The Mare

Velvet

When the class was over, Strawberry and Alicia wanted to walk out with me. They never did that before, and it was because of Ginger. Her hair was white and shiny, and she was wearing pants that looked like leather and her diamond ring on one hand and her gold on the other, smiling and talking all sweet. Strawberry’s eyes could not stop staring at her; Alicia’s mouth was open. And Ginger seemed to like it. Who likes to be stared at? A stuck-up person who thinks they all that. But Ginger didn’t think she was all that. Did she?

“Is it true you make paintings?” asked Alicia. “Are you an artist?”

So Strawberry’d talked to her even though I asked her not to.

“Yes,” said Ginger. “I don’t make money at it, I just do it because I love it.”

“Does that mean you’re rich?” asked Strawberry.

“No,” said Ginger. “Just that so far I haven’t made money. I would if I could.” And then she stopped in the hall in front of a picture of everybody in the class. “Oh, adorable!” she said.

See how nice she is, I thought.

But I could feel Strawberry thinking something different. I could feel part of her leaning toward Ginger and another part of her feeling very negative. Which didn’t make sense and did make sense at the same time.