It was just another school day for the twenty-some students
gathered in the small stuffy classroom this particular Tuesday.
It was ninth grade mathematics, but the finals were far enough
away that the kids didn’t try very hard to seem interested. 

Susan was an exception, at least partially. She knew the
curriculum by heart, and kept raising her had to answer
questions or to simply elaborate on what the teacher had said.
But somehow her eyes were more dead than even the boys
falling asleep in the back. Her demeanor was polite and
proper, but cold to a degree that she was only respected by
the teacher, rarely liked. Math seemed to suit her very well,
this particular class like any other. As she held up her hand,
she glanced over at Myra.

Myra sat quietly in class. Math was not quite horrible. The
numbers always set themselves up in neat rows then fell over
dead in the answer. But the teacher was horrible enough. He
liked to call on students at random. Sometimes even Myra.
She flinched as he hesitated a moment before deciding,
breathing a sigh of relief as a name was called that was not
hers. But sometimes, it was hers.

"Myra? Come up to the board and do problem number 12."
She shuddered for a moment then pulled herself together and
walked from the back to the front of the room, focusing on the
board, seeing little else. She pretended there were no other
people there. She drew a large cross on the board, the axes of
the Cartesian plane, and then placed dots at the coordinates
specified. She wrote out the equation for the parabola and then
drew it in its place. Not once did she consult her book or any
notes; there was no need. She finished, flinched slightly as
the teacher stepped too near her, and scurried back to her
seat.

Susan’s eyes flitted from the sitting Myra to the blackboard,
and she folded her hands in front of her, as a lock of her long
blonde hair fell from behind her ear.

After the bell had rung and class as well as the day was over,
Myra retreated to the library unnoticed by the rest of her class.
Half an hour later she is sitting in the library, reading the book
she got at the B. Dalton, her long hair draped forward to form a
tent of privacy in which to read. Occasionally she sneaks an
earthworm out of a live bait pack she has hidden in a pocket of
her loose baggy dark green pants... and pops it in her mouth.
She keeps the snacks out of sight of the librarian who frowns
on food in the library.

At that moment, Susan is standing perfectly still in the
doorway into the library hall. She walks in slowly and
determinate, her conservative dark dress and shirt blending in
with the shelves and books surrounding her. At the table Myra
hears footsteps, and peeks surreptitiously at the newcomer.
She glances only for a split second, then returns to reading.

Susan stops as she sees Myra sitting at the table, not
noticing that she had already been spotted. She smiles a
little, amused by the hair draped over Myra's face. Myra lifts
her hair out of the way for a moment to turn the page, then lets
it fall back in place. Susan shakes her head a little, then looks
up and clears her throat softly.

“Myra.” A clear statement. Myra's head jerks up in surprise.
Her face looks whitely pale as she watches Susan through her
curtain of hair. A cold smile graces Susan’s smooth features. 

Myra whispers. “Go 'way, I'm reading.”

Susan ignores her whisper. “I hope I'm not disturbing you.”
She walks up to the table, standing next to Myra curiously.

Myra mutters. “Hope in vain, you disturb everyone.” Susan
blinks. Myra whispers louder. “What?”

“I was wondering if you'd like to talk for a second?”

Myra continues to whisper. “Second's over.” 

Susan blinks again, then pulls out a chair on the other side of
the table and sits down slowly. “You see...”

Myra sighs. “Yeah...” She puts a piece of notebook paper in
her book and closes it carefully.

Susan continues. “I've noticed you never say much in class.
Hardly ever in fact.” Myra nods. “But...” Susan quenches a
faint admiration in her clear voice. “...you know a lot of the
answers. Today in math, that wasn't easy. But it looked like it
was to you.”

Myra whispers. “It's just numbers.” Susan watches Myra
unflinchingly. Myra points to her books. “Stories... that's
what's interesting. Numbers, well, math is required.” Myra
shrugs, then realizes she feels a little odd, like a headache
has sneaked up on her. She rubs her forehead, then goes on.
“Did you want anything else? You're giving me a headache.”

Susan ignores her. “But if you made your presence known in
class, raised your hand, you would get high grades. Don't you
want to do well?” Myra’s reply is a look that repeats her earlier
question, filling the air with a deafening silence.

For some reason, the librarian on the other side of the library
buttons her cardigan, as the air seems to have dropped a few
degrees in temperature. She looks up to see if she left a
window open, then looks at the radiator. Sighing, she makes a
mental note to check the windows around the room.

Back at the table, the air itself seems frozen in time. Susan’s
hair has taken on a greyish-blue sheen and her lips seem
purple, but Myra is unable to blink to snap herself out of it.
Finally, the bubble is broken by Susan’s razor sharp voice. 
”Why do you always whisper?”

Suddenly the world is normal again. Myra is both astonished
at the question and angry that Susan would ask it so bluntly. 
She whispers, with offended hostility, “Making fun of my
disability now? Bitch.”  Myra pushes her hair behind her ears
and glares full force at Susan.

Susan looks at Myra in disbelief, and crosses her arms.
“Okay, if that's the way you want it.” She stands up offended,
and turns her back with a sharp turn.

Myra tries to whisper softly, “You're the one who started it.
Like I can help the kind of voice I have,” but in vain. The dizzy,
draining feeling from earlier returns much stronger, seeming to
claw and tear at her identity as well as her memory, as if it
would sever her from the side of herself that remembers what
the stories and the libraries really mean. Myra picks up her
book and edges away from Susan in shock even as she walks
away, her heels clicking against the floor, and she vanishes
through the library door.

Alone again, Myra rubs her head, fighting nausea. She eats a
few more worms, hoping it'll make her stomach if not her head
feel better, but they don’t seem to taste quite as good
anymore.