The Spirit House (6 page)

Not that my appearance mattered anymore. Mark had already dropped me for Lynette. Gloria had suddenly become openly hostile to me. Bia wouldn't look at me or talk to me.

He hardly said a word on the walk to school. I wanted to know why he was angry, why he had stopped caring about me. But it was clear that asking him would be pointless. He behaved as though I weren't there, not looking at me, keeping well away from me on the sidewalk. There was no way anyone would get the idea that he liked me, even though he had given me the pendant.

I steeled myself as we neared the school. Hordes of kids were gathering on the front steps. I spotted Gloria and Lynette and Mark at the edge of the crowd. Mark had his arm around Lynette's shoulder. They had seen us now. They didn't wave or smile, they just watched us approaching. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. I had never felt so pathetic in my life.

And all day it got worse.

7

Mark, Gloria, and Lynette greeted me with a kind of cool smugness, though Mark did seem a little embarrassed too. As soon as I introduced Bia they forgot about me. In less than a minute Gloria was actively flirting and Lynette was being as friendly as she could get away with in front of Mark. Occasionally Gloria and Lynette managed to drag their eyes away from Bia long enough to cast looks of approval and awed amazement at each other. No one was impressed by the pendant on my neck; no one even noticed it.

And I had worried, before Bia arrived, that a nerdy foreign student would hurt my status! Already, on the first day of school, smooth, cool Bia was the focus of interest, and I was the outcast.

“Come on, Bia, time to meet the principal.” My voice sounded as warped and fuzzy to my ears as an old record. I started edging him away, up the steps.

“Bia, try to get into Rothschild's English class,” Lynette called after him.

“No, Rothschild's a bore, take
Becker's
class,” Gloria brayed.

“No, no, Becker hates men. Take Rothschild,” Lynette insisted.

“Ignore her! She's lying. The name is Becker!” Gloria shouted.

Bia kept turning back to smile at them as I urged him toward the doors. “You have nice friend, Julie. Really pretty girl. Like very much.”

“Great,” I muttered. “I'm so happy to hear it. Now you better use some of your charm on the principal. This way.”

The school secretary let Mrs. Keating know we were there and then told us to go right in. When we entered her office Mrs. Keating was already striding from behind her desk, her hand extended, smiling at Bia. And then Bia
wai
ed her.

I glanced quickly through the open door, but no one in the outer office had noticed. Bia's head was still bowed when I turned back. Mrs. Keating didn't seem to know what to do.

“It's … a sign of respect,” I said, blushing.

“A welcome change from what I get from most students,” Mrs. Keating said, her smile returning. She actually seemed interested as she asked the usual questions about his trip, and what he thought of it here, and Bia told her that America was very beautiful, and very strange. I could see that she liked him already.

“Your teacher recommendations and test scores are extremely impressive, especially in math and English,” she said, speaking very fast, as always. “Otherwise, we couldn't have accepted you, of course, since we have no facilities for ESL students here. But judging from your marks in English, and your writing sample, you shouldn't be at even a minimal disadvantage due to low comprehension.”

Bia nodded, wisely not saying anything. I knew he had no idea what she was talking about.

Mrs. Keating's smile faded a bit. “Your English
is
at an acceptable level of fluency, isn't it?” she asked him.

“Oh, his English is
fine
,” I said quickly, before she had a chance to catch on that it wasn't. “Except, sometimes when people talk really fast he misses things. So it might make sense to put him in some of my classes.”

It had struck me, watching Bia and Mrs. Keating, that he wouldn't have a clue about what was going on in any of his classes. Without a lot of help he would be lost. I understood how important this year was to his future. He'd been unfriendly to me for a few days, but I really didn't want him to fail in school and lose his chance for a better life. And if I helped him, his attitude might change back—he might forgive me for whatever it was I had done to offend him.

