She always won. Well, not always. Last year she had lost one event, and it had been so shattering that nine-year-old Charlene had vowed never to lose again. Since then her record had been perfect. Losing was out of the question. Prizes fell into her hands, medals were hung around her neck. And it wasn’t just swimming trophies, it was other things as well. Getting what she wanted had become a habit. After all, she and she alone was Charlene Gast.
If her father, that ex-student of philosophy, had been paying attention, he would have identified his daughter’s mind-set as a case of solipsism, the belief that the self is the only reality. Charlene was a living, breathing solipsist. All other creatures in the world existed merely to serve her needs.
On the day Mary Kelly walked into Mrs. Rutledge’s homeroom for the first time, Charlene was keeping a sharp eye on Alice Mooney. Alice owned something Charlene wanted, a princess doll. It was really dumb that Charlene couldn’t have one of her own, just because her stupid parents kept saying no.
It was indeed a beautiful doll. Alice Mooney loved it. Her mother wasn’t a cleaning lady, as Charlene had told her parents, she was a dietitian at the Concord-Carlisle High School, but she could not normally pay $69.95 for a doll. “This is your only present, Alice,” she told her daughter as she handed her the big box on the morning of her birthday.
“Oh, oh,” breathed Alice, tearing at the tissue paper. “Oh, thank you, thank you. I don’t want anything else, not ever.”
She shouldn’t have taken the doll to school. That was her mistake. All the other girls in Mrs. Rutledge’s fifth grade envied her. They fingered the bouffant dress and touched the sparkling crown and stroked the silky hair. They watched as Alice tenderly removed the pretty little plastic slippers and put them on again.
“Now, Alice,” said Mrs. Rutledge, “put away your doll. After recess, class, I’ll want your math homework. I hope you all worked hard. Report cards go out to your parents next week.”
There was a scraping of metal chair legs on the floor, an orderly parade out the door, then an eager rush for the playground.
Mrs. Rutledge was not on call that day for playground duty. Gratefully she beckoned to Mary Kelly, and together they headed for the coffee machine in the teachers’ room.
Behind them, the classroom was no longer empty. Alice Mooney had crept back indoors. Holding her doll, she moved cautiously to the desk belonging to Julie Ingledinger. Julie was the best math student in the class. Her homework lay on top of her desk, ready to be turned in. Softly Alice put down her doll and picked up the piece of yellow paper.
“I see you,” said Charlene, appearing out of nowhere.
Alice’s hand jerked away from Julie’s paper. She stared in horror at Charlene.
“I’ll tell,” said Charlene.
“No, no,” whined Alice. “Oh, Charlene, please don’t tell.”
“Your doll,” said Charlene. “I want your doll.”
“My doll?” Alice’s face flushed. Her frightened eyes opened wider. She picked up her doll and hugged it to her chest. “My princess doll? Oh, no! Oh, no, no! Oh, please, Charlene!”
“Well, then, I’ll tell.” Charlene turned as Mr. Orth walked into the room, looking for Mrs. Rutledge. “Oh, Mr. Orth!”
Alice caught her arm, weeping. “Okay, it’s okay.”
Mr. Orth looked at them. “What is it, Charlene?”
Charlene grinned at him. “Nothing, Mr. Orth. Never mind. It’s okay.”
“Well, all right. Oh, Charlene, congratulations on winning that swimming meet last week. We’re all so proud of you. Now it’s on to the state level, is that right?”
“That’s right, Mr. Orth.”
He was gone. Alice stroked her doll’s nylon hair and straightened her pretty crown, then handed her over to Charlene. Tears ran down her cheeks.
Charlene hid the doll in her schoolbag. But at home she showed it proudly to her mother.
“Why, Charlene,” said Roberta, “where did you get that lovely doll?”
“Alice gave it to me. She has oodles of dolls.”
“Why, what a generous gift!”
Alice’s mother wasn’t so easily bamboozled. “Alice, dear,” she said, “where’s your princess doll? I’ve got a scrap of velvet left over from your dress. We’ll make her a royal cloak.”
“Oh,” said Alice, her voice hollow. “I left her at school.”
Next day she claimed to have forgotten again. The day after that she started to cry, and said she had lost it.
“Oh, Alice, how could you?”
Mrs. Mooney called the school. At once an announcement about the lost doll was made over the school intercom. Alice sat dumb and suffering, while everyone in the class turned to stare. Mary Kelly pitied the poor kid, she looked so desolate.