Out of Sight, Out of Mind

  What did surprise Amanda was the way Other-Amanda's response made her feel. She could actually sense something burning behind her eyes. This was ridiculous--she wasn't Tracey, so why should she care if anyone made fun of her? Even so, Amanda decided to make a fast escape from the restroom before Tracey's tears made an appearance. She

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  hurried out, down the stairs and into the girls' locker room next to the gym. At least this was one of Amanda's own classes, so she knew what would be going on. They were playing volleyball this month. She picked up a clean-but-ugly one-size-fits-all gym uniform and went into the changing room.

  All around her, girls were undressing and talking. With her head down, Amanda made her way to an empty locker, hoping to keep a low profile. She particularly wanted to stay away from Other-Amanda. Maybe by now she'd be tired of teasing Tracey about not wearing a bra.

  No such luck. As soon as she pulled off the T-shirt, a cry went up.

  "Hey, Tracey, have you ever tried this?" Other-Amanda posed with her elbows extended and began to chant while jerking her arms back and forth in an exercise:

  We must, we must, we must increase our bust.

  It's better, it's better, it's better for the sweater.

  It was such an old, stale rhyme--how could

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  anyone find it funny anymore? But Katie and the others laughed dutifully, and Amanda experienced a strange hot sensation on her face. Ohmigod, was she blushing? She'd never blushed before in her life!

  The shrill whistle of the teacher called them into the gym. Amanda had actually been enjoying gym this month--she was good at volleyball, and it brought out her competitive streak. She was always so focused that she'd never noticed how Tracey played, but she decided she could safely assume that Tracey was a klutz, and she was pretty sure that there was no secret competitive streak hidden behind Tracey's meek demeanor.

  Once they were all in the gym, Ms. Barnes in her white shorts and shirt blew the whistle again. "Captains today are Britney and Lorie." A coin was flipped to see which of the girls would go first, and then team selection began.

  If she'd been herself, she'd have been Britney's first choice, Amanda thought sadly. No matter who was the captain, she was always the first or second one chosen. But it didn't come as any surprise to find herself still standing between the teams as the

  40

  selection went on. How humiliating to be the last one left! Again, Amanda had to remind herself that she wasn't herself, that it wasn't really Amanda who had to slink over to Britney's side when there was no one else left to choose. Other-Amanda had of course been Britney's first pick.

  The game began, and it was a nightmare. Amanda had been half hoping that her own personality might override Tracey's natural meekness and physical limitations, but no such luck. Even when she tried her hardest to reach the ball, someone lunged in front of her. Other players pushed her aside like she was an annoying fly that had invaded the gym. Like she didn't belong there at all. A thought hit her: Tracey didn't belong anywhere! She didn't even exist for most people.

  Except for you, she told herself grimly. You cared. And look where it got you!

  A ball hitting her on the head brought her back to the game. Not that it did the team any good. It was her turn to serve--and Tracey's best was like Amanda's worst.

  The ball hit the net, the game was over, and the

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  team on the other side was cheering.

  "Tracey, are you nuts?" Britney shrieked. "You lost the game, you idiot!"

  "Now, now, it's a team sport--we don't blame individuals," Ms. Barnes murmured, but even she was looking at Amanda in despair.

  At least Amanda wasn't teased back in the locker room. Her classmates seemed to be satisfied with simply shooting dirty looks at her every time they caught her eye. Or at least, that was how it felt. The only person who didn't look angry was Sarah Miller, but that was no comfort. Sarah was the kind of smiley girl who was always nice to everyone, so as far as Amanda was concerned, she didn't count.

  Lunch was next on the schedule--Tracey had the same lunch period as Amanda. But walking into the cafeteria today was a whole new experience for her. Yesterday it was her kingdom; now she felt like she was walking into a war zone, with enemies at every table. It was scary.

  With her head down, she went to the end of the food line. Waiting there, she couldn't resist taking a look at her own table. How strange--to see herself

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  sitting there with Katie and all her friends, laughing and talking ...

