Dyan Sheldon - The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love

“Gott im Himmel,” murmurs Maya. “Where did he come from?”

“Not around here,” Alice murmurs back.

Waneeda, going with her friend to deposit the leftover flyers in Joy Marie’s locker, also stops fairly abruptly.

In much the way that someone living on the Arctic tundra never thinks about climbing palm trees or skinny dipping, Waneeda has never shown any interest in boys. As many girls do, she has had the occasional crush on a musician or movie star – boys so far removed from her that they don’t really exist – but she’s never had a crush on someone who walks the same streets and breathes the same air that she does. Until, that is, the moment when the newest member of the student body, glancing at the paper in his hand, drifts past her like a satellite.

“Who is that?” whispers Waneeda. Joy Marie, who hasn’t stopped abruptly, doesn’t answer her, of course. And, echoing the words of Alice Shimon for the first and last time in her life, Waneeda adds, “He can’t be from around here.”

Even she and Joy Marie would have noticed if he were.

Sicilee, in a clutch in one corner with Kristin, Ash and Loretta, is recounting her adventures trying to find a friendly restroom when Ash suddenly interrupts her with a slightly high-pitched, “Oh my God! Will you look at that?”

“Whoowhee…” says Loretta. “Do you think he’s just visiting from the Planet Drop-dead-gorgeous or do you think he’s ours?”

Sicilee and Kristin both turn to see what the fuss is about.

It’s just as well that Sicilee is standing still, because the second her eyes fall on the boy in the pinstriped suit, her heart (metaphorically, if not literally) falls at his feet as if it’s been shot.

“Sweet Mary,” sighs Sicilee, and she squeezes Kristin’s arm.

Sicilee is the kind of girl who likes to get what she wants when she wants it. Not hours later. Not tomorrow. Now. Right now, what Sicilee wants is to find out everything about the new kid that she can and then, armed with this information, introduce herself and stake her claim.

So instead of going to her first class, Sicilee spends over fifteen minutes in the girls’ restroom, texting her network of friends. HV U SN TH NW KD? WHR? KP ME PSTD. Needless to say, since the others are all in class and not hiding out in toilets around the school, she receives no immediate reply.

Sicilee’s next stop is the office for a late pass.

“It was a female thing, if you know what I mean,” she confides in a conspiratorial whisper to Mrs Skwill. “If I could’ve gone to my class first, I would totally have done that. But I just couldn’t. It was a super emergency. It was like the time my mom took me to New York to see The Phantom of the Opera? And this pigeon dropped one right on her head as we came out of the hotel? So even though we knew we were going to be late and everybody was going to be really annoyed, we had to go back inside so she could wash her hair.”

Mrs Skwill is one of the many people on whom Sicilee’s smile always works.

“Don’t you worry, honey,” she assures her. “I’ll write you a note.”

“That is so super nice of you,” Sicilee gushes. “I know how busy you are. The first day back and everything … and everybody depending on you… It must be just, like, crazy.”

Mrs Skwill agrees that it has been a busy morning. There was a leak in the science block. There was a burst pipe in the gym. The main photocopier wouldn’t start. Several files were missing. Two teachers are out with flu. And, on top of everything else, there was the new student to look after.

Sicilee’s smile switches from sisterly sympathy to girlish bewilderment. She tilts her head and leans into the counter. “New student? Really? Who’s that?”

Kristin is waiting for her at the top of the north-east staircase for the walk to their English class.

“Well?” demands Sicilee. “What did you find out?”

“Not much.” Kristin hooks an arm through Sicilee’s as they start their descent. “Ariadne saw him in that new deli – the Portuguese one? – on Sunday so she figures he probably lives out by her, but otherwise that’s all the news that’s fit to print so far. He’s like the Lone Ranger, but without the mask and the faithful companion. What about you?”

Sicilee’s smile is undimmed by any attempt at humility. “His name’s Cody Lightfoot. He’s in our class. He’s an honour student. He comes from Northern California. He was living with his mother – she’s some kind of journalist – but she got a job in England, so he’s moved out here to live with his dad. Mrs Skwill says that his dad’s a professor at the university, but she wasn’t sure what the dad teaches, maybe anthropology. And besides being extremely good looking and smart, Cody’s a mechanical expert too because he got that Xerox machine that’s always breaking down going in less than a minute.”

Kristin whistles. “I swear, girl, you really should be a spy.”

