‘skin of silk’ in French—isn’t that cool?”), and as we pushed open the front doors of the school and waved good-bye to her cousin Enrique, I could tell she was impatient to hustle it over to the Fashion Design workroom.

  “You go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll take your bag and backpack up to your room.”

  With a quick hug of thanks, she disappeared down the corridor. I picked up our stuff and as I reached the first landing, I realized there were people on the stairs above me.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Princess of Whales.” Emily’s voice sounded way bolder and meaner than I’d ever heard her. “What’s the matter, too heavy for the elevator?”

  “Bug off,” Vanessa snapped. Footsteps slapped the marble, heading toward me, and she came into view on the second-floor landing.

  Emily and DeLayne followed her, and Rory Stapleton brought up the rear.

  Gross. Boys weren’t allowed any further than the stairs leading to the girls’ dorm. And Rory shouldn’t even be allowed that far, if you want my opinion.

  “What are you staring at?” Vanessa hissed as she passed me.

  “Oh, look, it’s the new senior consultant,” Emily said. “How does it feel to be fired, Vanessa? To know you lost your job because you were fat?”

  Hell hath no fury like an overweight Overton scorned. Emily was clearly enjoying the opportunity to turn every insult Vanessa had ever shot at her back on her former BFF.

  “Leave her alone, Emily,” I said quietly. “It’s not right to rub it in.”

  “I don’t need you to defend me!” Vanessa snapped from the landing. “Who asked you, you pathetic poser?”

  I turned to give her a piece of my mind. I looked into her face… and the light caught the glitter of tears in her eyes. I closed my mouth. These girls had hurt her. She actually cared what they thought. Was that even possible?

  Turning back to them, I said, “Emily, DeLayne, come on up to my room. I want to ask your opinion on something the committee came up with.”

  “Now my opinion matters?” DeLayne’s tone dripped acid.

  “With all your experience?” I asked. “Of course it does.”

  “Sure, Lissa.” Emily glared at Rory. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

  “I need to study up on the mating habits of whales,” he said with a grin. My hand itched to slap it completely off his face, so it was probably a good thing that he turned and loped down the stairs after Vanessa. I had no doubt she’d take care of the slapping part, if it came to that.

  In the meantime, I was stuck with Emily and DeLayne, so in my room, I ran them through the details of the decorations as if their opinion would really make a difference in the committee’s plans.

  And all the while, I kept seeing Vanessa’s eyes. The eyes of a girl who really, really needed a friend.

  … you do it unto Me.

  Chapter 10

  AFTER I GOT rid of the two of them, I dashed up another floor and knocked on Shani and Carly’s door. “Anybody home?”

  “Yes,” came an unhappy voice. “Come on in.” Shani sat pretty much exactly the way we’d left her on Friday, except her clothes had changed. Which, I suppose, was a good sign. “Did you have a good weekend?” she asked, as if she hoped somebody might have.

  I dropped Carly’s bags at the end of her bed. “We sure did. Kaz sold his book!”

  She sat back, and some of the life came back into her face. “Wow. That’s great. Who to?”

  “Ted Dekker’s publisher. Can you believe it? He didn’t talk money with me, though, so I don’t know what the deal was for. We’re getting together next weekend to celebrate.”

  “Here?” She straightened and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Is Danyel coming?”

  “Don’t know yet. But Kaz is going to ask him if he wants to. Even if he doesn’t, you and I can go down.”

  She came over and hugged me. “Bless you. You’re like a light in a very dark place.”

  “Wow. Poli.Sci. was that bad?”

  “Yep.” She looked down at the bags. “Wait a minute. Where’s Carly?”

  “That’s the other piece of news. She and her mom worked it out, and since the bridal shop completely flaked and lost her mom’s wedding dress, Carly’s going to design and make one for her.” I glanced at the calendar hanging on the bulletin board. “In, like, two weeks. We got the fabric this afternoon at Britex, and she’s probably in the workroom right now, cutting it out.”

  “I’m going to go see.”

  I followed her down the corridor and then waved as she took off toward the Life Sciences wing. This was good. I had other fish to fry. Or stalk, as the case may be.

  After twenty minutes of said stalking, I found Vanessa holed up in the back of the library, which is normally deserted on a Sunday night. She looked up from the deep leather chair where she was texting someone furiously, her thumbs practically pushing holes in the keypad.

  “What?”

