Another Faust (42 page)

“Yeah,” said Bicé, still visibly uncomfortable in her relationship with Belle.

“And she was there with you? What about everything that . . . ?”

“We’re sisters,” said Bicé, resigned. “I had to help.”

Belle hugged her again. She seemed genuinely sorry for what had happened. They’d begin the precarious rebuilding of their relationship now, of the trust that had been lost. Belle held her sister and wished for forgiveness, and Bicé did her best to forgive.

When they separated, Belle ran back for the awards ceremony. She thought about that moment together, when they had held hands, and Belle had finally experienced a little of Bicé’s world. There was an incredible feeling of loneliness, and it was a moment she would never forget, when she thought she could be lost to the dark, when she began to see why Bicé was the way she was — a pariah. Bicé and Christian walked off by themselves, whispering.

“All I know is that I’m never stealing again,” said Christian. “Not after that speech. We have to get out of her house.”

“Just a couple more days, Christian. I just need a few more days.” She thought about his childhood letter, about the mark on Christian’s chest that had now disappeared. She would get Christian out of there, she resolved. But not yet.

“OK, but I want to know what you’re doing.”

“Later.”

“I need to figure out a way to get Buddy out, too.”

“Buddy?” Bicé felt a wave of guilt. “He . . . he isn’t human, right?”

“I’m not sure, Bicé. He learns. He feels pain. He processes information. Sometimes he does weird things . . . like he has a history, you know? What if he’s a real person? What if she . . . ?” Christian was obviously distressed at that thought.

Bicé thought about the scribbled letters she had seen in the notebook, and Buddy at the white window. Suddenly, she stopped at the door of one of the classrooms.

“Hold on, Christian. Look who’s in there. Shhh, I want to hear.”

Victoria and Madame Vileroy were in the classroom. Victoria was raging as usual.

“You broke our deal!” she screamed.

“I didn’t. I gave you all the tools. You lost because you didn’t anticipate —”

“I lost because of Belle! And you didn’t even warn me!”

“Well, I can’t force Belle to do anything.”

“Yes, you can. There are things you can do.”

“Why would I want to?”

“For me. You owe me.”

“Victoria, I believe I’ve made it clear that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

“You could have kept her at home, like you said you would. It was obvious she’s been wimping out since Sunday.”

“I locked her in. Anything more would be charity. You’re not a charity case, are you, Victoria?”

“So you’re just going to abandon me? You always pick Belle over me. I don’t get it. She betrayed you.”

“There is no betrayal, Victoria. No relationships — just simple bargains. She never broke her word to me. So what will I gain from punishing her? But if you want more, I
am
willing to make another trade. . . .”

“What do I have to do?” As always Victoria jumped at the bait.

“Victoria, darling, do you ever pray at night?”

Belle was happy for the first time in a long time. Thomas loved her. Lucy was completely out of the picture. She was sure of that. She thought that maybe she would skip her bath tonight and see if Thomas would notice. But she knew that he would. Lately, they had more and more
real
moments between them. But in the end, no matter how she masked it, the air around her was always tainted, always addictive, always a distortion from the truth. She could still see him reacting to her, could still feel him changing. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and grabbed the bottle marked
indifferent
again. This was the closest she would get to spending a few more real moments with Thomas.

Just then, her phone rang. It was Maggie. The second Belle picked up, Maggie started talking at top speed. She had Charlotte on three-way.

“Mags, I’m getting ready for the dance. Can we talk later?” said Belle.

“No, no, no.” Belle could almost see her shaking her head. “It’s about Lucy. She’s planning something big. She’s going to do something horrible to you tonight.”

“Mags, slow down. I doubt she’s planning anything —”

“No, no, I’m sure there’s something.” Maggie was panting. She was like this all the time now. She never slowed down these days. And she never stopped following Belle, her eyes glazed over, always frantic, always paranoid. Nowadays, she was like this when they were apart too. “I’m sure. Totally sure. Definitely totally sure. Char, tell her.”

Charlotte was torn as usual. On the one hand, Lucy was her best friend. On the other hand, Belle was so interesting, so appealing — even if she
was
Valentin’s sister. There was just something about her. And Lucy
had
been acting very suspicious lately. Charlotte had never realized it before she met Belle. She’d never noticed all the strange things about Lucy. Yes, being with Belle had definitely made her see things much more clearly. Something was wrong with Lucy. Something was unnatural about her. Lucy was strange. Lucy was twisted. It was
Lucy
who was giving her headaches every day now.

“She asked me a bunch of stuff about you and the dance — like what you’re wearing, how you’re getting there, stuff like that. I think she’s going to —”

“Char, so what?” Belle cut in. “I asked you stuff about her too. I have to get ready.”

