Crystal

  asked him where he had been. He looked embarrassed

  and very nervous because I had stopped him to talk.

  His eyes shifted from side to side, and then he looked

  down at the floor when he replied.

  "I eat lunch in the bio lab. Mr. Friedman lets

  me. I get work done and sometimes help him set up

  his equipment for his classes. He lets me run some of

  my own experiments from time to time, usually after

  school," he added, and looked up. "How do you like

  your first day so far?"

  "It's okay. I really like my English teacher and

  our math teacher," I said. Bernie was in my math

  class.

  He nodded.

  "Mr. Albert is the best one to have for

  geometry. We're lucky. I gotta go to gym," he said,

  moving away. "I'm always late for gym."

  I watched him walk quickly down the hallway,

  and then I went to the library for my study period. I

  didn't see him again until the end of the school day

  when I stepped onto the bus. Helga was up front with

  Alicia. She smiled at me.

  "Bernie's in the back," she said.

  "You're not funny," I told her, but she laughed

  anyway.

  I made my way back, passing Ashley, who sat

  alone looking as if she wanted to ask me to sit with

  her. Bernie glanced up at me and then looked at the

  textbook he had opened. I sat across from him and

  gazed out the window.

  "Your friend Helga's been saying things about

  us," I heard him say, and turned.

  "What did you say?"

  "Some of the guys in my gym class were saying

  things about us," he told me.

  "First, she's not my friend. I met her for the first

  time when I met you. And second, I don't think I

  could be friends with her. She's not very nice," He didn't move his lips, but his eyes smiled. "I wondered how you could be friends with

  her," he said, and then looked at his book again. We rode in silence all the way back to our

  neighborhood. My stop was before his. I said goodbye, and he nodded and looked at his book again.

  Helga had already gotten off. She was waiting for me

  on the sidewalk.

  "I'm not trying to be mean," she said. "I was

  just teasing you. I'd really like to be friends." "Why?" I asked her.

  "Why?"

  "Yes, why do you want to be friends with me?" "I don't know. Why does anyone become

  friends with anyone?" she replied.

  "Usually because they have something in

  common, they like the same things, they want to do

  the same things," I said.

  "So?"

  "So when you think of something you and I

  might like to do together, let me know," I said, and walked away. Maybe I was being unforgiving; maybe I just didn't trust her. Whatever the reason, it felt

  good.

  I heard the television set when I entered the

  house and knew what soap Thelma was watching and

  how important it was to her, but I remembered what

  Karl had said to me in the morning and how much he

  was hoping I would help bring Thelma back to reality. "Hi," I said, and she looked up.

  "Oh, Crystal, you're back from school. I want to

  hear all about your first day. Just a minute, and there

  will be a commercial," she said.

  "I'll go change first," I said.

  She nodded, her eyes already drawn back to the

  screen. When I returned, the television was turned off

  and Thelma was sitting quietly in the rocking chair,

  moving back and forth slightly and staring down at

  the floor.

  "Mom?" I said, and she looked up, her eyes

  blank for a moment and then suddenly coming on like

  a pair of tiny lamps.

  "Oh, Crystal. I'm stunned. Just at the end,

  Brock told his mother he's gay, and all this time I

  thought he was in love with Megan. I mean, I never

  would have known." She shook her head. "What's her

  mother going to say?"

  "Um, I'm not sure," I said, not knowing how to

  answer her. I decided instead to tell her about my day.

  "I like my new school."

  "What? Oh, yes, the school. How was your first

  day?"

  "It was good. I like most of my teachers." "Did you make any friends?" she asked, as if

  that was the main reason for school.

  "A few," I said. "I ate lunch with a pair of

  twins."

  "A pair of twins? Isn't that something? Girls?"

  "Yes, Rea and Zoe. They're very nice."

  "Rea? Where did I hear that name before? Rea?

  Oh, yes, Yesterday's Children. Rea was Lindsey's lost

  sister."

  "This Rea is real, Mom. I can call her on the

  phone and speak with her. I can go places with her. I

  can study with her. I can touch her. She's real." Thelma stared at me as if I had lost my mind.

  "That's nice, dear. Oh, I better get started on dinner.

  Would you like to set the table?"

  "Of course," I said, feeling frustrated. When Karl came home, he asked me many

  more questions about school. In fact, we had one of the longest conversations we had had since I arrived. Every once in a while, both of us would look at

  Thelma. She would simply smile.

  "It's so nice to have real family conversations

  around the dinner table," she finally said.

  Karl beamed and then winked at me. I felt as if

  he and I were co-conspirators.

  Right after dinner, the phone rang and Karl

  called to me. "It's for you," he said.

  "Oh, good," Thelma said. "She's making friends

  quickly."

  I couldn't imagine who it could be. I hoped it

  wasn't Helga.

  "Hello," I said hesitantly.

  "I got my new slides today, cross sections of

  human heart tissue. I thought you might be

  interested," Bernie said without saying hello. "Yes, I would be interested," I replied. "Can you come over?"

