When the bell rang, she hurried away from Amy's questioning eyes and into the bathroom. She needed a moment to herself.
(Do something to your lipstick. It seems to have gone away somehow.) Angel sounded as puzzled as any human boy.
Gillian fixed the lipstick. She ran a comb through her hair. She was somewhat reassured by the sight of herself in the mirror. The girl there wasn't Gillian at all, but a slender, insubstantial femme fatale sheathed like a dagger in black. The girl's hair was silky, the palest of all possible golds. Her violet eyes were subtly shadowed so they looked mysterious, haunting. Her mouth was soft, red, and full: perfect, like the mouth of a model in a lipstick commercial. Against the stark black of her clothing, her skin had the slightly translucent look of apple blossoms.
She's beautiful, Gillian thought. And then to Angel: (I mean, I am. But I need ... a Look, don't you think?
An expression for when people are staring at me. Like, am I Bored or Slightly Amused or Aloof or Completely Oblivious or what?)
(How about Thoughtful? As if you've got your own inner world to pay attention to. It's true, you know.
You do.)
Gillian was pleased. Thoughtful, absorbed in herself, listening to the music of the spheres-or the music of Angel's voice. She could do that. She settled the canvas bag on her shoulder and started toward her locker.
(Uh, where are you going?) (To get my biology book. I still have that.) (No, you don't.)
Gillian maintained her Thoughtful expression, while noting that heads turned as she walked down the hall.
(Yes, I do.)
(No, you don't. Due to circumstances entirely beyond your control, you lost your biology book and all your notes. You need to sit with somebody else and share his.)
Gillian blinked. (I-oh. Oh, yeah, you're right. I lost my biology book.)
The door of the biology lab loomed like the gate to hell, and Gillian had trouble keeping Thoughtful pinned to her face. But she managed to walk through it and into the quiet buzz that was a class before a
bell was about to ring.
(Okay, kid. Go up front and tell Mr. Wizard you need a new book. He'll take care of the rest.)
Gillian did as Angel said. As she stood beside Mr. Leveret and told her story she sensed a new quietness in the classroom behind her. She didn't look back and she didn't raise her voice. By the time she was done, Mr. Leveret's pouchy, pleasantly ugly face had gone from a startled "Who are you?"
expression (he had to look in the class register to make sure of her name) to one of pained sympathy.
"I've got an extra textbook," he said. "And some outlines of my lectures on transparencies. But as for notes-"
He turned to the class at large. "Okay, people. Jill-uh, Gillian-needs a little help. She needs somebody who's willing to share their notes, maybe xerox them-"
Before he could finish his sentence, hands went up all over the room.
Somehow that brought everything into focus for Gillian. She was standing in front of a classroom with everyone staring at her-that in itself would have been enough to terrify her in the old days. And sitting there in front was David, wearing an unreadable expression, and Tanya, looking rigidly shocked. And other people who'd never looked directly at her before, and who were now waving their hands enthusiastically.
All boys.
She recognized Bruce Faber, who she'd always thought of as Bruce the Athlete, with his tawny hair and his blue-gray eyes and his tall football build. Normally he looked as if he were acknowledging the applause of a crowd. Just now he looked as if he were graciously extending an invitation to Gillian.
And Macon Kingsley, who she called Macon the Wallet because he was so rich. His hair was brown and styled, his eyes hooded, and there was something cruel to the sensual droop of his mouth. But he wore a Rolex and had a new sports car and right now he was looking at Gillian as if he'd pay a lot of money for her.
And Cory Zablinski-who was Cory the Party Guy because he constantly seemed to be arranging, going to, or just recovering from parties. Cory was wiry and hyper, with foxy brown hair and darting fox-colored eyes. He had more personality than looks, but he was always in the middle of things, and at this moment he was waving madly at Gillian.
Even Amy's new boyfriend Eugene, who didn't have looks or personality in Gillian's opinion, was wiggling his fingers eagerly.
David had his hand up, too, despite Tanya's cold expression. He looked polite and stubborn. Gillian wondered if he'd told Tanya he was just trying to help a poor junior out.
(Pick... Macon.) The ghostly voice in Gillian's ear was thoughtful.
(Macon? I thought maybe Cory.) She couldn't pick David, of course, not with Tanya looking daggers at
her. And she felt uncomfortable about picking Bruce for the same reason-his girlfriend Amanda Spengler was sitting right beside him.
Cory was friendly and, well, accessible. Macon, on the other hand, was vaguely creepy.
This time the voice in her head was patient. (Have I ever steered you wrong? Macon.)
(Cory's the one who always knows about parties...) But Gillian was already moving toward Macon.
The most important thing in life, she was discovering quickly, was to trust Angel absolutely.
"Thanks," she said softly to Macon as she perched on an empty stool behind him. She repeated after Angel: "I'll bet you take good notes. You seem like a good observer."
Macon the Wallet barely inclined his head. She noticed that his hooded eyes were moss green, an unusual, almost disturbing color.
But he was nice to her all period. He promised to have his father's secretary photocopy the thick sheaf of biology notes in his spiral-bound notebook. He lent her a highlighter. And he kept looking at her as if she were some interesting piece of art.