Doreen (11 page)

But then, just as suddenly, the old warmth returned. “Trust me,” Doreen said and patted her friend on the leg, “it will all work out. You'll see.”

Heidi scraped the joint against the wall and buried the roach. She wanted to be far away from that place. “Okay, lovergirl, we better jet.”

Later that night, Heidi tried to focus on her AP Chem homework, but was distracted by thoughts of Simon and Doreen. It was bad enough for Doreen to go off-roading so early in her time at Chandler, but to shove it in everyone's face at the Fall Dance? It was a disaster waiting to happen. Heidi hoped that whatever Simon and Doreen had between them, it was worth losing everything for. Or worse. Chandler kids were not above dishing out the kind of cruelty Doreen had faced at her old school. Sure, she had gained some standing on campus, but she was still an unknown, with few ties and no history. Her status was hardly guaranteed. The girl was setting herself up for some heavy retribution, especially where Gordon Lichter was concerned.

But she was Heidi Whelan! She could protect Doreen, couldn't she? The periodic table swam before her eyes and she closed her book. Heidi felt off her game. When she focused on her own desires, she always knew what to do. But this new effort to use her powers for good was leaving her more confused than anything else. Leave them to their happiness and hope she had enough clout to keep Doreen safe from the wolves? Or break them up and sacrifice what Doreen swore was true love? She certainly did seem to have very strong feelings for the boy. But how long could that last? They were just kids, after all.

Heidi munched a pistachio. Was it really Simon that had her so out of sorts? Or was it something else? The way Doreen looked in the shed tonight had frightened her. Her cold expression, as if she had no feelings at all—Heidi had seen such a thing before, not from Doreen, of course, but from
him
. She was his daughter, wasn't she? And she hated him.

Doreen hated Roland. Heidi had seen it in her face. She loathed her father for what he'd done to her and her sad stewardess mother in the Great Plains. It satisfied Heidi tremendously. Maybe he loved Doreen when she was little. Maybe he shined his attentions on her, just as he'd done on Heidi. And then he took them away, pushed her out of the light, into the cold. He'd made Heidi feel like she could do anything, like she was beautiful and special and gifted. And then he tossed her out like one of his wet, burned-out cigars.

We hate him, Doreen
, Heidi thought.
And we will make him pay.

A football game! Doreen scampered across the bleachers, making easy passage through the crowd to her favorite spot. Heidi and Biz tried to keep up, but their progress was slow. Heidi hoisted herself over each bleacher as delicately as she could on her high-heeled boots, attempting to remain dignified with her fuzzy, yellow-gloved hands upraised for balance. Beside her, Biz kneed and elbowed everyone they passed.

“Hey! Heidi! Biz! Down here!” Doreen called from near the bottom of the stands, waving an arm back and forth. Heidi waved back. Biz waved, too, kicking some kid in the ribs as she did. Slowly, apologizing to every human obstacle in their path, they caught up to their friend.

“Well!” Heidi exclaimed with a warming shake of her shoulders. “I didn't know there would be a physical challenge involved. How fun!” She snuggled in close, threading her arm through Doreen's elbow.

“Metal bleachers to view a winter sport—uh, interesting choice!” Biz made a show of seeming comfortable on the bench while maintaining the rail-straight posture that had been drilled into her by Mumzy. “I might have chosen a material that doesn't conduct the cold so readily. Wood, for example. Or hard plastic.” She brought her camera to her face and snapped a few pictures of the crowd.

“Hush, Biz. And be a good sport. This is Doreen's day. Anyway, I brought a little something to take the edge off your cold buns.” Heidi fished through her Louis Vuitton tote and pulled out a small mother-of-pearl flask. Taking a quick snort, she passed it to Biz.

“Yes, I believe this time I will take you up on it,” said Biz, emptying a sizable deposit of booze into her gullet. “For warmth.”

“Of course, of course. Doreen?”

“Huh?” said Doreen.

“Schnapps?”

“Oh, uh, no. No, thank you.” The marching band conductor scrambled onto the field and the band made their way to their feet. A large sound emerged. It sounded not unlike music, but not totally like music, per se.

“Wow!” yelled Biz, smiling through her obvious misery. “An impressive volume, don't you think?”

“What!?”

The fans around them began to sing enthusiastically. “It's the fight song. They're about to come out. Look! Look! There's Simon!” Doreen pointed and jumped up and down, unable to contain herself. Heidi could imagine her as a child, her bright purple eyes wide and hungry for experience. “Heidi, do you see him? He's the one in front. Oh my god! He's looking for me!” Doreen waved. “Simon! Simon! I'm here!”

Heidi felt a pang of embarrassment at the sight of Doreen's blatant eagerness. She seized Biz's camera.