  Ouch. Every cell in my body wanted to run away, but I took a breath instead and sat in the reading chair opposite her.

  She hit Send and held the phone in one hand, as if she expected to answer it.

  Or throw it.

  “I wanted to see if you were okay,” I said.

  “No, you didn’t. You came to gloat
. So do it and get out of here. I’m trying to have a conversation.”

  “I’ve got nothing to gloat about.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed as if I’d just said the most stupid thing in the world.

  “What is with you that you automatically think the worst of people?”

  “I’ll think what I like. Go. Away.”

  What was I doing this for? Trying to be a friend to her was like trying to share a cage with an angry tiger. Then I thought of David, who never quite gave up on King Saul, no matter how badly he behaved. “You know, Vanessa, if you weren’t so busy being nasty, you’d see I’m trying to be friends.”

  “You are the last person I would ever be friends with.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Incredulous disgust filled her eyes. “Isn’t it enough you’ve taken away my friends, the Cotillion, my lunch table? Why would I want to watch you parade around getting everything you’ve always wanted? And then you have the nerve to come in here and rub it in my face.” She began to pick up her things. “You make me sick.”

  “That’s the baby.”

  “Don’t. Mention. That. To me.”

  “Why not? It’s a fact. It’s also the real reason you lost those things, not me. People around here are having a field day with it because they can.”

  “Like you.”

  “No.” While she had her tote over her arm and she was standing ready to run, she hadn’t done it yet. Something was keeping her here. Maybe it was the need to spit vitriol all over me. But on the off chance it might be more than that, I kept going while I could.

  “They almost made you cry back there,” I said gently. “Those aren’t your friends. Why don’t you find people who will help you? Give you a smile once in a while, even.”

  “I’m not interested. There isn’t one person in this school who will do anything but diss me. They can all just go to—” She cut herself off and stared down at me. You are nothing but mold on my shower floor, those dark eyes said contemptuously.

  My shoulders sagged. This was stupid. Why was I sticking my neck out for her when she’d be the first person in line to chop it off? I owed her nothing. In fact, from the way she’d treated me for two years, no one would blame me for jumping on the trash train and dishing out a little of what I’d been getting all this time.

  I looked up into her face, getting ready to concede, and saw that her mascara had run just a little and then dried.

  She’s been crying.

  What had I told Carly when we were at her house? “Sometimes there’s a big difference between doing something out of love and doing something because it’s the right thing to do.” There was no love lost between me and Vanessa. But I believed in looking to Jesus for my example, didn’t I? Sometimes He didn’t find love in the people He met, either, but He loved them just the same, and did the right thing. So maybe loving her was stretching it, but I could still do what was right. And then who knew what would happen?

  “There might be one,” I said quietly.

  “Why? What’s in it for you?” she demanded.

  “Nothing. Except maybe a bunch of abuse. Which I’m getting a little tired of.”

  “Then leave.”

  “I thought you were leaving. But you haven’t yet. Maybe there’s a reason for that.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, loser.”

  And with that, she turned on her D&G heel and stalked away down the length of the stacks, toward the door.

  Neck, I think you just got chopped.

  Then the click of her heels on the hardwood paused. Turned. Came back.

  “Ginger ale.” The words sounded forced, as though she was pushing them between her teeth against her will.

  “Yeah?” I had no idea what she meant.

  “On the tray you brought. It helped.” She turned and stalked away again, and this time the sound of her heels went right on out the door.

  “I think that might have been a thank-you,” I told the empty chair across from me in tones of amazement. “Who’d have thought?”

  ON MONDAYS AND WEDNESDAYS, Vanessa is in two of my classes: U.S. History and Public Speaking. In the world as I know it, the two of us sit on opposite sides of the classroom, and if we happen to reach the door together, one of us (usually me) finds someone to talk to in the corridor so that no eye contact actually occurs.

  But the world as I knew it began to change that Monday. Who knew flat ginger ale could have such a far-reaching effect?

  On the way to U.S. History, I greeted people in the corridor and even got on-the-spot updates from one or two Cotillion Committee members—one of whom was wearing a rhinestone love-knot hairband like mine. It wasn’t until after her gaze had slid off me and to the side, and she’d waved good-bye and moved on that I realized someone was dogging me.

  Vanessa.

  As I walked, she stuck by my elbow, close enough so it looked like we might be walking together, yet far enough away that she didn’t have to admit to it. And the other students, taken by surprise for the moment, kept their nasty comments to themselves just in case she was indeed with me.

