by Diane Hoh
Jo felt her lacerated face grow warm as Evan smiled at her.
“I think Carl was right in the first place,” Kelly said, patting Jo’s arm consolingly. “It has to be a joke. An awful one, but still…maybe one of Missy’s friends did it.”
Nan nodded agreement. “Look, I’ve got a newspaper meeting. Carl, you’re due there, too. Anyway, we should go and let Jo get some rest. Remember,” waving a finger at Jo, “the doctor said you’re supposed to stay in bed today and tomorrow. And take your pain medication, okay? Don’t try and tough this out when you can take a pill and sleep.”
“Yes, mother.”
“I should go, too,” Kelly said reluctantly. “I’m supposed to meet Cath Devon at the mall to get stuff for her party next week, but I hate leaving you here all alone. Are you going to take your pill and go to sleep? If you’re not, I’ll stay.”
“I don’t need a baby-sitter,” Jo said. Then, in a gentler tone, “Go ahead and go. Bring me back a magazine? I promise I’ll do as I’m told, like the good girl that I am. Go on. How can I get any sleep if you’re hovering all over me? But,” she added lightly, “you might want to lock the door when you leave, okay? So…so no one will barge in and wake me up.”
Saying he would call her later, Evan left with the others.
When they had gone, Jo sat on the bed, her hands folded in her lap. Her face stung like crazy. She would take her pill and crawl under the covers and go to sleep, forgetting all about the cruel mirror joke.
But for the first time since she had arrived on campus in late August, Jo wasn’t comfortable in her own room.
The cozy room that had felt like home to her since the day she’d moved in now seemed suddenly different.
Jo looked around at the collages of high school mementoes over each bed, the brightly colored plastic trays of accessories, the collection of patchwork-quilted toss pillows Kelly had bought at the mall.
The knowledge that someone had been in there, someone who clearly wasn’t a friend, someone who had no right to be in their room, that changed everything.
Violated, Jo thought angrily, I feel violated. Even though whoever it was hadn’t touched anything except the mirrors….They hadn’t, had they? Jo glanced around the room again quickly, looking for opened drawers or suspicious disarray. No, they hadn’t touched anything else as far as she could tell.
Nevertheless, they had been in there. She hated that.
She made sure the door was locked before taking her pill and climbing into bed. In the bathroom, as she filled a glass of water, she bent low over the sink to avoid meeting her own eyes in the mirror. The mirror…how could she ever look at that mirror again without remembering the black shroud draped over it?
Maybe, she thought despairingly as the pill began to take hold, maybe I won’t ever want to look in a mirror again.
Because in spite of what the doctor and her friends had said to reassure her, there was someone on campus who thought she looked so awful, she shouldn’t even think about looking into mirrors.
What if that person was right?
When Jo finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed that she was receiving her degree at a graduation ceremony outside on the Commons on a beautiful, sunny, blue-skied day in June.
But when she went up on stage to receive the rolled scroll tied with a ribbon, and turned to smile at the audience seated on folding chairs, she had no face.
There was only a blank oval where her features should have been.
Chapter 5
SHE’LL NEVER BE THE same. Never.
She was so pretty. Beautiful, really. Although she didn’t even seem to realize it. She had a flawless face. Flawless.
But not anymore.
Now there’s no choice. Can’t have her running around in public scaring people. Even when the bandages come off, she’ll have those horrible black stitches running up and down her face. And the scars. Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.
This is going to be hard, though. I wouldn’t mind so much if Johanna were ordinary. But she’s not. She’s different. Special. The minute I saw her, I knew I had to get to know her. Too bad. Too, too bad.
Can’t help it. Not her fault, not my fault, it’s just the way it is. I can’t ignore my mission. That would be wrong.
I don’t have to do it immediately. If only she’ll keep her face covered so no one can see it. I can wait.
But if she doesn’t, I’ll have no choice.
