Daphne's Book, Page 3

  "What a terrible day to go to the library," Michelle was saying as we walked down the hall to English. "My hair is just going to be all over my head, you know? I hate it when the wind blows and it's cold. I wish my father would get transferred to Florida or something. I mean I just can't take this weather."

  Although I didn't say it, I wished Michelle's father would get transferred, too. To Alaska, maybe, or the South Pole. Some place far away where the wind would mess up Michelle's hair every day. Some place where she would be miserable and I would never have to see her again.

  "Maybe Mr. O'Brien will make us walk with our partners." Michelle shot me a sly little smile.

  "Oh, poor Jess!" Tracy said. "I hope he doesn't do that."

  Luckily for me, Mr. O'Brien didn't say a word about partners. After all, we weren't in elementary school. So I walked along with Tracy and Michelle and Sherry, but for all the attention they paid to me I might as well have been invisible.

  Not too far ahead, I saw Daphne walking all by herself, her head down as if she were watching her shadow or something. The wind lifted her black hair in plumes and swirled it about, then dropped it down in ripples across the back of her dirty red parka. No matter what people thought about her, she certainly had the most beautiful hair I'd ever seen.

  When we got to the library, I looked around for Mom. She was sitting at the Information Desk in the Adult Reading Room talking to a nice-looking old man. When she saw me, she smiled and waved.

  "Who's that?" Sherry asked.

  "My mother. She's a librarian here," I said, hoping Mom wouldn't do anything to embarrass me. I knew I'd die a thousand deaths if she were to come over and give me a big hug or something.

  "No wonder you read so much." Sherry turned to Michelle. "Can I borrow your comb when you're done?"

  As Michelle handed Sherry her comb, Mr. O'Brien herded us into the Children's Room and gathered us together. "Please get a table with your partner," he said, just as I was sitting down next to Tracy. "It's important that you work on this as a team."

  Tracy smiled sympathetically at me, but Michelle said, "You better find another table, Jess. I don't want Daffy sitting here." Although she was laughing when she said it, I knew she wasn't kidding.

  Reluctantly I got up and looked around the room for Daphne. I finally spotted her sitting at a small table all by herself in a corner. As I sat down across from her, she moved her hand to cover the picture she was drawing in her notebook. She didn't look up or say a word to me. We sat there as mute as two statues, waiting for Mr. O'Brien to tell us what to do.

  The children's librarian had filled two book carts with picture books. Holding a couple of them up for us to see, Mr. O'Brien told us to take a few from the carts and examine them.

  "Try to figure out what makes them good. Is it the pictures or the words, or is it both?" He smiled encouragingly. "Get some ideas for your own books, but don't copy. Your book has to be completely original."

  Leaving Daphne sitting at the table, hunched over her drawing, I walked to the cart, selected a couple of books, and sat back down. Tony followed me, carrying two books. Dumping them in front of Daphne, he said loudly, "Here's some I thought you'd like, Daffy. Make Way for Ducklings and The Story About Ping."

  Everybody laughed except Mr. O'Brien, Daphne, and me. "Sit down and get to work, Tony," Mr. O'Brien said.

  As I sat there reading The Snowy Day, I could hear everybody else laughing. They were reading funny things out loud and showing each other pictures they liked. At our table all I heard was the rustle of turning pages and an occasional sniff. I wanted to offer Daphne a Kleenex, but I didn't have any, so I gritted my teeth in frustration and tried to hear what was going on at Tracy's table.

  They were all laughing at In the Night Kitchen because the little boy in the story is naked. It was a dumb thing to giggle at, but at least they were having fun.

  "Look, Tony," Michelle shrieked. "Here's a picture of you!" She held up an illustration of Mickey falling into a milk bottle.

  "Hey, that kid's indecent!" Tony snatched the book away from Michelle and held it up for everyone to see. "Libraries shouldn't have dirty books like this lying around for little kids to see. Hey, Mr. O'Brien, look at this picture. The kid doesn't have any clothes on!"

  Mr. O'Brien shrugged and reminded Tony that libraries are supposed to be quiet places. Then he came over to our table, which was, of course, a perfect little oasis of silence.

