1.Definition: devouring or craving books in great quantities
"A rapacious appetite"
I'm toying with putting my work in progress, Witch Ways, in the Kindle Scout program. My original goal was to publish the first three of my books in the witch series a month apart, beginning in September. Putting it in the Kindle Scout program soonish won't tip over my original plan. Here are the first few (unedited) chapters. Updated: Witch Ways is now only .99 for a limited time. Get yours here.
by Kristy Tate
It happened in Biology when Troy, the
kid that liked to chew paper, blinked at me through his Stephen Hawking glasses
and told me that he would be honored to go the dance with me. If it had just
been Troy, I wouldn’t have been so mad, but Troy was the final paper-chewer
that blew my cool—literally. Earlier that day, I’d learned that I had
supposedly also asked Harrison, the kid that wore a Justin Bieber button on the
lapel of school blazer, and Frankel, the lead singer of the Wanna-be Lounge
Lizards, a band that serenaded the Hartly cafeteria every Friday. Three dates
to Homecoming. I didn’t even want one.
And so when I found out Melissa
Blankley was to blame, I lost it.
Rage is like that. It builds up inside
of you, like pressure in a teapot, until finally when the steam is so hot, so
big, you let go—because really, there isn’t another choice. And everyone lets
go differently. Some people use body language—tight lips, a simple eye-roll.
Some make noise and throw things against the wall. Others swear and name call.
A few actually become violent, and throw punches or people.
Some of us burn stuff.
Although, not always intentionally.
Don’t ask me howeverything caught fire. Nothing like that had ever happened
to me before.
And because it was so frightening, I
hope that nothing ever happens like that again.
“Teenage girls are genetically wired to
be unkind to each other.” Uncle Mitch adjusted his glasses and met the hostile
gaze of Dr. Roberts, making me proud. Uncle Mitch rarely met anyone’s gaze head-on,
not even his students at Yale. “It’s in the DNA. They have to compete for
“But they do not have to burn down the
science room,” Dr. Roberts said, taping his pencil on the pile of papers on the
desk in front of him and fixing me with his cold stare. He had an uncanny
resemblance to manikins: plastic-looking hair, big too perfect teeth, and flawless
“I didn’t—“I started.
Uncle Mitch sent me a warning glance,
and I bit back my words. Before our meeting with the principal, he had made me
promise not to speak. You are your own
worst enemy, he had said in the car. I glared at Dr. Roberts.
“As I told you before, we have several
“But teenage girls—” Uncle Mitch began.
“Not just the girls,” Dr. Roberts
interjected, “but several of the students including the son of the president of
the school board. And Mr. Beck,” Dr. Roberts added.
I liked Mr. Beck, and I hated to think
that he would think I would do this. Even though maybe I had. Not that I had
“It was an accident.” I refused to be
hushed by Uncle Mitch’s foot pressing against my leg. “I don’t even know how it
Dr. Roberts continued to tap his pencil.
Tap, tap, tap.
“According to Mr. Beck,” Dr. Roberts
looked down at his papers, “sparks flew from your fingertips.” Tap, tap, tap. “Can you explain how that
“Would it matter if I could?” I folded
my arms, leaned back in my chair, and kicked Uncle Mitch with my saddle shoe.
That was the only upside of expulsion—I wouldn’t have to wear the Hartly
Academy uniform anymore. Good-bye, tartan plaid pleated skirts. So long, itchy
red sweaters, and knee-high socks. Adios, clunky black and white saddle shoes.
But as I thought of other consequences of what leaving the academy meant, I
blinked back tears and hoped no one would see.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Roberts said. “Evelynn
is an excellent student—a credit to the academy, and a reflection of the
outstanding academic program we here at the academy espouse.”
He sounded like he was giving a speech
at a school fundraiser, and begging parents for more money. I glanced at the
papers on his desk. My name at the top with a red slash through it.
“Of course, she’s an excellent
student!” Uncle Mitch exploded.
I gaped at him. Uncle Mitch never
exploded—except when he accidentally ate dairy—but that was a different,
smellier sort of explosion.
