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She smiled. “And I you.”
“Jesus, Melanie,” my mother said in the car. She asked the driver to crack a window. “You smell like the help.”
That reminded me. “I want to stay with Julia.”
My mother ignored me the first two times I’d said it. On the third she told me that was enough, it was time for the silent game. Then she turned away.
“How do I make friends?” I asked when we reached the parking lot.
My mother shrugged. She had a lot of friends. I thought she would know. “Tell them about your pony. Tell them about your vacation to Italy last summer. Teach them some Italian. ”
“I was four then. I forgotted it.”
She had that sad look on her face she got whenever I was around. “I thought you were a smart girl.”
I stared at the lines in the pavement, so I wouldn’t have to remember where the look she wore came from. “I don’t like school. I don’t want to be five.”
“I don’t have time for this, Melanie,” she huffed. “I’m already missing hal
f of aerobics, and this is how you show your appreciation?”
I don’t recall what happened next. All I know is during share time we were supposed to stand and tell everyone our name. “I’m Melanie,” I said. “I have a pony, and I went to Italy on vacation.” The rest I said in Italian. I wanted to make Mama proud.
“Wow, Melanie,” the teacher smiled. “That is very impressive.”
Later at recess, the other girls crowded around me. “Ponies are stupid,” a girl with red hair said. “Her dress is stupid,” another said. “You stink,” the redhead told me. She leaned in close to get a good whiff. “Hey,” she exclaimed, pulling one of the curls Julia had given me. I stood there while they circled like sharks. “I think we should call her Smelly Melly,” she chanted. “Smelly Melly!” Everyone joined in. Only one person was allowed to call me Melly. I didn’t care about the rest.
At nap time, when the teacher wasn’t looking, I took my scissors and cut the redheaded girl’s hair. Her screams woke me from my nap.
“Did you cut that girl’s hair, Melanie?” my mother demanded over dinner.
“No,” I lied.
“Well, someone did it,” my father said.
I shrugged and stuffed my fork in my mouth.
“It was probably that Goldsmith girl. Heaven knows her parents don’t teach her any manners. Remember—”
“I’ll have a talk with the teacher,” my father said. “We don’t want people assuming it was Melanie.”
“No,” my mother agreed. “We don’t.”
That’s the first time I learned how to get away with your crimes. It was the first time I learned I liked to see people suffer. So long as no one could prove you did it, nothing bad could happen. You were untouchable.
My mother knew the truth, though. “That is not how you win friends, Melanie,” she said when she found the girl’s ponytail in my backpack. But she never told anyone. Not even my father, I don’t think. And no one called me names after that.
“Pick up the pace,” Mrs. Elizabeth says as she escorts me back to my room. “I haven’t got all day, Princess.” I shuffle my feet, forcing her to go slowly. She guides me down long corridors. We turn left, we turn right. I try to memorize the route we’ve taken, but it feels pointless. This place is a maze. Plus, I’m too busy peering in small windows. From what I can see, Vanessa is right. Most women are alone. I can’t see most of them—that or the rooms are empty. But the ones I do manage to get a glimpse of are basically carbon copies of the others. They’re all doing the same thing. They’re staring at the same book I hold in my hands, the very one my roommate was staring at when I woke up in this place.
“Move along,” Mrs. Elizabeth warns.
“Sorry,” I say, wincing. “It’s the pain.”
“There is sweetness in pain,” she tells me. But she doesn’t look at me when she speaks.
When we reach the doorway, she stops, turns, and faces me. “Your roommate has been moved to solitary.”
I glance through the window as though I need proof.
