Читать книгу Devilish - Maureen Johnson - Страница 12

I spent the rest of the day walking around school in tiny shorts, kneesocks, and saddle shoes. Ally was nowhere to be found. It would have been completely understandable if she was avoiding me. It was hard to believe that I could have compounded the problem — but no one will ever say that Jane Jarvis isn’t an innovator.

Calculus II was my last class of the day. I had it with only one other person, Cassie Malloy. It was kind of a special thing; they offered it just to us. We didn’t even use a classroom. We sat in Brother Frank’s office, which was no more than an elaborate broom closet on the third floor, just big enough for a desk and two chairs. Still, the intimacy gave it a real scholastic feel.

Cassie took in my outfit in a brief glance and decided not to comment.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Who did you get? Oh my God. You probably got, like, five offers. I only got one, and I don’t even think she knew who I was. Are you going to spend a lot of time with yours? Because I have, like, no time right now.’

She reached into her bag, pulled out a slim thermos, and took a long gulp of coffee. The caffeine was no good for her — it made her hands shake mildly. But she needed it. Cassie didn’t sleep. She was a hard worker. I had long speculated that she would be dead by thirty in an attempt to do medical and law school at the same time.

‘How late were you up doing this?’ she asked, flipping through her notebook, through page after page of neatly written equations. Cassie did them in order, step by step, six to a page. I pulled out my own work — a collection of scribblings written on some paper from our printer’s recycling box.

‘Oh… a while,’ I lied, looking at the work I had done while watching TV.

At least Cassie wasn’t asking me about Allison. I wasn’t sure she was asking me anything. She produced a pen from her wildly sproingy hair and hurriedly scribbled something in her Filofax while she was talking. Whether I was there or not was probably irrelevant.

‘They do this at the worst time. I mean, I’m doing SATs again on Saturday. Fourth time. God! Are you doing them again? I seriously have no time to spend with this girl. I’m just going to get her a teddy bear or something and that’s it. Do you like yours?’

And then, Cassie screamed, a particularly high-pitched, nerve-jangling scream. Which made me scream. Screams are catchy. I followed Cassie’s gaze to a tiny black-veiled head in the doorway.

‘I see PANTIES!’ it shrieked. ‘I see blue panties!’

Cassie clapped her legs tightly together. The head snapped out of sight.

‘God,’ she wheezed. ‘Why does she do that?’

Sister Rose Marie would pop her head into classrooms at random, examine the horizon, and look for people sitting in a manner that exposed underwear. This shock attack was supposed to make us more ladylike. It just made us paranoid. For one moment that day, I was glad to be wearing my shorts.

Brother Frank, our teacher, came in. I liked Brother Frank the most out of all my teachers. He was brilliant, for a start, and Irish (though his accent flitted in and out like bad radio reception), and he had a shock of gray hair that stuck up straight from his head, the way really good mathematicians should.

Something was wrong today, though — his huge salt-and-pepper eyebrows were knitting themselves together and unwinding again. He dropped himself down in his chair heavily.

‘Cassie,’ he said. ‘Sister Charles needs some help this period. She isn’t feeling well because of all the heat. She need someone to watch over her freshman English class for a period while they workshop their papers. Would you mind giving her a hand? It’s just for this period. Downstairs, room 3A.’

Cassie looked shocked. There was something decidedly odd about this — but being asked to help teach another class was a temptation that Cassie couldn’t possibly pass up. When she was gone, Brother Frank shut the door.

‘New uniform?’ he asked.

‘I just think this is more flattering,’ I said.

He didn’t laugh. This was troubling.

‘Your friend Allison,’ he said. ‘How is she?’

‘She’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘Someday.’

He nodded.

‘That was very unfortunate. I’m sure she’s upset. I’ve never taught her. I take it math isn’t her strong suit?’

‘She doesn’t really have a strong suit,’ I said honestly. ‘She’s kind of, you know.’

‘A normal student,’ he said. ‘Unlike you.’

It had never been said so bluntly.

‘Let’s not dance around the subject, Jane,’ he said. ‘You’re not a normal student. You don’t have a normal mind. You have an exceptional one. This class, for instance. I’ve had to pace it for Cassie, and I think I might kill her as it is. We’re about to enter some topics in abstract algebra, which, to be perfectly honest, are never, ever attempted on a high school level. This is what I teach my second years at MIT.’

