Another Faust (6 page)

“So you have a boyfriend?” she asked Lucy abruptly.

“What?” Lucy turned, shocked that Victoria was back, and still so graceless.

“Oh, Vic, please . . .” Bicé whispered, shocked at Victoria’s behavior. “There’s no need to do that . . .”

“Shut it, Bicé. I’m just getting to know our new friend.” Victoria smiled, listening to Lucy’s personal thoughts of Thomas Goodman-Brown, whom she called
the smartest, nicest, hottest guy . . . ever.
And then, as Victoria waited, Lucy thought,
Is she after Thomas? Where is he?
Lucy whipped around to scan the room for Thomas. She found him, and Victoria followed her eyes to see a young man with deep-set smiling eyes talking to his friend. Victoria noticed Belle hovering nearby, watching him closely. Lucy may have noticed as well. She turned back to Victoria.

“What?” she said again.

“Nothing,” said Victoria.

Lucy just shook her head and turned back to Bicé. “So you were telling me what comes after
arigato.
”

Bicé was excited to talk about something she knew and was just about to answer when Victoria blurted out,
“Gozaimasu.”
She gave Bicé an unfriendly smile, as if she expected her to be amazed, but Bicé knew that Victoria spoke no Japanese. She just couldn’t stop cheating. Lucy was still looking at Bicé. She rolled her eyes, ignored Victoria, and started to ask Bicé another question.

Before she could, Victoria interrupted again. “Taking lessons from Bicé? I thought you were the smartest girl in school?”

Lucy forgot all about Bicé and turned to Victoria. Bicé sighed, finally giving up, and grabbed another cider from a passing waiter.
So much for that,
she said to herself.

“What are you, like, the
Princeton Review?
” Lucy said, warning Victoria with her eyes.

Victoria loved to make people angry, but she was too much of a coward to rise to most overt challenges. “No, I’m,
like,
not impressed,” she mumbled with arms crossed and eyes averted.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but —”

Just then, Lucy noticed her mother storming toward her, holding a crab puff as though it were evidence in a murder trial.

“Lucy!” she said, almost turning her ankle in her high heels.

Lucy spied a malicious grin on Victoria’s face. Victoria heard her think,
Oh, please don’t let her do this here.

Waving the puff in her face, Mrs. Spencer repeated, “A waiter? A
waiter
?” over and over again, as if it were an unforgivable crime. She grabbed her daughter by the elbow and pulled her away. As Lucy followed, she turned back to glare at Victoria. She just knew Victoria had something to do with this — and maybe Bicé did too.

Bicé caught the look and tried to say something, anything, to distance herself from what was going on, to tell Lucy how much she appreciated the little friendliness she had shown, but no words came. And then Lucy was gone.

“Well, that worked,” said Victoria with a satisfied sigh. “Now, about that counselor woman.”

Victoria marched off, leaving Bicé friendless again, and alone with Madame Vileroy.

“There, there, Bicé, I’ll be your friend,” said Madame Vileroy.

Belle watched a group of kids her age from a distance. She was watching one boy in particular, her heart pounding hard, as she observed how nice he looked, the way he moved, the way he held his drink. She recited to herself all that Vileroy had told her about Thomas. He was the only son of Charles Goodman-Brown, an important banker, whose wife, Thomas’s mother, had died only a few years before. She smoothed her red dress as she remembered Thomas’s favorite color. Thomas was Belle’s prize, because being the most beautiful wasn’t anything without the most popular boy. And in Belle’s world, being desired was everything. But in that moment, as she watched Thomas with his friends, she forgot that for five years, she had been obsessed with this one thing — and that he was just a part of a larger scheme. In that moment, Belle only felt scared. She was not used to being so beautiful, and she had to remind herself not to feel so embarrassed, so inadequate.

Belle put down her glass, smoothed her dress for the fiftieth time, and headed toward the bar. She looked at the group of teenagers just in time to catch the eye of the tall, brown-haired boy named Thomas Goodman-Brown. She held his gaze for a second and smiled, her heart jumping into her throat when he smiled back. She turned back toward the bartender, who was moving away from her. She grew more nervous. Next to her, a tall crystal vase held a bouquet of winter flowers. She touched one of the flowers with the tip of her finger, watching as the water beneath it yellowed. She sighed. Everywhere she went, people ran. Those who stayed past the first few minutes were like addicts under her spell. And now she was steps away from the first person she would ever actually try to hold on to — the first addict she wouldn’t let break free. A few paces away, a young couple whispered to each other. As they walked past, the woman placed a pack of breath mints inches from Belle’s hand. Looking at the mints, Belle wanted to cry. Things like this happened all the time, and each time, she felt completely alone. This was Belle’s curse. She had given up all she had to be beautiful, to be loved, and in gaining beauty, she had become repugnant. Madame Vileroy said that it built character, because before anyone could fall under her spell, she had to hold them through this repulsive phase — the lonely phase.