Chapter 6
JO WENT TO HER classes on Monday. People stared and murmured or whispered behind their hands each time she walked into a lecture hall. She had tried to prepare herself for the attention, but soon found that it wasn’t that easy. Maybe her friends were too kind to be honest with her about how bad she really looked.
She had looked in the mirror half a dozen times that morning while dressing. Slipped carefully into a cranberry turtleneck sweater, mindful of her bandages…and looked in the dresser mirror. Told herself she didn’t look that bad. Pulled on a pair of jeans, zipped the zipper, slid a leather belt into the loops…and looked in the mirror. Tried to tell herself she’d seen worse. Pushed her feet into black suede boots, fastened a gold chain around her neck…and looked in the mirror. Hoping, as she had each time before, that her appearance would miraculously have changed…improved…the cuts and bandages gone, her skin smooth and clear again.
Didn’t happen.
So she had taken a deep breath, brushed her thick, wavy hair away from her face, carefully applied mascara, picked up her books, slipped into a jacket, and left the room, giving her bed one last, longing glance as she closed the door. Staying in bed one more day would give her twenty-four more hours to gear up for the stares and whispers. And no one would blame her. She had a right, just now, to pamper herself.
But she couldn’t do it. Missing a whole day of classes was no way to begin a new semester.
Of course, having your face destroyed by a glass door wasn’t such a great way to start off, either.
Jo had stepped into the dorm’s fourth floor elevator with a churning stomach.
After three hours of classes, her stomach was still churning. She hadn’t seen Evan or any of her other friends all morning. Maybe they were avoiding her. If only Missy hadn’t made us pose for that ridiculous picture, Jo thought for the thousandth time as she left the lecture hall. The only thing I could pose for now is one of those Safety First ads. The caption underneath my picture could read, OPEN ALL GLASS DOORS BEFORE EXITING.
Jo was pleasantly surprised to find Evan waiting for her outside. “Nice colors,” he commented as she smiled a hello.
Jo glanced down at her sweater. “Thanks.”
“Not your clothes. Your face. It’s turning a veritable rainbow of purples and blues. There’s even a little yellow tossed in for good measure.”
Jo surprised herself by laughing.
“Great,” Evan said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I knew I was right about you. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who whine and those who laugh. I knew when you walked into Missy’s library that you weren’t a whiner. You just confirmed that.”
The praise warmed her. And made her feel a little less self-conscious. “It just so happens,” she said archly, “that I am in great pain. Tremendous pain. I’ve never been in so much pain. And I expect you to give me the sympathy I deserve.”
Evan groaned. “Oh, great! A whiner! How could I have been so wrong? This is a critical blow to my powers of observation.” Then, as they began walking down the wide hall, he changed his tone of voice. “You’re not really in a lot of pain, are you?”
“No. At least not physically. But I’m not wild about being the center of so much attention.”
“You should be used to it. Don’t forget, Jo, I saw your face before your close encounter with that door. Definitely the kind of face people stare at. I know I must have been staring. You probably just never noticed.”
“Well, I’m noticing now. And I hate it.”
>
It was even worse in the dining hall at Lester. It was already crowded when they walked in. A sudden silence fell over the crowd and Jo knew it wasn’t because everyone had, at that precise moment, lost their powers of speech.
“Oboy,” she breathed.
Evan gripped her elbow firmly and, whispering encouragement in her ear, led her forward to the cafeteria line.
At least, while on line, she had her back to the room. That was a relief.
Kelly and Reed waved to them from the back of the room.
Jo deliberately held her head up all the way across the hall, fighting a forceful urge to hide behind Evan’s height and wide shoulders.
She shut her ears to the whispering and closed her eyes against the stares.
An awkward hush settled over the long, narrow table as Jo and Evan set their trays down. Her face felt as if it were on fire as she slid into her chair.
Then Carl said loudly and cheerfully, “Hey, Jo, wrestled any tigers today?”
