The Other Side of Dark Read Free Page B

needless to say, and he’s a senior and really something to look at. I dated him a couple of times.” She smiles, and I can see that she’s waiting for me to be impressed.
    But I giggle. “I’m sorry, Jan. All I can see in my mind is gawky, skinny Bick who likes to make thoseawful loud burps while we’re eating lunch. Remember, he sent you a note in study hall one day and got yelled at by Mr. Hadley, and you said you’d rather drop dead than have anything to do with Bick?”
    There’s a long pause. Finally her voice comes out as tight as a stretched rubber band. “I’d forgotten. That was such a long time ago.”
    We stare at each other for a few moments until I stammer, “I guess it was.” Desperately I blurt out, “Well, tell me about yourself.”
    “Sure. B.J. talked me into joining the camera club. You remember B.J., don’t you?”
    “The quiet girl with the blond braids.”
    Jan laughs. “No more braids, and B.J. really blossomed. We’re all jealous. Anyhow, I went into photography in a big way and got some black-and-whites and one color shot accepted for the yearbook last year. So I’m on the staff this year, and B.J. and I are saving our money for a camera trip in Yellowstone Park in July. B.J. says—”
    “Sounds like B.J.’s a good friend.”
    “My best. She’s so much fun, and—” Jan stops. “Of course, you’ve always been my best friend, too, Stacy, and when you get back to school—”
    We just look at each other. I don’t feel jealous because this Jan is another person in another world. This isn’t my comfortable, forever-and-ever best friend, Jan. Besides, the hollow place is still inside me. I can’t feel anything at all.
    Jan jumps to her feet. “I’ve got to leave pretty soon. Let me get some makeup on you first.”
    I’m still clutching the package. “You don’t have to.”
    “I want to. Really. You can use the little hand mirror to watch.”
    She has taken the package out of my hands and tears it open, so I don’t object. I just let her smear on creams and oils and all sorts of stuff, obeying directions as she tells me to close my eyes, open my eyes, and hold my mouth just right so she can add the lipstick. She gives me instructions as she goes, but it’s hard for me to pay attention. I keep thinking about the Friday nights when she’d stay over at my house or I would at hers, and we’d put on our pajamas and sit on the bed eating cookies and cheese puffs and all sorts of junk while we watched TV and rolled each other’s hair. I wish she’d go away.
    Finally she steps back, stares at me and gasps, “Stacy, you’re really beautiful! Look in the mirror. Look at yourself.”
    Dr. Peterson comes into the room, stands at the foot of the bed, and studies me so appreciatively that I don’t have to look into the mirror.
    “Seventeen, going on twenty-six,” he says. He’s not talking to me. It’s to someone else who’s sitting here, someone I don’t even know.
    I introduce him to Jan, who beams at him like a beauty contestant meeting the judge, grabs for her handbag, and says, “I know you’re busy, and I’ll get out of your way.”
    “Stick around if you like,” he says.
    But Jan squeezes my hand and rolls her eyes upward in a way I remember, meaning, “Isn’t he gorgeous?”and backs through the door, saying to me, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    I can’t help giggling, but it surprises me by sounding like a sob.
    “Don’t cry,” Dr. Peterson says. “One thing I learned when I was married is that crying does ugly, smeary things to a woman’s mascara.”
    “I don’t know anything about mascara.”
    “Well, you’ve got plenty of it on.”
    For the first time I look into the little mirror and feel even more alienated than before from the body I’m in.
    “Want to wash your face? I can wait.”
    “Yes.” I start to climb out of bed, then change my mind. I kind of like the way that girl in the mirror looks. Maybe I can save it for just a little