  "Hey, are you going to move or what?" the boy behind her demanded.

  It was becoming automatic to mumble "sorry," and she caught up with the line. Normally she would have bought herself only a yogurt and a salad, but the special actually looked good, and the only happiness she was going to get that day would come from eating. But when she reached the cashier, she realized that she'd never checked to see how much money Tracey carried.

  Not enough. And so she had to endure more annoyed looks as she backed up and returned the lunch. She ended up with a candy bar and a bag of chips from the vending machine. She found a seat at an unoccupied table and started to eat. She'd never eaten a lunch alone before. Next time, she'd remember to bring a book or a magazine. But there won't be a next time, she assured herself. Surely by this time tomorrow she'd be herself again.

  With nothing to do but eat her candy and chips, she opened Tracey's binder to see what the rest of the day was going to be like. For the next class, there was

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  no subject like history or English listed--just a room number: 209.

  It dawned on her that this could be Tracey's so-called gifted class. And for the first time since that horrible day had begun, she actually felt a little spark of curiosity.

  What was that class all about, anyway? People called it "gifted," but there were other classes for brains at Meadowbrook, and they all had names like Advanced Placement English or Advanced Placement Math.

  Maybe it was some kind of special-ed class. But no, Tracey was just a nerd, a loser, not someone who needed extra help with learning. So maybe that's what it was--a class for social misfits. In the back of her mind, though, Amanda knew that wasn't possible. While the other students would easily classify Tracey as a loser, it wasn't a category that Meadowbrook Middle School would ever acknowledge. Amanda had a feeling that all middle schools were like that. Teachers, principals, guidance counselors--they never knew what was really going on.

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  Chapter Three

  IT WAS AN ORDINARY classroom, no different from most of the others in the building. There was a large map on one wall, bookshelves on another, rows of desks, and a larger desk at the front of the room, behind which sat a woman.

  "Tracey! How nice to see you." Amanda thought it was an odd greeting from a teacher, especially with the emphasis she had put on the word see. Did this have something to do with being "seen and not heard"? Was Tracey actually noisy in this class? That was hard to believe.

  Since Amanda had no idea what the teacher's name was, she responded with, "Nice to see you, too," and then turned to see who else was there. The bell hadn't rung yet, and there were only two other students seated in the room. One was a small,

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  round-faced boy with unfashionably short hair and a solemn expression. He looked very young--a sixth grader maybe? In any case, she'd never seen him before.

  But the other face was definitely familiar. It was funny, in a way, because she'd been thinking about her the other day---Jenna Kelley. Ordinarily, Amanda wouldn't know the names of seventh graders, but Jenna was famous---or maybe infamous was the right word. And it wasn't just because she always wore black and rimmed her eyes with kohl.

  There were stories about Jenna Kelley, and they weren't just rumors. She'd transferred to Meadowbrook just after the beginning of the school year, and not from another middle school, but from some sort of jail for juvenile delinquents. Amand
a had no idea why Jenna had been in that place, but she had to believe that it had been for something bigger than shoplifting. Jenna was scary looking, like someone who carried a switchblade and wouldn't mind cutting the face of anyone who annoyed her. What was impossible to believe was the notion that Jenna might be gifted, unless gifted was a polite term

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  for something else. Like criminally insane?

  But that notion vanished with the next arrival.

  "Ken!" Amanda exclaimed.

  Ken Preston looked at her blankly. "Yeah?"

  Then she remembered that Ken wasn't responding to Amanda Beeson, the girl he'd pecked under the water at Sophie's pool party last spring. He was addressing Tracey Devon, who would never have had the nerve to speak to a hot guy like him, and he was now looking quizzically at Amanda-Tracey, wondering what she wanted.

  "Uh, nothing," Amanda mumbled. "Sorry." For once, she uttered that word intentionally. She had just decided that in this class she actually needed to behave like Tracey. The last thing in the world she wanted was for anyone here--meaning Ken--to find out who she really was. If Ken knew what was going on, she had an awful feeling that he would never be able to look at her again without seeing Tracey's face.

