Evil Returns Read Free Page B

delicate adjectives applied to her: She was fragile, in a dark silken blouse with a long skirt swirling below. Her soft black hair was perfectly cut to fall swoopingly over her forehead and skid around her pretty ears; the back was very short, with a single wave. She seemed far older than Devnee would ever be, a sophisticated fragile creature. And yet she seemed far younger, caught in some wonderful warp of innocence and perfection, before the world touched her, before pain and loss.
    “My name is Aryssa,” said the girl softly, and her voice, too, was beautiful, as if she possessed a velvet throat.
    Now there really were tears in Devnee’s eyes. Tears of shame that she herself was so dull compared to this princess, and tears of joy that this princess had volunteered to be her buddy.
    What a wonderful word—buddy.
    There was hope in the world after all.
    And then the boy—Trey—smiled at Devnee, too, waving good-bye, promising to be at the biology lab door, and then he would stand in the cafeteria line with her. He was not at all handsome, not the way Aryssa was beautiful. But he was what Luke would have yearned to be: utterly male and muscular and tall and slightly ferocious. His smile was vaguely threatening, as if she’d better stand in the cafeteria line the way he told her to stand or else.
    The physical perfection of her two buddies overwhelmed her.
    The girl buddy—whose name Devnee had already forgotten—talked about many things, giving Devnee tips for locker use, gym showers, and so forth. Devnee’s brain had not gone into gear and she could not get a grip. She smiled brightly and desperately. She knew she looked like a fool.
    “Hey, Aryssa,” said several people, waving and beaming.
    Aryssa, Devnee repeated to herself. Aryssa, Aryssa. I have to remember that. I will remember that. I have a three-syllable brain.
    She and Aryssa went into biology lab together. Aryssa introduced Devnee all around. The teacher welcomed her and gave her a textbook and a lab notebook, and Devnee found herself on a stool in front of a dead frog.
    While the teacher discussed dissection methods, Devnee took the opportunity to study Aryssa.
    Aryssa was very preoccupied with her beauty. How could she not be? There was so much of it.
    Aryssa would run the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, as if savoring her own taste and shape. She would flip her gleaming hair back with her left hand, tuck it behind her ear, and sort of kiss the air when the black locks immediately fell back where they had been. Her face was constantly in motion, it never fell into repose.
    In her right hand, Aryssa held a designer pencil: tiny gold stars on silver, which she flipped between her fingers like a miniature baton.
    Her hands, too, were lovely: slender and aristocratic and with perfect nails and polish that probably never chipped.
    “You’ll do the frog, won’t you?” whispered Aryssa. Now she smiled, and the row of white teeth and the turn of red lips overwhelmed Devnee.
    “Of course,” said Devnee, and she did the entire lab, even doing all the notes and answers, because Aryssa clearly used her pencil only for effect, not for writing things down.
    “You’re a sweetie,” whispered Aryssa. She actually patted Devnee’s knee, and again Devnee felt like a dog on a leash. It was just that Fuzz had turned her over to a new mistress, and from now on Aryssa would lead her.
    Devnee blinked back the tears. She was jealous now, too, and it was a horrible feeling, rather like the formaldehyde in which the frog was pickled; it was liquid bathing her heart, this jealousy.
    Oh, to be beautiful like Aryssa!
    What a pair we must make, thought Devnee sadly. Beauty and the beast.
    The teacher talked for several minutes about the next step, and Devnee had time to look around. She felt safe with the high lab table in front of her, and her feet tucked around the stool, and the sharp steel scalpel in her hand. She studied the rest of the girls in the lab.
    Well,