I got to school early, same as always. I wish the city bus schedule would allow me a few more minutes of sleep, but it’s either be twenty minutes early or ten minutes late so it’s early to bed and early to rise for me.

Mrs. Bradley (the school Secretary) just waved me back to Principal Spencer’s office when I walked in the front door. “They’re already in, just waiting for you, Leah,” she said, barely looking up from her computer screen.

Whatever it was that I expected, the girl waiting for me inside Mr. Spencer’s office certainly wasn’t it.

She looked exactly the way the way you’d expect a French schoolgirl should look. White button-front shirt, dark blue cardigan, knee length dark blue pleated skirt. White socks and Mary Janes. Hair cut in a long bob, a ribbon the same color as the sweater for a hair band. As I said, exactly as you’d picture her.

But also, and more importantly, completely different. Shockingly, utterly different.

I have to admit that I just stood and stared at her at first. I’d never seen anybody like her. Heck, I’d never even imagined anybody like this new girl. I’d never imagined anybody could have skin as black as ink, as black as fresh asphalt. I mean, sure, I’ve seen some pretty dark-skinned black people before. After all, Anna in my history class was born in Nigeria, and was the darkest-skinned person I’d ever seen- until now.

The thing was, this girl standing in front of me there in the Principal’s office was just a completely different color than any person of African descent I’d ever seen. This girl’s skin didn’t even have the slightest hint of brown in it. Where Anna, my Nigerian classmate, was a really dark brown this new girl’s skin color was like a really dark gray. A really, really dark gray- close, but not quite, to pitch black.

To add to the strangeness of her appearance she had the whitest hair I’ve ever seen. Platinum blonde didn’t even begin to describe it. I was sure at first it was a wig until I noticed her eyebrows and even her lashes were just the same brilliant, amazing white.

After the initial surprise (and I’m sure I looked like a complete idiot, standing there staring) I noticed her eyes. Her eyes were green. I’m not talking hazel, or even your ordinary green or anything like that. No, I mean really, really green. Green like a cat’s eyes, green as the fresh cut grass at the baseball stadium. Green as the bottles of beer my dad used to drink. ‘Contact lenses’, I thought. Nobody actually has eyes like that.

This has to be some kind of put-on, it occurred to me. Has to be. People just do not look like this. Not outside of Japanese cartoons, anyway.

I don’t know how long I stared. It seemed like forever, but I’m sure it couldn’t have been any more than say, fifteen or twenty minutes. At least, that’s the way it felt to me. Fifteen or twenty seconds is probably more accurate. Finally, though, this crazy-looking girl spoke, breaking through my stunned silence.

“Pleased to meet you. My name is Emmy,” she said. Her accent was noticeable but not too strong at all.

Broken out of my shock, I said “Leah”, and automatically took her hand when she held it out to shake. She didn’t shake it, though. She just held my hand for a moment. Just another oddity on what was shaping up into a very odd morning.

“Thank you for agreeing to help me today.”

“No problem,” was my reply. Again, just an automatic response to familiar stimuli. Inside I was still trying to process it all, but at least on the outside I was starting to recover my composure.

Principal Spencer broke in at that point. “Miss Lasko is signed up for almost all the same classes as you are, Leah. It would be great if you could show her around, get Emerald acquainted with the lay of the land, so to speak. If you could please come back to my office at the end of the day that would be fantastic.”

He handed Emerald, Emmy, some papers and said “The bell is about to ring. You two had better get to Home Room,” and ushered us out the door.

Once outside, Emmy turned to me. “You do not need to be my guide. I have my emp- uh,” she paused to think of the word, “schedule.” She said it American style, which kind of surprised me a bit. I guess I would have expected somebody from France to learn English-style English. “I have the plan, too,” she said, holding up a map of the school. “I do not wish to impose.”

“No, no. It’s O.K., really,” I said. “We have mostly the same classes- that’s what Principal Spencer said. Let me see your sked.” I held out my hand, but she looked puzzled.

