"You're being self-deprecating again," Clara said. "I don't see you through rose-colored glasses. The truth is, you aren't beautiful in a conventional way-" I smiled at her choice of words, "and you are in no danger of getting confused with a movie-star or a supermodel. Even so, it's difficult not to be drawn to the symmetry of your features, and that wise, peaceful expression you always wear. There's nothing fake about it, either, because you express your emotions so fully with your eyes. It's so easy to tell, just by looking, the kind of person you are."
I was almost speechless. I handed her the sketchbook with another compliment for her work, but I remained silent as we walked out of the garden and toward the appointed meeting-place. I felt, though, as if a light had gone on inside of me. I was moved by Clara's words, which had inspired a warm, gentle happiness within me that I couldn’t express. I had felt nothing so wonderful since before Mark died, and I clung to it like a talisman.
Summer noticed my change in mood while we were driving back into town. "Hey, Blondie, why so quiet?"
"I'm sorry, Summer. I guess I haven't been much fun today, have I?" I apologized.
"You don't have to say you're sorry. You haven't been rude or anything, just thoughtful."
"I have a lot on my mind," I said.
"Nothing bad, I hope," Clara said.
"Not at all," I replied.
"Can I see your sketches?" Summer asked, taking the book from Clara. She thumbed through the drawings "Wow, these are really good. You should totally enter the one of Miranda."
"Well, that would be up to Miranda," Clara murmured.
"I don't mind," I said, "as long as Summer can find a way."
"I already did," Summer said dismissively.
"Then thank you," Clara said with a shy smile.
We pulled up to my house shortly afterward, and I said goodnight as I reluctantly left my friends. I still felt, though, the little light that had gone on inside me, and I felt that nothing could make that light ever go out again.
Chapter 3
Secrets
The Moon
The next morning, I sat at my vanity, getting ready for church in the early morning light which poured in through my open window. I carefully studied the face which stared back at me from the mirror- a face which seemed different from the one I was accustomed to seeing there. That morning, the eyes I saw reflected seemed to be a brighter shade of emerald green. The usually pale, freckled cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower, and the features, while still unremarkable, bore the unmistakable marks of happiness; a smooth brow, dimpled cheeks, and lips turned upward ever so slightly at the corners. It was not quite the serene face from Clara's portrait. Instead, it was flush and abloom with something new. I sighed happily, imagining I saw a glimpse of the beauty Clara saw in me, and determined to strive to be the sort of person she saw.
I was awakened from these fancies by a sudden knock on the door.
"Come in," I said, composing myself.
Mother, already dressed and ready for church, peeked in. "Miranda, I have a favor to ask of you. Judy, the church pianist, has come down with a cold, and Pastor Browne was wondering if you would mind filling in for this morning's service."
"Does she really have a cold, or is this part of your never-ending scheme to get me to join the choir?"
"Don't be silly; of course she really has a cold. You don't have to sing, anyway, just play."
"In that case, I would be glad to play. I'd better hurry, so we can get there early and I can look over the music."
"Thank you, Miranda."
#
I found myself, an hour later, in the church sanctuary, seated at the grand piano in front of the choir risers. The sanctuary was large and open, with rib-vaulted ceilings adorned with dark mahogany. The pews were also mahogany, and were high backed, ornate, and austere. In the front there were three large stained-glass windows, each depicting a cross, with the cross in the center draped in white, and across the sanctuary there was a smaller, round stained-glass window adorned with a single, brilliantly colored butterfly. The hymns I played were simple but solemn, and touched with that familiar, hopeful sort of melancholy most hymns contain.
After the final hymn, the youth choir filed in front of the risers to sing a contemporary piece. It was then I spotted Amber Cooper among them, dressed in white robes and wearing a cherubic smile. At the end of the song, I looked up to see Amber glance in my direction. She recognized me at once and smiled more brightly, and before filing back to the pews gave me a little wave.
After the service, as I sat putting away the music, Amber walked over to the piano.
"Hi, Miranda! I didn't know you went to my church. You play piano really well. How long have you been playing?"
"I've been playing since I could sit up on a piano bench," I said. I looked around for my parents, hoping for an excuse to escape, but they were nowhere to be seen.
"That's really cool. I've always wished I could play, but mother said I had enough to do, with art and choir, already." She stopped talking and looked around, too. I followed her gaze to see my own parents talking amiably to another couple near the back of the sanctuary, letting the other parishioners file past them.
"My mom could stand there talking like that, forever," she said, and I understood that the couple my parents were talking with was Amber's parents. Amber leaned over the piano with a bored expression.
"Mine is the same way," I sighed, realizing I was trapped.
Amber looked up at me with her clear, blue eyes sparkling. "I have an idea. While we're stuck here, do you think you could help me practice? I'm singing a solo next week. The music should be in that pile." She pointed to the sheet music I'd finished arranging.
I sighed and nodded. We shuffled through the music until I finally found her piece, then I started to play.
It was an unimpressive piece of music, and sounded like a hundred other devotional songs I'd heard in church before, but Amber sang with such pathos that the music seemed to hold a much deeper meaning behind the trite lyrics and simplistic tune. Her voice was small, high, and childlike, but somehow very sweet. Her countenance and the expression in her eyes betrayed a sadness that went beyond the music, and I was left with the impression that the song held a secret meaning for her.