  "Now?"

  He didn't answer.

  "I suppose so," I said. I held my hand over the

  mouthpiece and asked Karl and Thelma, telling them

  what Bernie had to show me.

  "As long as you don't stay out too late," Karl

  said. Thelma just smiled.

  "I'll be there as soon as I finish helping clean up

  our dinner dishes," I told Bernie. He hung up without

  saying good-bye.

  "You don't have to help me," Thelma said. "It's

  not much. Go on."

  "Are you sure, Mom?"

  "Of course."

  I went to my room and got my light jacket.

  When I started out, Thelma was at the door. "You're going to go look at cross sections of a

  human heart?" she asked.

  "That's what he says."

  She shook her head. "I'm sure that's interesting.

  Is he a good-looking boy?"

  "He's all right," I said. "I'm really more

  interested in the slides."

  She tilted her head like a puppy when it hears a

  totally confusing noise. Then she smiled, laughed, and

  said, "Wouldn't it be something if you could see love

  under a microscope, too? Then we'd know if someone

  was really heartsick." She laughed again. "Have a

  good time," she called back as she returned to the

  kitchen.


  I shook my head and laughed myself. It would be something if we could see feelings and know if

  they were honest and true.

  Then everyone would know if I really was more

  interested in the slides.

  6 My Tutor

  Bernie answered the door himself. The house was dark and quiet.

  "Maid's night off," he muttered, and stepped back.

  "Where are your parents?" I asked as I entered. After having lived all my life in orphanages and now living with Thelma, who kept the television on the way some people kept on lights, it seemed strange to enter a home that was so silent.

  "Out," he said. "At a meeting or a dinner or something. They left numbers in the kitchen, but I didn't look at them. Come on," he said, leading the way down the hall to his room.

  He had the microscope out and the new slides beside it. Next to that was a plastic replica of the human heart.

  "These cells come from heart muscle," he said, and glanced into the microscope. He had yet to look at me directly.

  I stepped up beside him and waited, and then he moved to the side.

  "Go on, take a look," he said.

  I sat and looked through the eyepiece. I had to adjust the focus to fit my vision, but it soon came in clear, and I was amazed at the detail I could see.

  "This came with it," he explained, and read from a sheet of printed material.

  "'We studied cardiac explants and autopsy hearts of patients with chronic congestive heart failure caused by either a dilated cardiomyopathy or ischemic heart disease and compared them with normal hearts. In control hearts, endothelial cells rarely were positive for PAL-E. In hearts of patients with ischemic cardiomyopathies, there was distinct staining with this marker.

  "'Conclusions: A phenotypic shift in endothelial antigen expression of the coronary microvasculature occurs in both ischemic hearts and hearts with dilated cardiomyopathies, as revealed by PAL-E, compared with control hearts. The change may relate to compensatory mechanisms in long-standing chronic heart failure.' "

  He put the paper down as if he assumed I understood any or all of it. I shook my head. "Where did you get all this?"

  "A friend of my father's works at a

  cardiovascular research lab in Minnesota. He sent it. My father tells everyone I'm some sort of scientific genius, and they send me things." He gazed at the sheet. "This is heavy research."

  "Let me see it," I said, and he handed me the paper. I reread most of what he had read aloud. "No way could I understand it." I shook my head. "This might as well be in a foreign language. I mean, I know what some of the words mean, but putting it all together. . I guess they've found a way to diagnose a heart problenn"

  "Right," he said. He looked relieved that I didn't know much more than he did.

  I gazed at the cell under the microscope again.

  "It is interesting to know that this was once part of a human being," I said.

  "I didn't show you half of it before. I've got cells from all sorts of human organs," he said with more excitement in his voice. He went to his special small file cabinet and opened a drawer. Gazing in, he read from the labels. "Liver, kidney, lungs, ovaries, the prostate, even some brain cells."

  It was almost as if I had gone shopping at a department store for human cells and he was the salesman. I couldn't help but smile.

  "What's so funny?" he asked sharply.

  "Nothing," I said, not wanting to make him feel bad. "It's just unusual to see someone have all that in his room."

  He slammed the drawer closed. "I thought you would be interested and even excited about it," he said.

  "I am! Really, Bernie, I am," I cried.

  He looked at me sideways, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

  "I mean it. I'm sorry," I said.

  He hesitated and then opened the drawer again. "You want to see anything else?" he asked.

  "I'd like to see a brain cell."

  He brought it over and set it up in the microscope. Then he stepped back, and I looked.

  "You know there are about ten billion of those in your brain," he said as I studied the cell. "The brain controls every vital function of our bodies and even controls our emotions like hate, anger, love."

  This time, I did laugh.

  "What?"

  "My mother, Thelma," I said, looking up at him, "asked if we could see love in the heart cell."

  'That's an old medieval belief that love is centered in the heart. I told you. It's all in the brain," he corrected. "And you can't see feelings."

  "I know. It was just a silly little idea."

  "Right. It is silly," he said. He started to put away the slides. "Do you know what you want to be?" he asked me.

