The Great Gilly Hopkins

“Would you like to sit down?”

She jerked her head No.

He coughed. “I would rather for us to be friends.”

Gilly smirked.

“We’re not going to have fighting on the playground.” He looked directly at her. “Or anywhere else around here. I think you need to understand that, Gilly.”

She tilted her head sassily and kept her eyes right on his.

“You’re at a new school now. You have a chance to—uh—make a new start. If you want to.”

So Hollywood Gardens had warned him, eh? Well, so what? The people here would have learned soon enough. Gilly would have made sure of that.

She smiled what she knew to be her most menacing smile.

“If there’s anyway I can help you—if you just feel like talking to somebody….”

Not one of those understanding adults. Deliver me! She smiled so hard it stretched the muscles around her eyes. “I’m OK,” she said. “I don’t need any help.”

“If you don’t want help, there’s no way I can make you accept it. But, Gilly”—he leaned forward in his chair and spoke very slowly and softly—“you’re not going to be permitted to hurt other people.”

She snuffled loudly. Cute. Very cute.

He leaned back; she thought she heard him sigh. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Gilly wiped her nose on the back of her hand. She saw the principal half reach for his box of tissues and then pull his hand back.

“You may go back to your class now.” She turned to go. “I hope you’ll give yourself—and us—a chance, Gilly.”

She ignored the remark. Nice, she thought, climbing the dark stairs. Only a half day and already the principal was yo-yoing. Give her a week, boy. A week and she’d have the whole cussed place in an uproar. But this afternoon, she’d cool it a little. Let them worry. Then tomorrow or maybe even the next day, Wham. She felt her old powers returning. She was no longer tired.

“SARSAPARILLA TO SORCERY”

She met Agnes Stokes the next day at recess. Agnes was a shriveled-up-looking little sixth grader from another class. She had long red hair that fell rather greasily to her waist, and when she sidled up to Gilly on the playground, the first thing Gilly noticed was how dirty her fingernails were.

“I know who you are,” the girl said. For a moment Gilly was reminded of the story of Rumpelstiltskin. Like that little creature, this girl had power over her. She knew who Gilly was, but Gilly didn’t know who she was.

“Yeah?” said Gilly to let the evil little dwarf know that she wasn’t interested.

“That was great about you beating up six boys yesterday.”

“Yeah?” Gilly couldn’t help but be a little interested.

“It’s all over the school.”

“So?”

“So.” The girl leaned against the building beside her, as though assuming Gilly would be pleased with her company.

“So?”

The girl twitched her freckled nose. “I thought me and you should get together.”

“How come?” Rumpelstiltskins were always after something.

“No reason.” The smaller girl had on a jacket the sleeves of which were so long that they came down to her knuckles. She began to roll up first her left sleeve and then her right. She did it slowly and silently, as though it were part of some ceremony. It gave Gilly the creeps.