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Lucy transferred schools during the coldest week of the year. Her California legs were visible in one-inch diamonds through the shawl she wore as a skirt. Some of the kids called her a freak, but mostly they were perplexed by her. Lucy took taxis. She smoked cigars. The school nurse tried to have her expelled. She claimed the hair in Lucy’s eyes obstructed her vision and was a distraction to the other students. Lucy’s mother, excited by the controversy, threatened to sue the school board, and Lucy’s blanket bangs stayed. There was someone the kids urged Lucy to meet, a girl they described as easter and norther than even the land went, as if she’d risen from the cold, black Atlantic Ocean. Those weren’t the words they used, but that was the image Lucy came to have of the girl. Her name was Rachel. It was in the cafeteria that they finally came together, by chance. Rachel was sitting alone, wrapped in a green cloth and hunched over her tray, a hand-carved walking stick propped on the bench beside her. Lucy approached from behind. That girl looks like Yoda, she thought. Then Rachel swiveled around, revealing a pretty face under dyed-gray hair. Lucy was halfway through a lollipop. She walked up to Rachel and gave it to her without a word. When Rachel stuck it in her mouth, the students behind her stopped laughing. Somehow embarrassed, they picked up their forks and stabbed at their food. That first day after school, Lucy and Rachel lay on Lucy’s bed, their legs dangling over the edge. “You’re going to be my best friend forever. I know it already,” Lucy said. Rachel raised her head but said nothing.
They kept staring at a point on the ceiling. “I have to go,” Rachel warned, and she hopped down like a child remembering to tell her kidnapper that an adult surely would be coming soon. As winter faded, Lucy felt as if her star were being eclipsed by Rachel’s even stranger one. But that didn’t really matter: something came out of them when they were together, something that made the wind pick up and the grass whisper.
“Does that include me?” Rachel said. “What number am I?” Once they had a fight about the Indians. Rachel said America should be given back to them. Lucy said, Well we’re here now, where do we go? The past is dead. Rachel got up and left. They didn’t speak to each other for three days. In the hallways at school, Lucy would catch sight of Rachel’s dark eyes right before the lids closed, and she’d feel like the chocolate Easter Bunny her parents had just given her: all hollowed out. Lucy ended up apologizing, but in her heart she still felt there was no place for a conquered race. That little corner of her heart — the dry and vicious piece of it — she knew to keep that hidden now. While roller-skating with Rachel one cold, sunny Saturday in the sidewalk maze of the graveyard, Lucy spotted two boys about their age. They were sitting on a long gravestone, drinking something wrapped in a paper bag. One had liberty spikes for hair; the other had red hair and a scowl.
or fall. She fell. That’s when the boy with red hair called them over. “You look like two queens,” he said when they glided up to the gravestone. “You have your little hair crown” — he pointed to the silver tufts of hair that had barely escaped Rachel’s buzzing razor — “and you . . . ” He shot his chin at Lucy. “What are those things tied to your head? Cellophane? It’s like a halo!”
And then Lucy noticed how hard the spring earth and rocks felt under her back and how Douglas looked in the cemetery light — one of those London streetlamps from the last century — when he bent over her. She realized it was dark now and Douglas’ shirt was open and his chest seemed to narrow even more as it approached his underarms. Ovals of night were visible between his rib cage and each arm. He’s a little boy, Lucy thought, one who’s been put on a stretching rack till he was six feet tall. Later, walking down the street with Rachel and Lucy and Douglas, Scott predicted the girls would miss their bus. Lucy tried not to reveal her hope that this would be true. On the way home, Rachel and Lucy were the only passengers on the bus. When the driver stopped at the train tracks and opened the door, it produced a squeaky gust of air that sounded like a complaint.
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