“Which is why I’m sure she won’t have
any problem adjusting to the public school,” Dr. Roberts continued.
Uncle Mitch gave a small, almost imperceptible
shake of his head.
“Because I was fairly sure you would
feel that way,” Dr. Roberts said. “I took the liberty of speaking to Evelynn’s
Uncle Mitch blanched and refused to
meet my eye when I kicked him.
I kicked him harder.
He didn’t flinch, but continued to give
Dr. Roberts his best death stare. Uncle Mitch didn’t have x-ray vision like
superman, but with his dark hair, blue eyes, and square jaw, he sort of looked
like him. Not that he would ever wear tights. He mostly wore button down plaid
shirts with a pencil and small notebook in the pocket, khaki pants, and leather
penny loafers. Today, in an effort to dress up for the occasion, he’d worn his
favorite wool sports jacket with the frayed cuffs.
Dr. Roberts leaned forward, and placed
his elbows on the table. “As you are aware, Faith Despaign Academy is an excellent
school, and as a former trustee—”
Uncle Mitch pushed to his feet. “This
meeting is over,” he said through tight, white lips.
“Have you consulted with Evelynn’s
parents?” Dr. Roberts also stood.
Uncle Mitch gave Dr. Roberts a
silencing look. “I am Evie’s legal
“I just thought Mr. Marston would like
to know. I rather hoped to meet him.”
Of course, he did. Everyone wanted to
meet my father. Money makes insta-friends.
“And of course, I had hoped to see Sophia,
Mrs. Marston, as well,” Dr. Roberts babbled, flushing, obviously trying not to
look like the money grabber that he was. “Is she—“
“Still in India,” I said.
“I’m sure she’ll want to be appraised
of this situation.” He paused and smiled at me. “I knew your mother in school.
You look a lot like her.”
For a moment, he looked almost human. I
tried to picture him beside my mom—his starch suit and slicked back hair
standing side by side with my mom with her red corkscrew curls and random
freckles. They didn’t belong in the same room. Maybe not even on the same
planet. They were definitely different species.
“We grew up together. That’s why I felt
comfortable contacting Mrs. La Faye.”
Uncle Mitch headed for the door.
Dr. Roberts scrambled after him. “I
would have hesitated to dismiss Evelynn if I hadn’t known she had a place at Faith
Uncle Mitch spun on his heel. “Did Beatrix
set this up?”
Dr. Roberts reeled back. “No-o,” he
stammered. “How could she?”
Uncle Mitch studied Dr. Roberts through
“Arson is a serious crime.” Dr. Roberts
visibly wilted and slunk back behind the safety of his desk. He shuffled the
papers that wore my name. “Again, I’m very sorry about this, Evelynn and Dr.
Marston, but I’m sure that you’ll find Baldwin—”
With an angry grunt that sounded a
little like the noise Scratch, our bulldog, makes when he has to move, Uncle
Mitch headed for the door.
My uncle stalked down the deserted hall,
out the door, and down the steps. The acrid smoke smell still hung in the air
even though the fire had been put out days ago. I tried not to look at the
black cavernous hole that had once housed the science department.
I hurried to stay next to him. “Do you
want to tell me about my grandmother?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“No,” he said without looking at me. “Do
you want to tell me how the fire started?”
Uncle Mitch increased his speed, and I
trotted beside him in my clunky shoes. “But—don’t you think having a
grandmother is something I should have known before now?”
He stopped and met my gaze. “No.” He
I stared at his back. I had never seen
him angry before. Never. Not even when my friend, Bree, accidentally backed
into his 1958 T-bird with her 2000 Toyota Corolla, or when Scratch was a puppy
and chewed up one of his loafers, or when I accidentally knocked over his moth habitat,
and we had larvae everywhere in the house for months. Mrs. Mateo had been
really mad about that, but Uncle Mitch hadn’t said a word and just went back to
recreating the moths’ home.
Thinking about all the many ways I’d
disrupted his solitary life made me once again grateful I’d gotten Uncle Mitch
in the divorce. Dad got Maria, Mom got Fred, and I got Uncle Mitch. I had
definitely won. But at the moment, my curiosity was having a face-off with
gratitude, and curiosity was winning big time.
