Change Places with Me(42)

During class Mr. Slocum announced, “Miss Hartel, please report to Ms. Pratt.”

What was that all about? She hadn’t done anything.

“You’d better not be in trouble,” Selena whispered fiercely. “Your mother might punish you and cancel the party. I’ve already invited everybody.”

When the girl got to Ms. Pratt’s office, the door was open. Ms. Pratt, in a beige pantsuit and with her hair in a bun on top of her head, was facing the other way.

“I don’t understand,” the girl said.

Ms. Pratt turned around. She held a baby in her arms. “My wife had to drop him off, and I remembered you wanted to see him.”

Out of nowhere, another impossible decision. She wanted to hold him; she wanted to get away as fast as she could.

“Want a better look?”

“I can see him from here.”

“Come on! Do I need to pull you along?” Ms. Pratt laughed as the girl took a few steps forward. “Now, put your hand under his head and hold his body with your other arm. Good!”

The baby was much heavier than he looked. He had a lot of eyelashes that were thick and distinct; she could see each separate one. He smelled soft and powdery. He was like a warm bundle of possibility.

“Ethan likes you,” Ms. Pratt said.

“Babies like everybody.”

“You’d be surprised. Whenever he sees my mother, he bursts into tears. But then, so do I.” She laughed again. “He’s so relaxed with you. No fear at all.”

The girl kept hold of Ethan, sure that he would sense the turmoil within and burst into tears, too. But he just gazed at her with big brown eyes.

The girl had to go back to bio lab and pick up her stuff. There was Mr. Slocum at his computer. Something stirred in her, quick as lightning, an all-over kind of ache. She wasn’t sure what it was. If she was doing a crossword puzzle, lots of long words might fit. Isolation. Alienation. Loneliness.

This was what Clara had felt and not felt.

She was about to leave when she heard herself say, “Excuse me.”

Mr. Slocum looked up.

She could feel the seconds tick away—which was good, because each moment gone brought Saturday, two p.m., closer. But you simply did not waste Mr. Slocum’s time, even so. “Last week, I asked you a bunch of questions. You said I was full of myself. Wow, you have no idea. But it went wrong that time. There was no weather, I saw a red light, though that’s gone and I hope for good, too. So I owe you an apology. For prying into, you know, your life.”

Outside, trees rustled in a strong breeze. Mr. Slocum gave her a curt nod. “Something went wrong?”

“I had Memory Enhancement.” Oh, she could kick herself! No one was supposed to know.

“Memory Enhancement—should I have heard of that? Is that one of those newfangled memory replacement things?”

“No, it’s not a replacement, but—well, there was this girl in a jean jacket. She wanted to be just like her.”

“She?”

“What I wanted, I mean. Not sure I completely understand it. I should understand it, shouldn’t I? Maybe if I saw that girl in the jean jacket again—” Actually, she realized, this could help her connect to Clara, close up some of that distance between them. “I’ve taken up way too much of your time, Mr. Slocum.”

“It’s fine, Miss Hartel. I would tell you if you were bothering me. You said something about not understanding?”

“Thanks so much, Mr. Slocum. Bye.” She rushed out the door.

The girl sat on a backless bench at the Q22/24 bus stop, opposite a Food-A-Rama, and unlike everyone else purposely faced the sidewalk, not the street, where the buses, sooner or later, would appear. But she had a great view of the people walking by. She scanned the midafternoon crowds for a girl in a jean jacket with a rose embroidered on the back.

Though with this chill in the air, she might be wearing a heavier coat, or already have on a Halloween costume, on her way to a party. Maybe her dog was home. It was simpler just to look for someone with very dark hair, chin-length, with one side tucked behind one ear. Then she could go up to her and say, “Can I talk to you?” Even if the dark-haired girl were in a hurry, she’d stop awhile, because that was the kind of person she was. The girl would ask the things Clara had wanted to know: “Please, tell me about your family, your friends, your day-to-day life.”

And, “What’s your name?”

The sky turned deep violet-blue with glowing silver clouds. The girl breathed in cold air and saw her breath come out in sharp puffs. Nobody spoke to her except for a lady who told her to turn around, dear, because the bus had just arrived. “That’s okay,” the girl said. “I’ll wait for the next one.” She put in her earbuds and listened to “Changes.” By the time she decided to head for home, she was 116 hours away from Saturday, two p.m. She hadn’t seen the dark-haired girl yet, but she would come back tomorrow, and the day after, if she had to, and the day after that.





CHAPTER 28


“Miss Hartel, see me after class,” Mr. Slocum said on Tuesday.

This made no sense. What had she done this time? Besides, she had to go back to the bus stop right away. She’d kept close vigil all through lunch; she still hadn’t seen the girl in the jean jacket.