Read The Blue Girl Online

Authors: Charles De Lint

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The Blue Girl (2 page)

BOOK: The Blue Girl
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His hand lifts from the comforter and reaches for my face.

And then I wake up for real.

 

 

“You look just like the imaginary friend I had when I was a kid. Only older, you know?”

That was the first thing I ever said to Maxine. We were both sixteen, and it happened midterm on my first lunch break at my new school. I’d just transferred to Redding High, after my mom moved us from Tyson to Newford so that we could “find ourselves.” Find
herself,
she really meant. Neither my brother Jared nor I was particularly lost.

The words were a test of sorts, the sort of peculiar thing that’s always popping out of my mouth. How people react lets me gauge their possible compatibility. Jared uses music. To register positively on his radar, you have to have the right attitude about the right band at the right point in their career. I think my ways way more fair. Or at least more inventive.

Maxine didn’t really look like the imaginary childhood playmate I could barely recall, never mind describe—I remembered there’d been something about ears like a rabbit’s and a tail like a monkey’s. I was pretty sure that Maxine was completely human, though she could be hiding a tail under that knee-length skirt of hers. It was hard to tell. What couldn’t be argued was that she was a slender girl with auburn hair and taller than me. But then most people were. Taller, I mean. And while she was also pretty enough to be popular, when I stepped out into the schoolyard, she was sitting by herself on a bench by the baseball diamond, eating her lunch while she looked out across the playing field.

I’d gotten really tired of the endlessly shifting cliques at my old school, so I’d decided that this time I’d align myself with only one person. A special person, someone who cared as little for the social merry-go-round as I did. Sitting by herself the way she was, Maxine seemed a likely candidate, so that was why I’d walked over to the bench, sat down, and delivered my pronouncement.

Maxine gave me a cool look after I spoke, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe I am,” she said.

I smiled happily. It was the perfect response. Playing along, but not committing, so there was still some mystery. Not, “Go away.” Not, “Yes, what took you so long to find me again?”—although that might have proved interesting.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s all hazy, but I seem to remember something about floppy ears and a tail.”

Maxine shrugged. “People change.”

“Even when they’re imaginary?”

“Probably more so then.”

“You’re probably right.”

“My name’s Maxine.”

“Mine’s Imogene.”

“For real?”

I nodded. Considering the way my imagination tends to spill out of my mouth, it was a fair question, not to mention an astute one on Maxine’s part, her having just met me and all.

“My mother got it from this book she bought while she was pregnant with me. It’s about this irrepressible little girl who wakes up one morning with antlers.”

“So, in other words, you grew into the name.”

I beamed at her. “This,” I said, “feels like the beginning of a great friendship.”

Maxine shook her head.

“Why ever not?”

“The best thing you could do right now is to say something mean to me and then walk away. And never talk to me again—unless it’s to say more mean things.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You don’t understand. I’m like a pariah around here.”

I tilted my head. “I’ve never heard that word used in a conversation before.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. It’s weird how certain words are really just book words and hardly ever get used in regular conversations. I wonder why that is. And
pariah
is one of those interesting ones that sounds like it means. There’s a word for that, too, isn’t there?”

“Onomatopoeia.”

“Which, in itself, is an interesting word.”

Maxine could only shake her head. “Are you always like this?”

“Pretty much. So what’s so bad about you?”

“Oh, who knows? I suppose it started because I was too smart and showed it.”

I gave her a slow nod of understanding.

“Have you ever noticed,” I said, “how everyone says they want to be different, but as soon as they meet someone who really is different, they ostracize them?”

“Exactly. And now it’s just a habit—the making fun of me, I mean.”

“I don’t care. I’d still rather be your friend.”

“But you haven’t met anybody else. They could be wonderfully interesting.”

“Not to mention mean. Why would I want to be friends with people like that?”

Maxine shrugged. “I don’t know. Most people just do. I did once, but they never gave me the chance.”

“And besides,” I went on. “I’m sure I’m weirder than you. So being your friend is like a preventative measure.”

“How’s that?”

I grinned. “This way I’m sure of having one friend.”

“You
are
weirder than me.”

“And besides all of that, our names have a nice rhythm when they’re put together. Maxine and Imogene.”

“Except yours has one more syllable than mine does.”

“So you’ll just have to catch up.”

Maxine shook her head and really smiled for the first time. “I’m not sure I ever could.”

*    *    *

Later than afternoon, a girl named Valerie Clarke approached me at my locker between classes. She was very cute, blonde, and had obviously taken her fashion tips from an MTV video—one by a boy band, mind you, not some slinky rap one. Short little skirt, perky shoes, sleeveless top, all of them just right. I didn’t know what clique she was with, exactly, but I knew she belonged to one from the little gaggle of clones that stood in a cluster behind her, listening in.

“So you’re the new girl,” she said.

It wasn’t a particularly endearing opening line—not at all like the one I’d used with Maxine—but then I don’t think it was supposed to be.

“Apparently,” I said and offered her a low-watt smile.

I was willing to be amicable so long as it didn’t take a lot of work on my part, nor entail my having to join her clique. Not that I thought an invitation was forthcoming, but you never know. Little Bob, a hillbilly kid back at my old school, swore it once rained snails up in the mountains where he lives, so stranger things have happened.

“Where did you transfer from?” Valerie asked.

“It wasn’t in the newspaper? I was sure it made all the gossip sections.”

“What?”

