Ah, très bien. I consider myself well warned, Jane countered.

Mere seconds later, the Lawsons’ distinctive canary-yellow Cadillac pulled into our driveway. Angelique breezed cheerily into our house. On her heels was her mother, who swept inside like an empress inspecting the servant quarters.

“Bonjour!” Angelique declared at the earliest possible moment. She flicked her long tawny-blond ponytail behind her and beamed a pretty grin at us so bright I had to squeeze my eyes shut.

“Oh, fuck,” Di murmured next to me.

“I’m so glad to see you all,” our cousin exclaimed. “We have so much news!”

“Aw, crap,” Gregory whispered.

Di and I actually laughed at the same time to the same thing.

“Be nice,” Mom hissed. So I clenched my jaw and steeled myself for all the fun I knew was coming. “Where’s Craig? And Aaron and Andy?” Mom asked Aunt Candice, referring to our uncle and the five-year-old Twin Terrors.

“The flu claimed them,” our aunt replied. She sniffed to indicate poor health was something she considered an inexcusable offense. “Angelique and I are on our own today.”

“But they’re on the mend, so please don’t worry,” Angelique hastened to assure us in that sweet, mature voice our genius cousin was known for.

Di rolled her eyes, and I, admittedly, was grateful not to have to deal with the little demons. Aunt Candice presented work enough just by herself, and Angelique, well, she was sweet but…draining.

“Let’s sit down,” Mom offered, ushering us all into the now clutter-free family room and serving lemonades all around.

I perched at the edge of the sofa with my drink and tried to blend into the décor. But, despite my best attempt at camouflage, Angelique chose me to cozy up to. My aunt scanned me speculatively but not with anything resembling loving kinship. It was, I guess, too much to hope I’d be ignored by these relatives, too.

“Our news is so magnifique!” Angelique exclaimed, seemingly unable to contain her enthusiasm. “We’re moving.”

Mom’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Where?” She and my aunt had a strange but undeniable form of friendship.

Our aunt displayed her razor-sharp teeth. “To Illinois and — ”

Her genius daughter burst in, “And it’s so near you! We’ll only be about twenty minutes away instead of three hours. C’est absolument excellent, n’est-ce pas? I mean — ” She glanced between me, Di and Gregory. “Just think of the things we can all do together!”

Oh, nooooo.

Mom clasped her hands together in unadulterated delight. Dad blanched. Di and Gregory appeared to be beyond speech.

“Wow,” I managed. “That’s unexpected, isn’t it?”

“No, not really,” Angelique said. “I’ve been accepted at Pierson’s Academy. I was on their waiting list, but someone flunked out this semester, so I got in. Un jour joyeux! So, I’ll start there right after winter break.”

“You’re going to a private girls’ prep school?” Di asked.

“Well, um, yeah. I’ll be able to study there for a year and a half before I start college, which should really help me — ”

“Get into Harvard, Yale or Princeton,” Aunt Candice interjected. “Stanford at the very least.”

“Maybe you’d be able to show me around the area a bit after we move?” Angelique asked, biting her lip and gazing at us hopefully.

Gregory downed his drink in one long chug and left the room.

“Um, yeah, sure, we could probably do that…sometime,” I said to our cousin. Di maintained a death silence.

“Diana, sweetie,” Mom said, “maybe you could take Angelique to a few socials at the high school.”

“Socials?” Di said, choking on the word. “We don’t have socials. Just a few lame dances and pep rallies. I think, though,” she added as she shot me a demonic look, “Ellie really gets into crap — I mean, school events like that. She and Angelique could have an awesome time.”

Mom, ignoring Di’s wicked expression and my pleading one, said, “That’s great. When’s the next one?”

“This coming Friday.” Di grinned. “Big school dance after the basketball game. I won’t be going of course, but Ellie will, won’t you?” She didn’t call me a geek aloud, but it was implied.

“We’re coming up here again to house hunt next week,” Aunt Candice stated. “We’ll make sure to drop off Angelique by seven or seven-thirty.”

“Oh, make it six,” our mother said. “Then she can have a nice dinner with us. Maybe pizza?”

Angelique looked thrilled, Di victorious.

Jane whispered, Une tragédie, n’est-ce pas?

