Doreen (2 page)

Heidi could not quite identify what it was about Doreen Gray that produced such a visceral reaction on her part. Certainly she looked terrible. Her skin was simultaneously oily and dried out, with shiny pimples on her forehead and chin and red dry patches on her cheeks and neck. Her hair was a forest of black frizz with curls that seemed to be variously tight and loose, depending on the section of her head from which they originated. Her body was neither trim nor plump but lumpy, and she carried her flesh in a worn-out, army-green jersey dress as if carting home meat from the market.

However, though there was no doubt in Heidi's mind that these physical facts, among others, contributed to the girl's horrendous presentation, they did not account for the whole effect. As Biz and Doreen chatted politely, Heidi sat unusually mum on the couch and studied the girl. Because beneath the bad hair, skin, clothes, etc., there was a kind of beauty to her. Her cheekbones were high and wide, and when she finally looked up from the carpet Heidi saw that her eyes were a remarkable bluish-purple.

They were something else, the peepers on Doreen Gray. Doreen appeared able to take in more light with them, to draw the world into her. Heidi found herself wishing that she, too, would be taken in by those purple eyes, even though they were housed in that mess of a face. But she couldn't capture them, couldn't keep their focus. The eyes darted around the room fretfully, returning over and over again to the ground.

Biz sat at full attention, obviously trying to make her cousin comfortable. “I don't know that I'd even have recognized you, it's been so long. Are you all settled in your dorm?”

“Am I settled? Oh yes, thank you,” said Doreen from deep in the armchair where she'd burrowed herself.

“Which dorm is it?” Biz inquired.

“Which dorm? Oh. It's called, um, it's West Hall? Is that bad?”

“No. West Hall isn't bad at all, is it Heidi? We know a ton of people who have lived there. My brother, for example. Addison. Do you remember Addison? He lived there—what? His junior year, wasn't it, Heidi?”

“Yes.”

Biz waited for Heidi to elaborate. She did not. Biz gave her roommate a stern look:
Are you just going to sit there?
Heidi shrugged. Watching Biz try to make small talk was hilarious.

“So, uh, Heidi and Addison used to date,” Biz continued with some desperation. She picked up her camera and held it, apparently for comfort, as she did not seem interested in capturing the moment for posterity. Unusual. “That's how we became friends, actually. He brought her home for Easter our sophomore year. She was quite the hit of the party, Mumzy just loved her! Then she shattered my brother's heart into a million pieces.” Biz forced a laugh. “That wasn't very nice of you, Heidi. Really. Not nice at all,” she said with her mouth while her eyes said:
Mayday! Mayday! Help me out for crying out loud!

Heidi languidly deposited some nutshells into a Japanese bowl on the coffee table. “I dumped him in the third-floor study lounge at West Hall, actually. He sobbed like an infant.”

“I'm sure,” said Doreen. “I mean, I'm sure he was very sad. I mean, you're so—”

Doreen looked up at Heidi. In a flash, Heidi saw her whole self reflected back in the deep color of Doreen's remarkable eyes, until they found their way back to the carpet.

“Yes, well,” Biz continued, smiling broadly, “anywho.”
Anywho?!!
“It's a fine dorm. Whatever Heidi might think of Addison, he was always very popular.”

“Oh, well,” said Doreen, miserably.

“And I suppose you got your schedule? You should let me see it. I'll tell you all about the teachers you have and if you want I'll even show you where—”

“Don't you want to be popular?” Heidi asked with a level stare at Doreen.

“. . . where your classes are, if you want. But the first thing you'll need to do is—”

“Biz, hush. I asked your cousin a question. Tell us, darling, won't you? Do you want to be popular? Here, at Chandler.”

“Heidi!”

Doreen's expression, as she looked from Heidi to Biz, was an incredible mixture of eagerness and horror. A plan was beginning to unfold in Heidi's mind as she watched a flush climb up the girl's throat from her chest. “Do I want to be popular?” Doreen repeated dumbly.

“You don't need to restate the question, dear, only answer it.”

“Don't listen to her, Doreen,” said Biz. “Popularity is not as important to most people as it is to Heidi.”

“But it is to our Dorie, isn't it? Which is why I proffered the question. Biz said that her brother had lived in West and that he'd been very popular, to which you replied ‘oh well,' as if popularity, while something desirable to you, is not something you see yourself acquiring. And while I'll admit respectfully that it is difficult to imagine popularity in your current state, I am a true American in the sense that I believe that one can achieve anything when one is smarter than everybody else.”

“Heidi! My cousin did not come all the way here from Wisconsin for the right to be insulted.”

“Indiana,” said Doreen, her eyes fixed on Heidi.

“Huh?”

“I came from Indiana,” said Doreen. “And I don't feel the least bit insulted.” The girl's spine had straightened. Hope came into her violet eyes. “The truth is—I feel kind of strange talking about it, but since you asked—I guess I would want that. I'd like to be popular. Who wouldn't? I've never, I mean, in my old school—”

“Yes, Biz tells me you were very badly bullied,” said Heidi gravely.

“I'm sorry,” said Biz. “I shouldn't have told her. It wasn't my place—”

“That's okay,” said Doreen. She reached out and touched Biz's knee. “Hey, that's in the past, right?”

“That's right!” Biz said, aglow with her cousin's attention. “Exactly.”

“What was it? Name-calling? Frogs in your locker? That sort of thing?”

“Heidi! Didn't we just say it was in the past?”

Doreen shrugged. “No, it's okay. Sure, yeah, name-calling. No frogs, but somebody did put a pair of bloody underwear in my locker once. Which everyone in the whole school saw flying out onto the floor.”

“Oh, Dorie,” said Biz.