“Hey!”

“Shhh!” Heidi slapped Biz's hand away. She found Simon and zoomed in the powerful lens to get a better look.

The boy was looking up toward their seat, helmet in hand. Heidi watched him search for Doreen and when he found her, he grinned madly, with an almost insane joy. He was certainly handsome—more than that, he was resplendent. Leading the team of musclemen onto the field, Simon had a broadness about the chest and solid legs with a long body he carried upright, making his movement seem effortless. His complexion was dark with black, short hair and a meaty mouth. Though—and it may have been the uniform or the shoulder pads or the crazy glee—Heidi thought he looked like he might be an imbecile.

“Wow,” she said. “Well done, Dorie! He looks like a movie star.”

Doreen blew a kiss out onto the field. Simon pretended to catch it. Heidi winced. “And he's so good! Wait until you see him play,” said Doreen, breathlessly.

“Can I have my camera back now?” asked Biz.

“No,” said Heidi. “Stop asking.”

“Look at him smile at you.” Biz strained over Heidi's shoulder at the camera's display. “I'm afraid he's going to fall down!”

“Who, Simon? Never!” said Doreen. “Just watch. I've never seen him do anything that wasn't deliberate.” Meanwhile, Biz kept nodding and smiling, nodding and smiling, staring out at the proceedings without a clue as to what she was meant to be looking at.

“Here we go! Opening kickoff. Ooh, this is so exciting!” said Doreen, clapping. “Go, Hawkeyes!”

“It certainly is exciting!” Biz said to Doreen. Then, in Heidi's ear, “What are the rules of this game, Heidi? Do you know? I should have read up on it before.”

Heidi lowered the camera. She happened to know that the pilled, filthy, baby-blue hat that Biz wore over two greasy braids was Italian cashmere and that it had come with a matching scarf that Biz had lost. Just lost somewhere, left behind. It was a splendid scarf, too, soft and long enough to wrap and wrap around an appreciative neck. Heidi felt the loss of that scarf physically, as if it had been hers to cherish—which it would have been, eventually. Contempt and jealousy bubbled up from her guts. But she swallowed it. Poor Biz looked panicked.

“Don't fret, dollface,” Heidi whispered, passing her the flask. “Just follow my lead.” Biz nodded. “Woo!” Heidi screamed. “Let's go, Hamilton!”

“Yeah!” Biz tried. She stood and waved her arms. “Hurrah for the team!” She sat back down with a thud. “How was that?”

“Good.” Heidi patted her friend on the knee. “You almost sounded like a teenager there. A teenager from Mars, but that's not nothing.”

“Thank you,” said Biz proudly. She took another shot of schnapps. “Minty!”

“Careful there, sport.” Heidi screwed the cap on and dropped the half-empty flask back into her purse. “We don't want you to get sloppy.”

“Don't we? Where is Simon? Is he out there?”

Doreen clicked her tongue with irritation. “No, Biz. The defense is out now. He's the quarterback. See? He's there on the sidelines. He's number ten.”

“Ah, yes. He's a wonderful ssssitter, isn't he?” Biz stared longingly at the camera in Heidi's hands.

“He's wonderful at everything,” Doreen replied. Heidi hid her rolling eyes by peering through the viewfinder. She saw Simon sitting on the bench, but instead of looking at the action on the field, he was staring right at them. A teammate was trying to say something to him, but he wasn't listening. Heidi lowered the camera and turned to Doreen, who was cheering on Hamilton's defense. If she noticed Simon's unfaltering stare she made no indication. Heidi had enjoyed her share of admirers, but Simon's possession was beyond what even she had experienced.

“Fascinating,” said Heidi, resuming her spying gaze through the camera.

“Indeed!” Biz said boisterously from her hunched-over position near Heidi's knee as she poked through the Vuitton.

“Hey! Can I help you? It's not polite to rummage through another girl's handbag, Ms. Gibbons-Brown.” Heidi kicked away Biz's prying hands and fished out the flask that she knew was her object of desire. She raised it high above her head. “I would expect better of someone with your upbringing.”

“I wasn't! I mean, technically it's
my
handbag.” Biz reached for the bottle, but Heidi had longer arms than she did. “Technically.”

“Right, well. Still.”

“Don't be stingy with the bottle, Heidster. Pass 'er over! Schnapp me, baby!” With a resigned sigh Heidi handed Biz the flask. Meanwhile, some activity on the field had fired up the crowd. Doreen whooped and hollered.

“That's right! Don't mess with the Hawks!”

“Doreen is, like, a sssuperfan!” said Biz with a giggle. “Go sssports!”