“No, no, I think she’s going to do something!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Tamper with your car, find a way to steal Thomas, cover you in pig’s blood. I don’t know. I just know it’s something.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I think I saw her talking to some teachers. I bet she’s trying to get you in trouble,” said Maggie.

“I think I saw her following Thomas after school,” said Charlotte.

“And she was at my dad’s office the other day. Why would she want a lawyer? I bet she’s planning to sue!” Maggie was getting more and more excited.

“Maggie, her parents are getting a divorce,” Belle said, sounding exhausted.

Maggie didn’t let her finish. “We should do something. I can go over to her house and slash her dress so she can’t go. Would you like me to do that? I could, you know. No, no, she has tons of dresses. I could put hair remover in her shampoo! But, no, that never works. You have to leave it on for like fifteen minutes. I could tell her mom about that tattoo! Then she’d be grounded. It would be the best thing for everyone.”

Belle let out a deep sigh. She knew what this was. She wondered if the
indifferent
bath would make them less like this — less addicted, less paranoid. But she knew it wouldn’t. They were well past that stage. “No, Maggie. Don’t do anything. I’ll watch out for her at the dance. But right now, I have to go.”

Victoria stood in a corner of the ballroom, sipping her drink. The spring dance was nothing short of a full-scale, over-the-top gala for kids who were used to big parties and were trained to notice imperfections. The venue was like a massive greenhouse with flowers and shrubs growing just outside and trees towering over the glass ceilings and walls. The lights were low, and there were big couches and round tables set up all around the dance floor. The sun was setting, and the room had an eerie glow, a strange mix of night and day, with the twilight streaming through the glass and mixing oddly with the nightclub atmosphere of the room. But Victoria wasn’t paying much attention to the décor. She looked around again, eyeing the door and smoothing down her black dress.

Just then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to find Ms. LeMieux smiling down at her. She put on her sweetest smile and said hello.

“Don’t tell me a lovely young lady like you is here alone?” Ms. LeMieux said, sounding disappointed that the young version of herself was dateless.

Victoria said sweetly, “I haven’t had much time to meet any boys.”

“Well, you
are
a busy girl. I don’t know how you find time for everything you do.”

Victoria giggled, which she hated doing. But she remembered what Madame Vileroy had told her countless times, about being sweeter to people who matter, more likable, and she went on. “Yeah, it’s mostly thanks to you, Ms. LeMieux. I mean, you’re the only one who took my disability seriously. If you hadn’t made all the teachers keep giving me extra time on the tests and homework and stuff . . .”

“Oh, don’t you mention it. At Marlowe we try to have the utmost sensitivity to our students’ needs.”

“Thanks. But things still haven’t been easy.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Well, I’m class president, as you know, but I think Lucy may still be holding a grudge about the election. She doesn’t pull her weight in Student Council and so I have double the work.” Victoria rubbed her eyes. “I haven’t had much time for homework.”

Ms. LeMieux looked distraught. Victoria went on.

“I was wondering if it would be OK if I take more classes at home next semester, you know, with my own tutors? It would give me more time to handle this stuff. I have to deal with a lot of insensitivity about my condition.”

“Well, of course, dear. Of course. I will talk to the principal about it on Monday. But hey, I do have some good news for you.”

Victoria knew it. She didn’t want to be too hasty and cheat unless she had to. But she knew it was the time of year to announce the Marlowe Prize. For weeks she had been padding her grades, persuading her teachers to give her the tests orally, getting the moths to bring her the best essays, even getting Jason Choi suspended afterward for plagiarizing “her” essay. With the help of her new class schedule, her GPA was a perfect and unattainable 5.0. Now, finally, she’d get the recognition she deserved.

“Well, it’s a bit premature,” said Ms. LeMieux. “I’m not supposed to tell you till Monday. But you are the cowinner of this year’s Marlowe Prize! It goes to the person with the highest —”

“Yes, I know.” Victoria lost her sweet tone. Ms. LeMieux was taken aback. “It’s for the highest GPA and most meaningful activities in the class. But what do you mean ‘cowinner’?”

Victoria glanced at all the cuts on her arms from her extended time with the moths. All that for a measly “cowinner”?

“Oh, well, yes. The committee decided that even though you have the highest GPA so far, you should share the prize with Jamie Mendez.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, well, Jamie’s GPA is very close to yours, dear. And she has spent all her free time over the last year raising money for hungry children in the Sudan. And since the prize is about both GPA and —”

“No. The prize has
always
been given to the person with the highest GPA. I know they say it’s for activities too, but for the last ten years, the person with the highest GPA has always won!”

“Yes, dear, but the committee thought that given all the special privileges you’ve been —”

“But I have a
han-di-cap!
”