  "Hello, Ken," the teacher said as he ambled to a seat.

  "Hi, Madame," Ken replied.

  Madame. That was interesting, Amanda thought. Maybe she was a French teacher at Meadowbrook.

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  That would explain why Amanda had never seen her before.

  The next person to join the class was another surprise--Sarah Miller, the super-sweet girl who was in her gym class. Why was she here? Because she was too good to be true? Was that a gift?

  But Amanda was more intrigued by the fact that Ken Preston, too cute and so not a criminal or a smiley type, was here. He was super popular, and he'd been the star of the school soccer team till he had that awful accident the previous month. And even though he wasn't on the team anymore, he was still considered one of the coolest guys at Meadowbrook. So why was he in this class? She didn't think being cool counted as being gifted. If that had been the case, she, the real Amanda, would have been there.

  The next student to enter was a young-looking girl with a glazed expression. The teacher greeted her as "Emily," and she took the seat next to Amanda. Then in came a boy whom Amanda had noticed before because he was the only student at Meadowbrook in a wheelchair. He was followed by

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  yet another boy, and this time Amanda drew in her breath sharply.

  She recognized him immediately even though she hadn't seen him in ages--Martin Cooper, who used to live across the street. The boy whose body she'd briefly occupied so long ago. He must be in the sixth grade now ... but he still looked exactly the way he'd looked back when he was the most picked-on boy in the neighborhood.

  Maybe Tracey got picked on a lot and that was a reason to be in this class. On the other hand, no one would ever pick on Jenna--not if they wanted to live. And who would pick on Ken Preston?

  The bell rang, and Amanda counted eight students in the class. The average class at Meadowbrook had between 20 and 30 students. This was getting more and more mysterious.

  Madame rose from her chair and came around to the front of the desk. She was a petite, dark-haired woman with bright, dark eyes and a friendly smile. "Charles, would you like to begin your report?"

  "No," replied the boy in the wheelchair.

  Amanda was slightly taken aback. No one ever

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  wanted to give reports, but no one ever actually said no. You made excuses--you claimed you'd left your notes at home, you pretended to have laryngitis-- but you didn't just say no.

  Madame didn't seem surprised, just disappointed. "This is your day to report, Charles."

  "I'm not ready," Charles said flatly.

  "The assignment was given more than a week ago--you've had plenty of time to prepare."

  "I've been busy."

  Jenna spoke suddenly. "Liar."

  Charles turned his head. "What did you say?"

  "You're lying," Jenna said. "You haven't been busy. You just don't want to give your report."

  "How would you know?" Charles snapped. Laughter swept across the classroom and Charles reddened.

  Amanda didn't get it, and she figured this had to be some sort of inside joke. She could see that Madame didn't appreciate it.

  "That was an inappropriate remark, Jenna. You have to respect the privacy of Charles's thoughts."

  Jenna shrugged. "It just slipped out."

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  Madame looked at her pointedly. "We've talked about this before, Jenna. You have to learn to control your gift. You all do. Now, Charles, you do need to give us a report today. If you haven't prepared anything, you still have to respond to the assignment. You'll just need to speak off the cuff."

  Charles's lips were set in a tight line, and he stared at his desk. Amanda wondered why Madame didn't do what any other teacher would have done in this kind of situation--send him to the principal's office, give him a zero for the assignment, that sort of thing. This teacher didn't even seem upset.

  She continued to speak calmly. "Would someone like to remind Charles of this week's assignment?"

  The spacy-looking girl spoke. "Give an example of how you misused your gift during the past month. Like, when I knew it was going to rain on Saturday, so I told Heather not to have a picnic, and--"

  Madame cut her off. "That's enough, Emily. This is Charles's turn. Charles?"

  Amanda watched him with some alarm. The boy in the wheelchair was getting awfully pale, like he

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  was about to be sick or something. She was glad that she wasn't sitting next to him. Poor Ken ... Was he about to get puked on?

