A Different Blue(29)

bore her last name. Apparently they had hotels all over Europe. Pamela told us she had majored

in International Hotel Management and traveled to all the different hotels owned by her family,

one of which was near the Colosseum in Rome. She sounded exactly like Princess Diana when she

talked, and she was elegant and glamorous and said words like “beastly” and “brilliant.”

Wilson introduced her as his “friend from childhood,” but she looked at him like she was his

girlfriend. It made more sense that he was in Boulder City if his girlfriend worked for the

Sheffield Estates.

Pamela droned on about this or that stunning example of Roman ingenuity, and I despised her cool

loveliness, her knowledge of the world, her obvious comfort with herself and her place in the

universe, and I taunted her a little during her presentation. It was easy to see why Wilson

would like her. She spoke his language, after all. It was one of youth and beauty, of success

and entitlement.

In another time, she and Wilson would have been the conquering Romans, and I would have been a

leader of one of the savage tribes that attacked Rome. What had Wilson called them? There were

several. The Visigoths, the Goths, the Franks, and the Vandals. Or maybe I would be a Hun.

Attila's girlfriend. I could wear a bone in my hair and ride an elephant.

In the end, the tribes had overrun Rome, pillaging it and burning it to the ground. That pleased

me on some level. The underdogs rising up and conquering the conquerers. But if I was completely

honest with myself, I didn't want to conquer Wilson. I just wanted his attention. And I got it

in the most obnoxious ways. He usually was a fairly good sport about it, but the day Pamela came

he held me after class.

“Miss Echohawk – hold up a minute.”

[page]I groaned, falling back away from the door where I was steps away from making my exit. I

got a few smirks from some of the other kids as they vacated the room. They all knew I was in

trouble.

“I thought we discussed the Miss Echohawk thing,” I growled at him when the room had emptied

around us.

Wilson started gathering up the papers littering the desks, pushing and straightening as he

went. He didn't say anything to me but there was a deep furrow between his brows. He looked kind

of . . . . . . pissed – the American definition.

“Am I missing something?” His voice was subdued, and when he finally looked up at me his eyes

were troubled.

I tossed my hair and shifted my weight, popping one hip out the way we girls do when we're

aggravated. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you so angry?”

His question surprised me, and I laughed a little. “This isn't angry,” I smirked. “This is

just me. Get used to it.”

“I would really rather not,” he replied mildly, but he didn't smile. And I felt a stab of

something close to remorse. I tamped the feeling down immediately. I shifted my weight again and

looked away, communicating that I was done with this conversation.

“Can I go now?” I asked sharply.

He ignored me. “You don't like me. And that's all right. I had teachers I didn't much care for

in school. But you are constantly looking for a fight . . . and I'm not sure I understand why.

You were rude to Miss Sheffield today, and I was embarrassed for you and for her.”