When she finished singing, the piano's last chords reverberated through the now empty sanctuary, and for a few seconds everything was silent. Then I heard the sound of scattered applause.
"That was beautiful, Amber. You are becoming a wonderful singer," Amber's mother said, beaming.
Amber, suddenly appearing very shy, blushed and nodded.
"Are you ready to go, Miranda?" Mother asked me.
I nodded and bounded down the steps toward her, grateful for the excuse to leave, but Daddy said, "I guess we'll see you guys in a few minutes."
"A few minutes?" I whispered to mother when we were out of earshot.
"Oh, yes, we invited the Coopers over for lunch," Mother said happily.
#
Before lunch, I stayed in the kitchen, helping mother cook, to try and avoid Amber's continued attempts at friendship. This, however, proved to be a failure when Amber and her mother wandered into the kitchen as well for what Amber's mother deemed "girl talk." I didn't have to try and make conversation with Amber, though, because it was almost impossible to get a word in while our mothers were talking, so I busied myself with preparing the potato salad and let my mind wander while the conversation hummed in the background.
After lunch, I ducked out into the backyard to escape the noise of conversation, but Amber followed me.
"Your backyard is so pretty, Miranda," Amber sighed happily as she examined the rosebushes, the fishpond, and every leaf and petal in detail. Then she flopped onto the porch swing and contented herself with pushing herself back and forth. Her sandals slid off her feet into the grass, but she didn't seem to notice, and she let her bare toes skim along the ground carelessly.
I realized t
hat I wouldn’t be able to get rid to her, and as I sat and watched her swing, I decided to stop avoiding her and instead speak to her frankly.
"I know we just met, and you don't know me very well, but I feel I ought to ask you to reconsider your decision to exclude my friend, Clara, from the upcoming art competition. She's an excellent artist, and should be judged on that fact, and nothing more."
"I do feel awful about that," she replied, "because Clara is a good artist. She's the best artist in the school, in my opinion. We used to be very good friends. The art club voted, though." She stared down at her bare feet, which were still pushing at the grass.
"Isn't it your decision, though? Why put the matter up to a vote?"
"David thought it would be best, so no one would be embarrassed if she entered."
"I think that barring someone from the competition based on prejudice is a worse embarrassment," I said.
Amber bit her lip. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I don't agree with Clara's... lifestyle myself, but-" she stopped and wrinkled her forehead in thought.
"-but it's not up to you to dictate other people's lifestyles, even if you put it to a vote."
Amber sighed, then looked up at me and smiled. "I guess I'll have to talk to the others, and try to explain that."
I was very surprised Amber had agreed so quickly, enough to say; "if you don't begrudge Clara her right to live as she chooses, then why did you stop being friends?"
I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth, but Amber didn't seem to take offense at my prying. Instead she just knitted her brow and said, "well, that's complicated. My mother never really approved of our friendship because of her family. Her sister is really wild and has gotten into a lot of trouble, and everyone says that her mother is a gold-digger. Sometimes, I got the impression she was hiding things about herself and her family that she wouldn't even tell me, and I was her best friend back then. It's hard to stay close to someone when they won't talk to you about their problems. Then, when she came out-"
"-when she was outed," I reminded her.
Amber nodded, but didn't continue.
"If you'd rather not talk about it, it's okay."
"No, I'm just trying to figure out how to put this tactfully. You see, even though she never told me she was a lesbian," she said the word "lesbian" in a half-whisper, as if it were a dirty word, "I already knew she was. I didn't tell anyone, but I tried to give David some clues, because they were dating. I think he misunderstood, though."
I remembered how Clara had described David's jealous abusiveness, and frowned to myself.
Amber seemed to take my frown as disapproval, because she hastily said, "I thought that was the best thing to do, because they were dating, and I felt guilty." She stopped and blushed scarlet, as if she suddenly realized that she'd said too much.
"You had no reason to feel guilty," I said. "That was between Clara and David."
"But I was involved after she- after she kissed me," Amber blurted out.
"I probably shouldn't be hearing this," I said.
"But you should know what kind of girl your friend is. She's the kind of person who goes around kissing people, when she is seeing someone else." Amber's face was still red, but with anger now. Her voice rose shrilly as she continued. "She hangs around with that manipulative bully, Summer, so that she can always have her way. Those friends of yours are nothing but-"
I cut her off by standing up and walking toward the porch door, determined not to endure another moment of her petulant rant. When I reached for the handle, though, the door opened suddenly and Amber's mother was standing in front of me. She smiled at me, and then turned to look at Amber.
"Are you ready to go yet, sweetie?"
Amber composed herself even faster than she'd become upset. "I'm ready, Mom." She stood and smiled at me as she walked past. "It was nice talking to you, Miranda. I'll see you at school."