“Your schedule. Sorry” I apologized. Understanding, she handed me the papers that the principal had given her. Looking at it, I realized it was true. She was going to be in every class of mine but fourth period art, when she had music instead.

“See, we do have virtually the same classes. We’ll be together pretty much all day anyhow, so it’s no problem. It’ll be my pleasure.”

Standing next to her, the two of us looking at her schedule together, it hit me how petite she was. Although she wasn’t particularly short, it seemed to me as if I were towering over her.

O.K., I’m tall, I know that. At six feet even I’m the tallest girl in school and taller than a lot of the boys as well, but I didn’t often feel ‘big’. Standing next to this new girl, though, sure hammered it home. Emmy was about average height, maybe 5’ 6” or so, but her slenderness made her seem tiny next to me. Maybe more accurately, made me seem enormous next to her. Mental note to self: avoid mirrors while next to Emmy. It wouldn’t be good for my ego.

Walking to Home Room, I asked “Is Emmy short for Emerald?”

“Yes. Emerald Lascaux.” She pronounced it nothing like Principal Spencer had. “I prefer to be called Emmy.”

“My name’s Leah Farmer. Pleased to meet you, Emmy Lascaux,” I said, in a mock formal tone. “Welcome to Fallbrook High School.”

“Merci beaucoup,” she replied with a smile. “I am very pleased to be here.”

As we headed across the quad to class, she paused to pull a pair of glasses from her cardigan’s pocket. As she put them on I noticed the lenses were tinted an odd shade of orange. I guess she caught my quizzical look, because she smiled, and explained “Prescription lenses. My eyes are very sensitive and these help prevent headaches.” They also hide your bright green eyes, too, I thought. It struck me that everywhere this strange-looking girl goes people must react just as moronically as I had. Thinking about how stupid I must have looked when I first saw her, I blushed, but she didn’t notice. Thanks for small favors, they say.

Home Room was an experience. I was embarrassed for Emmy, but she seemed totally unfazed. When we walked in, all conversation stopped. Even Miss Takei was left speechless for a moment- and that’s a rarity. She’s never surprised by anything. Ever.

Recovering quickly, though, she announced to the class “We have someone new in class today. Her name is Emerald Lascaux, and she’s from Paris, France. Today is her first day in an American school, so please welcome her to FHS.”

“Emerald,” she continued, but Emmy interrupted.

“Please, Madame. I prefer Emmy.”

“Emmy it is, then,” the teacher granted. “Please call me Miss Takei. Anyhow, Emmy, I don’t want to put you on the spot, but it would be wonderful if you could tell us a little about yourself.”

I would have melted right into the floor and died if that were me up there, but Emmy had no apparent problem with public speaking. She stood in front of the class and talked for a while about her old school in Paris, and where she lived. She explained that Paris was divided into areas called “arrondisements”. She explained that her family had moved to Southern California because of her father’s business, and so on.

Almost the entire hour went by before somebody finally asked the question they were all dying to know, in a roundabout way. Honestly, I was curious, too, but would never have brought the subject up.

“Is that your real hair color? That’s amazing!” said Isabelle, who could generally be counted on to speak first and think later, if ever.

“Yes,” Emmy said. “In truth, my hair has no color at all. It is like…” she searched for the right words “the string that people use to catch fish. Each hair strand, alone, is transparent, but combined together they look white. Perhaps a better description is like snow. Snow flakes are just water and have no color at all, but they look white because they reflect light. That’s what my hair is like.

“I know it seems strange, but I am a sort of, uh, albinos.” She looked to Miss Takei for help.

“Albino, like a white rabbit?” asked the teacher.

“Yes! That is right. My hair has no pigment and my skin has no ability to resist the rays of the sun,” she went on. “Sometimes it makes it hard for people to accept me because of the way I look, but I have learned to not take it too personally.”

