Other people were gathering around curiously. Incredibly, she was at the center of a crowd and everyone seemed to be either talking to her or about her.
"Hey, are you new?"
"That's Gillian Lennox. She's been here for years."
"I never saw her before."
"You just never noticed her before,"
"Hey, Jill, how come you lost your biology book?"
"Didn't you hear? She fell in a creek trying to save some kid. Almost drowned."
"I heard David Blackburn pulled her out and had to give her artificial respiration."
"1 heard they were parked on Hillcrest Road this morning."
It was intoxicating, exhilarating. And it wasn't just guys who were gathered around her. She would have thought that the girls would be jealous, spiteful, that they'd glare at her or even all walk away from her in one mass snub.
But there was Kimberlee Cherry, Kim the Gymnast, the bubbly, sparkly little dynamo with her sun-blond curls and her baby-blue eyes. She was laughing and chattering. And there was Steffi Lockhart the Singer, with her cafe au lait skin and her soulful amber eyes, waving an expressive hand and beaming.
Even Amanda the Cheerleader, Bruce Faber's girlfriend, was in the group. She was flashing her healthy, wide smile and tossing her shiny brown hair, her fresh face glowing.
Gillian understood suddenly. The girls couldn't hate her, or couldn't show it if they did. Because Gillian had status, the instant and unassailable status that came from being beautiful and having guys fall all over themselves for her. She was a rising star, a force, a power to be reckoned with. And any girl who snubbed her was risking a nick in her own popularity if Gillian should decide to retaliate. They were afraid not to be nice to her.
It was dizzying, all right. Gillian felt as beautiful as an angel and as dangerous as a serpent. She was riding on waves of energy and adulation.
But then she saw something that made her feel as if she had suddenly stepped off a cliff.
Tanya had David by the arm and they were walking away down the hall.
Chapter 8
Gillian stood perfectly still and watched David disappear around a corner.
(It's not time for the plan yet, kid. Now buck up. A cheery face is worth diamonds.)
Gillian tried to put on a cheery face.
The strange day continued. In each class, Gillian appealed to the teacher for a new book. In each class, she was bombarded with offers of notes and other help. And through it all Angel whispered in her ear, always suggesting just the right thing to say to each person. He was witty, irreverent, occasionally cutting-and so was Gillian.
She had an advantage, she realized. Since nobody had ever noticed her before, it was almost like being a new girl. She could be anything she wanted to be, present herself as anyone, and be believed.
(Like Cinderella at the ball. The mystery princess.) Angel's voice was amused but tender.
In journalism class, Gillian found herself beside Daryl Novak, a languid girl with sloe eyes and drooping contemptuous lashes. Daryl the Rich Girl, Daryl the World-weary World Traveler. She talked to Gillian as if Gillian knew all about Paris and Rome and California.
At lunch, Gillian hesitated as she walked into the cafeteria. Usually she sat with Amy in an obscure corner at the back. But recently Eugene had been sitting with Amy, and up front she could see a group that included Amanda the Cheerleader, Kim the Gymnast, and others from The Clique. David and Tanya were at the edge. (Do I sit with them? Nobody asked me.) (Not with them, my little rutabaga. But near them. Sit at the end of that table just beside them. Don't look at them as you walk by. Look at your lunch. Start eating it.)
Gillian had never eaten her lunch alone before-or at least not in a public place. On days Amy was absent, if she couldn't find one of the few other juniors she felt comfortable with, she snuck into the library and ate there.
In the old days she would have felt horribly exposed, but now she wasn't really alone; she had Angel cracking jokes in her ear. And she had a new confidence. She could almost see herself eating, calm and indifferent to stares, thoughtful to the point of being dreamy. She tried to make her movements a little languid, like Daryl the Rich Girl's.
(And I hope Amy doesn't think I'm snubbing her. I mean, it's not as if she's back there alone. She's got Eugene.)
(Yeah. We're gonna have to talk about Amy sometime, kid. But right now you're being paged. Smile and be gracious.)
"Jill! Earth to Jill!"
"Hey, Jill, c'mon over."
They wanted her. She was moving her lunch over to their table, and she wasn't spilling anything and she wasn't falling as she slid in. She was little and graceful, thistledown light in her movements, and they were surging around her to form a warm and friendly bulwark.
And she wasn't afraid of them. That was the most wonderful thing of all. These kids who'd seemed to her like stars in some TV show about teenagers, were real people who got crumbs on themselves and made jokes she could understand.
Gillian had always wondered what they found so funny when they were laughing together. But now she knew it was just the heady atmosphere, the knowledge that they were special. It made it easy to laugh at everything. She knew David, sitting quietly there with Tanya, could see her laughing.
She could hear other voices occasionally, from people on the fringes of her group, people on the outside looking in. Mostly bright chatter and murmurs of admiration. She thought she heard her name mentioned.
... And then she focused on the words. "I heard her mom's a drunk." They sounded horribly loud and dear to Gillian, standing out against the background noise. She could feel her whole skin tingling with shock and she lost track of the story Kim the Gymnast was telling.
(Angel-who said that? Was it about me-my mom?) She didn't dare look behind her.
"-started drinking a few years ago and having these hallucinations-"
This time the voice was so loud that it cut through the banter of Gillian's group. Kim stopped in mid-sentence. Bruce the Athlete's smile faltered. An awkward silence fell.
Gillian felt a wave of anger that made her dizzy. (Who said that? I'll kill them-)
(Calm down! Calm down. That's not the way to handle it at all.) (But-)
(I said, calm down. Look at your lunch. No, at your lunch. Now say-and make your voice absolutely cool-"I really hate rumors, don't you? I don't know what kind of people start them.")