Another Faust

by Daniel Nayeri

  Christian and Valentin slipped into the classroom just as Belle was leaving Thomas and walking toward Bicé. She gave them a thumbs-up, completely ignoring Victoria, who was standing with Madame Vileroy and giving her the most hateful glare she could conjure. Thomas approached the podium feeling as if someone were holding him by the throat, thinking, I’m such a pushover. But something about the way Belle had pleaded with him had made him want to listen. It wasn’t the way he’d felt before. He didn’t feel groggy and happy and totally in love. Something about the way she looked at him made him trust her. It was her eyes. She had honest eyes. Thomas opened the paper that Belle had given him and began to read.

  “What is stealing? When is it excusable? When is it a crime?” Thomas looked uncomfortable as he read. Christian perked up. Belle saw Christian listening with interest and looked down at her shoes.

  “An action becomes stealing when one of two conditions are met. First, when there is harm to the victim. Second, when the act is done for personal gain.” Thomas looked up and smiled. He seemed happy with where the speech was going, and Belle breathed a sigh of relief. Christian’s face had gone white. He stood frozen in his spot. Belle smiled as if to say that things were different with him. That stealing was different in their world. She was torn between excitement for Thomas and embarrassment for Christian.

  “If both these criteria are met, there is no question where society stands. When one of the two criteria is in question, society begins to debate. For example, is it wrong when someone takes something that has been thrown away? Perhaps not, since there is no detriment to the victim. Is it wrong when someone takes a loaf of bread to feed a starving baby or taxes the rich to help the poor? Perhaps not, since the motive is unselfish.”

  Victoria wasn’t even looking at Thomas anymore. She was glaring at Belle. She looked like she was about to lunge at her. Belle signaled to her that perhaps she should be taking notes. But Victoria wasn’t used to preparing rebuttals without advance notice.

  “When neither of the criteria is met, however, I propose that there is no crime against ethics. Is it wrong to take a syringe from a drug addict? Of course not. I think this issue can be resolved if we find a way to violate neither of these two rules. Then it may be easier for skeptics to say that the right to life trumps the right to intellectual property, since it will be hard to prove that any property has been taken at all.” Thomas began to speak emphatically, like a politician. Belle looked proud. Victoria was livid.

  “My plan involves a combination of safeguards including export restrictions and marketing measures to ensure that the pharmaceutical companies’ profits are not affected. Meanwhile, I propose various distribution measures and profit caps to ensure that no one will stand to gain significantly from violating patents, thus removing incentive for selfish profiteers to enter this business.”

  Thomas went on to present a perfect twelve-point plan, ad-libbing along the way, and visibly winning over all the judges. In the next round, Victoria, who suddenly seemed at a loss for evidence or coherent arguments, resorted to poking a few holes in Thomas’s plan and rereading pieces of her original speech. She finished with a minute left to spare and stormed out before the judges announced Thomas the winner.

  Thomas threw his arms around Belle. He lifted her off the ground and kissed her . . . on the forehead.

  “I’m so sorry. I — I thought you were the one that —” he stammered, embarrassed at himself but still holding on to her, “you know.”

  “That’s OK,” she whispered. “But you believe me now, right?”

  Over Thomas’s shoulder, Belle saw Lucy walking out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Sure I do. If you were trying to sell me out to Victoria, you wouldn’t have saved me like that. By the way, where did you get that speech?”

  “I wrote it.” Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. “What? You thought I was just a dumb blonde?”

  “No. But where did you get all the evidence and that plan . . .”

  “I started with your arguments and researched the rest online. You don’t need inside info to form opinions on stuff.”

  “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Thomas, too happy to wonder how she had had the time.

  After the tournament, Victoria was nowhere to be found. Valentin and Thomas went to the awards ceremony. Christian and Bicé were outside when Belle ran up and hugged Bicé.

  “Thank you,” she said. “He said I was brilliant.”