Sicilee’s eyes (which, unlike her mouth, are not smiling) are on her phone. “This is unbelievable. Nobody knows where he is.” If she were a spy, she would probably find herself behind enemy lines with no back-up. “Nobody’s in his homeroom. Nobody’s in his first class.” How is this possible? She knows more people by name than the librarian. “Sweet Mary, nobody’s even passed him in the hall.” Forget the Lone Ranger; this is obviously the Invisible Man.

“It’s only been, like, an hour,” says Kristin. “He’ll turn up.”

Sicilee sighs. “Yeah, right.” On the arm of some other girl. She yanks open the door to their room. And stops dead.

Cody Lightfoot, lately of Northern California, has not only turned up at last, but has turned up in Sicilee’s English class. His canvas book bag is on the desk directly in front of the teacher’s – and Cody himself is to one side of it, talking to Mrs Sotomayor in a relaxed, almost intimate manner.

He’s in her class! It was starting to look as though the gods who normally smile down on Sicilee and shower her with gifts had turned the other way, but clearly they were only momentarily distracted. Here he is, where she will see him for nearly an hour every day, where she will sit next to him and talk to him and whisper witticisms and lend him a pen or borrow his. Sicilee couldn’t cross the room any faster if she were on skates.

Oblivious to the fact that she has let the door slam shut on Kristin, Sicilee drops her own bag on the desk next to Cody’s.

“I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time,” Mrs Sotomayor is saying as Sicilee arrives on her other side, wearing a polite and patient smile on her face. And, in an atypically generous gesture, adds, “We do have an unassigned book report due on Monday, but naturally I won’t expect you to do that.”

Cody looks straight at Mrs Sotomayor, which means that, since Sicilee has moved closer to the teacher, he is almost looking straight at her as well. With only a few feet and a desk between them, Sicilee now sees that she was wrong about him. He isn’t merely extremely good looking, he is awesomely, spectacularly and uniquely gorgeous. If he were a geological feature, he’d be the Grand Canyon.

“Oh, that’s not a problem.” Cody’s voice is warm and mellow and sounds like a hug. His eyes, it turns out, aren’t blue like the eyes of regular boys, but the aquamarine of an unspoiled tropical sea. “I had some free time on my hands over Christmas so I read War and Peace. Man, there is a novel that really deserves to be called great – it just has everything going for it, doesn’t it? You know, once I got started, I couldn’t put it down – maybe I can do a report on that? I get that we’re supposed to be zoning in on American fiction this year, but maybe just this once…”

Mrs Sotomayor, who in her fifteen years of teaching has no memory of a student ever volunteering for work he or she could avoid, recovers enough from this shock to say, “Well if you’re certain you have the time…” And, possibly because Cody is still looking into her eyes, she drops her pen on the floor. Which is when she notices Sicilee, hovering beside her like an exceptionally brightly dressed ghost.

“Sicilee?” Sicilee is not a girl her English teacher has ever been tempted to describe as ethereal, but she does look as though she may be having an out-of-body experience. “Sicilee? Is there something you wanted?”

Sicilee returns to reality with a start. “What?” She drags her smile from the scenic experience that is Cody Lightfoot to the dingy alley that is the head of the English department. “Oh, yeah, right, yeah. I just wanted to check with you about the book report? I know we’ve got a minimum length, but is there a maximum? You know, because the book I’m doing, it works on so many levels…?” Sicilee steams on like a runaway train, hoping to impress Cody Lightfoot with her sophistication and intelligence. She doesn’t distract herself by glancing over to see his reaction. She’ll wait until she’s done, and then she’ll turn and give him one of her biggest smiles. And as they sit down, she’ll introduce herself and welcome him to Clifton Springs. “…I picked it because it really is a modern classic, and I think you could say not just an American modern classic but a world—”

“You write as much as you want, Sicilee,” cuts in Mrs Sotomayor, who knows very well that Sicilee picked this particular book because she can watch the movie and not have to read it. “Now if you’ll take your seat, I think it’s about time we started this class.”

“Oh, sure, right…” Sicilee turns, her smile bright as sunshine. It is, perhaps, a testament to the indefatigable human spirit that Sicilee’s smile doesn’t dim when she realizes that Cody Lightfoot is not at the desk next to the one that holds her orange backpack. He is sitting at the back of the room. Between Kristin and Farley Hubble. Which is where Sicilee usually sits.