And just like that, with that simple explanation, we all felt like idiots for the way we’d acted. Well, I did anyway. Thinking about it later, I realized that Emmy’d probably used that trick many times before. Enlist a person’s sympathy and in their embarrassment they’ll bend over backwards to act as if it were no big deal. By talking about school, her neighborhood , and all the rest, she’d convinced us of how normal she was. Just another kid, albeit it one from a different country. Then, when she told us of her medical condition we all felt like jerks for even noticing how very, very different she looked. The way people pretend to not notice a wheel chair, or a speech impediment.

Emmy, though, seemed completely at ease with the attention. All eyes were on her, and she knew it. It was the same in first period math, and second period, too. She’d introduce herself, smile at everyone, and sit down as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on. As if she’d done it a million times.

Fourth period she had music and I had art, so I showed her where her class was, told her I’d see her at lunch, and hurried to my stupid art class.

In art, some of the other kids were talking about her. News of the strange foreign student had certainly gotten around the campus, apparently.

“I heard she’s, like, some kind of mutant” said Candace.

“I saw her in the quad after second period. She looks freaky, all right,” agreed Stephanie. She turned to me. “Leah, you were with her. What’s, like, her story?”

I rolled my eyes. “Look. She’s really nice, and here’s the deal. She just moved here with her family from France, but she speaks better English than most people in this school do. The way she looks is from some kind of hereditary condition. She said it was kind of like albinism.” Seeing the blank looks on their idiotic faces, I explained “She doesn’t have normal color in her skin or hair. Most albinos are very pale and have pink eyes, like a white rabbit, but hers is different. Her hair has no color, but her skin is as black as this charcoal” I said, holding up my sketching stick.

“So I was right, then. She is some kind of mutant!” said Candace.

“Chyeah!” agreed Stephanie.

I couldn’t really focus on the still life I was supposed to be sketching. I was thinking about Emmy, what Stephanie and Candace had just said. They’re just morons, but it still managed to bother me more than it should.

I got to the caf as quickly as I could, hoping I’d beat Emmy there because the music rooms were closer to the caf than my art class was. I got there first, and waiting for her I could hear little bits of gossip floating around me. It was all, and I mean all, about the new girl. When Emmy walked in, everybody turned to look at her, the chatter abruptly stopping, just like in an old Western movie when the guy walks into the saloon. It almost made me laugh, the scene was so ridiculous.

Looking around, Emmy spotted me and gave me a happy smile.“How was art class?” she asked, as she followed me into line for lunch.

“O.K.,” I replied. “How about your music class?”

“It was fun. There are some good musicians at this school. Tomorrow I will bring my guitar,” she said as I handed her a tray. “No, thank you. I brought my lunch,” she explained.

“I wish I could get my act together enough to pack lunch,” I said, enviously. “The caf lunch is pretty bad.” Grabbing a cellophane-wrapped sandwich, a bag of chips and an orange soda, I moved to the cashier. I noticed that the noise level in the lunchroom was back to normal, and only a few kids were still stealing glances in Emmy’s direction.

After paying, I led Emmy to the table where my friends were already sitting.

I introduced her to Courtney and Allie, but before I could introduce him, Tom interrupted.

“Hi! I’m Tom. Welcome to FHS! How has your first day been?”

“Thank you, Tom. It has been very good today. Everyone is so very nice,” she replied, amused. This seemed to break the ice, and all three bombarded Emmy with questions. Laughing, she pulled a small bag from her backpack, and opened it to reveal her lunch- a bottle of Perrier and a gold-and-red apple. That was it. No wonder she is such a twig, I thought. I’d die of starvation if that were all I had to eat.

“Would you like a piece of apple? It’s very good,” Emmy said, bringing me back to the here and now. I looked at the slice of apple. My first thought was how ridiculous it was, her offering to share her tiny little lunch, when I had so much more on my plate. With a flash, it occurred to me that it might be rude to not accept her offer, and perhaps even more rude to not share mine with her.

