Infinite Days by Rebecca Maizel Page A

tattoo was covered.
    “That tattoo is really cool,” Tony said, confirming my fears. We walked out of the auditorium down the main hallway of Hopper.
    “Oh, it’s nothing,” I replied. “Nothing? That tattoo is not nothing. When did you get it done? Who did it? That’s some serious ink.”
    “An artist in London,” I said, though my mind flashed to a memory. I was in Hathersage, stomach down on the floor of the living room. Underneath me was a scarlet red, Persian rug Rhode brought back from India sometime in the sixteenth century. A fire roared in the oversized fireplace. I was topless, but only my back was exposed. Rhode was on his knees working the scripture into my back.
    Around Tony and me, students wandered the halls, most with Wickham folders in their hands. There must have been a hundred middle schoolers wandering through Hopper building. The moment reminded me of a castle in Venice during carnevale . Hundreds of costumed Venetians held masks over their faces. Lions, feathers, sparkling gems, and flowing goblets spilled onto the floor. Just like this moment, it was disarming to be surrounded by so many strangers. There was no face I recognized, just eyes catching my gaze. Though, in 1605, in my confusion, I murdered the great Doge Marino when he refused to stop following me throughout the castle. I ripped his neck out and was quite “full” before dawn crept over the canals of Venice. I greatly regretted it all that next day, as I had no idea I had murdered my host. What was a girl to do? He kept following me around telling me how beautiful I was. Also, I was so bored.
    “So, she’s sitting there on her knees. Like, crying,” a voice said, tearing me out of my memory. Tracy stood in the hallway and flipped her hair over her shoulder. She talked to the members of the Three-Piece as well as Justin. They stood around her at the base of some stairs. There were a few other girls standing about I didn’t know. Tracy hit Justin casually on the shoulder. “Justin goes in there and says, like, what the hell is wrong with you?”
    “What did she say?” one of the girls I didn’t know asked while she sipped on a soda. Tracy looked to Justin, but he simply shrugged in response.
    “She lied. She said she’d never heard music on a stereo before.”
    Justin looked up from the group and when he locked eyes on me, his eyes were polite—surprised, even. My cheeks warmed, and I felt a stirring in my chest—I wanted to scream at Tracy and throw her to the ground. Instead, I sighed and turned to Tony, who smiled apologetically.
    “The English floor is up there,” he said, and pointed at a staircase. “I can go up with you, if you want.”
    The position I was in with Tracy was not to be taken lightly. I needed to go up alone. “No,” I said, though my tone was thankful. I looked back to the group, but they had started up the stairs. “I’ll be all right,” I said, grateful I wouldn’t have to pass by them after they had just talked about me in that manner.
    “I’ll see you tonight. Dinner?”
    I nodded and started to climb.
    “Don’t forget!” Tony said, calling after me. I turned around. “B-O-B,” he said, sounding out the letters. “Bunch o’ bitches.”
    I laughed and ascended the stairs.

    Advanced English. Apparently, when I took the placement test that Saturday morning, I had scored “higher than last year’s valedictorian.”
    On the second floor there were doors made out of mahogany with glass-plated windows and a shiny tiled floor. I walked down the hallway, past two or three glass doors, and looked down at my schedule. I pressed on a wooden door with the numbers 205 painted in black and entered AP English. This classroom had a semicircular shape, a chalkboard in the center of the room, and the teacher standing in the middle was a man named Professor Lynn. He was a short man, with a slight build and a receding hairline. His bald spot was the size of a half dollar.
    Most students were just