Excerpt: Melissa's Ghost

"That's a dumb picture," said Pete.

Melissa shrugged. She had chosen to sit at his table during art for the same reason she did so at lunch, and while the act eased her conscience it didn't make things easier. She drew back, squinted at the piece of paper the teacher had given her, and added another line. The line didn't help make her drawing look more like the bowl of autumn squash their teacher had placed near the front of the room. She made it extra dark out of a feeling she ought to commit to it.

Pete hadn't quite gotten used to being ignored. "I said, that's a dumb picture," he said loudly. "Look, that's not a pumpkin. That doesn't look anything like a pumpking. It looks like a UFO landing a volcano."

"Pete, eyes on your own work," said the teacher. Mrs. Scarebrough used to like Pete when he was throwing big "daring" splashes of paint across his and other students' canvasses. This new, quiet, slightly cowed Pete seemed to bore her. Or maybe she was already bored and had started to take it out on Pete. "And remember what we said about disparaging others' work."

"Mrs. Scarebrough," said Meredith in a little, high voice which beat her hand in pointing at the ceiling, "what's dissprajing?"

The teacher smiled as though this were exactly what she was waiting to hear. "Dis-par-a-ging," she said, "is saying negative, mean-spirited, insulting things. For instance..." She stalked over to Melissa and Pete's table. "If I said, 'Pete, you are clearly using the wrong colors if that's supposed to be an acorn squash, and you have given it entirely too many angles,' that would be disparaging."

Pete ducked his head and scowled. The other kids laughed, Rachel loudest of all. "God, Pete," she scoffed, and sniggered.

Melissa stole a glance; his acorn squash did indeed look a bit too star-like to be realistic, and he'd made it bright sky blue. "Doesn't matter," she whispered. "It's more interesting your way."

Pete just scowled harder. "You still can't draw a pumpkin," he hissed."

"I'm not drawing a pumpkin anymore," she said, and colored in her new line harder. "I'm drawing a UFO landing in a volcano."

They had art every other day, Mondays and Wednesdays and Fridays, last thing before the school bell set them free. That was less time than they'd got to spend on arts and crafts in earlier grades, but then all they'd had to use were the markers and crayons and bits and bobs and glue in their homeroom teacher's supplies. Now that they were in third grade and practically grown up, they got to use real art supplies. Pastels and oils and acrylics. Canvasses you had to spray with Shellac when you were done. Clay with special wooden tools with interestingly shaped wire ends. Even a clay wheel that went round faster than Dad's old record player when you flipped a switch. Melissa loved it. Today was Friday, and they were using charcoal pencils that smudged interestingly when you smeared your finger across them. Melissa began turning the would-be wooden bowl into a volcano crater in earnest, smudging charcoal down the slopes and then outlining the smudges: instant lava drips.

"Hey Melissa," said Rachel as class ended and they were packing up the charcoals, "lemme see what you drew, huh? You're a real artist, aren't you?"

Melissa shrugged. These days Pete was a known quantity, but she still didn't know what to think about Rachel. "I like drawing," she said quietly.

"No, this is good, this is really good." She raised her voice. "Mrs. Scarebrough? Come and see the awesome space ship Melissa drew!"

Melissa went red and wished she could hide. She wished she could go back in time and make Rachel not say anything, or, more likely, pretend not to hear Rachel's summons. Not only the teacher but half the rest of the class gathered 'round. Melissa recognized some of them as Rachel's new hangers-on; they'd been sort of accreting since the disastrous picnic had ended Pete's reign. One of them was Meredith, who sometimes chose to sit with Rachel at lunch rather than with Melissa. Which was OK; it was OK if Meredith wanted to sit with different people; but it had seemed to happen more often after she'd overheard Rachel telling Melissa not to sit with Pete anymore.

"I have to admit, it doesn't look much like a pumpkin in a wooden bowl," said Mrs. Scarebrough, "but it is an excellent picture of an alien landing on top of an avalanch. Or is it causing the avalanch? Let us consider." The magic words uttered, Mrs. Scarebrough put her head to one side, and many of her most attentive students did also. After a moment, she righted her head out of "consider" pose and said, "Perhaps your talents most lie in imaginative drawing rather than in portraiture, Melissa. May I borrow your drawing for the week?"

She could only nod. What was she supposed to say? She watched as Mrs. Scarebrough lifted the drawing carefully by the edges and brought it to the Shellacking easel. After a spritz or two of fixatives, she pinned it onto the coveted wall of honor, the first thing any student saw upon entering the classroom. Most of the drawings, paintings, and sculptures on display there were the work of the fifth and sixth graders. And, since fifth and sixth graders really were grown up, the best of their work was really good. And there Melissa's UFO hung on display. On its left was a cardboard-loom tapestry incorporating peacock feathers and hair in its weft; on its right, an Indian princess on horseback. There it was, as though it were just as good.

