about Jane. She spoke her mind with such self-assurance and conviction. Mr. Gallagher’s eyes lingered on mine a moment too long, and prickles of heat erupted along my neck and face. “I do hope you’ll consider submitting your paper to the symposium,” he added.
“I will. If it’s any good,” I said. He smiled as if this were a foregone conclusion, and I walked away, feeling the tremendous pressure that comes with being told you are good at something.
When I got back to the table, I tried sorting out my materials amid the mess we had made. That’s when I noticed my journal was missing. I’d stupidly left it sitting out with my other notebooks. I dashed to the stacks to see if Michelle had inadvertently picked it up.
“Are you sure you had it with you?” she said.
“I always have it with me.”
“You think someone took it?” she asked, and I shrugged helplessly. “Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”
“Find what?” I heard a voice say from over by the circulation desk. “Are you looking for this?” Elise stood with her friends gathered around her, holding my journal in her hands like a trophy. My mouth fell, and the acid in my stomach began to roil. “Hey everybody, did you know Michelle was a poet? And if you all gather round, I’ll read you some of the highlights,” she said, flipping to a page she’d already marked.
The other girls clapped and snickered and fawned. I was about to say something, to claim the journal as my own, when Michelle grabbed my arm and squeezed. Her eyes blared a warning. Before I could act, Elise was reading my poem in her most practiced silky voice. She read the final lines slowly, tauntingly: “‘The golden rule we soon shall spurn, until this lesson you do learn—those who burn us soon will burn.’” I felt as though all the clothes had been stripped from my body. “That sounds like a threat, don’t you think, Mr. Gallagher?”
Mr. Gallagher came over, wondering what all the commotion was about. “What sounds like a threat, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Michelle Dominguez seems to be making threats against the student body in her journal. And look, she’s even written a poem about you!”
Oh my God. Elise had read the sonnet about Gallagher. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Either that, or for Elise’s head to spontaneously combust. Gallagher approached Elise and took the journal from her. Fear and humiliation took over my body. “Ms. Fairchild, that’s enough for today,” he said. “Now why don’t you all go back to the dorms?”
“But Mr. Gallagher, don’t you care that—?”
“Ms. Fairchild, go now before I change my mind.” His voice was stern, his expression grim.
“Fine,” she said. “I was just trying to help.” She flipped her hair and gathered her books from the table, giving us her patented malicious grin. “Trick or treat,” she said to us just before leaving.
I glanced at Michelle, whose face was oddly devoid of expression. After everyone else had gone, Gallagher went from table to table, shoving in chairs and making a terrible racket. I sat down at the table with Michelle and bit my lip. She still had that vacant look in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I should have told everyone it was mine.”
“I didn’t want you to,” Michelle said. “Why do you think I grabbed your arm?”
“But, Michelle—”
“I’m serious, Emma. Don’t make your life miserable over this. It’s no big deal.”
When he had restored relative order, Gallagher took a seat next to Michelle and closed his eyes, his lashes leaving long shadows on his cheeks. He laid the journal in front of her, still open to the page that held my sonnet.
“What’s all this about?” he said.
“If you haven’t noticed,” Michelle said, “Elise doesn’t like me very much. She stole my journal so she could humiliate me.”
“Listen,” he said. “I know Elise did this to embarrass you, and it was very wrong of her. But I’m going to ask you
“I will. If it’s any good,” I said. He smiled as if this were a foregone conclusion, and I walked away, feeling the tremendous pressure that comes with being told you are good at something.
When I got back to the table, I tried sorting out my materials amid the mess we had made. That’s when I noticed my journal was missing. I’d stupidly left it sitting out with my other notebooks. I dashed to the stacks to see if Michelle had inadvertently picked it up.
“Are you sure you had it with you?” she said.
“I always have it with me.”
“You think someone took it?” she asked, and I shrugged helplessly. “Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”
“Find what?” I heard a voice say from over by the circulation desk. “Are you looking for this?” Elise stood with her friends gathered around her, holding my journal in her hands like a trophy. My mouth fell, and the acid in my stomach began to roil. “Hey everybody, did you know Michelle was a poet? And if you all gather round, I’ll read you some of the highlights,” she said, flipping to a page she’d already marked.
The other girls clapped and snickered and fawned. I was about to say something, to claim the journal as my own, when Michelle grabbed my arm and squeezed. Her eyes blared a warning. Before I could act, Elise was reading my poem in her most practiced silky voice. She read the final lines slowly, tauntingly: “‘The golden rule we soon shall spurn, until this lesson you do learn—those who burn us soon will burn.’” I felt as though all the clothes had been stripped from my body. “That sounds like a threat, don’t you think, Mr. Gallagher?”
Mr. Gallagher came over, wondering what all the commotion was about. “What sounds like a threat, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Michelle Dominguez seems to be making threats against the student body in her journal. And look, she’s even written a poem about you!”
Oh my God. Elise had read the sonnet about Gallagher. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Either that, or for Elise’s head to spontaneously combust. Gallagher approached Elise and took the journal from her. Fear and humiliation took over my body. “Ms. Fairchild, that’s enough for today,” he said. “Now why don’t you all go back to the dorms?”
“But Mr. Gallagher, don’t you care that—?”
“Ms. Fairchild, go now before I change my mind.” His voice was stern, his expression grim.
“Fine,” she said. “I was just trying to help.” She flipped her hair and gathered her books from the table, giving us her patented malicious grin. “Trick or treat,” she said to us just before leaving.
I glanced at Michelle, whose face was oddly devoid of expression. After everyone else had gone, Gallagher went from table to table, shoving in chairs and making a terrible racket. I sat down at the table with Michelle and bit my lip. She still had that vacant look in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I should have told everyone it was mine.”
“I didn’t want you to,” Michelle said. “Why do you think I grabbed your arm?”
“But, Michelle—”
“I’m serious, Emma. Don’t make your life miserable over this. It’s no big deal.”
When he had restored relative order, Gallagher took a seat next to Michelle and closed his eyes, his lashes leaving long shadows on his cheeks. He laid the journal in front of her, still open to the page that held my sonnet.
“What’s all this about?” he said.
“If you haven’t noticed,” Michelle said, “Elise doesn’t like me very much. She stole my journal so she could humiliate me.”
“Listen,” he said. “I know Elise did this to embarrass you, and it was very wrong of her. But I’m going to ask you
Similar Books