  Ken spoke to him. "Look, man, you've gotta confront your problem, y'know?"

  "Not 'problem,' Ken," Madame corrected him. "We use the word gift."

  Charles glared at Ken. "What do you know about my life? You're a jock!"

  "Not anymore," Ken said.

  "Well, that's your choice. You're not stuck in a wheelchair!"

  So that's it, Amanda thought. She'd seen something like this on TV. This was some sort of group therapy for kids with personal problems, hang-ups. Emotional stuff. No wonder people were so secretive about it. You wouldn't want your classmates to know you were some kind of basket case.

  It all made sense to her now, except for one thing. Why did the teacher refer to their problems as "gifts"?

  Ken continued. "Hey, all I'm saying is that you

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  shouldn't put off talking about your prob--your gift. I mean, the rest of us gave our reports--why can't you?'

  Now Charles's eyes were blazing. "Because I don't feel like it, okay?" His voice was rising. "And you're really annoying me, you know? Just because I'm in a wheelchair doesn't mean you can push me around! So mind your own stupid business, you-- you--" He was almost shrieking now, which was creepy, but what was even creepier was the way little Martin suddenly dropped to the floor and crawled under his desk ... just before several books came flying off the bookshelf.

  Everyone ducked as the books soared by. Amanda was so startled that she didn't move fast enough, and a book clipped her ear. "Ow!"

  "Sarah, make him stop!" someone yelled. But how can Sarah do anything about it? Amanda wondered. She was sitting on the other side of the room. In any case, Madame was able to put an end to the chaos.

  "Charles!" the teacher yelled sharply. "Stop it right now! Control yourself!"

  The flight of the books continued, but they were

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  moving more slowly and then began dropping to the floor.

  Madame now wore a very stern expression. "That was completely unnecessary, Charles. I'm going to give you five demerits." The small potted plant on her desk began to rise.

  "Charles!" she said in a warning tone. The plant came back down.

  Amanda, in a state of shock, was
still clutching her ear. Madame noticed this. "Tracey, are you all right?"

  Amanda took away her hand and looked at it. There was no blood. "I--uh--yes."

  The teacher went behind her desk, opened a notebook, and began jotting down something. Amanda turned to Emily. "What was all that about?"

  Emily's vacant eyes focused slightly. "Oh, come on, Tracey. You don't have to be able to see into the future to know what Charles does when he gets angry."

  "Madame?"

  "Yes, Jenna?"

  "Martin has to go to the bathroom." There were a couple of snickers, and Martin cowered in his seat.

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  Madame looked pained. "Jenna, Martin is fully capable of asking to be excused himself."

  Jenna's innocent expression didn't mask a nasty twinkle in her eyes. "But you know how shy he is, Madame. And I swear, he's just about to wet his pants."

  "Am not!" Martin squeaked, but he looked very nervous.

  "Martin, you're excused," Madame said.

  As Martin scurried out the door, Amanda turned to Emily again. "But how did Jenna know ..."

  "Jenna, I don't want to have to say this again," Madame declared. "You're behaving very badly. Just because you have the ability to read other people's minds doesn't mean you have the right to do this. Not to mention the fact that you know what Martin does when he feels picked on."

  Jenna slumped back in her seat. "Yeah, okay."

  Madame shook her head wearily. "Charles has already created a mess in the room; we certainly don't need for Martin to hurt anyone. Now, class, for the rest of the period we're going to work on breathing exercises."

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  There was a loud groan from the students-- except Sarah, of course. Amanda wondered if she ever complained about anything.

  Madame frowned.

  "These exercises are essential for establishing control. Now, let's go over the five basic steps." She turned and began writing on the blackboard. "Step one: Don't breathe through your nose. Concentrate on expanding your lungs ..."

  Amanda was neither listening nor looking at the blackboard. Her head was spinning so fast that she felt dizzy. What was going on here? Charles making things move, Jenna reading minds, wimpy little Martin Cooper ... hurting someone? How? Who were these people?