Just a flourish more, and Mrs. Scarebrough had pinned up a label. "Melissa Whelton, 3rd Grade, October 25th 1999." "There," she said, and clapped her hands briskly. Her more attendent students also applauded. Melissa blushed and blushed, and found herself smiling.

"Say thank you." Rachel came up from behind her on the walk off school grounds. She lightly took Melissa's left elbow, making it clear she could apply pressure. Melissa's good mood evaporated almost immediately. "It's polite to say thank you, Melissa."

"For--for what?"

Melissa's left hand flew to her heart in a drama of dismay. "Oh! My feelings are hurt. 'For what,' she says. No, nevermind, that only shows how little my good deeds are worth."

Melissa stared at her in horror. She was stuck halfway between dreading punishment and the creeping fear that she really had hurt Rachel's feelings. Rachel was one of the strong kids--was Melissa able to hurt her feelings? Really?

It was a horrifyingly fascinating thought.

"I only brought your drawing to Mrs. Scarebrough's attention, didn't I? I only praised it beyond what it was really worth. I only made it possible for you to get it pinned up on the Best Work board." Rachel's hand went from her heart to her forehead. "Anyone else would have thanked me. But no, nevermind, nevermind..." And she drifted away, twiddling the fingers of her right hand as though they still were reaching for Melissa. Twiddle, twiddle, toodleloo.

Melissa kept looking after her but Rachel didn't turn back nor say anything more. The rest of the walk home was spent in a weird, tense flatness, still feeling lifted up by the teacher's attention, but apprehensive, wondering what she did wrong. And the lifted-up feeling was poisoned by Rachel's parting words. Should she have thanked Rachel? But for what? For potentially embarrassing her? They'd all left their drawings on the tables as they packed up; wouldn't Mrs. Scarebrough have noticed it anyway?

Not if it wasn't that good. Not if she only hung it up because Rachel got everyone wowing over it.

No. Melissa shook her head. If she couldn't be proud of this, what could she be proud of? She would be proud. She was an artist! Suddenly she remembered the Prince in the castle. What if she showed him the drawing? What would he make of it? Did they tell stories about aliens from outer space a thousand years ago, or would he call it a chariot from heaven or something like that? Maybe a demon landing in Hell, who knows? The idea of letting her drawing be the Prince's sort of Rorschach test was appealing.

She got home with an hour of daylight left. The car was gone. Melissa began to feel apprehensive again. She didn't like being alone in the house. But when she got inside, there was her mother in the kitchen. Her knitting was out on the table as though she'd been interrupted--and of course she had, because tonight was special and wanted a more special dinner than "portions are in the freezer, you know how to use the microwave." This was the day that Dad had gone to pick up Freddie. This was the weekend they'd agreed she could spend at the Wheltons' house. Melissa got excited and happy again. Freddie would be here tonight! And she had so much to tell her!

"Oh hi," said her mother. "There you are. Took long enough getting home, didn't you."

"Sorry, Mom," she said. "I guess I was walking slow 'cause I was thinking."

"Oh really."

Though her voice didn't really sound like curiosity, didn't really invite elaboration, Melissa burst out, "Mrs. Scarebrough liked my drawing. She pinned it up on the Best Work board! Everyone clapped for me! It was supposed to be a still live--" Melissa was unclear on the phrase and thought it meant that they drew stuff that was live, the way live music was live, in that it was right in front of them-- "a still live of a pumpkin, only I messed it up, so I made it into a UFO instead and it's landing in a volcano because that's how he's gonna take off again--"

"Oh, Melissa." Her mother cut her off with a disapproving tone and a distracted shake of her head. "You don't have to be so loud. I wish you wouldn't show off so much. Now, be a good girl and set the table, there's a dear." She disappeared back in the kitchen for whatever the next step in turkey-and-stuffing was, and Melissa stood there, unable to speak or move. "Come on then. You know where the good place settings are."

Dutifully, quietly, Melissa shuffled toward the dining room where the good place settings were kept in an imposing glass cabinet. The good place settings were porcelain painted in rosettes, curly-cued steel forks and knives, linen napkins with decorative rose stitching in the corners. They showed off so much, it was no wonder Mom couldn't handle any more. Melissa lay out the place settings and didn't say another word until Dad got home with Freddie and Freddie's little pink suitcase.