  Bicé awkwardly returned the hug, still conflicted about her prodigal sister. “Glad I could help.”

  “How did you help?” asked Christian.

  “She stopped everything . . . to give me time to write that speech.”

  “You stopped everything?” asked Christian.

  “Yeah,” said Bicé, still visibly uncomfortable in her relationship with Belle.

  “And she was there with you? What about everything that . . . ?”

  “We’re sisters,” said Bicé, resigned. “I had to help.”

  Belle hugged her again. She seemed genuinely sorry for what had happened. They’d begin the precarious rebuilding of their relationship now, of the trust that had been lost. Belle held her sister and wished for forgiveness, and Bicé did her best to forgive.

  When they separated, Belle ran back for the awards ceremony. She thought about that moment together, when they had held hands, and Belle had finally experienced a little of Bicé’s world. There was an incredible feeling of loneliness, and it was a moment she would never forget, when she thought she could be lost to the dark, when she began to see why Bicé was the way she was — a pariah. Bicé and Christian walked off by themselves, whispering.

  “All I know is that I’m never stealing again,” said Christian. “Not after that speech. We have to get out of her house.”

  “Just a couple more days, Christian. I just need a few more days.” She thought about his childhood letter, about the mark on Christian’s chest that had now disappeared. She would get Christian out of there, she resolved. But not yet.

  “OK, but I want to know what you’re doing.”

  “Later.”

  “I need to figure out a way to get Buddy out, too.”

  “Buddy?” Bicé felt a wave of guilt. “He . . . he isn’t human, right?”

  “I’m not sure, Bicé. He learns. He feels pain. He processes information. Sometimes he does weird things . . . like he has a history, you know? What if he’s a real person? What if she . . . ?” Christian was obviously distressed at that thought.

  Bicé thought about the scribbled letters she had seen in the notebook, and Buddy at the white window. Suddenly, she stopped at the door of one of the classrooms.

  “Hold on, Christian. Look who’s in there. Shhh, I want to hear.”

  Victoria and Madame Vileroy were in the classroom. Victoria was raging as usual.

  “You broke our deal!” she screamed.

  “I didn’t. I gave you all the tools. You lost because you didn’t anticipate —”

  “I lost because of Belle! And you didn’t even warn me!”

  “Well, I can’t force Belle to do anything.”

  “Yes, you can. There are things you can do.”

  “Why would I want to?”

  “For me. You owe me.”

  “Victoria, I believe I’ve made it clear that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

  “You could have kept her at home, like you said you would. It was obvious she’s been wimping out since Sunday.”

  “I locked her in. Anything more would be charity. You’re not a charity case, are you, Victoria?”

  “So you’re just going to abandon me? You always pick Belle over me. I don’t get it. She betrayed you.”

  “There is no betrayal, Victoria. No relationships — just simple bargains. She never broke her word to me. So what will I gain from punishing her? But if you want more, I am willing to make another trade. . . .”

  “What do I have to do?” As always Vic
toria jumped at the bait.

  “Victoria, darling, do you ever pray at night?”

  “You know what I think?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I think the biggest lie the devil ever told was that beauty and goodness are the same.”

  “Great.”

  Belle was happy for the first time in a long time. Thomas loved her. Lucy was completely out of the picture. She was sure of that. She thought that maybe she would skip her bath tonight and see if Thomas would notice. But she knew that he would. Lately, they had more and more real moments between them. But in the end, no matter how she masked it, the air around her was always tainted, always addictive, always a distortion from the truth. She could still see him reacting to her, could still feel him changing. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and grabbed the bottle marked indifferent again. This was the closest she would get to spending a few more real moments with Thomas.

  Just then, her phone rang. It was Maggie. The second Belle picked up, Maggie started talking at top speed. She had Charlotte on three-way.

  “Mags, I’m getting ready for the dance. Can we talk later?” said Belle.

  “No, no, no.” Belle could almost see her shaking her head. “It’s about Lucy. She’s planning something big. She’s going to do something horrible to you tonight.”