“Thanks!” I took the apple slice and asked her if she’d like some of my potato chips.

“No, thank you very much. It is kind of you to offer.” The bright smile she flashed as she spoke this oddly formal response startled me a bit- her teeth were so very, very white in that strange dark face.

I’d spent most of the day with Emmy so by this point I should have been used to how she looked, but still every time I glanced in her direction I found myself a little bit surprised. Whether it was the ‘correct’ thing to do or not, I just couldn’t help it. She just didn’t look like anybody I’d ever seen before, not even in my wildest imagination.

That white, almost slightly blue hair- even her eyebrows and lashes matched- looked like one of those wigs a couple of the more Goth girls at school wore (but theirs were bright red or purple). The straightness, the unnatural color, the too-perfect haircut- it just looked fake. Sitting right next to her, I could tell it wasn’t, but the impression persisted.

Her eyes, too, really bothered me. It wasn’t just the startling green color, either. Although that was plenty odd, it wasn’t the most unusual thing about her eyes. No, what really made her eyes look so wrong was that the pupils were just too small. They were like tiny black dots, which made the irises seem so big, and exaggerated the color because there was so much of it showing.

She’d said her eyes were very light sensitive, so I guess it would make sense that her pupils would be contracted all the time, but seriously? We were inside a cafeteria with blinds over the windows! Freaky. Every time we stepped outside to go to our next class those orange-lensed sunglasses went right on immediately, even though we would only be in the sunlight for a couple of minutes. Even with the sunglasses I noticed she squinted a bit, and definitely stuck to the shade as much as possible. I guess you develop those kinds of habits with a condition like hers, I thought. It must be rough to have to avoid the sun all the time, and living here in sunny Southern California was going to be a challenge.

It’s strange to think of someone as dark-skinned as Emmy being prone to sunburns. I mean, really- she had skin as black as, well, something completely black. Somebody super white would of course burn easily, but somebody as black as night?

The more time I spent with her, though, the more little things I noticed. Even though she wasn’t wearing any makeup as far as I could tell, her lips had a little bit of pinkish color to them, and so did the color of the skin under her clear-polished fingernails. The palms of her hands were a bit paler (or is that just less black?), too. She was very different looking from anybody I’d ever seen, but the little details seemed to be just like anybody else, in a way.

As we walked out of sixth period (our last class of the day), Emmy said “Thank you for being such a wonderful guide today, Leah. It has helped me very much.”

Even after a day of it, her formality still struck me as odd. “No problem,” I replied. “It was no biggie. I’m glad I could help.”

Turning to head to the locker room, I said “Well, this is my stop. See you tomorrow.”

“You are not going home?” she asked, puzzled.

“No, I have practice.” Seeing the quizzical look on her face, I went on. “I’m on the varsity volleyball team, and we have practice Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays right after school.”

“Oh,” she said. “You are very tall. That must be a great advantage playing volleyball.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said “I have never played any sports.”

“Really?” I asked, amazed. “That seems hard to believe. Here in the U.S. almost everybody plays something at some point or another.”

“Yes, that may be true. My life, though, has been very different than most- even in France.” Changing subjects, she said “Oh, sorry. I am keeping you. Will I see you again tomorrow?” Emmy asked.

“Of course! See you then!” I responded.

Then she kissed me. Out of the blue. I didn’t see it coming at all. It was one of those little cheek pecks you see Europeans do in movies, and I almost immediately recognized it for what it was, but I was still very startled. Miss Takei’s voice saying “We will increase our understanding of other cultures” ran through my head, as Emmy waved goodbye and walked towards the pick-up area for her ride home.

Tom said “She certainly seems to like you. You’ve made a new friend,” as he walked up, startling me out of my musing. I felt an embarrassed blush heat up my cheeks, as if I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.

“Jeeze, Tom. You scared the crap out of me,” I snapped.