  "Maybe a doctor. I like writing, too. I might even be a teacher," I said, and he grimaced. "You wouldn't want to be a teacher?" I asked.

  "Hardly," he said, turning back to me. "I couldn't put up with giggly girls and jocks and all their problems."

  "But good teachers are important," I said.

  "I'm not going to do that," he insisted. "Pure research is what I want to do. I don't want to put up with stupid people."

  "But why do it if you don't care about people?" I asked

  "I care. I just don't want to be. . interrupted and annoyed."

  "Not everyone will be annoying," I insisted.

  He stared at me. "You like to argue, don't you?" "No, but I don't mind having a discussion," I said.

  He finally smiled, a small twitch of his lips in the corners and a brighter light in his green eyes.

  "You hungry?"

  "No. I just finished supper, remember? Didn't you eat your supper?"

  "No. I got too involved with my new slides and forgot. The maid left me something to warm up. You want to watch me eat?" he asked.

  "Is it as much fun as looking at the slides?"

  He laughed. "You're the first girl I've met who's easy to talk to," he said.

  "Thanks, I guess."

  "Come on," he said, and I followed him to the kitchen. It was three times the size of ours and had appliances that looked as if they belonged in a space station.

  "What is that?" I asked, pointing at a machine on the counter.

  "That? A cappuccino machine. My mother likes her cappuccino after dinner. Whenever she eats at home," he added. He opened the giant refrigerator and took out a covered plate. "Lasagna," he said. "I just have to put it in the microwave for a couple of minutes."

  I watched him do so.

  "How about something to drink? Lemonade, iced tea, soda, milk, beer?"

  "Beer!"

  "You never had it?" he asked skeptically.

  "Not really," I said. "I'll have whatever you have."

  He poured us both some iced tea. There was a place setting all ready for him at the dining-room table. It was a large, oval, dark oak table with thick legs. There were twelve captain's chairs set around the table, and above us a large chandelier dangled on a gold chain. Behind us, the wall was all mirror. Against the far wall was a grand hutch with matching wood, filled with dishes and glasses that all looked very expensive.

  Bernie brought his food out and set it down. "Our maid is a good cook. Otherwise I'd starve," he quipped.

  "Your mother doesn't cook?"

  "My mother? She couldn't boil water without burning it," he said.

  "You can't burn water."

  "It's a joke. At least, it was supposed to be:' "How often do you eat alone like this?" I asked. He paused and thought, as if I had given him a difficult question to answer. "On the average, I'd say four times a week."

  "Four!"

  "I said average, so you know that there are weeks when it's more," he lectured.

  "You should be a teacher," I said. "You like pointing things out, and I bet you love correcting people." He gazed at me a moment and then smiled. "You want to do our math homework after I eat?" he asked.

  "I did it before dinner," I said.

  "I did it on the bus," he countered. br />
  "So why did you ask?"

  He shrugged. "I thought I'd help you."

  "Maybe I would have helped you?'

  He laughed again and then grew serious, his eyes small and fixed on me intently. Bernie had a way of looking at people as if they were under his microscope. It made me a little uncomfortable.

  "What?" I said.

  "I was wondering what it was like for you, living in an orphanage," he said.

  "Here I go again." I moaned.

  "What?"

  "That's all anyone wants to know."

  "I was just curious, from a scientific point of view," he added.

  "You really want to know?I'll tell you, it was hard,"

  I fired at him "I didn't feel like I was anyone. I felt like I was dangling, waiting for my life to start. Everyone is jealous of whatever lucky thing happens to anyone else. Counselors, social workers, adults who come around to choose a child make you feel like you're . ."

  "Under a microscope?"

  "Yes, exactly. And it's no fun. You're afraid to make friends with someone because he or she might be gone the next month."

  "What about your real parents?" he asked.

  "What about them?"

  "Why did they give you up?"

  "My mother had me out of wedlock," I said. "She was too sick to take care of me. I don't know who my father is, and I don't care:'

  "Why not?"

  "I just don't?' I said, tears burning under my eyelids. "So, to answer your question, it wasn't pleasant?' I concluded in a tone that was much sharper than I intended.

  Bernie didn't wince or look away. He just nodded. "I understand," he said.

  "Really? I don't see how you could unless you were an orphan, too," I replied, not in a very generous mood.

  He looked around the room and then at me. "I am an orphan," he said nonchalantly, as if it was an obvious fact. "An orphan with parents. It's always been like this. My mother treats me as if I was some sort of space creature She had a difficult pregnancy with me, and she had to have a cesarean delivery. You know what that is, right?"

  "Of course."

  "So she never had any more children, and if she could have, she probably would have aborted me. Once, when she was angry at me for something, she said that," he added hotly.

  "How terrible?' I said, shaking my head.

  "My father is disappointed that I'm not a jock. He tries to get me to go down to his place and work with his mechanics, to build myself or, as he puts it, to build character. He thinks character comes from sweat."

  He dropped his fork onto the plate with a clang that nearly made me jump in my seat.