Wonder When You’ll Miss Me by Amanda Davis Page B

stiff and wooden but she hugged me just the same. “You need me,” she crooned, rocking back and forth. “You do. Remember that, okay? You need me.”
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    The next morning, when I turned into the driveway of school, I saw Tony Giobambera locking up LilyAnn in the parking lot. I didn’t know whether to wait or not, but I slowed my gait enough that I arrived at the walkway almost the same time he did.
    â€œHey,” I said. It escaped before I had time to obsess over speaking or not speaking, and Tony, who I suppose was accustomed to people speaking to him at school, nodded in my direction, lifted a hand, and then held the door open for me.
    I felt everyone looking. I passed by him and it was as though the world had slowed to turn and watch as we walked in, him just a little behind but unarguably next to me, close enough to establish that we were walking together , through school. And then, like thunder, it all crashed back to normal speed, lockers slamming, people calling to each other, books falling and sliding along the linoleum, the click of locks opened and shut. And there, in our path, stood Jenny Sims, books balanced on one perfect hip, head a little to the side so that her white-gold ponytail tickled one shoulder.
    â€œHey babe,” Tony said, and reached down and kissed her full and long on the mouth.
    I couldn’t breathe. She gave me a look, part smile, part ice, linked her arm through his, and pulled him along. I stood still, frozen to my spot on the floor. Tony looked over his shoulder at me and nodded good-bye.
    And, just a hair too late, I nodded back and the bell rang.
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    â€œWhat did you expect, Faith?”
    I ignored the fat girl, outside on the wall—left her to her mountain of crab legs and what was left of the cocktail sauce. I watched my breath clouding in the morning cool. We had to get to English. I was supposed to have read The Scarlet Letter, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t read much of anything, but I knew Mr. Feldman would leave me alone.
    In the hall I tried to get my bearings. Here was the school I knew as I knew life itself: the goods and bads, the things I understood and things Inever would. And then there was Clark’s, where I’d felt myself evaluated purely on the basis of how I carried trash or replaced a dropped spoon. I was useful, needed, but without context.
    I liked it.
    I didn’t have to see Fern for another few days and as I walked towards my locker I thought about what I might say, the things she’d want to hear, that would prevent her from trying to climb inside my head: taking responsibility, learning acceptance, trying my best.
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    Clark’s quickly became routine and familiar. My ability to escape detection was an asset—no one wants to see the busgirl—and somehow I was able to refill water, replace silverware, and wipe tables without anyone really focusing on me. I loved the mindlessness of it—pure energy, physical response without thought. I liked the surge of chatter, the music of crockery, of glass and utensil. I liked following Charlie around and the careful conversations we had out back while sneaking cigarettes.
    I waited to tell him about Starling. Not intentionally, but I hadn’t told him when I first figured it out, and now it felt weird to say anything. I didn’t know how to bring it up or how he would react. In the four shifts I’d worked with him, he still hadn’t mentioned her, or even his family. All he talked about so far was circuses and sideshows and his tattoos. He dreamed of becoming a fully illustrated man.
    A huge, fierce tiger crouched across his left shoulder. It was red and orange and yellow and black. There was a brown-and-red falcon flying along his forearm. On one of his hands, above the knuckles, small dark letters spelled PRINCE , and on the other, FLAME . A colorful, complicated band of dancing Gypsies circled his right wrist, and on the side of his neck,