From the confused expression on her perfectly made-up face, she obviously didn’t get that I was joking. And okay, I wasn’t trying too hard to make nice. But kids like that have always rubbed me the wrong way, all intimidation and cooler-than-thou. Please. Still, I relented.

“I went to Willingham High,” I told her. “In Tyson”

“Ah.”

Already I didn’t much like Valerie—look, I never said I was particularly tolerant, and she was obviously the sort of person who was naturally annoying—but I was impressed with how much she was able to put into that one simple sound: disdain, false sympathy, a smidgen of mockery. It takes talent to be that subtly expressive with nonverbal sounds, and I told her as much.

“Well, you’re about what I expected,” she said.

“I’m flattered. I had no idea that anyone would have any expectations whatsoever.”

Her perfect lips made a perfect
moue.
She was quite amazing really. A living, breathing stereotype of an in-crowd teenage girl. I wondered if she practiced expressions in front of her mirror at home.

“You think you’re so smart,” she said, “but you’re no different than Chancy. You’re both just dumb.”

Wow. Great with the image, but not so big in the eloquency department. Though maybe I was missing something, because all her clones began to giggle. As if.

“Who’s Chancy?” I asked.

“Your loser lunch buddy.”

“Oh, you mean Maxine.”

“You deserve each other.”

“Good. I like her.”

“What are you—gay?”

“What are you—homophobic?”

“Jesus, you’re weird.”

I nodded. “I’m definitely more weird than gay. Unless you meant cheerful. Then sometimes I’m more gay than weird.”

“Just stay out of our way.”

“I’ll try, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“God, you are so lame.”

And with that last witty rejoinder, off she went, the heels of those perky shoes of hers clicking on the marble floor, her clones bunched in a group around her. I turned back to my locker.

*    *    *

Jared was waiting for me after school, because Mom had asked him to walk home with me. She was afraid that I’d get lost in the few blocks to our new apartment, but that was just her projecting again. She had actually gotten lost going to the corner store over the weekend. I have a great sense of direction.

“I can’t believe it,” Jared said as we headed off. “We’re not here for more than a day, and you’ve already got a reputation for being weird.”

“What have I done?”

“So far? Befriended a nerd. Sexually propositioned a cheerleader.”

“Really?

“You didn’t?”

“Well, I befriended a girl named Maxine who apparently people don’t like because she’s smart, but I don’t remember the propositioning part. You’d think I’d remember something like that.”

Jared laughed. “You’d think.”

“So how was your day?”

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Not so much boring as—” He gave me another laugh. “Well, boring. Did you hear the lame-ass music they were playing in the cafeteria at lunch? Real cutting-edge. Not.”

“But you, of course, made a wonderful impression on everyone you met.”

He gave me another shrug. “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying much attention. I met a couple of okay guys, and the girls are definitely way hotter than they were in our old school. But it doesn’t look like I’ve got much chance of starting a decent band here. It’s all pap and rap and head-banger crap.”

Decent, for Jared, meant retro. You know, hippie music, jangly and psychedelic, and loaded with words.

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “We’re in the big city now— you’ll find players.”

“I suppose.”

“It’s lucky you’re so charming that no one cares how weird your sister is.”

It was true—even back in our old school. But how could you not like Jared? He was handsome and smart and kind. Sure, he was weird, too, but not deliberately and confrontationally so, like me. With him it was mostly this obsession he had with music—all kinds, but especially the old stuff. And that just added to his cool.

No, that’s only partly true. He got along so well with people because he looked the way he did, handsome but not a pretty boy. Because he was good at sports
and
the arts. Because he didn’t exactly toe the line, but he didn’t step way over it the way I did. And he was so easygoing that you’d really have to work at disliking him.

“So are you going to stick it out?” he asked.

He was talking about my habit of skipping school. I only ever spent a couple of days a week in classes when we were going to Willingham. I could have aced my exams by studying, but why bother?

“We’ll see,” I told him.

*    *    *

I called Maxine that evening after supper. I lay on the couch with the TV on at a low volume, flipping through channels while I waited for someone to answer. I thought it was going to go to an answering machine, but Maxine picked up on the sixth ring.

“Hello?”

She sounded a little hesitant, like she was expecting a telemarketer or a wrong number. I guess she didn’t get many calls.

“Hello, yourself,” I said.

“Imogene?”

“In the flesh—no, actually on the phone, if we’re going to be specific. I just thought I’d try your number to make sure it worked.”

“Why wouldn’t it work?”

“Well, you could have given me the number for a pizza joint because you thought I was too weird and pushy.”

I could feel her smiling.

“You’re definitely weird,” she said
, “and
a little pushy, but that’s okay. My life is so not-weird it could use some of your fantasies to spruce it up.”

“Fantasies? I’ll have you know that I’ll take whimsy over fantasy any day of the week.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d just always rather meet a talking spoon than an elf.” Maxine laughed. “Do you have to practice to be like this?”

“No. Unfortunately, it comes naturally.”

“Don’t say that. I like the way your mind works.”

“ ‘Work’ being a subjective term. Just think how much easier I’d get along in the world if I could be more normal.”

“I got the feeling that you don’t like normal.”

“Well, no,” I said. “Not being who I am right now. But if I was normal, then I probably would like it.”

“I’m pretty normal. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“No,” I assured her. “You’re extraordinary.”

That got me another laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“No, really.”

“How can you be so sure of that? We only just met this afternoon.”

“A spoon told me.”

“Of course.”

BOOK: The Blue Girl
12.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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