#
I wanted to speak with Clara the next day, to see if my talk with Amber had done more harm than good, but in class she seemed to be working frantically to keep up with her assignments, and she skipped lunch altogether. This continued all week, though when I asked Summer about Clara's behavior she said that Clara was catching up on extra schoolwork at lunch, and refused to answer any more of my questions. The week passed in much the same way, though Clara made a brief appearance at lunch on Thursday, and explained that she had gotten through most of her work before bolting down her lunch and leaving again in a hurry.
Friday morning was cloudy and damp, and I had difficulty getting up in time for school, preferring to continue sleeping in the dark solace of my room. I could tell, as I made my way to my English class, that I was not the only one who felt that way. There was a sense of general moroseness as I made my way through the halls. Most of the people I saw were hunched, rumpled, and seemed fatigued. When I got to English, I was greeted by a very grumpy looking Summer.
"Miranda, I want you to talk some sense into Clara for me," she growled.
"Good morning to you, too," I replied. "Why does Clara need my good sense?"
"She's being an idiot. She refuses to enter the art competition after all the work I went through to get her in."
"Why doesn't she want to enter?"
"You ask her; I've given up." Summer folded her arms and pouted in such a way that made me laugh.
"Okay, I'll talk to her. Happy?" I asked.
"Not yet, but thank you," She said with a weak smile.
#
At lunch it began to rain in earnest, pouring down in white-grey sheets that flooded the courtyard and forced my friends and me into the cafeteria. I hadn't eaten in the cafeteria since school began, but it was a beautiful room, with none of the institutional feel that school cafeterias usually have, but rather with the feel of a large, comfortable dining-room. My friends and I managed to find a table in the quietest corner of the room, near the large windows at the front. Summer gave me a significant look as she sat herself nearest the window, at the far end of the table, so I sat at the other end where Clara was, apart from the others.
"Summer has demanded that I talk some sense into you," I said.
Clara looked surprised for a moment, and then she smiled. "I see. I guess I should have expected this. Did she pout?"
"Like a five year old," I confirmed. "It was very effective."
Clara laughed, and I heard Summer say from the other end of the table, "I heard that."
"We love you, Summer," Clara called back.
"She said you're refusing to enter the art competition," I continued.
"I’m just refusing to cheat," Clara said.
"It's not cheating," Summer chimed in again. "It's just-"
"Cheating," Clara said firmly. "She wants me to enter under the 'homeschooled' category, even though I'm not homeschooled."
"Well? What's wrong with that?" Summer demanded.
"It's not fair to the actual homeschooled students for me to enter in their category. Everyone should have a fair shot," Clara said.
"Everyone but you?” Summer said, sounding exasperated. ”You're such a goody-goody, seriously. Miranda, back me up on this."
"Sorry, Summer. I agree with Clara."
"Seconded," Jason put in.
"For once, I agree with Summer," Chad supplied through a mouthful of pudding.
Just then, a peal of thunder shook the cafeteria so that the windows we were sitting by rattled noisily. I heard a girl near the back of the room squeal, followed by a general round of laughter. The storm seemed to lift the general mood, and the cafeteria began to buzz with an excitement almost as electric as the lightning.
"I should have known you'd side with Clara," Summer grumbled to me.
"Have you talked to Amber at all this week?" I asked Clara.
"I try not to, but I have and art club meeting this afternoon, so I don't think I can avoid it."
"I think you should speak with her, to see if she's changed her mind about letting you e
nter," I said. "If she hasn’t, I think you should take the matter to your club’s sponsor."
Before Clara could respond, a second peal of thunder rang out, and the lights flickered. Then there was a clatter of hail against the window. Mrs. Lewis, the teacher who was monitoring the cafeteria that day, came over to our table, looking worried.
"I think all of you should find a table closer to the back, away from the windows," she said.
We reluctantly agreed, and in our move to a back table, our seating arrangement became jumbled, though much closer. Summer smiled in satisfaction when she saw that I was now seated next to Jason instead of Clara, who now sat across from Jason and next to Summer.
Jason seemed pleased about the new arrangement as well, and took the opportunity to again broach the subject of our last conversation.
"Miranda, I was wondering, would you like to see a movie with me tomorrow?"
I had been planning on asking Clara the exact same question, because there was a movie out that I thought she'd like. For a few moments, my mind raced as I tried to think of an excuse to turn him down, but I only succeeded in gaping at him stupidly.
I caught Clara’s eye, and she seemed to understand my unspoken plea. "I was actually hoping that Miranda would go to see 'Innocence Symphony' sometime with me, but I'm sure that if you wanted-"
Jason cut her off, and said, "Miranda has to go out with some of her other friends sometime, you know. You can't keep her to yourself; people are starting to talk."
Jason smiled as he spoke, and his tone was light and teasing. Clara, however, blushed deeply and looked down at the table with a miserable expression. In that moment, I was forced to face the truth I'd been avoiding for the last couple of weeks. All of the signs I'd ignored, like the fact that I was the only one kept in the dark with respect to Jason and Clara's argument, Jason's advances toward me, and the phone call I'd overheard Summer make in the botanical gardens came together for me when I saw Clara's blush, and it became painfully clear why Jason and Clara had been arguing. Clara's blush had betrayed her feelings for me, and Jason's disapproval of her feelings was apparent.
Mephisto Waltz Page 6