“It’s twoo wuuuv,” he teased. “You were lost, dreaming of your sweet new soul mate!”

“Jerk!” was all that I could do for a snappy response.

“If it’s any consolation, I think she’s pretty hot, too, in her weird kind of way,” Tom continued, not letting up. “You two make a cute couple.”

“Screw off,” I said. “I’ve got to get to practice. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya,” he replied.

Tuesdays were technique days, so practice demanded my full attention. It was a good workout, and afterwards Coach complimented my serve. “You’re doing really well right now, Leah. If you keep it up like this at this weekend’s tournament we’ll be sitting pretty going into the second half of the season.” She continued “Just keep your focus, and remember to get your rest.”

“Thanks,” I said. "I’ll try.”

Waiting for the bus, I thought about Coach and her edict to get my rest. It’s a bit tough with so many AP classes piling on the homework on top of workouts. By the time I get done every night it’s usually past ten, and with school starting at six thirty in the morning, sleep is a precious commodity. Still, hopefully it’ll all pay off. The recruiter for Cal State Long Beach seems interested, and has been making noises about scholarships. If I could get a full ride it would mean getting out of college without a heavy debt load, and that would set me that much farther ahead afterwards. Mom can’t contribute much, and the military survivors’ scholarships won’t cover more than my books (unless I go to Annapolis, and there’s no way I’m doing that) so anything I can do to help pay for college will make a difference.

Well, a good GPA and a solid presence on the V Ball court are the keys to my future, I guess. Only a little longer, and then it’s on to the next step.

Lost in thought, I hardly noticed when the bus pulled up. Taking my seat, I relaxed for a bit, thinking more about the day. Today had been different, all right. Emmy was absolutely something else.

My phone rang, startling me out of my musings. Looking at the caller I.D., I saw it was Courtney.

“Hey,” I said, answering the call.

“Are you home yet?” asked my best friend. “Can you talk?”

“No, I’m still on the bus. I can talk, though. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk about that new girl, Emmy? Is she weird, or what?” Courtney said.

“She’s got a medical condition,” I said, a bit indignantly. “She can’t help the way she looks.”

“No, it’s not that,” Courtney said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “I mean, sure, she looks weird, but that’s not what I was going to talk about. What I meant is the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” I asked, as I rose out of my seat and walked to the front of the bus. Stepping off the bus, I missed what Courtney said. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Well, the way she moves, for starters. And the way she blinks. And the fact she used a freaking switchblade to cut her apple at lunch. And-“

“Wait, what?” I interrupted. “What do you mean, a switchblade?”

“A switchblade. You know, a knife that pops right open. You know what a switchblade is, Miss AP English.” Courtney’s tone was more than just a bit mocking.

“You’re telling me she used a switchblade to cut up her apple at lunch today, right there in the middle of the caf?” I asked, incredulous.

“How could Leah not notice, I ask myself, and then I answer myself. Self, I say, it’s Leah we’re talking about. Of course she didn’t notice,” Courtney said, sarcasm oozing through the phone. “Yeah, she used a switchblade. I didn’t see where she had it hidden, but all of a sudden she was right there, cutting her apple into slices. One of which, I might add, she gave to you- didn’t you even notice that? One minute, she pulls an apple from her bag, the next she’s handing you a slice? Anyway, she cut it up, wiped the blade off with a napkin, then put it away again, too quick for me to see where she stashed it. A freaking switchblade.”

Walking up the stairs to our apartment, I said “Well, that’s not so strange, now is it? I have two or three knives in my backpack, don’t you? Oh, and I always keep an extra in my back pocket, just in case.”

“Now that you point it out, I guess it seems reasonable,” Courtney said. “Not.” She continued, after a pause. “Look, maybe the school rules about weapons weren’t explained to her, and maybe in her prestigious French private school they have different attitudes about kids stabbing each other. But here in the civilized world, it just isn’t O.K. to carry around knives at school.”