“I’m sixteen years old!”
“Fifteen,” Uncle Mitch corrected. “Your
birthday isn’t until next week.”
“I know when my birthday is. What I
don’t know…or didn’t know…was that I have a grandmother!” I stopped chasing
him, and watched him stalk away from me. “Isn’t that something someone should
have told me?”
“No.” He didn’t turn around, but
marched toward his car.
I ran, afraid that he would drive off
and leave me in the nearly empty academy parking lot. I climbed in the T-bird,
closed the door, and stared at him.
After sticking the key in the ignition
and putting the car in gear, he met my gaze. “I promised your mom and dad.” He
lifted his shoulder in a defeated shrug. “You’ll have to tell them.”
“Does my grandmother know about me?” It
stung that not only would my parents and Uncle Mitch keep such a huge secret
from me, but that the mysterious Beatrix grandmother hadn’t even wanted to know
Uncle Mitch, grim faced, didn’t answer,
but steered the ancient car out of the parking lot and down the tree-lined
street. Red, gold, and yellow leaves fluttered past the window.
“Do I have a grandfather I don’t know
“Aunts, uncles, cousins?”
He didn’t answer.
“So, I do.” I chewed on this. “Why
didn’t anyone tell me?” Anger, frustration and curiosity built inside of me
like a dark cloud. I grew warm, agitated, and sparks tingled on my fingertips.
I curled my hands into tight fist.
Taking three deep breaths, I looked out
the window and watched the familiar landscape flash by. I had lived on Elm
Street my entire life. I had started at Hartly in kindergarten. I had never
even heard of Faith Despaign.
“Where’s Faith Despaign?”
For a moment, sympathy flashed in his
eyes. “North Harbor, off the Merit.”
“It’s expensive, then.” I knew my dad
had money, but I’d always assumed my mother’s family was poor. I don’t know
why, except that my mother was always, as Grammy Jean used to say, a free
spirit in sandals. Mom wore long gypsy skirts and gauzy blouses even in the
winter when everyone else wore itchy wool. A thought struck me. Maybe Mom’s
clothes were more than just a fashion statement! Maybe, like me, she had a
I scrounged through my bag, looking for
my phone. Then I remembered. Sticking out my hand, palm out, I said, “Give me
back my phone. I want to call my mom.”
Uncle Mitch glanced at me before
reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.
“Aw, come on! I can’t even have my
phone for two minutes?”
“By orders of your dad, you’re
grounded.” He slapped his phone into my palm.
“Ugh.” I started to press Mom’s number,
“What’s the matter?” Concern touched
Uncle Mitch’s voice.
I shook my head, blinked back tears and
stared out the window. How could I ask my mom—or anyone, really—if she sparked,
I sat on my bed with a book propped up
in front of me. I’d read Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent a hundred times. It
was my go-to book—a paper and ink equivalent of comfort food—but today Emory
Ravenswood held no, or at least little, charm. The words on the page swam
before my eyes and refused to form into nice, understandable sentences. I
flipped ahead to my favorite chapter where Emory takes Petra to the gypsy camp.
My gaze landed on the words, “Tell me, my
lady Petra, if you were given the choice to shun the captivity of walls and
ceilings and roam the earth, unburdened by possessions as the spirits direct,
would you choose to stay at home?”
But I had no choice. I had to stay at
home. Without a phone, computer or car. I rolled onto my back and held the book
in front of my face, trying not worry about where I was going to go school on
Monday, where I was going graduate from, and even if I was going to graduate. Would
Uncle Mitch let me take the GED? If so, I could start going to a community
college next semester—but that didn’t start until January. What would I do
Get a job?
Knowing that my dad would throw a hissy
fit and my uncle would dance right along beside him if I quit school in tenth
grade, I tried to refocus on my book.
Right before she died, Grammy Jean said
that there comes a time when you have to decide to turn the page or close the
book. She had chosen to close the book. If I could choose—and going back to
Hartly wasn’t an option—which it looked like was the case—what would I do?
Easy, public school.
A knocking sounded on the window.
