She cocked her head like a little snowbird and looked at him teasingly. Harry's sullen pout hardened as he sucked his breath and pulled her down under the scratchy blanket.
Oh well, I'll let him have a little fun, she thought indulgently. He did spend a lot of money on this ride. But he's spoiled because he has more money than the other kids. Money makes a lot of difference—look how they all do what he wants. All these girls would rather have him than their boy friends. He is good-looking with those thick eyebrows and wild curly brown hair. But his lips are too red for a boy. He'd better watch out or he'll be a fatty. He always looks hot when he's cold. I bet you I could count on one hand those whiskers he always talks about shaving. Who cares anyway? I'm mean. Poor Harry. Funny, but she felt more comfortable with Clem. But Clem was funny too. He never even tries to kiss me. I wonder what his kisses are like? He must know a lot about love because he always stops that Semy from saying things when I'm posing. Semy always stands looking at me as if I didn't have anything on and pretending he isn't looking at me at all. It's cute how after a while Clem gets mad and says "Beat it, Semy!" and then gets crosser when Semy bows and says "Forgive me, I didn't realize you two wanted to be alone"—or, "Ah, forgive me for interrupting the Muse, if that's what I'm interrupting." Semy's nasty. Of course she wanted to be alone with Clem. He told her lots of interesting things. Not the way Semy told things, as if trying to prove all the time how smart he is. She knew a lot now about New York City from Clem. Even the names of streets besides Broadway. One of these days I'm going to give Clem a nice big kiss and get him to cut off his beard, she decided as Harry parted her lips.
Vida had given up singing and sat staring out at the icy trees bordering the frozen moonlit river. Norman sat hunched over his harmonica, serenading himself with a soft humming rendition of "Moonlight Bay." I'm sorry I came, Vida thought bitterly, no one wants me. She thought of the poem she had reread many times.
I'm nobody, who are you?
Are vou nobodv, too?
Then there's a pair of us—don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
Emily Dickinson hadn't been wanted either. It was awful not to be pretty. Seeing Harry taking the lips she never had dared to touch nauseated her, and only fear of attracting attention to her neglected
