Drawing Amanda

by Stephanie Feuer

  He started working on her hair. He sketched a string of leaves flowing down toward her shoulders. Then he tucked a broccoli flower behind her ear.

  For her dress he made a gown of lettuce and spinach leaves. He hummed as he shaded them. It was an elegant dress, and his character looked truly lovely.

  There were definitely peas in her salad. He remembered how Amanda balanced one on her fork while she laughed (she laughed!) at his story about how he got his nickname. And asparagus? Did she have asparagus? Are there even asparagus in October?

  The top of his chest throbbed as if his heart had been pushed up, displaced by grief, his insides swollen from the burden he carried. He bit his lip as he struggled to recall the items on her lunch tray.

  Inky gave her some final ornamentation: an asparagus spear twisted around her neck and some delicate pea earrings. None of his pencils were quite the right color for the earrings. He wanted a brighter green. He knew just the color—the ink his father had used.

  Inky hesitated. He’d last been in his father’s study to help collect slides for the memorial ceremony his father’s colleagues had put together. When it was done, they’d shut the door and had avoided that side of the apartment ever since.

  He wanted to impress the game developer; this was his shot at having his art used. And if this worked, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much that he wasn’t going to art school with his friends. Maybe this was the next step.

  He bit his lip and stroked a single line of black ink on the page before him. There were things that actually mattered in the world, Inky knew, and just in case he forgot, his school served up heapings of world tragedy and disasters as part of the curriculum. But at this moment, the world, his world, depended on him drawing Amanda.

  Principal Harooni’s voice echoed in his head. It’s time. He fixed on the crisp lettuce green. He knew the color he wanted. No other green would do. He took a deep breath.

  Inky opened the door to his father’s study. The shades were still drawn. The dust made him sneeze. He lowered his head as he walked to the desk. He didn’t want to look around. He felt cold from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes tight, as if it would chase away the flood of images of his father working at his desk. He shivered from his shoulders all the way down his spine.

  He bumped his knee against the wooden desk and felt for the drawer, pulled it open, grabbed the ink and raced out of the room. The sound of the door closing triggered a sea of color, emerald green swirling and turning darker, ever darker, into a menacing inky abyss.

  He sat at his own desk for a long time until the shaking stopped. When his hand was steady again, he loaded the emerald green cartridge into his pen. He made a dot by his character’s ear, added some water to dilute the color and then drew a circle, the spiral increasing slightly, over and over again. He repeated the same motion for the other earring.

  At the top of the drawing he wrote The Green Goddess in letters that looked like a vine.

  He scanned his drawing and signed on to the server handling the Megaland drop box. He attached his file with the message:

  Picasso2B: I’m uploading another picture – I’m sure you’ll find good use for it.

  Chapter 17

  The New, New Girl

  WHEN AMANDA SIGNED ON TO MEGALAND, she was greeted by a silly animated graphic of wires touching that said “Testing in progress.” She wondered about the other testers. What were they like? Did they live in New York? Would she ever get to meet them?

  She opened her homework notebook and recalled some of the things that Hawk had said about their classmates. She wrote about a page and set it aside. The testing icon dissolved on the Megaland screen and the welcome screen came up. The chat box appeared.

  Megaland: Welcome, welcome Justagirl. Sorry if I kept you waiting. I was just finishing up with the artist.

  She felt her smile broaden. It was almost as if the website was hers alone. She wondered how long the development stage would be, and hoped it would be a long time.

  Justagirl: Gave me time to do my homework.

  Megaland: That was quick. It must be easy for you.

  Justagirl: Not really. The teacher is making me write about the school and I don’t really know anyone so it’s hard. And this time it matters, ’cause we’re probably not moving again.

  Megaland: I can see why you’re worried. You want to make a good impression at your new school, but it must be hard to figure out how

  Justagirl: Exactly.

  Megaland: Used to be that if you were smart and pretty it all worked out. I know you’re smart.

  Justagirl: IDK.