Over the horrified gasps that followed his comment, Jo grinned and said, “You think it’s easy to find a tiger to wrestle? Listen, Carl, tigers are in short supply at this university.”
Everyone at the table laughed, and the atmosphere eased considerably.
Almost everyone. Jo couldn’t help noticing that Reed and Kelly hadn’t even cracked a smile. Kelly’s usually pink skin was marble-white.
“I don’t see how you can joke about this,” she whispered across the table to Jo. “It really isn’t the least bit funny.”
Reed nodded, and bit down hard on a carrot stick.
“Oh, Kelly,” Jo said, “it’s either laugh or cry. And if I cry, I’ll get my bandages wet and they’ll flop off, and then everyone, will run screaming from the dining hall.”
Kelly winced, clearly upset by the mental picture of Jo’s face, unbandaged.
Nan, sitting a few chairs away, asked, “So, are you going to need plastic surgery? My mother knows this great doctor in Tucson. For a small fortune, he keeps her looking thirty years old. Want me to get his name?”
Jo shook her head. “First of all, I don’t have a small fortune. Second, I’m not going to need major reconstruction. One or two little scars aren’t going to ruin my life. The modeling was fun, but it’s not as if I were planning that for my career. I’m pre-med, remember?”
Kelly and Reed, still unsmiling, got up and left, saying they had classes. Nan and Carl followed soon after, leaving Jo and Evan flanked by empty seats.
“Alone at last!” he said, smiling. “So, did you hear about that costume party at Nightmare Hall Friday night?”
Jo knew about the party. It was being given by Cath Devon, a resident of an off-campus dorm, Nightingale Hall, just down the road from the university. A huge, old brick house set high up on a hill under a canopy of dark oak trees, it had been nicknamed Nightmare Hall after a young girl had mysteriously died there. Although the mystery had eventually been solved, the nickname remained.
“I hate costume parties,” Jo complained.
“Look at it this way,” Evan said, teasing, “you can wear a mask.”
Jo brightened considerably. “Hey, I hadn’t thought of that! Let’s see, I can wrap myself entirely in white bandages and go as a mummy. Or I could get one of those white hockey masks like Jason wears in the Friday the 13th movies.”
“You have many different options,” Evan said with great solemnity. “So, how about if we go together?” He smiled hopefully.
“Sounds great.”
Lunch with Evan distracted Jo. She was finally able to forget about her face. But as she walked to her first afternoon class, it started all over again, the stares, the whispering.
By the time she was seated in math class, her nerves were singing again. Would this day never end?
Maybe people would get used to her bandages after a day or two. Something more interesting would come along to divert their attention. She’d be yesterday’s news. And in a couple of weeks, the bandages were coming off, anyway.
Two girls behind her were whispering like mad, and when she turned her head to shoot them an annoyed glance, she found their eyes riveted on her.
Thoroughly discomfited, Jo found herself reaching into her purse for her compact. Maybe one of the pieces of tape had come loose. She should have stopped in the restroom after lunch and checked.
It took her a while to dredge up her compact from the depths of her oversized leather shoulderbag. When her fingers finally closed around the round plastic compact, she slipped it out of the bag as surreptitiously as possible. She didn’t want the two girls, still busily whispering back there, to know they’d forced her to check her face in a mirror. She hated to give them that much satisfaction.
Laying the compact on top of her textbook, Jo flipped it open.
Her jaw dropped and a soft, startled, “Uh” slid out from between her lips.
In the round circle that should have been reflecting her face, there was only…black. Like the mirrors in her room, the glass in Jo’s compact was completely covered with a small, perfectly round swatch of thick black fabric.
Not an inch of glass was visible.
Chapter 7
JO’S RIGHT HAND SHOOK as she reached out slowly and used one finger to pick at the black fabric, as if she were scratching a mosquito bite. The cloth remained firmly in place.
Glued. Just like on the mirrors in her room.
She began shaking so violently, the compact slid off her book and fell to the floor with a sharp rap.