“Here he comes,” Doreen whispered. She grasped Heidi's hand. And though as a policy Heidi did not tolerate hand-holding, especially from another girl, she let it slide. Her friend's excitement was palpable—her pale, lovely skin flushed from the cold and the thrill of anticipation, her eyes sparkly and wide. “Heidi, just, you won't be able to . . .” But the girl's emotion was too much; she could not even finish the sentence.

“I know I will,” said Heidi, her heart filled with tenderness for her friend. The Hamilton offense took their positions at the line of scrimmage.

“Simon's the one with his hands up that other guy's bottom?”

“Biz, hush.” Heidi raised the camera to watch the snap. He looked magnificent, Heidi had to admit, as he caught the ball from the snapper and hustled back to make the pass. But he was strangely listless. His position with his arm behind his ear was all strength and grace, but there seemed to be no fire behind it. When at last he let his pass go, the ball came out in a soaring, lazy trajectory that bounced on the line and dribbled out of bounds, beyond the reach of any receiver.

Heidi felt Doreen's body tense beside her. Doreen shook her head. “I don't under—”

“He's probably just warming up,” said Heidi. “It's only one pass.”

“Yes, I'm sure you're right. Although . . .” Doreen didn't continue, but Heidi knew what she was thinking. Out on the field, Simon seemed not just unapologetic, but triumphant. His upward gaze toward the girls' position was proud and sneering, as if the bad pass was part of his own secret victory. Against whom, Heidi had no idea.

“Second and ten!” Heidi yelled with a rallying clap. “Go, Hawkeyes!” But Simon continued to perform as woodenly in the subsequent downs as he had in the first. Play after play, as the game wore on, the Hamilton offense failed to convert a single down. And after every lob, bad handoff, sack, interception—of which he threw no fewer than five in the first half—he repeated the same strange triumphant smirk up toward Doreen.

“I'm speechless. I—oh, you probably think I made it all up, but I promise you this is not like him. It's just so disappointing!” Doreen cried bitterly. “What could he be thinking?”

Meanwhile, the crowd began to boo. They called Simon out by name, yelling nasty, cruel things at him.

“Hey! Hey! Leave him alone!” Biz yelled back. “What have you ever done in your life? Huh, Fatty? How about you, Ugly Shirt? Go, Simon Vale!”

“Shh, Biz, don't bother. Let them yell. They have a right to. Boo!” she yelled, using her hands to magnify her voice. “Simon Vale, you suck!”

“Doreen!” Biz pulled on her friend's coat. “He'll see you! He's looking right up here.”

But Doreen would not sit down. She hissed and jeered at her beloved as he maneuvered mechanically on the field, failing to make any gains. At long last the half ended and he trotted into the locker room, waving with the same dumb rapture he possessed when he first entered. Doreen sat down hard on the bleacher, her face frozen, her trembling lips slightly open. The band struck up what may have been a medley of disco or popular Ukrainian folk tunes or movie songs from the future. Fans began to file out of the stands, grumbling and incredulous.

“He'll be better, Dorie, don't dessspair,” Biz slurred. “Maybe he was nervous!”

“I don't think so. I was so wrong about everything.” Doreen buried her face in her hands.

“But football—is it really that important?” Heidi asked.

“Of course it is! It's everything! Without it he's just a boring public school kid from Leaving Place. So conventional. So utterly unexceptional. Oh, this is a mess. I'm sorry I wasted your time. Why don't you go? Yes.” Doreen wiped away her tears. “Yes, there's no need to stick around and freeze to death in order to witness this embarrassment.”

“Normally I would insist on staying,” said Heidi, “but I'm afraid that Biz might have overserved herself.”

Biz was waving her hat over her head and shaking her hips. “Macho macho man. La-la-la-la-la macho man!”

Heidi lay a hand on Doreen's shoulder. “He's obviously very handsome. There's no reason that shouldn't be enough. After all, there won't be any football at the Fall Dance.”

“There won't be any Simon Vale, either.”

“Really?” Heidi hoped Doreen couldn't hear the pleasure in her voice.

“Can't you understand? He disgusts me now! Oh, it's revolting. I couldn't stand to be held in his arms, I'd rather die. Go, go. Let me wallow in this humiliation for the rest of the game. Please. I want to do it alone. I will come by your room tomorrow. Please.”

“Poor Dorie,” said Biz. She took her camera from Heidi and aimed it at Doreen's despondent face, but Doreen immediately grasped the lens and pushed it away.

“If you put that thing in my face one more time, Elizabeth, I am going to sock you. I mean it. And shatter your precious camera into a thousand pieces.”

“Sorry,” said Biz. “Doreen—”

“Don't.” Doreen shrugged off her friend's touch. “Just leave me alone! Go on, get out of here! Can't you see my heart is breaking?” Doreen shoved her hands into her pockets and closed her eyes until her friends had gone.