I felt my cheeks glow a little. Praise from Brother Frank actually meant something. It was nice to be having this cozy little moment together on this otherwise tragic day. Maybe he knew I needed a pick-me-up.

‘We need to talk, Jane,’ he said. ‘That’s why I asked Cassie to leave.’

‘About what?’

‘About what it means to be here, at St. Teresa’s,’ he said. ‘It would be unfortunate if the only developments you made here were academic. We need to talk about how you’re going to apply your talents to this world. I know that you don’t believe in everything this school stands for and teaches…’

‘Are you talking about religion class?’ I asked. ‘Okay. I debate with Mr. Jenkle every once in a while.’

‘According to the guidance report, you called him a crypto-fascist during a discussion on reproductive rights in class yesterday.’

‘Well,’ I said, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Yeah, I kind of did that.’

‘Look, Jane,’ he said. ‘I happen to agree with you on many of those issues, but that isn’t the point. The point is, Jane…’

He started turning his coffee cup slowly. This was not a good sign.

‘…The point is, Jane…’

A repeat. Really not a good sign.

‘…I’m not the only person who keeps track of your behavior.’

‘You’re saying I’m getting a reputation?’

‘You almost have your own file drawer in the guidance office. I don’t want to dredge up the past, but it’s starting to catch up with you. Your application to a men’s seminary school to become a priest. Passing out condoms on Valentine’s Day. And look at yourself now.’

I looked down at my very white, very untanned thighs, well exposed by my shorts.

‘These are the things people just might remember when you ask them to write your college recommendations in the next few weeks, if you don’t do something to repair your image.’

‘What are they going to do?’ I asked. ‘Kick me out? My grades are perfect.’

‘But your attitude is not. And there are people who would like to make an example of you. They could kick you out — or they could try to keep you another year. And believe me, though I love you dearly and can barely stand the thought of parting from you, I do not want to see that happen.’

This was sobering news.

‘They wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘It’s senior year! And I raised the SAT average for the whole school by about sixty points!’

He leaned back and adjusted his stack of Modern Mathematics magazines until it was just so.

‘Jane,’ he said slowly. ‘I need to ask you something. What do you believe in?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, what matters to you? I know you have problems with some of the rules of the Catholic faith, but you must believe in something. What’s important to you? What’s true? What would you fight for?’

‘I fight about a lot of things,’ I answered honestly.

‘True. But some battles are more important than others.’

I had come into class expecting to answer calculus questions, not explain the state of my eternal soul.

‘I guess knowledge,’ I said. ‘Knowledge matters. I get annoyed when people get things wrong.’

‘There are limits to knowledge, Jane. There are greater things in this world.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as love,’ he said.

‘Not interested,’ I said.

‘Jane,’ he said. ‘This is going to be hard for you to understand, but this is going to be a difficult year. It will not be like the other years.’

‘I know. Senior year. Adulthood, responsibility, the fate of the world on our young shoulders…’

‘This is no joke, Jane.’ He sounded more grave than I’d ever heard him. ‘You have to realize something. You have gifts. You are exceedingly blessed with intelligence. But you lack willpower. You are often lazy and combative.’

I looked down modestly. Such flattery.

‘I don’t say that to be critical,’ he went on. ‘The academic world is littered with smart people who are lazy and combative. They are lazy because they have never had to make a lot of effort to keep themselves employed. Just ask your father about those people. And they’re naturally arrogant because they think they’re better than other people. Trust me. They are not. The best thinkers — the smartest people — are the ones who really value other people, value ideas, and work from their hearts. This is something I really think you need to know. And now that I have given what amounts to an Oscar speech…’

He paused and rubbed his bushy brows.

‘Jane,’ he said. ‘Be a good girl this year. For my sake, if not your own.’

I wasn’t sure how my friend throwing up somehow became a reason to lecture me on my behavior. If it had been anyone else but Brother Frank, I would have said something back. But I let him get away with things that others couldn’t.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘For you.’

‘Thank you, Jane. It means more to me than you can imagine. And now, do me a favor and go put your uniform back on. You look ridiculous.’