Waiting for Christopher Read Online Free Page B

penitent.
    “Hey, I hate to bust your balloon and all. But this book is not one of my favorites. It’s not even mine.” Raylene picked up her things, stood up, then moved toward the girls who were waiting down the hall. Over her shoulder again: “I’m taking it back to the library for someone. Okay?”
    “Okay.” Feena watched her move, proud and graceful as a dancer, toward the hangers-on. She wore a vintage skirt with a petticoat that showed just enough from under the skirt’s hem. There was a pocket watch on a chain around her waist, the kind of waist Feena had been dieting for, dreaming of, forever.
    “Wait!” Feena saw it just as Raylene reached her friends. “Here.” Feena ran down the hall after them. “You forgot your Walkman.” She caught up, the cassette player dangling from its long neon earplugs. Next came a humiliating pantomime as she tried to disentangle herself from the Walkman. Clownlike, she twisted and untwisted the cord, then finally succeeded in freeing herself, only to watch the player separate from the cord and clatter to the floor again.
    This time, the Walkman didn’t survive the fall, its plastic case breaking on impact and skittering away like the two halves of an eggshell. Raylene stared at the halves, then at Feena.
    “Oh, my god.” Feena was on her knees in an instant. “What’s the matter with me?” She gathered up the innards, the pieces of case. “I was just… I mean…” Then, as if it could somehow reassemble itself into a working unit, she handed the whole mess back to its owner.
    Without acknowledging Feena’s stammering, or even her existence, the slender girl accepted the smashed Walkman, glanced at it once, then shook her head. As she left with her friends, she held the plastic parts away from her body, the way people keep their distance from garbage. And sure enough, as the group passed the main office, Feena saw her drop the remains into the trash.
    It was only after the others had disappeared, down another locker-lined corridor, that Feena noticed the paperback. It must have spilled from Raylene’s armful and was now wedged under the bottom of a trash basket. Feena pulled it out and studied the cover.
Their Eyes Were Watching God
was the title, and underneath was a picture of a beautiful black woman with a long braid down the middle of her back, a woman who looked just like Raylene.
    For a moment, Feena considered chasing after the girls, returning the book. But then she remembered Raylene’s expression, the look of contempt she’d leveled at the broken Walkman. Rather than risk another dose of humiliation, Feena tucked the little book in with her own things and walked in the other direction down the hall.
    All through next period, she did instant replays in her head. While the rest of English class was analyzing
Macbeth
, Feena was dissecting her run-in with Raylene: If only she hadn’t been late to class. If only she hadn’t tried to help. If only she’d ignored the book the other girl had dropped.
    Had Raylene lied about
Jane Eyre?
Feena couldn’t remember seeing a library number on the dog-eared paperback. But she did remember the brief furtive look in those dark eyes. Was that brassy in-your-face girl ashamed of being smart? Of reading? Of being like Feena?
    Of course she was, Feena realized. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? Who would trade useless book chat (about a book that wasn’t even on the English reading list) for being one of the chosen ones? Second-best swimmer in school. Secretary of the student council. Resident Amazon. If she herself were any of these, Feena decided, she would have lied, too. But she knew, as surely as she knew she could never get a slip to hang that way, or move like music down the hall, that she and Raylene would never travel in the same circles. Never be friends. Not even acquaintances, now that Feena had confirmed her own status as a spastic moron. Why hadn’t she held on to that Walkman? Why hadn’t she