“You want to be in some classes together?” Mrs. Keating said. “Well, you'll have to check with Mr. Fowler about your schedules—he's Bia's homeroom teacher. Better hurry, you've only got a few minutes. It's very nice to meet you, Bia, and I'm sure you'll have a wonderful year with us.”

“Thank you. I think I really like school here,” he told her. “Not like Thailand. School principal there always much older than student.” She was beaming at him as we left the office.

“Do you want me in some of your classes?” I asked him, out in the hallway. “I might be able to help you a little.”

“Thank you,” he said, eyeing a pair of senior girls.

There were kids in Mr. Fowler's room already, some of whom I knew. I was aware of their eyes on us as we approached the desk. I realized, too late, that I had forgotten to tell Bia not to
wai
Mr. Fowler. And when he did
wai
him I glanced quickly over at the others. Most of them hadn't noticed. Those who had seemed more curious than contemptuous.

I did most of the talking, explaining that Mrs. Keating had said Mr. Fowler might be able to get Bia into some of my classes. Of course Fowler had to object that it was rather late to be rearranging Bia's schedule and wanted to know why he hadn't been told earlier, as though it were my fault. But I didn't back down. It was very clear to me that Bia wouldn't make it on his own; he'd flunk out of school in a matter of weeks without me there to help him. I also wanted to be in his classes so I could keep my eye on him for purely selfish reasons. I didn't like the way Gloria and Lynette had already tried to appropriate him.

There was no way to get him into my American history or math classes. Still, Bia was very clever about figuring out how to coordinate three of our other classes. Fowler noticed that. He also noticed how courteous Bia was about the whole thing, and how Bia made sure to express his gratitude to him for helping us out.

“Of course, this is all just on paper,” Fowler told Bia. “You're still going to have to confirm it with the individual teachers. Although, now that I've met you, I don't think any teacher would object to having you as a student.”

The bell rang.

“See you second period, Bia,” I said.

He met my eyes briefly. And on his face was a searching expression I had never seen before. I caught a flash of uncertainty in the way his lips were slightly parted. He was unsure about being here on his own, with all these strangers speaking a foreign language.

He
wasn't
cool to the core; he had a vulnerable side too—and he had just allowed me to see it. I couldn't help being touched.

And then Fowler, looking harried, was directing Bia to a desk. I hurried to homeroom.

I didn't hear a word Campbell said in first period; I stared into space, worrying about Bia. I kept trying to tell myself that he was used to being on his own, that he knew very well how to deal with people, and that his transcript from Thailand proved he was a much better student than I was. But I still worried.

Because now I was beginning to suspect that his transcript had been tampered with somehow, a clever fake. It was obvious to me that he couldn't have passed an advanced English test. And Dominic had said he didn't know much math. So where had those brilliant scores come from? Had he falsified his school records in Thailand? What other explanation was there for the discrepancy?

Maybe he hadn't merely faked the records—maybe he had just faked everything else.

I thought of the photograph. Bia really
didn't
look much like the boy who had originally written to us. His inadequate English, his personality and interests were completely different from what the letter had indicated. And today I had seen that, even handicapped by his limited English, he was a talented actor who could use his charm to make whatever impression he wanted on people. Had he substituted himself for the other boy? Was that why he had been so worried by the phone call from Thailand? Had something gone wrong with his scheme?

I tried to concentrate on what Campbell was saying. But I couldn't stop thinking about Bia, and I couldn't convince myself that I was imagining things. All the evidence could easily indicate that Bia was pretending to be somebody he wasn't. And that possibility led directly to the most unpleasant question of all.

If Bia was an impostor, then what had happened to the
real
Thamrongsak Tan-ngarmtrong?

“Julie? Earth to Julie,” Campbell said. He must have asked me a question. The whole class was laughing at me.