Dinner was announced, and everyone began to work their way toward their assigned tables. Christian walked over to Bicé.

“How’s it going?” he asked her as they sat down at their table. Christian was the only person that made Bicé feel comfortable. She sighed. “Where do I start? Belle wants Thomas, but she makes everyone sick. And earlier, Victoria practically gave Lucy a nosebleed she cheated so much.”

“No way. She cheated, right in front of everyone?”

“Yeah. She’s probably going to start all that crap about needing special treatment again. . . .”

Christian waited for Bicé to say something more, but she remained silent.

“You were talking to that girl for a while,” said Christian.

“Lucy? She was nice to me.”

“Made friends?”

“Victoria ruined it . . . again.”

Bicé was folding and unfolding her napkin, trying not to look up.

Christian mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, did you meet Connor Wirth?” Bicé asked.

“Yeah, we talked about sports. He’s cool.”

“You know you’re probably going to want to steal from him.”

“Maybe not.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but he’s one of the best athletes, and you don’t like to lose.”

Christian groaned and plopped his head on Bicé’s shoulder. She patted him like a good mother.

They sat silently for a minute. A waiter came by to take their empty glasses.

“This is kinda nice,” said Christian.

“What’s nice?”

“Christmas. We’ve never had one before.” Madame Vileroy didn’t allow Christmas. It was one of her only rules.

“We’ve watched them.”

“It’s not the same.”

“We should be grateful,” said Bicé. “Who else would have taken in five abandoned babies?”

“Yeah, but she turned us into freaks,” said Christian.

“She was trying to protect us. And don’t tell me you don’t like it, Mr. Junior Olympics.”

“It has its moments.” He shrugged. “She kept you and Belle together.”

“And helped Belle become totally different from me.”

Christian knew that was a sore subject, so he didn’t push it. Bicé had watched Belle’s transformation over the past five years quietly. But Christian knew how it made her feel. For the first ten years of their lives, Belle and Bicé had been inseparable. Christian remembered that. He had foggy memories of living with the twins and Victoria and Valentin ever since they were toddlers. Belle and Bicé had been closer than any of the five. And then suddenly, five years ago, Belle decided that she had to be beautiful. And so she began to change. Christian couldn’t figure out why Madame Vileroy had just given her what she wanted — so easily, with no bargains or consequences. But she had — like so many of the gifts she gave — and Christian had never been very good at figuring out why Madame Vileroy did anything.

“Speak of the devil,” said Bicé. Christian looked up.

Madame Vileroy took a seat across the table and picked up a fork. Belle arrived and took a seat next to Madame Vileroy. Belle always sat next to Madame Vileroy. Belle’s other side was usually empty, except for the occasional poor soul who had spent
too
much time lurking around her — at first enduring out of politeness or curiosity, then forgetting and sucking in the tainted air, then following her everywhere to feed an addiction. Across the room, people were still staring at Belle. Staring and talking. And so Belle was content.

The table eventually filled with all five kids, Madame Vileroy, a couple, each of whom was at least seventy years old, and a few others. For the lack of anyone else to talk to, Bicé had turned to the older couple next to her. They seemed to be able to amuse her, and they didn’t notice her awkwardness. The old man liked how this little girl laughed at his jokes, and so he kept talking about wars and droughts and everything that’s wrong with kids today. Once, Madame Vileroy said something to the old man — something benign, like “I remember that.” And he bristled and turned white, as if he knew her and she wanted something from him. Madame Vileroy just smiled her honey-sweet, molasses smile and whispered something to Belle.

Throughout, Christian concentrated on his meal while Valentin tried to pull him into conversation. “Did you meet anyone you liked? Did you see Victoria handle things with Lucy? Do you want my dinner roll?”

The only response Valentin got was when Christian snapped up the bread. Christian’s indifference was fine with Valentin. He was a self-amuser.

A pretty girl passed by the table.

“Wanna see something cool?” Valentin asked Christian.

“Sure,” he said. Then he waited a minute. Valentin had a massive grin on his face. A waiter tripped and fell. The girl gave the fallen waiter a strange look as she passed.

“Well? Show me something cool.”

“I just did. Trust me — you loved it.”