  Megaland: Well your work here has been fast and smart. Bet you’re pretty, too.

  Justagirl: Not really.

  Megaland: Girls don’t always realize how pretty they are to others. But never mind that. Why don’t you take your mind off school and play a game? I have a new one. You inspired me. I’d really like to know what you think.

  Justagirl: K.

  A screen came up with instructions for a game based on visual puns. Amanda started reading.

  “Some words are not what they seem – a traffic jam has nothing to do with fruit spread, and Dr. Pepper is not a chili with a medical degree. But what if you could take these words and illustrate them?”

  When she reached the end of the screen, she clapped her hands in delight. This was just like what tripped her up in English. How thoughtful to create a game for her.

  “Try this. Pick a word from the list. Then look at the graphics to find the pictures that match. With the edit tool you can resize the elements and add backgrounds and colors.”

  Amanda looked over the list: traffic jam, chick-in-soup, Dr. Pepper, brain wash, crow bar, grandfather clock.

  She picked “brain wash.” There were more images of brains to choose from than she expected. Not just gray science-y illustrations, but also cartoons, drawings and the one picture she chose—a jello mold in the shape of a brain. For “wash” she picked a brightly colored box of detergent. She played with the editing tool a bit to get the brain the right size to fit in the box. Her creation filled the screen.

  Then a burst appeared saying, “You’ve earned points.” The text box reappeared at the bottom of her screen.

  Justagirl: That was fun. Silly. But fun.

  Megaland: I need to think of more puns. Perhaps you can help me with that. Every time you hear a figure of speech, make a note of it and tell me.

  Justagirl: K. now when girls at school say things like that, my confusion will be useful.

  Megaland: You didn’t click on the burst. Don’t you want to see what’s next?

  Justagirl: Didn’t know that was something to click on.

  Megaland: Perfect. That’s just the kind of feedback I need. Why don’t you click on it now to see?

  When Amanda clicked on the burst, the screen read: “You’re one step closer to your dream date. Who will it be?”

  Thumbnail images came up on the screen. They were pictures of guys, with the instruction “Click to enlarge.”

  She clicked on each one. There was a basketball player, a rocker, a slender guy with glasses and a briefcase and a big smile, and a guy in a suit with a confident smile and eyes that reminded her of her brother. She clicked on him.

  A new screen came up. “Coming soon. Mix and Match, where you select the right shoes for your date outfit.”

  Then another screen came up. It was a picture of a stylish girl, sophisticated like a model, dressed in a purple jacket and gray pants. Her legs seemed to go on forever. The face looked familiar, though she couldn’t place why. But it was the cool haircut that she kept looking at. It was asymmetrical and unlike anything Amanda had ever seen. She particularly liked how the part in the hair looked like a lightning bolt. How she would love to look like that.

  Amanda was so absorbed in the image on the screen that she didn’t hear her mother come in. From behind her, her mother gasped. Amanda was startled and screamed.

  “Manda,
what are you looking at? That’s so you! Are you trying one of those makeover programs?”

  “Mama, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Oh, mija, I didn’t mean to startle you. I love what you’re looking at,” her mother said. “Such a clever girl, you are. It’s perfect, perfect.”

  Amanda looked at the cursor blinking in the chat box. She hit the keyboard.

  Justagirl: GTG. POS.

  As she typed “POS,” she thought to herself that she’d never had any reason to type that before. So rarely was a parent over her shoulder, and rarer still that she had anything of her own, or had anything to hide.

  “I was just playing around.” Amanda didn’t know why exactly, but she was relieved that her mother didn’t ask any more about the game.

  “You could look like that. I think you’re right. Do you want a new look?”

  Amanda nodded. She could imagine the Sacred Circle girls talking about that haircut.

  “Print out that picture, Manda. Let’s get you a keratin and a new haircut. I’ll have daddy’s secretary set it up for you and me. It’s time for a New York look.”