  "How are you two doing?" He smiled down at us like a benevolent god, stroking his beard.

  I shrugged, dropping my eyes to a picture of Peter discovering that snowballs melt. "Okay."

  "Daphne?" He stared at the top of Daphne's head.

  Without looking up from an illustration of the ducklings parading across the street, Daphne mumbled something that sounded like "Fine."

  "Have you gotten any ideas for your own book?" Mr. O'Brien sat down on a corner of the table.

  When we both shook our heads, he looked at us, his face concerned. "Have you even talked about it?" He frowned when neither one of us answered. "You're supposed to have a plot outline ready next Monday and some sketches. Don't you think you better start talking?"

  I felt my stomach tighten up. Never in all my life had I gotten a bad grade in English. Math, maybe. Even history or social studies. But never English. I looked at Daphne. She was still staring at the ducklings as if they were more real than either Mr. O'Brien or I was.

  Sighing, Daphne closed the book. For a second, she looked at me with wide gray-green eyes, and then she looked past me at something behind my chair. Without thinking, I turned around to see what she was staring at now. In a glass display case was a collection of little mice like mine. Dressed in fine clothes, they were sitting on tiny chairs and sofas upholstered in red velvet. Their glass eyes sparkled as if they were enjoying the sight of Daphne and me peering into their cozy world.

  "We could write a story about mice," I blurted out. As soon as I said it, I felt my face turn red. Compared to "The Nightmare Slumber Party," a story about mice sounded like something a six-year-old would write.

  "That's a start," Mr. O'Brien said. "Real mice or toys like these?" He waved at the display case.

  Still blushing, I told him that I had a collection of mice like the ones in the case. "One of them disappeared. Probably my cat dragged him off somewhere, but I was thinking the story could be about how the other mice look for him. It's supposed to be a children's book, isn't it?"

  Mr. O'Brien nodded. "I think that sounds like a fine idea. What do you think, Daphne?"

  Without looking at either one of us, she said it was okay with her.

  Leaning toward her, I asked, "Can you draw mice like those?" I wanted her to look at me, I wanted her to answer me, so I stared at her, trying to force her to respond.

  Briefly she glanced at me, her eyes meeting mine, and nodded. Then down went the head again, her hair tumbling between us.

  Mr. O'Brien smiled encouragingly. "I can't wait to read it." Giving us each a little pat on the shoulder, he got up and walked to another table.

  I finished looking at my stack of books and took them back to the cart. Catching Mom's eye, I walked over to the Adult Reading Room to say hello.

  "That's quite a group you're with," Mom said. "Who's the rascal with the beautiful blond curls?"

  "That's Tony Cisco. Isn't he awful?"

  "I've had to send him back to the Children's Room twice. I keep finding him in the Periodical Room reading Playboy." Mom laughed. "I imagine he keeps Mr. O'Brien on his toes."

  "Did you see Daphne?"

  "No. Which one is she?"

  "Over there, taking books off the cart. See her?"

  Mom stared at Daphne for a few seconds. "Why, Jess, she's beautiful."

  "Daphne?" I watched her carry her books back to our table, trying to see what Mom saw, but she looked the same as always to me. Tall and thin, her hair tangled by the wind, she sat alone, her pale face bent over an open book.


  Puzzled, I shifted my gaze to Michelle, who was huddled at a table with Sherry and Tracy, giggling and whispering. If Mom had said that Michelle was beautiful, I wouldn't have been surprised. Her long blond hair fell in perfect waves over the shoulders of her lavender sweater, framing a face that boasted a short, straight nose, big blue eyes, and the kind of skin a pimple wouldn't dare disturb. Like the girls who appeared on the pages of Seventeen, Michelle always wore the right clothes and the right makeup, and she always exuded a sense of incredible self-confidence. She was pretty, she knew she was pretty, and she knew everyone else knew it, too.

  "You don't think so?" Mom asked.

  I shook my head. "Daphne's too peculiar. Take Michelle, for example." I pointed her out to Mom. "She's the kind of girl everybody thinks is beautiful."

  Mom looked at Michelle. "Too ordinary. No character."

  "How about Tracy and Sherry?"