I put down my book and went to let Bree
inside. We’d been climbing in and out of each other’s windows ever since my
parents’ divorce twelve years ago when my dad and I moved in with Uncle Mitch.
I lifted the sash.
Getting from the huge branch of the
maple tree and into my room was never painless. Bree leaned forward, balanced
her belly on the sill, and fell into the room head first with a bang.
“Ev—ie?” Mrs. Mateo called from the
kitchen. She always managed to make the second syllable of my name an octave
higher than the first. She missed her calling as an opera singer.
“I’m okay, Mrs. Mateo,” I called. “I
just dropped my…stuff.”
“Brilliant,” Bree whispered, as she
climbed off the floor. “You’d be great at improve.”
“I know, right?”
“How long is your imprisonment?” Bree
tried to brush off the twigs and leaves clinging to her favorite jeans and Imagine
Dragons t-shirt—probably the same clothes she had worn to school. You could wear
whatever you wanted at Norfolk High. Which was a good thing, because Bree would
probably rather burn down a science room everyday rather than have to wear
“I don’t know. My dad is coming to ‘discuss
the situation.’” I made air quotes.
“Wow. Is he bringing Maria—or anyone?”
She climbed up on the bed beside me.
I knew that for Bree, anyone was code for Hugh, my gorgeous,
but almost as self-righteous as his mom, stepbrother. Maria was a Brazilian
beauty, and Hugh had her dark, almost black eyes, thick lashes and curly hair.
They also shared chiseled jawlines, dark red lips, and strong moral values that
were more obnoxious than charming.
I shook my head. “Just Dad. He’ll be
Bree’s lips twisted in a sympathetic
grimace. “Why is there a situation? Wasn’t it an accident? I mean, no one can
really believe that you intentionally set the science room on fire, can they?”
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“And it’s not as if they found gasoline
or anything,” Bree said.
“It’s—or it was—a science lab. There
were plenty of things to catch on fire and explode.”
Bree tried not to laugh, but her lips
“It’s not funny,” I said. “I feel badly
for the snakes and rats.”
“Yeah—all those poor rich kids…and the
lab animals, too, of course.”
“No one was hurt—except Liza, the
iguana.” I really did feel badly about her. Not that I had intentionally killed
“Yeah, but now you might get to go to
I flopped down on my back and looked at
the ceiling. “I hope so, but I kind of doubt it. Dr. Roberts talked about Faith
Despaign. Seems my grandmother is a trustee.”
“Wait!” Bree straightened her spine. “What?”
“I have a grandmother, and no one even told me!”
Bree gave me an open-mouthed stare. “But
“Did you hear me tell you that I have a
“Okay, that’s weird, but your whole
family is a little weird. I mean, I love you, and I love Uncle Mitch, and I
really want Hugh to love me, then we can truly be sisters, but your mom is so
out there, and then your dad married Maria, who is like her complete opposite.”
“I know.” I sighed, thinking about my
stepmother. Often when I was with her, I felt like she was watching, waiting,
and praying for the opportunity to crack open her Bible and call me to
repentance. Fortunately, arson didn’t violate any of the Ten Commandments. In
fact, God seemed to like using fire himself—Moses and the burning bush a
classic case in point. Although, I knew my dad and stepmother wouldn’t see
things that way.
“I don’t know how or why my dad shifted
from my mom to Maria. It’s like there’s a missing puzzle piece to that love
“Okay, you have a grandmother. Do you
know anything about her?”
I shook my head. “She’s coming, too.
She’ll be here when my dad comes. Uncle Mitch isn’t happy. He really hates it
when he’s ejected from his science cave.”
“Okay—but Faith Despaign!”
“What about it? Have you even heard of
“Yeah. Dylan Fox goes there.” She said
his name as if I should know who he was—as if he was someone to be revered,
like Prince Harry.
“So—I would love to go to Faith
Despaign, just so I could breathe the same air as Dylan Fox.”
“Who is he?”
“A friend of Josh’s.” She bounced off
the bed, went to the window and pulled back the curtain so she could watch her
house. “In fact, they went to the comic book store this morning. I wanted to
come, but they wouldn’t take me. Even when I swore I was a huge Spiderman fan.”
