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Jacqueline Eliza Merridew (preferably Jackie, of course) was never a beauty. She wasn't ugly, either, but she knew for sure: never a beauty.
First and foremost, Jackie was a redhead. Her fiery locks were pulled back into two thin braids, with thick bangs falling across her forehead. Even though Rita Hayworth was considered the most beautiful woman in the world, Jackie hated that hideous hair. She watched the blonde Billie with a heavy gaze, glanced sideways at the curly brunette Rogina, and gazed with envious eyes at the fair-haired Morissa.
The red hair looked even more dreadful against her deathly pale skin and scattered, terrible freckles. In short, Jackie could find a million negative aspects about her appearance.
Thin as death;
Small eyes;
Light eyelashes;
Ugly fingers;
There was only one option. To stay one step ahead of the other girls at St. Anne's (and to be one step ahead was crucial), you had to use strength and intelligence, not looks.
Jackie wasn't a beauty. She was cute, attractive, and not bad. She wasn't charming, pleasing to the eye, or wonderful.
But Jackie was stubborn.
She learned to sing better than everyone else — she became the head of the choir. She devoured textbooks and dictionaries at night — she shot ahead of everyone else in the class. Jackie could run fast, think quickly, and speak her mind loudly. That was her strength.
Becoming a role model among her friends and a favorite of the teachers — that's a good thing. Gaining respect, a reputation. It all works very well.
It worked.
Because the universe is a bitch (good girls shouldn't swear, Jackie!). But still, the universe is a bitch, and there's nothing you can do about it.
When rumors about the new girl began to spread through the halls, Jackie didn't listen. She was studying world history, and there was no way she could skip the section on the French Revolution.
Then a word entered the conversation, ingrained in her redhead.
Pretty.
Jackie frowned. What difference did it make what they called her? Beauty was a flexible concept, and what one person considered ugly was another's standard.
Merridew decided not to speculate, not to get ahead of herself, and to form her own, untainted opinion.
Unfortunately, the word "pretty" didn't describe this new girl.
Jackie felt like they hadn't yet come up with a word that would fully describe this girl.
Simone Camborne (what a name!) was a petite, brunette with slightly dark, perpetually tanned skin. Her hair was like chocolate-colored silk, and her eyes — enormous, green — were softly framed by long-long eyelashes. She was neat and tidy, and always wore a perpetually perplexed smile with her plump lips.
"What a doll!" said one of the older girls.
A Doll.
Jacqueline Merridew had never been more beautiful in her life. Neither Vivien Leigh nor Margaret Lockwood came close. It seemed to take her breath away.
Along with this delight, a vile, sinful envy crept into her chest.
At night, Jackie tossed and turned, staring at the wall, while Simone's huge eyes and pink lips flashed before her eyes.
Why does someone always get everything? Why does God create some people with incredible love, while others are created with careless indifference?
"I think I'll make a little girl!" — God thought one day. (He certainly didn't think so; Jackie thought so, proudly infusing her thoughts with His name.) — "I'll give her all the useless things that remain. And come what may!"
Jackie knew that "covet not" was one of God's most important commandments, but she couldn't get Simone out of her head.
What should she do if her lovely hair and dimples kept creeping into her mind, filling it all? What should she do if not a day goes by without thinking about Simone? What should she do? Throw herself against the wall?
And this Simone was clearly playing against Jackie, if you look at it that way. With her unearthly beauty and soft French accent, she captivated the teachers, curried favor with the other girls, and stole their attention. She was even accepted into the choir!
Jackie had no intention of living like this. She had no intention of enduring such humiliation. And so a plan emerged of its own accord.
***
Point 1. Study.
Jackie became obsessed with Simone.
She watched her every free moment. She studied her gait, habits, mannerisms, and so on. In a week, Jackie learned a lot:
Simone bites her nails and picks at her hangnails;
When Simone sings, she squints her nose comically;
Sometimes (especially in the evening), Simone quickly turns pale and clings to the table in front of her, then goes to the infirmary;
From this last fact, Merridew learned something else:
Every time afterward, Simone would return with a small bottle of medication and drink it in secret.
Great.
Rumors began to spread.
"Our Doll is seriously ill with something."
Then came the telling moment.
During rehearsal, Simone Camborne fainted, slamming her head loudly on the bench. Bingo.
Point two. Spread.
Rumors spread faster than cockroaches in girls' church boarding schools, so within three days, whispers were circulating throughout the school.
"Simone Camborne is sick..."
"...it might be contagious..."
"...she's constantly fainting and taking pills..."
"...and because of that, she got kicked out of her last school..."
Good. Very good.
Jackie felt a sickening pleasure. The attention on the Doll hadn't disappeared — it was growing exponentially, but in a completely horrific direction.
"And I think Simone's batty!" — Maurissa declared at dinner, completely ignoring Simone's presence nearby.
A chuckle ran around the table. Jackie snorted.
"Blessed," — she added, pushing a pea around her plate. — "Have you even seen her? She's always lost in the clouds."
"And her eyes?" — Roberta interjected, rubbing her nose. — "They're huge, like two pounds coin each. I always said they were terrifying!"
She didn't. Roberta liked those eyes.
Jackie glanced quickly at Simone, and something suddenly tightened in the pit of her stomach.
Simone was almost crying. She clutched her fork, stared blankly at the untouched potatoes, and bit her lip.
For a moment, it was unpleasant. And then she couldn't care less again.
Point three. Horrible.
The worst thing that could have happened, did. For girls their age, nothing could be worse than what happened to Simone Camborne.
Boycott. Total boycott.
No one talked to her unnecessarily. No one sat next to her in the refectory. During prayers, they tried to sit back. During rehearsals, they kept to themselves.
Jackie saw Simone suffer, and she saw her own authority rising.
Jackie heard the little Doll sobbing late at night, wrapped in a blanket. Jackie saw her swollen eyes after Rogina cut her braid while Camborne slept. Jackie felt her pain.
But she started it. And she had no right to finish it. Either you beat her, or you get beat.
There are no creatures in the world more vile and cruel than twelve-year-old Christian girls. Jackie would understand the nature of this envy only much later, at fifteen, when she was alone with Simone on vacation.
It would destroy her, and then reassemble her. And Jackie would never forget her French Doll with the green eyes.