  "Cute," Mom said indifferently. "But nothing special."

  "They're the most popular girls in our class."

  Mom shrugged. "Daphne is unusual." She paused, search ing for the right words. "Delicate, ethereal, like a princess in a tower waiting to be released from a spell."

  I stole another glance at Daphne. Mom was right in a way. There was something about her, something uncommon, something fragile. She had the look of a ballerina, slender and wide-eyed and proud.

  "She reminds me of Arthur Rackham's illustrations," Mom mused. "The ones in that fairy tale book you have at home. Those pale princesses with long, dark, swirling hair."

  I nodded, knowing now what Mom meant.

  "Does she always look that sad?"

  "Yes."

  "I'd like to see her smile," Mom said. "I'd hate to think she might really be as sad as she looks."

  Before Mom could say anything else, she had to rush off and help a woman find a travel guide to Hawaii. Slowly I walked back to the table and sat down. I wanted to say something to Daphne, but she didn't look up from Where the Wild Things Are. With a sigh, I opened a copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

  When it was time to go back to school, I stood up and pulled on my parka. Nervously, I glanced at Daphne, wondering if she thought I was going to walk with her, but she didn't even look at me. Grabbing her parka, she slipped away through the crowd of kids preparing themselves to leave the nice warm library and face the wind and the cold.

  Relieved that I had gotten away from her so easily, I caught up with Tracy.

  "Hey, Jess, you survived!" Michelle clapped me on the shoulder. "How was Ducky Daddies?"

  I shrugged. "Not too bad. She hardly said a single word."

  "Did you see that book In the Night Kitchen}" Sherry asked me.

  "I have it at home," I said. "I got it for Christmas when I was little."

  "Really? My mother wouldn't have let me look at a book like that." Sherry stared at me.

  "Watch out, watch out, you'll be the last ones back to school and you'll get a spanking, just like Ping!" Tony ran past us and grabbed Michelle's comb out of her back pocket. Waving it over his head, he danced away from us backward, and we all ran after him, laughing and shouting, swerving around Daphne as she walked alone, her head down, her hands jammed into her pockets.

  Five

  THE NEXT DAY, I walked to school with Tracy, Michelle, and Sherry. They were talking about a show they'd seen on television, one I'd missed because my mother doesn't allow me to watch horror movies.

  "How about when she went in the kitchen and all the lights went out and she saw that guy with the knife in his hand?" Michelle blew a big bubble with her gum and popped it loudly. To my disappointment, it didn't even stick to her face.

  "I screamed," Sherry said. "I was so scared. But you know what really grossed me out? When she was in the boat and that body floated up and its face was all eaten away."

  Tracy shuddered. "Don't talk about it. I had nightmares so bad I woke up twice."

  "Maybe we could put a scene like that in our book." Michelle popped her gum again.

  "Well, I'm not going to draw a picture of it, that's for sure," Tracy said.

  While they talked about the movie, I walked along shivering in the wind, trying not to feel sorry for myself. They were ignoring me because I hadn't seen the show, not because they didn't like me.

  When we got to school, I went straight to my locker instead of following them into the girl's room. I'd had enough of them for a while. As I pulled out my books, I noticed Daphne a few feet away at her locker. Just as I was thinking about going over and saying hello to her, I saw Tony coming down the hall.

  "Make way for ducklings, make way for ducklings!" he shouted, stepping around Daphne with exaggerated caution.

  Swallowing hard, I walked down the hall, well behind Daphne. I certainly didn't want Tony to start teasing me.

  When I sat down next to Daphne in English, I looked at her again, but she was already miles away, lost in a book, her hair hiding her face as usual.

  Twisting my neck awkwardly, I saw the title of her book. Green Mansions. I'd never heard of it, and I wondered if it was a good story. Maybe I'd ask Mom to bring it home from the library.

  After Mr. O'Brien had given us a lesson in transition, he told us to set up some sort of work schedule with our partners. "You should probably get together this weekend and decide on your story line. The illustrator could do some rough sketches. Then I could look them over on Monday and see if you're heading in the right direction."

  Warily Daphne and I looked at each other. I had a feeling that she was just as reluctant as I was to spend any of our weekend together.