“They didn’t believe you?” I rolled off
the bed and went to stand beside her. I loved that I could see Bree’s house
from my room.
The Henderson’s lived in a giant
Victorian that must have been added onto a hundred times. It had jutting
gables, and a crazy-wampum roofline. The original house had been built sometime
before 1820, like ours, because both houses had plaques from the Woodinville
Historical Society stating that they had been there when the town was
incorporated. But that was where the similarity ended.
Our house was a boxy colonial with
perfectly symmetrical windows and a boring roofline. The Henderson’s house had
a turret, a widow’s walk, and a mishmash of dormer windows. Our house was white
with black shutters and a cranberry colored front door. The Henderson’s house
boasted about ten different shades of blue with splashes of white thrown in.
Our house was quiet. Bree’s house sang with the noise of eight kids, two
parents, three dogs, five cats, and a couple of rabbits. Although, to be fair,
the rabbits didn’t live inside the house with everyone else. They had their own
cages in the backyard. They were the only creatures in the Henderson household
that didn’t have to share a room.
“They asked me a trick question.”
“The name of Peter Parker’s uncle.”
“How is that a trick question?”
Bree shushed me when a red convertible
BMW pulled into their drive. “They’re back,” she breathed in an awestruck
whisper. Car doors slammed, and Josh, Bree’s brother, and a tall, lean guy with
bronze-colored hair climbed out. Actually, he was way better looking than
Prince Harry. Bree grabbed my arm and squeezed.
“Hey, I thought you liked Hugh.”
Bree blew out a sigh. “I do love Hugh,
but he’s in Virginia and I’m here. And so is that.” She nodded at Dylan. “You got to love the one you’re with.
Someday, I’m going marry Hugh, but until then…Mr. Fox.”
And as if he could hear her, he turned
and looked directly in my window. Our eyes met briefly.
Giggling, Bree tugged on my hand as she
dropped to the floor. I landed next to her with thud.
“Ev—ie?” Mrs. Mateo called from the
kitchen directly below.
“I’m okay, Mrs. Mateo,” I called
through the door.
Bree sat up and inched toward the
Dylan was in the exact same spot,
staring in our direction.
Laughing, Bree put her hand on the top
of my head to push me down. “How can we get him to pay attention to me?”
“Why not stand up and wave? Wouldn’t
that be better than scrunching and hiding?”
Rolling her eyes, Bree frowned at me,
looking exactly like her mother did when Bree forgot to feed the dogs. “You
can’t be so obvious.”
“What if you fell out the window and he
ran over and caught you?”
She blinked at me. “You’re joking,
“He’d have to sprint really fast to get
her in time.”
“I’m serious. How can I make him pay
attention to me?”
“Just think how romantic it would be. You’d
flutter down, calling for help like a beautiful damsel in distress—“
I stopped mid-sentence when on the
opposite side of the house, the garage door opened. “My dad. You have to go.”
Bree nodded. Standing, she threw one
leg over the sill.
From inside, I heard, more than saw, Bree
fall. From the reflection in the mirror, I saw her flailing arms and hands,
searching for a hand-hold. I heard branches and twigs snapping beneath her
weight, and her screams.
I ran back to the window.
“Bree!” I called. “Are you okay?”
She gaped up at me, her mouth a perfect
O as she tumbled backward. She landed on the grass.
Josh and his friend, followed by the
Henderson’s three dogs, sprinted across the lawn.
“Gabby!Go get Mom!” Josh called to his little
sister over his shoulder right before he vaulted over the hedge separating our
yards. He landed with a one-footed thud.
Feeling a little like Rapunzel, I
leaned out my window. “Bree?”
She moaned without opening her eyes. With
her arms spread out wide, she lay flat on her back. If not for her left leg
sticking out at an odd angle, she looked like she could be taking a nap on the
Her brother and Dylan stared down at
her as if she was strange fish washed up on shore. Josh looked up and frowned
at me. Dylan met my gaze with a smile.
“Hi,” he mouthed without noise.