I sighed. You’re not kidding.

“Angelique, play us something on your cello,” Aunt Candice commanded. “Mozart or Beethoven or one of those dead Viennese guys.”

Une idée terrible, Jane commented.

Enough already with the French, I said.

My cousin retrieved her instrument from the car, readied it and glowed her warmest grin at us. “Mozart’s ‘Eine kleine Nachtmusik.’ A Little Night Music,’” she translated primly. “In G major.”

Her fingers flew impressively across the neck of the cello. Her bow danced. For me, painful memories intruded.

I thought of the flute I’d failed miserably to master in seventh-grade band. The piano lessons I didn’t have the aptitude for, even at fifteen. The time I broke two strings on Terrie’s guitar when she tried to show me how to tune it. Despite my passionate love of music, my playing was horrible enough to deafen the ears of small animals.

So, I envied Angelique her musical gift, resented her for having her life together, but mostly I was ticked off because I couldn’t hate her. She might be on the intense side and, yeah, more than a little annoying, but she was so damned nice to me.

I sighed.

Why was it that I couldn’t be loved despite my flaws? Why couldn’t I be “quirky” in a “cute” way? Why couldn’t I excel at anything? Okay, correction: Why couldn’t I excel at anything anyone valued?

No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with, Jane remarked. Your cousin, though, is rather accomplished, she added, which only made me feel worse.

Yeah, I know.

Of course, your abilities are equally…well, perhaps even more desirable.

I saw my dad squinting at a black, Rorschach-like smudge on the otherwise pristine family-room wall. It looked like a frantic butterfly, trapped in its 2-D prison. I longed to set it free. Sure they are, Jane.

Pray, do I detect disbelief?

Now you’re thinking, Sherlock.

There was a long moment of silence. Then she asked, Who?

Never mind, I said as Angelique continued on to the second movement. Just tell me what you mean. How could my abilities, such as they are, be considered desirable? And before you say it, getting good grades doesn’t count. No one cares.

Without an instant of hesitation, Jane answered, You are more imaginative than any of them. Your cousin. Your siblings. Even your schoolmates. They have talents, to be sure, but beyond an intelligent mind there must be a creative spirit. It is not enough to absorb mere facts. True invention is in the application of vision. This you have in grand measure, far beyond your years and experience.

I don’t know what came over me. Tears sprung to my eyes at her kind words. My aunt, misinterpreting as always, whispered proudly to my mother, “See how touched Ellie is by Angelique’s performance. My daughter is a musical prodigy.”

Mom bestowed a sage nod upon her. “It’s as we always say, Angelique is a genius.”

Jane said, Ignore them, Ellie. Your turn will come. They will all appreciate you someday.

I seriously doubted this, but hope was a powerful thing. For a moment, it trumped skepticism, and it buoyed my spirits in spite of myself. And I loved that Jane could do that for me. I loved that her wisdom, so evident in her most famous novel, seemed to shine through and illuminate the character of each person I met and, most impressively, of the people I knew best.

She single-handedly made me feel less like a loner. She made me believe it was okay that I was nothing like my Bad Girl Sister, my Dismissive Brother or my Genius Cousin. With Jane in my head and in my life, I could just be me, and this gift helped me deal with the worst of my adolescent high school existence.


The day of the game, however, I stood at my open locker, counting down the seconds until Angelique arrived and the solidification of my total lack of coolness was complete. I jammed my books into my straining backpack while, two lockers to my right, Jason Bertignoli stuffed his backpack with similar items.

Barnett.

Bertignoli.

Which left — guess who?

Blaine.

Three lockers down from Jason stood Sam, of course. (And can I tell you how much I hated alphabetical order?) He leaned against the gray metal and sent me an indecipherable look. He seemed about to speak, but then Jason waved and said a jovial “Hi, Ellie!”

I said “Hi” back.

Sam’s neutral glance turned to one of exasperation. I figured this was because he and Jason had just finished the last day of their villainous volleyball rivalry and Sam, who did not take defeat graciously, lost in the final match.

I expected him to walk away, but he didn’t. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching us.

Jason, proudly wearing his basketball jersey and looking very hot in it, said to me, “So, are you going to the game tonight?”