It was a terrible day, worse than the first day of school last year. The teachers were brusque and unfriendly to me. I felt exhausted in gym class and was clumsier than usual. Afterward, in the dressing room, I noticed a second ugly pimple on my chin. My hair was lank and greasy, though I had just washed it. Gloria and Lynette looked better than I had ever seen them, full of bounce and energy, flirting happily with Bia. And he flirted back.

All I could think about during last period was what I would say to him after school. But he was out of his seat as soon as the bell rang, as if he were trying to get away from me. I rushed after him, ignoring what the other kids might think, and touched his arm as he was on his way out the door.

“What?” he said, poised and distant, no hint of vulnerability now.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Not now,” he said. “Have date with Gloria.” He hurried away.

I walked home alone, still thinking compulsively about him.

It was obvious that Bia had been taking advantage of me—as he took advantage of everybody and everything that came his way—to get whatever it was he wanted. He had lied easily to Mom and Dad—and then given me the pendant so that I would keep lying to them too. As soon as he had found out that Dominic could alter school records with computers, he had gone out of his way to be nice to him, to answer his questions—and to learn from him about computers. Today I had seen him charm Mrs. Keating so she wouldn't notice what his English was really like. He did all these things with the most natural aplomb. But that wasn't even the worst of it.

It seemed very likely to me now that he wasn't Thamrongsak Tan-ngarmtrong. I remembered the grimness in his voice when he had told me how hopeless his life in Thailand would be without a year of American education. Knowing what he was like, I could easily imagine him taking the other boy's place—the other boy who
was
a good student—in order to get to this country and improve his life.

But how had he gotten the other boy out of the way? Was Bia worse than merely a liar and a manipulator? Could he possibly have … I pushed the thought away.

And what was I going to do about it? Should I tell people what I suspected so that they could investigate it? Exposing Bia! That would really be a mess. It would probably result in his being sent back to Thailand in disgrace, with no hopes left.

I remembered the glimpse of his vulnerability he had allowed me to see today and slowly shook my head. I couldn't expose him now. Whatever he had done to get here, I wasn't ready to ruin his chances for a better life.

But the only alternative was just to stand by and watch him get away with it. That would mean becoming a part of his operation myself. I was sure I'd have to help him with his homework; he'd probably want me to cheat for him. Conspiring against the school and against Mom wasn't so bad. But I'd also, indirectly, be conspiring against the innocent boy in Thailand—if he was still alive. I wasn't sure I could do that either.

And there was nobody I could turn to for help. As soon as I told one other person, Bia would be in trouble. The only person I could talk to about it was Bia himself, if I dared to confront him. But if I did, he would just deny everything. And it would make me into an enemy in his eyes.

But why should I care? Why should I worry about ruining his chances? He hadn't been concerned about the other boy's chances. Again, I wondered exactly what Bia had done to him.

And then, out of nowhere, I remembered something Dominic had said: in Thailand, people made bargains with spirits. They would ask a spirit to do them a favor and promise to give the spirit something precious in return. We had a spirit house now. Maybe I could ask the spirit, who lived in the spirit house, to help me with this dilemma.

I sighed and clucked my teeth. I was really losing it now, imagining a spirit out there. The situation was making me completely irrational. I walked up the front steps and unlocked the door.

When I saw that the mail had been picked up off the floor and neatly stacked on the hallway table I supposed that Bia might have come home already. But there was no answer when I knocked on his door, and no one inside the room when I checked. No one else was home either—Dominic must have come back after school, picked up the mail, and then gone out again.

I wandered into my room and threw myself down on the bed, wondering morosely what Bia and Gloria were doing.

My whole life was falling apart. Bia and my other friends had all turned against me. Even my hair and complexion were a mess. Nothing was going right anymore. And just a few days ago I had been fine! How had this happened? Why had everything changed?

I thought back. It all seemed to have started on Friday evening. That's when Bia got the phone call from Thailand, and then told me I was boring, and started avoiding me. That's when Gloria called to tell me Mark was with Lynette. That's when Dominic finished the spirit house.