“I guess I need to talk to her about that,” I admitted.

“Why should you be the one? Who made you her keeper?” Courtney demanded.

“Well, I guess I volunteered, or at least agreed to it. I’m supposed to ‘show her the ropes’ after all. Maybe that includes explaining about not bringing knives to school, too. So besides the switchblade, what was the other stuff you were talking about?”

“How could you not notice the way she blinks? I mean, you were staring at her enough,” Courtney responded. “She blinks really slowly. I mean, most people blink, well, in the blink of any eye, right? It’s super quick. But Emmy slowly closes her eyes and then slowly opens them again. When I say slow, I mean like a couple of seconds. After lunch, I tried doing it like she does, and it just doesn’t work. It’s freaky. And the way she moves, that’s weird, too.”

“I didn’t notice her blinking really slowly,” I said. “It seems like something that I would have picked up on.”

“Apparently not,” Courtney replied, her tone sharp. “So the way she moves. Maybe I should say ‘doesn’t move’. While we were sitting there at lunch, she hardly moved a muscle. It took me a while to pick up on it, but once I noticed I kept watching. She just sits there, perfectly still.”

“What do you mean, perfectly still? She was talking, eating lunch, and evidently using a knife to cut up her apple. That doesn’t sound as if she were doing nothing at all,” I retorted.

“Well, yeah, she was doing those things. But the weird part about it was that she used only the minimum necessary movement to do them. Her feet didn’t fidget, she didn’t move around in her seat, or anything. I mean, normal people are always moving around all the time. She wasn’t. Watch her tomorrow, and you’ll see what I mean.”

“I’ll look for it. Anyway, I’m home now so I should get off the phone. I gotta dive straight into my homework.”

“And that’s why you’re in AP everything,” Courtney said. “You’re just too good for your own good.”

“See you tomorrow,” I said.

“Yeah, see you in the morning,” Courtney replied.

That night, lying in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Emmy. Her strange vivid green eyes with their tiny pupils, and the orange sunglasses she wore to help prevent headaches. Her charcoal black skin, so smooth it almost looked velvety. Her perfectly straight brilliant white hair, with hardly a strand out of place. Even her perfectly shaped white eyebrows showed an amazing level of grooming that seemed unreal to me. Thinking about it, her oh so stereotypical schoolgirl outfit had been too perfectly pressed, too spotlessly lint-free to be believable. Drifting off to sleep, I almost had myself convinced that I’d dreamed her, and in the morning she’d be just another fuzzy memory.

The fuzzy memories I did have the next morning of my dreams did involve Emmy, it’s true. I can’t remember it very clearly, but I do know I dreamt she was in my room, threatening me with a sharp silver dagger, then kissing me. Odd. Not the kind of thing I’ll be mentioning to Courtney, that’s for sure. I’d never hear the end of her pop psychoanalysis.

Walking into Home Room I saw Emmy was sitting in the same seat as yesterday, next to where I sit. I did notice that her French schoolgirl outfit was gone, though. Instead she was wearing an American schoolgirl outfit- skinny jeans, a hoodie, and Chuck Taylors. Quite a difference from the day before, all right. Now her outfit would blend in with any crowd of local teenaged girls. Besides the utterly unremarkable outfit, though, she still looked as strange as she had the day before. Her skin was as midnight black as I’d remembered, and her hair was just as pure white. Her eyes, though, were greener than I’d remembered. I’m sure they hadn’t changed color, it’s just that my memory refused to admit that anybody’s eyes could be such a vivid, emerald (yes, emerald) green. One small change was the tiny emerald stud she had on the side of her long, narrow nose. That little speck of green was enough to accentuate how astonishingly green her eyes really were.

Emmy was chatting with Brent Platner, who had moved up from his usual back-of-the-class seat to talk to her. I sat down in my usual seat, and they both said hello.

