Excerpt
andlt;bandgt;andlt;bandgt;CHAPTER 1andlt;/bandgt;andlt;/bandgt;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;I andlt;bandgt;call him zachariah. he calls me eleanor, butandlt;/bandgt; the way he says it, it comes out sounding like Ellie-nor.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;These are not our real names.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Most people, the sort of people who donand#8217;t need extra names, can get away with doing simple things like looking in a mirror or taking a bathroom pass out of the cafeteria in the middle of lunch hour. We are not most people.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Z and I have learned how not to see the things we donand#8217;t want to. Itand#8217;s not that hard, but it makes us seem strange to everybody else. Z, especially, is . . . different . . . from the other kids in our class. Good different, as far as Iand#8217;m concerned, but the kind of different that makes other people raise their eyebrows and sort of laugh under their breath, as if heand#8217;s not to be believed.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Iand#8217;ve been gone maybe five minutes, but itand#8217;s too long. Heading back toward our table, I can almost hear that silly andlt;iandgt;Sesame Streetandlt;/iandgt; song humming in the air, converging on him. andlt;iandgt;and#8220;One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesnand#8217;t belong . . .and#8221;andlt;/iandgt;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Zand#8217;s in trouble. Iand#8217;m walking toward him and I see it, know I should never have left him alone, but some things canand#8217;t be helped. Our eyes lock across the room, and thereand#8217;s nothing in his gaze but stark terror. I should never have left him alone.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;iandgt;Zachariah. Eleanor.andlt;/iandgt;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;These are not our real names. These are our shadow names, our armor, our cloaks. They are larger than we can ever hope to be; they cause things to bounce off us so we can never be hurt. By anyone. Anything. Ever.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;It doesnand#8217;t always work.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Zachariah!and#8221; I practically scream it, running toward him.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Ellie-nor,and#8221; he says, gazing at me with alarm.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;These are not our real names, but none of that matters now. For the moment I simply throw my arms up over his head to stop the food from hitting him.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Spaghetti with mystery meat sauce.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Tiny rolling peas.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Vanilla pudding with cookies.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;A carton of chocolate milk, unopened, thank goodness.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Zand#8217;s whole tray overturned by laughing hands. The bulk of it catches me in my shoulders, neck, and back.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Beneath me, Z sits stock still, clean but immobile, gazing innocently at the blank space of the table in front of him. He survived.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;This, this is my superpower. My only power, to protect him. He wouldnand#8217;t understand what had happened. He would pretend not to see. Then heand#8217;d make up a story about how he had to crawl through a tunnel lined with bloody, mangled earthworms to get to freedom. He would smile, gooey strings of pasta hanging from his hair, and murmur, and#8220;All in a dayand#8217;s work.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Jonathan Hoffman tosses the soiled green tray onto the tabletop. He smiles at me in that andlt;iandgt;wayandlt;/iandgt; that is so infuriating. Is he proud of himself? As if no one else in the history of time ever thought to dump a lunch tray on someoneand#8217;s head.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Way to take the bullet, C. F.,and#8221; he says.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;My face flushes with rage. I stand with my hands on my hips, ignoring the fact that Iand#8217;m the one dripping with red sauce and noodles. I am Eleanor, Goddess of Everything, fearless in the face of danger.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Do you ever get tired of being a gigantic jerk?and#8221; I snap.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Jonathan stretches lazily. and#8220;My work andlt;iandgt;isandlt;/iandgt; exhausting,and#8221; he says, then saunters off to accept the high fives from his table of cronies.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;I sink into the seat beside Z and let my head fall onto the table.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Ellie-nor,and#8221; he says. and#8220;Ellie-nor.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;His small hand covers mine. I manage to look up, into his close-to-tearful face.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Ellie-nor,and#8221; he says, but Iand#8217;m not her anymore. Now Iand#8217;m just Ella. Plain old everyday Ella, the girl with drying pasta goo in her hair, on her skin and clothes. I think some of the peas rolled into my shoe. Little cold mush balls sitting in there.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;You fought the dragon and won,and#8221; Z says. and#8220;You fought the dragon and won.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;I smile sadly. and#8220;Yeah, I did.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Z taps the table in a drumming rhythm. and#8220;Brave, brave, fair lady. You fought the dragon and won.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Itand#8217;ll work for him to pretend. Zand#8217;s not like other kids. He knows what happened, but he canand#8217;t admit what it was, what it means about us in the real world. He believes, really believes, that we sit alone at lunch by choice.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;I shove my own lunch tray toward him. and#8220;Eat this,and#8221; I say. and#8220;Iand#8217;m really not hungry. Anyway, I have to go change.and#8221;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Zand#8217;s hand falls on my sleeve, tugging me to stay with him.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;You would cast aside this badge of honor?and#8221; His eyes bug out, incredulous. and#8220;You fought the dragon and won!and#8221;andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Sighing, I unwrap the napkin from his spork and use it to wipe my neck. I left him alone once already today. So, I sit here, watching him eatand#8212;he polishes off everything on the tray and some of what fell on the tableand#8212;until the end-of-lunch bell rings.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;People look at me funny as they clear their trays, but itand#8217;s not only because of the food mess. Theyand#8217;d be looking, anyway. If Z and I were business-minded, weand#8217;d build a wall around our table, and a window. We could charge admission for each single peek in. Weand#8217;d either make a fortune or be left alone. Win-win.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;I try to become Eleanor again. Smile as they pass, like I know something they donand#8217;t. Make them uncomfortable.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Ellie-nor.and#8221; Z reaches up under his shirt and pulls out two fluffy rolls. On spaghetti day, you have to pay ten cents extra for rolls. Z does not have ten cents, let alone twenty. He hands me one.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#8220;Thanks,and#8221; I say, accepting the stolen roll. The lunch ladies donand#8217;t pay enough attention. Not when we go through the line, and not when we get food dumped on us. I guess itand#8217;s only fair.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;I keep two changes of clothes in my locker. Itand#8217;s important to be prepared for occasions like this. I keep an extra shirt for Z, too, but heand#8217;d never actually use it. He meant what he said about the badge of honor. I go along with a lot of his fantasies, but I canand#8217;t quite get on board with that one.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;Zand#8217;s waiting outside the girlsand#8217; bathroom for me. He observes my change with large, thoughtful eyes. Then he pushes up his glasses with his pebble of a fist, ready to move on. I tug at the hem of my clean shirt, feeling guilty. Maybe itand#8217;s a form of surrender, I donand#8217;t know. I havenand#8217;t figured it out yet. What the right thing to do is when things fall out of the sky and hit you.andlt;BRandgt;andlt;BRandgt;and#169; 2011 Kekla Magoon