  She scuttled into the history classroom and the world was once more as it had always been. But hmm… was she using me for protection? I’d told her she needed a friend. Was she taking me up on it? Could I trust her if she was?

  “Proceed with caution,” Gillian said bluntly at lunch, as I brought the girls up to date on the last couple of days of weirdness. At the table in the window, the sun warmed our backs and we had a prime view of everyone in the dining room—as they did of us.

  No wonder Vanessa liked sitting here.

  “But what if she’s for real?” I sipped my blackberry smoothie.

  “I believe God can change a person,” Gillian said. “But is that what’s happening here?”

  “She came this close to thanking me for helping her the other day,” I protested. “That’s gotta be hard. And it had to mean something.”

  “That she’s not popular anymore and she’s reaching for straws to haul herself out of her own hole?” Gillian gazed at me. “I love it that you helped her, and praise God that you did. But it doesn’t mean she’s going to change. The point is, I care about you. We all do. And we don’t want you to get slapped in the face if you try to be friends.”

  “If you’re lucky,” Brett said from Carly’s other side. “Vanessa’s usual weapon of choice is the knife in the back.”

  “You guys, she was crying,” I protested. “After DeLayne and Emily dissed her on the stairs, I saw that her mascara had run. The girl is going to have a hard enough time of it. Aren’t we Christians? Shouldn’t we do something to help? Go two miles if a person asks us to go one?”

  “Not that Vanessa would ever ask,” Brett put in.

  “That’s just my point,” I said. “We’re supposed to show the love of God to other people. Her, too. Without being asked.”

  “Even when they’ve done something wrong?” Shani wanted to know.

  “You can love the sinner, not the sin,” Gillian said. “I totally think Lissa is right to pray for her. I’ve been praying, myself. We can show the love of Jesus that way without standing close enough to get slapped.”

  Okay, but in the meantime, who was going to walk down the corridor with her or sit with her at lunch? Was I overthinking this? Worrying about the logistics when I should be thinking about it from a more spiritual standpoint?

  “But—”

  At that point Shani stepped in and changed the subject, leaving me still wondering what my responsibility was. If I even had any. I mean, I pretty much look to Gillian as my yardstick to measure up to as far as my faith walk goes. She has her struggles like any of us, but she’s the first one to suggest prayer while we’re problem-solving (not so good for math, but great for life). She’s reading her way through the Bible a chapter at a time, and she’s got me doing that, too… though I have to say, I was really glad to get past the begats and the battles in the Old Testament. So if Gillian say
s the best thing to do is to pray for someone, you kinda have to pay attention because she’s usually right.

  But the look in Vanessa’s eyes haunted me. The thought of that baby riding around and being taunted and made fun of made me feel sick. I mean, it’s been proven that they can hear things in utero, right? How would you like to develop an inferiority complex along with your fingers and toes before you’re even born?

  In Public Speaking that afternoon, I attempted to take notes during the lecture while the guy who sat at the table in front of us tried unsuccessfully to flirt with Shani. I tuned in abruptly when the instructor said the awful words “group project.”

  “Many of you are preparing for careers in public life,” Mr. Jones said, looking natty as always in a Brooks Brothers suit. “That means you will need to be comfortable in front of a microphone. I want you to separate into groups of three or four and prepare a public presentation based on the material we’ve covered this term.”

  I glanced at Shani in alarm. Just how public were we talking here? In front of the class? In front of the school? The city? National TV networks?

  “It can be in connection with your community-service activities,” Mr. Jones went on, “or in aid of a school event. It can even be performance art. But it can’t be part of any drama or theater performance you’re already doing, and you must be filmed or recorded in some kind of public capacity that has been rehearsed beforehand. I’ll hand out a sheet of prompts and ideas, and in the meantime, you can divide into your groups and brainstorm.”

  Shani grabbed my arm before he’d even finished speaking. “We are so a group, girlfriend,” she said. “I have no idea what to do, but I’m not going in with Tate DeLeon and his buddies or the math geeks.”

  Mr. Jones came around with the sheets and handed one to each of us. “How many in your group?”

  “Two.”

  “I said three to four, Miss Hanna.”

  “We’re good.” She gave him her best marketing smile. “The two of us can do the work of four, trust me.”

  “I’m sure you can, but that’s not the nature of the project.” He looked around, counting off the numbers in the groups that had already formed.