“Hey, Leah. Hey, did you know that Emmy’s an amazing guitar player? Yesterday in music class she just blew us all away!” Brent said. It was a pretty high compliment from him- after all, he’s generally considered the best musician in school. He plays the guitar and sings in a local rock band, too.

Emmy smiled at the remark, and replied “Thank you, Brent. Thank you for letting me play your guitar yesterday. I had not known I should bring my own,” she said.

The bell rang, and as Miss Takei entered the room Brent returned to his back row seat. Keeping an eye on Emmy, I did see what Courtney had been talking about. She really didn’t move her body any more than absolutely required for a given task. It was subtle, but definitely odd. The more I looked, the more disturbing I found it.

“Leah, is something wrong?” she asked, concern in her face. “You seem to be very distracted this morning. Did you sleep poorly?”

“No, I’m O.K.” I said. “Just thinking about something my friend Courtney said last night. It’s nothing.” Changing the subject, I tilted my head back to where Brent sat. “Brent seemed really impressed with your guitar playing. That’s a pretty big deal around here. He’s got a band, and they actually make money performing locally.”

“Yes, he told me. I would like to see them play. Brent told me that they mostly play old rock songs, because that is what people want, but they have been working on some original music. They are hoping to sign a recording contract after they all turn eighteen, so they can legally do so.”

“Oh, that makes sense. There was a rumor that they’d been approached by a record company but didn’t sign. That never made any sense to me before.”

Just then Miss Takei called for silence so we all shut up to listen to the day’s announcements.

After Home Room I asked Emmy about the switchblade Courtney mentioned.

“This?” Emmy asked, suddenly producing a folding knife, a lot like my dad’s old Buck knife that he used to have with him everywhere he went. It wasn’t actually a switchblade, but with the speed and ease Emmy opened the blade using just her thumb made me see why Courtney had thought it was spring-loaded.

“Jeeze!” I exclaimed. “Put that away before anyone sees! You’re not supposed to bring any kind of weapon to school, and especially not something like that!”

“Really?” asked Emmy, puzzled. “But what do people do when they need a knife?” she asked as she slid the blade closed with one hand and slipped it back into her pocket, completely casually. Her movements were even smoother and more natural than any of the girls at my school who could pull out and flip open their cell phones like they were born with them.

“This is school. You aren’t supposed to need a knife of any sort here,” I replied, realizing that a ‘because it’s the rules’ argument always sounded weak to me, and a lack of conviction wasn’t helping my case.

“If you insist,” Emmy said, doubtfully.

“Look. I know you didn’t bring a knife to school to stab anybody with it, but all the same, it’s against the rules. Just don’t let anybody even know you have it, or you’ll get expelled.”

“I will not let anybody know,” Emmy agreed, and we walked to our next class in silent agreement. I wasn’t going to ask any more about it, and she wasn’t going to tell anybody at all.

The next couple of classes went by without much fanfare, but I did keep an eye on Emmy and saw that her ‘economy of movement’ (I guess you could call it) was a full-time thing. When she sat at her desk to write, only her writing hand moved. The rest of her body was perfectly still. When she moved, it was only just enough to do whatever she was doing. Courtney was right- it was strange- almost they way you’d expect a science fiction robot to move, but not a real person.

At the end of third period she headed off to the music rooms and I went to art. Watching her go, I saw something- she actually had a little bounce to her step that had been completely absent all morning.

At lunch, I asked Emmy how music had gone that day. “You brought your guitar today, right? I know Brent keeps his practice guitar here at school in the music room.”

“Yes, I brought it today. There is a special space to store instruments, and I got to school early so I could leave my guitar there and not have to carry it with me everywhere.” Her careful speech actually seemed more foreign to me in some ways than her musical French accent. Emmy chose her words so carefully and her phrasing was totally correct, but somehow awkward sounding. It’s interesting and definitely foreign, but I could see how she tested into AP English. After all, her English was better than most of our fellow students.