  “Mags, slow down. I doubt she’s planning anything —”

  “No, no, I’m sure there’s something.” Maggie was panting. She was like this all the time now. She never slowed down these days. And she never stopped following Belle, her eyes glazed over, always frantic, always paranoid. Nowadays, she was like this when they were apart too. “I’m sure. Totally sure. Definitely totally sure. Char, tell her.”

  Charlotte was torn as usual. On the one hand, Lucy was her best friend. On the other hand, Belle was so interesting, so appealing — even if she was Valentin’s sister. There was just something about her. And Lucy had been acting very suspicious lately. Charlotte had never realized it before she met Belle. She’d never noticed all the strange things about Lucy. Yes, being with Belle had definitely made her see things much more clearly. Something was wrong with Lucy. Something was unnatural about her. Lucy was strange. Lucy was twisted. It was Lucy who was giving her headaches every day now.

  “She asked me a bunch of stuff about you and the dance — like what you’re wearing, how you’re getting there, stuff like that. I think she’s going to —”

  “Char, so what?” Belle cut in. “I asked you stuff about her too. I have to get ready.”

  “No, no, I think she’s going to do something!”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Tamper with your car, find a way to steal Thomas, cover you in pig’s blood. I don’t know. I just know it’s something.”

  “Yeah, yeah, and I think I saw her talking to some teachers. I bet she’s trying to get you in trouble,” said Maggie.

  “I think I saw her following Thomas after school,” said Charlotte.

  “And she was at my dad’s office the other day. Why would she want a lawyer? I bet she’s planning to sue!” Maggie was getting more and more excited.

  “Maggie, her parents are getting a divorce,” Belle said, sounding exhausted.

  Maggie didn’t let her finish. “We should do something. I can go over to her house and slash her dress so she can’t go. Would you like me to do that? I could, you know. No, no, she has tons of dresses. I could put hair remover in her shampoo! But, no, that never works. You have to leave it on for like fifteen minutes. I could tell her mom about that tattoo! Then she’d be grounded. It would be the best thing for everyone.”

  Belle let out a deep sigh. She knew what this was. She wondered if the indifferent bath would make them less like this — less addicted, less paranoid. But she knew it wouldn’t. They were well past that stage. “No, Maggie. Don’t do anything. I’ll watch out for her at the dance. But right now, I have to go.”

  Victoria stood in a corner of the ballroom, sipping her drink. The spring dance was nothing short of a full-scale, over-the-top gala for kids who were used to big parties and were trained to notice imperfections. The venue was like a massive greenhouse with flowers and shrubs growing just outside and trees towering over the glass ceilings and walls. The lights were low, and there were big couches and round tables set up all around the dance floor. The sun was setting, and the room had an eerie glow, a strange mix of night and day, with the twilight streaming through the glass and mixing oddly with the nightclub atmosphere of the room. But Victoria wasn’t paying much attention to the décor. She looked around again, eyeing the door and smoothing down her black dress.

  Just then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to find Ms. LeMieux smiling down at her. She put on her sweetest smile and said hello.

  “Don’t tell me a lovely young lady like you is here alone?” Ms. LeMieux said, sounding disappointed that the young version of herself was dateless.

  Victoria said sweetly, “I haven’t had much time to meet any boys.”

  “Well, you are a busy girl. I don’t know how you find time for everything you do.”

  Victoria giggled, which she hated doing. But she remembered what Madame Vileroy had told her countless times, about being sweeter to people who matter, more likable, and she went on. “Yeah, it’s mostly thanks to you, Ms. LeMieux. I mean, you’re the only one who took my disability seriously. If you hadn’t made all the teachers keep giving me extra time on the tests and homework and stuff . . .”

  “Oh, don’t you mention it. At Marlowe we try to have the utmost sensitivity to our students’ needs.”

  “Thanks. But things still haven’t been easy.”

