Read Another Pan for Free Online Page A

difference between intellectual snobbery and elitism, my dear, is that one is
earned
— though I suppose neither is very nice.”

    When Wendy and John had set off for Marlowe, Professor Darling finished gathering his papers and packing his briefcase. Since the day Wendy had turned thirteen, she had insisted that she be allowed to walk to school alone.
I’m old enough now,
she had argued.
I don’t need to be walked to school
. Professor Darling encouraged his daughter’s independent streak. He enjoyed watching her try to take care of everyone and everything herself. It made him proud. So, despite the fact that they were headed for exactly the same building, at exactly the same school, Professor Darling felt obliged to wait a full fifteen minutes before setting off. He had promised Wendy, after all, and he usually kept his promises.
    “It’s been more than fifteen minutes, I think,” he said confidently to himself five minutes later. He strolled out the door with thoughts of the Marlowe Egyptian exhibit swimming in his head. For a long time, he had suspected the importance of these particular pieces, mostly considered minor by his colleagues. He had worked so hard, called in so many favors, to have them in his care. Now he would finally get to study them up close, use them to teach the children something new, something undiscovered. If only they would show more interest. . . . George Darling knew why Wendy wanted to do so much on her own, why she was so adamant to have her way. She was determined to never again be left behind. He could see by the way she watched him, the way she watched everyone, that she was more careful now, more guarded. He felt sad for his daughter.
I’ll ask for some funding,
he decided.
A paid job for Wendy at my exhibit — where she can learn something
. He nodded, congratulating himself for the idea. He wanted to help his daughter in his own way. To make sure that she was happy. That she never had another heartbreak.
    Never is a long time,
he thought. But he could do it. He was the never-never man.

    The front lawn of the Marlowe School was teeming with wired freshmen, sleep-deprived seniors, and sunburned teachers reminiscing about summer novels and comparing fall syllabi. John and Wendy lingered for a moment before entering the familiar crowd — even before Wendy had started at Marlowe, the two had always visited their father here on the first day of school. Now teachers said hello as they passed, and old friends waved Wendy over.
    “Who’s that?” Wendy said, looking across the clusters of students toward the main building of Marlowe, where a mousy brown-haired woman, probably in her thirties, was waiting, silent and motionless. She didn’t look rushed or eager to speak to anyone. She just observed everyone (and no one) with her one good eye. From the distance, her left eye seemed somehow damaged. She didn’t bother to swat away the moths hovering around her dark blue sweater set. Twice, she coughed into her white lace handkerchief.
    “If you don’t know her, she must be a new teacher,” said John. “Let’s go.”
    Wendy turned for just a second and wondered if she should greet this woman. But when she turned back, the woman was gone. Or maybe she had blended into the crowd — she was so plain, so nondescript . . . exactly the type of person that spends her life blending in, watching, never really standing out.
    John seemed to forget her instantly. He began pushing his way through the crowd, and Wendy followed. They cut across the lawn and around the main building, arriving at the lacrosse field only minutes before morning practice came to an end. Wendy could see John fidgeting with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, because now Connor was approaching them with two of his teammates. John was probably trying to think of just the right thing to say.
Poor kid
.
    Though, now that she considered it,
she
should probably be thinking of the right thing to say, too. She and Connor