  *

  At first the mirrors in the hair salon made Amanda cringe. The hairstylist, whom Amanda dubbed Edwina Scissorhands for her spider black hair and leather pants, took one look at the printout of the Megaland haircut and said awesome so many times, Amanda lost count.

  She liked being fussed over this way, and sometime between the shampoo and color and the blow dry, Amanda began to believe that with this haircut she was, as Edwina said, “Not just some ordinary girl. Somebody. You walk down the street with this cut and your long legs, and people’ll think, ‘There goes somebody.’”

  Then while her mother was getting her hair cut, Amanda walked around Madison Avenue. She felt a little like she was in a costume and kept looking at strangers to see their reaction. She stopped in a store that had greeting cards, notebooks and desk supplies. She thought she might pick up something for her brothers—she wanted to give them something special this Christmas. Each time she turned an item over and saw the price tag, she put it back. Even if she saved every penny of her allowance, she wouldn’t be able to afford much more than a paperweight in this store.

  She caught her reflection in a window, fluffed her hair and twisted the little plum curl around her index finger and saw a girl who was no longer plain and spindly. She smiled and waved; it was like she was meeting someone new.

  Chapter 18

  Compare and Contrast

  IT FELT LIKE THE SCHOOL HALLWAY contracted when the bell between classes rang. Inky tucked his chin to his chest and headed towards his science classroom. It was like swimming against the tide, a tide of soccer players led by Sven and his wingmen.

  Just behind the Soccer Boys, Hawk, in a voice that sounded like wheels scraping on pavement, called out, “Halloween’s coming, Artboy. Get on your inner spook.”

  The Soccer Boys from both classes laughed, saying, “Good one, Hawk” and “Truth.”

  Inky saw Amanda walking behind Hawk. She lowered her head and looked away. He thought she was embarrassed, but was it because of what Hawk had said or was she embarrassed to see him? Rungs, who was jammed in the center, shot Inky a sympathetic glance.

  Inky wanted to say something to Hawk, but nothing came to mind. He glared at her, trying to pierce her with his gaze. It worked like a camera, and seared the moment into his memory.

  “Look with intention and attention,” his father would say when Inky was younger. Inky hadn’t quite understood the words at the time, but he had still developed the technique. His inner spook.

  Inky entered the class with the image of Hawk in the hallway emblazoned on his brain. Mr. Wallingford, the science teacher, touched the ends of his moustache and introduced the day’s lesson.

  “The scientific method,” the teacher said with that reverence Inky’s mother also used for the names of the miracle drugs her company manufactured. What was it about science anyway?

  “For our purposes today, the scientific method is the process used to answer questions and explain phenomena outside the realm of coincidence.”

  Inky wrote this down as the teacher paused to allow the class to finish. He had the intention of taking notes on the four steps of the scientific method, which Mr. Wallingford promised they “would learn to abide and respect.” Inky wrote four steps right under the definition in his boxy precise handwriting

  “Step One: Observation and Description.” Mr. Wallingford talked about the importance of noting all the details, even if they don’t immediately seem important to you. “Think of something you’ve seen recently and describe it.”

  Hawk in the hallway was fresh in Inky’s mind. As the class noted features of their chosen objects, Inky started drawing. He began with a strong, sharp line that arched into a birdlike body.

  “The next step is the formulation of a hypothesis to explain the phenomena. This can be expressed as a simple statement, like ‘objects fall down’; or a more complex equation, like ‘when baking soda and vinegar are mixed, they erupt,’” the teacher said.

  “Hawk is a dangerous creature.” Inky wrote below his doodle. He continued drawing, adding talons and feathers to the chest.

  The teacher circled the room. Inky felt Mr. Wallingford approaching and looked up from his paper, straight into his teacher’s eyes as if in rapt attention. Then Inky went back to work. He drew an arrow through the breast of the bird, poking through an oversized heart, broken and bleeding.

  “Step Three is to use your hypothesis to predict the results of new observations or other phenomena.”