  “What do you mean, dear?”

  “Well, I’m class president, as you know, but I think Lucy may still be holding a grudge about the election. She doesn’t pull her weight in Student Council and so I have double the work.” Victoria rubbed her eyes. “I haven’t had much time for homework.”

  Ms. LeMieux looked distraught. Victoria went on.

  “I was wondering if it would be OK if I take more classes at home next semester, you know, with my own tutors? It would give me more time to handle this stuff. I have to deal with a lot of insensitivity about my condition.”

  “Well, of course, dear. Of course. I will talk to the principal about it on Monday. But hey, I do have some good news for you.”

  Victoria knew it. She didn’t want to be too hasty and cheat unless she had to. But she knew it was the time of year to announce the Marlowe Prize. For weeks she had been padding her grades, persuading her teachers to give her the tests orally, getting the moths to bring her the best essays, even getting Jason Choi suspended afterward for plagiarizing “her” essay. With the help of her new class schedule, her GPA was a perfect and unattainable 5.0. Now, finally, she’d get the recognition she deserved.

  “Well, it’s a bit premature,” said Ms. LeMieux. “I’m not supposed to tell you till Monday. But you are the cowinner of this year’s Marlowe Prize! It goes to the person with the highest —”

  “Yes, I know.” Victoria lost her sweet tone. Ms. LeMieux was taken aback. “It’s for the highest GPA and most meaningful activities in the class. But what do you mean ‘cowinner’?”

  Victoria glanced at all the cuts on her arms from her extended time with the moths. All that for a measly “cowinner”?

  “Oh, well, yes. The committee decided that even though you have the highest GPA so far, you should share the prize with Jamie Mendez.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because, well, Jamie’s GPA is very close to yours, dear. And she has spent all her free time over the last year raising money for hungry children in the Sudan. And since the prize is about both GPA and —”

  “No. The prize has always been given to the person with the highest GPA. I know they say it’s for activities too, but for the last ten years, the person with the highest GPA has always won!”

  “Yes, dear, but the committee
thought that given all the special privileges you’ve been —”

  “But I have a han-di-cap!”

  “Hmm . . . Well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Ms. Mendez has asthma, and she has still followed the normal curriculum, including gym, and —”

  “So? Asthma is irrelevant! You don’t learn with your lungs! This is because she’s Hispanic, isn’t it? That’s what this is all about!”

  Ms. LeMieux gasped. She was about to respond when she saw Valentin approaching from behind Victoria. Ever since the Christmas play, Ms. LeMieux had been wary of Valentin, finding him very odd. She edged away as he moved closer and shot her a smile bordering on sleazy. She quickly said good-bye and walked away. Valentin called after her, “It’s OK, Trisha, sweetheart. It meant nothing.”

  “Who’s Trisha?”

  “Trisha LeMieux. That sweet thing walking away.”

  “Val, that’s gross. She’s like thirty.”

  “Forty. I thought I’d get in while it was still illegal. Another three years before I have to switch to nine-year-olds,” Valentin said with a leer.

  “Gross!”

  “Kidding . . . Geez, I heard your little tantrum from across the room.”

  “There’s always something. The stupid moths didn’t —”

  “Look, Vic. You know what your problem is?”

  Victoria didn’t want another lecture on being less catty or not thinking only about herself. She got enough of those from Bicé. “What?” she said in an exasperated tone.

  “You’re not subtle enough.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Fine, don’t listen. I’ve got plenty of things to do. And then do again.”

  Valentin walked away from Victoria feeling utterly superior. He looked back and saw her chewing her nails, staring intently at Belle and Thomas, who had just walked in. She had a smile on her face, as if she was glad to see them together. Then he saw Christian standing with Bicé. They were whispering to each other conspiratorially and watching Belle with the same intentness as Victoria. Valentin reached into his pocket. He remembered that Christian had still not heard the first poem that he read at the tournament. He had been rescuing Belle and missed it.