The boy sitting behind her leaned forward to whisper, “You okay? You’re rocking my seat like an earthquake.” Then, when Jo didn’t answer, he complained, “Hey, you’re knocking everything off my desk!”
Pencils hit the floor and rolled.
But Jo couldn’t stop shaking.
Everything became a blur after that. Someone came to stand beside her desk, bending to look into her face, asking her something, then lifting her. And then another someone whose face she didn’t remember helped her out of the room, down the hall, across campus.
The next thing she was aware of was being back in the infirmary, surrounded by white walls and the noise from the construction going on outside. The doctor’s kind, concerned face was looking into hers. She was asking Jo something. Something about….
“What happened?” the doctor was asking. “Johanna, what happened? Did you have a flashback? That happens sometimes after trauma. Is that what made you shake so?”
Hammering and grinding noises from outside rattled the overhead beams. The long, narrow fluorescent light fixture over the doctor’s head trembled. If it falls, Jo thought dully, it will shatter on her skull and slice her head into little tiny pieces, just like the glass on Missy’s door sliced my face.
The face that someone around here thinks no one should have to look at, not even me.
“Johanna?” the doctor was repeating. “What is it? Does your face hurt?”
No, her face didn’t hurt. Being scared hurt.
She wasn’t really sure what she was scared of. Maybe that someone could so easily enter her room, could so easily get into her purse. How had that happened?
Yesterday, Sunday, people had been in and out of room 428 all day long. Some had come to see her, to bring her magazines and doughnuts from downstairs and find out how she was. Some had come to gawk, she knew that. There had been people in her room she didn’t even know. She’d had to ask Nan or Evan or Reed who they were.
Anyone could have gotten into her purse, with so many people hanging out in her room. Anyone. Anyone could have taken her compact and glued thick, black fabric onto the glass. Anyone could have hidden the glass so that Johanna Donahue couldn’t look at her own face.
“Jo?” The doctor’s voice was sharper, and she was holding up a long, pointed needle. “If you don’t snap out of this, I’m going to have to give you a shot and put you to bed.”
That did it. No way was she going to be stuck in a bed in this infirmary with a
ll that hammering and grinding and shouting going on outside. There might be a light fixture over her bed, and it might come crashing down from all that noise….
“I’m fine,” she said calmly, willing her arms and legs and body to stop their stupid shaking. They obeyed. “Yes, I guess I did have a flashback. I must have dozed off in class and that’s when it happened.”
The doctor looked unconvinced.
“Really,” Jo persisted. “That’s all it was. My face feels fine. I have to go now. Thanks for your help.” Smoothly, without a hint of a tremble, she slid off the table and was amazed to find that her legs were remarkably steady as she stood.
Promising the doctor that she would let her know if she had any problems at all, Jo made her escape, out into the cold afternoon.
I do have problems, she thought as she hurried across campus, glad to be free of the infirmary. But my problems aren’t medical, doctor, so you really can’t help me with them. She ran into Evan halfway to Lester. He was frowning as he caught up with her. “I heard what happened,” he said, peering down into her face. “You okay?”
She nodded. Should she tell him about the compact? He had already seen the mirrors in her room, so he wouldn’t be that surprised. But…he might think she’d overreacted. Getting so upset…
“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered, deciding not to tell him. She hardly knew him, after all. Why dump all her problems on him? “I have a headache, though,” she added, wanting only to be safe in her room, where she could think about what had happened.
“We’re still on for Friday night, right?”
Jo nodded absentmindedly. She was thinking how different campus looked in the dead of winter. Last October, the big old trees lining the walkways had exploded in a riot of wildly blazing red, purple, gold and russet. Now, their branches stretched bleakly upward, black and bare. The velvety grass that had been thick and green in September was hidden under a thin layer of yellowing snow left over from the most recent snowstorm.
Winter wasn’t all that kind to the campus of Salem University.