  "Do you want to come over to my house on Saturday to look at the dollhouse and the mice?" I asked. "Or would Sunday be better?" I felt very awkward, and I was sure I sounded unfriendly.

  Daphne shrugged, not bothering to look at me. "I don't care. Whichever's convenient for you." She spoke so softly I could barely hear her.

  "Either day's okay with me." I tossed the choice back to her.

  Somehow we agreed on Saturday afternoon, and I gave her my address. "Do you know where Willow Court is?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know Adelphia very well."

  "Where do you live?"

  "On Cook's Lane."

  "That's out in the country, isn't it?"

  She nodded. "My grandmother has a farm."

  "That's kind of far from where I live," I said. "How are you going to get to my house?"

  Daphne shrugged. "I can walk."

  "Walk? It must be two miles."

  She shrugged again. "That's not far. Just draw me a map."

  Opening my notebook, I bent over a piece of paper, glad to have a break in our conversation. Talking to Daphne was an exhausting experience. As I drew the map, I was acutely aware that Michelle and Tracy were watching me and giggling. Feeling very conscious of Michelle's eyes, I leaned toward Daphne.

  "You can walk along this footpath," I said, "and cut across this field. Here's Willow Court, and this is my house." I made a little X in front of our townhouse. "It has a red door and green shutters and a big bush under the window. Do you think you can find it?"

  "I guess so." She sounded a little unsure, but she took the map, folded it, and stuck it in her notebook.

  Before I could say anything more, the bell rang. Daphne grabbed her books and scurried out the door without a backward glance, and I left more slowly.

  After school, I met Tracy, Michelle, and Sherry on the footpath. Michelle turned to me, the wind whipping her hair around her face. "Are you going to Daffy's house tomorrow?"

  "No, she's coming over here." I tried to sound as if I were really dreading her visit.

  "Poor Jess." Tracy gave me a sympathetic pat on the arm.

  "You should've gone to her house," Sherry said. "I'd love to know where she lives."

  "She lives out on Cook's Lane," I said. "On a farm."

  "I bet she lives in that old house near the Exxon station. You know the one I mean? The windows are all busted ou
t and it's falling down, but people live in it." Michelle popped her gum. "Well, this is where me and Sherry leave you guys." She paused on the footbridge and looked at Tracy. "Call me tonight if you can go roller skating, Trace."

  Grabbing Sherry's arm, Michelle ran across the bridge and up the path leading to Spice Wind Lane.

  With the wind in our faces, Tracy and I scurried toward home. When we got to Tracy's turn-off, we paused. "Are you really going to Skateland?" I asked Tracy.

  "If my mom will let me." She jiggled back and forth from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm. "Do you want to come, too, Jess?" She looked a little embarrassed. "I was going to ask you, but you always say how much you hate going there."

  "I thought you hated it, too." I stared at her, feeling betrayed.

  She shrugged and looked away, obviously embarrassed. "Michelle and Sherry go every Friday night, and they say it's lots of fun. Practically everybody's there." She smiled a little uncertainly and brushed a flying strand of hair out of her eyes. "Come on and go, Jess. You'll have a great time."

  I shook my head. "Not tonight. Maybe some other time, though." I tried to return her smile, but my mouth felt stiff. I couldn't imagine spending an evening at Skateland. For one thing, I could barely roller skate, and, for another, I was scared to death of the kind of kids who hung out there. Mean-looking boys who laughed if you fell down, tough girls in tight jeans who smoked in the girls' room and looked at you with hard eyes if you got in their way.

  "Well, okay, I'll see you later, then. Good luck tomorrow with Daphne." Tracy hurried away toward her house, and I walked on, feeling very alone.

  As I passed the tot lot, I remembered all the times that Tracy and I had played there, challenging each other to see who could swing highest, racing each other to the top of the jungle gym, daring each other to hang by our knees without holding on. Now the swings were empty and the wind was twirling them around, making a little sad song as it clinked their chains together.

  Dumping my books on the ground, I sat down in a swing and rocked slowly back and forth, listening to the wind moaning through the trees and thinking about Tracy.