“That was fine. I could take that. And the pushing. And the tripping. And the time someone put something in my drink so that I threw up during my biology midterm. I learned how to be careful. Eat in the library. Keep my head down. But then I got a message on Facebook. A
boy
.” Doreen paused and gathered her strength. “Judah was his name. He was new, or he was going to be new, moving from another town and he wanted to make friends. We got to chatting.” Her eyes welled.

“Who was Judah? Who was he
really
?” asked Heidi. She knew the old social media fake-out. She'd employed it herself, not directly, but through a minion or two, as a tactic for social maneuvering. But she was never cruel for cruelty's sake. Nobody ever got seriously hurt. That made a difference, surely. But something unpleasant gnawed at her from the inside. Remorse? Guilt? No matter. She soothed herself with the satisfying pop of a splitting pistachio shell.

“A girl from school. Her boyfriend, I don't know. A bunch of people. They started posting some of the stuff I'd written to Judah. But it was totally out of context, you know? So humiliating. My mom wanted me to transfer to a different public school, but I knew that was worthless. They would follow me anywhere. I deleted my Facebook account, I would get through it. But my mom . . .” Doreen swiped at her eyes. Her efforts to downplay how it had all affected her made the story even more heartbreaking. Heidi felt terrible for having asked about it. She should have minded her own business. She sucked the rough salty remains of the nut from the empty shell.

“Children,” said Biz. “They can be so awful. And for what? What's the point? I don't get it.”

“I'm so sorry,” said Heidi. And she really was.

“My mom saw some stuff someone had written on one of my books. Nothing out of the ordinary. ‘Kill yourself, bitch.' That sort of thing. ‘Nobody likes you, you should die.' And that was it for her. She called my dad and made some serious threats if he didn't get me in here. So that's my story! The life and times of Doreen Gray.”

“Well, you're here now,” said Biz. “Nobody has to know a thing about your old school. And listen, if you want to be popular, we can definitely help you. I have legacy here, a kind of built-in social status. And Heidi has the proper—”

“Cynicism,” said Heidi.

“I was going to say ruthlessness. To manage your, what would you say? Your rebirth.”

“Really? Thank you.” Doreen's eyes lit up, hopeful. “Thank you so much!”

“You're welcome,” said Biz. She blushed. “If it's what you want, then I want to help you.”

“Yes! Okay, marvelous. Operation rebirth. Let's begin.” Heidi paced around the room, her fingers in a dome under her chin, as if giving dictation. “Now, Doreen, as Biz will attest, I have made quite a little study on the subject and I can say with some confidence that being popular in prep school carries with it a number of requirements. For example, one must be thin. This is of utmost importance. And though a closet full of beautiful clothes is obviously ideal, one need only possess a single major piece from a recognizable designer—a bag for example. Louis Vuitton is the classic but not the only option, set off by simple, well-fitting black apparel. One's complexion must be perfect, and one's ponytail thick and long. If this last proves unobtainable, short and sporty might be passable, but such a coif carries with it the responsibility of joining a team, of which only soccer and field hockey are acceptable, of course. To be truly popular one must not only be on a team, but must either be the best one or the captain or both, and so, if achieving excellence in this regard does not seem likely, I recommend maintaining a long, lustrous head of hair.”

Heidi regarded the length of Doreen's piteous appearance. “Had you begun as a freshman rather than a junior, I would have suggested dating a senior as a quick and painless way to make immediate inroads, especially if you break his heart without sleeping with him. As it is, however, to uphold unreasonable prudishness at your age would make you seem as if you were undesirable in your former school. I think it would be wiser to take an appropriate boyfriend right away and sleep with him late enough to avoid seeming desperate, but early enough to suggest a passionate appetite for sex. Giving a high school senior the best sex of his life is simpler than one might expect—assuming he never dated me,” Heidi added with a twinkle.

“But this is hopeless!” cried Doreen. “I don't see how—I mean, I'm not any of those things, Heidi. Oh, this is impossible, just impossible. I knew that changing schools wasn't going to make any difference.” She covered her face with her hands.

“It's okay, Doreen.” Biz hunched by her cousin, rubbing her back. “None of that stuff really matters. Seriously. And most of the popular kids here are really boring so . . . I never really cared about any of that stuff, personally. I'm actually kind of relieved—”

Doreen emitted a single agonized sob.

“Nonsense!” Heidi declared. “True, we have our work cut out for us, I won't argue that, but I believe we can launch you into Chandler, my dear, as a success. It simply requires a little art direction. Hair. Makeup. Lighting. Props. And we shall begin with your GryphPage profile.” With that, Heidi disappeared into the bedroom.

“What's a GryphPage?” Doreen asked Biz with a sniffle.

“It's pretty stupid. See, our mascot is the gryphon. Do you know it? It's a mythological creature from ancient Greece.” Biz rummaged through a desk drawer. “It's got the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. Here.” She handed Doreen a Chandler Academy notebook. The creature was there in the middle, standing on its back lion paws with its wings outstretched.

“Like a dragon,” said Doreen.

“Sort of. Interestingly, gryphons are said to mate for life. Even after one dies the other continues alone—they think that aspect of the myth was perpetuated by the church in order to support its view on marriage.” Biz would have been happy to continue on to more mythological details, but she could see Doreen looking around the room. “Anyway, GryphPages is a localized social network, strictly for students at Chandler.”

“Did you take all these pictures?” asked Doreen. She was scanning the photos on the wall. “Oh! That's Heidi. And Addison! I remember him now.” She stepped closer to a photo of Biz's brother in silhouette, driving golf balls off a cliff near their Connecticut estate.

Biz smiled. “Everyone here calls him Ad-rock.”

“Really? How stupid.”

“Thank you!” said Biz. “Right? Anyway, I didn't take all of them. Some of them are just inspiration.”