  He wrote down the words “Other phenomena. New observations.” There was something nagging at him, just below his consciousness.

  Inky’s brain panned to Amanda, standing beside Hawk. He noted her little diamond stud and the length of her face, so familiar to him from drawing it. He mentally traced the line to the top of the forehead under the thick mane of hair.

  “Step Four: properly performed experiments that can be duplicated by independent sources,” the teacher said.

  Inky went over the details. What was different? He only caught a glimpse of Amanda and he’d been focused on her eyes to read her expression. He tried to isolate the image, forget the hallway and the Soccer Boys and Hawk and her talons laced into Amanda. He focused on his mental image of Amanda: her face was tilted, her head was down, her hair was … smoother and definitely not in a ponytail.

  “That’s it,” Inky said out loud as he realized that Amanda had cut her hair. His classmates tittered.

  “That’s right, Mr. Kahn. That’s it. Four steps. Four elegant steps.” Mr. Wallingford walked towards Inky’s seat, his lanky frame casting a shadow on Inky’s notebook.

  “Would you like to share your hypothesis with the class?”

  “I, er, I didn’t think they were for sharing.”

  “I see. Yes,” Mr. Wallingford said, glancing at Inky’s notebook. “I see. This is not art class, and as much as I think there is an idea there, you must be able to clearly articulate your hypothesis. That is the scientific method. It must be clear for others to duplicate.”

  Mr. Wallingford returned to the front of the classroom. “I’ll remind you all that along with the ability to compare and contrast, the scientific method is a core skill that you are required to master. I suggest you spend some time learning the steps.”

  Inky knew that shorthand. His head filled with a deep indigo. He was failing science.

  With that the teacher handed them the results of their pop quizzes. On the right corner of his classmates’ papers, Inky could see checkmarks. On his there was a big red “F.”

  On the way out the door, Mr. Wallingford called out to Inky, “You’re welcome to see me for extra help, Mr. Kahn.”

  “Thanks,” Inky called out, “but I gotta run today.” Inky rushed down the hallway to the lockers. He wanted to get another look at Amanda.

  Inky grabbed his books and headed toward Rung
s’s locker, which was near Amanda’s. He looked over in their direction and saw Hawk take her skateboard out of her locker. He quickly looked away. A moment later, standing by Rungs’s locker, he caught a glimpse of Amanda reaching into her locker. He had a full view of the back of her head. Inky could see her hair taper to reveal the back of her neck. As Amanda stood up, he saw a plum-colored strand of hair on her face.

  He looked away, but not soon enough. He felt his checks burn. She’d seen him looking at her. He tried to change his expression from shock to a smile, but it was too late. She’d already turned to listen to whatever Hawk had to say.

  Rungs caught him looking in the direction of Amanda and Hawk.

  “Let it go, dude. Hawk’s a case. Damaged goods,” Rungs said.

  “It’s not that.”

  “Total malware.”

  Inky shook his head. “Right. Get me virus protection.”

  Inky looked back at Amanda one more time and caught a glimpse of the sharp edge of one side of her hair. It was like a current went through him. The part in her hair was jagged like a lightning bolt, just like he’d drawn.

  *

  At the Broken Cup coffee house, Inky weaved through the afterschool crowd and grabbed a table while Rungs got a sweet tea for him and a double espresso for himself. He thumbed through his sketchbook and looked at his drawings for Megaland. The drawings definitely resembled Amanda—just more grown up and sophisticated. And with a slammin’ haircut.

  Rungs put Inky’s change on the table along with their drinks. They took off the lids of their drinks. While Rungs opened his third sugar, Inky asked, “Did you notice that Amanda’s hair is different?”

  “Huh?”

  “Amanda. The new girl. In your classes.”

  “Yeah,” Rungs said.

  “‘Yeah,’ new haircut, or ‘yeah,’ you know who I mean?”

  Rungs put his coffee down and stared at him. “I know who you mean. Yes, she looked different today.”