I waved. Heat crawled up my neck, and I
hoped he couldn’t see my blush. We stared at each other until the back door
screen opened and shut with a bang.
“What happened here?” My dad strode
onto the porch and stopped when he saw Bree, surrounded by two boys and mulling
dogs, moaning at his feet.
Riddler, the German Shepherd mix, tried
to snuffle in Bree’s hair, but Josh pulled him away and held him by the collar.
Joker, the half-terrier with pieces and bits of lots of other things, poked Bree’s
hand with his snout. Without opening her eyes, she swatted at him. Gabby, her
baby sister, grabbed Joker and Penguin, an ancient black and white Boston
Terrier and hauled them away.
A door slammed shut at the Henderson’s
house, and Diana, Bree’s mom, raced across the grass, barefoot. She stopped
short of Bree, worry and anger battling in her expression.
“Mom?” Bree peeked open an eye. “I-I-I
think my leg is broken.” She stuttered through obvious pain.
“For once, we agree on something,” Diana
said as she squatted down beside her. “We need to get you to the doctor.”
Bree rolled her head so she could look
at Dylan. Batting her eye lashes, she looked at him through her tears. “Will
you take me?”
“Don’t be silly!” Diana said, placing
her hands on her hips. “Josh, go and get the van. Then call your father. Tell
him to meet us at the emergency room. Again. Honestly, that place needs to name
a wing after our family.”
Josh shot his sister a pitying look
before he turned and jogged toward the barn where the Henderson’s kept their
large collection of motley cars. All three dogs followed, because, obviously,
Josh was the leader of the pack.
But Dylan stayed. He grinned up at me,
but his smile faltered when he met my dad’s glare.
Dad shot me a glance before returning
his attention to Bree.
“Want me to help you up?” Dylan asked.
“Yes, please,” Bree said through white
lips. She tried to smile at him, but it looked painful and off—lots of teeth,
but no happiness.
“Let’s wait for the van,” my dad
sounded growlier than any of the Henderson dogs. He focused on Dylan. “Who are
you? You weren’t in my daughter’s bedroom, too, were you?”
“Huh, no sir.” Dylan brushed off his
hand on his jeans before extending it. “Dylan Fox.” He nodded at the
Henderson’s house. “I was hanging out with Josh when I heard Bree fall.”
My dad grunted.
Mrs. Henderson knelt on the ground and
brushed the hair out of Bree’s face. “Sweetheart, you’re going to be okay.”
“Oz-z-z,” Bree moaned.
“I know, sweetie,” Mrs. Henderson said.
“She can’t be in the play!” Gabby squealed,
as the thought hit her. She rose to her toes and twirled. “I can be Dorothy!”
Mrs. Henderson silently shook her head.
“Who ever heard of an eight year old
Dorothy?” Bree said through gritted teeth.
Gabby stopped spinning. “But—who else
can step in—into the red shoes—at the last minute?”
“We don’t need to discuss this right
now.” Mrs. Henderson climbed to her feet as Josh pulled the jacked-up van down
“Mom,” Bree grabbed her mom’s hand, “promise
me, you won’t let Gabby be Dorothy.”
“Bree, you aren’t dead, yet,” Mrs.
Henderson said. “Let’s just see what the doctor says.”
Dylan knelt down beside Bree and
gathered her into his arms.
She winced and blinked. Tears rolled
down her face.
“You’ll be okay,” Dylan said, smiling down
Mrs. Henderson pulled opened the van’s
sliding door and moved aside so Dylan could load Bree into the back seat. He
fussed over her leg, propping it up beside her. Backing away, he shot me
another glance and his smile went from being pitying and kind, to something
else, something warm, smooth and promising.
Mrs. Henderson climbed in the passenger
seat and rolled down the window. “Gabby, you’re responsible for getting dinner
on the table,” she said. “Meredith will be home from swim at five. Lincoln
isn’t done with soccer until 5:30. The twins are at piano until almost six—Mrs.
Rochester will drop them off. I don’t know where the boys are. I’m sure they’ll
show up when they get hungry. You can put in a couple of frozen pizzas, but
make sure you put out some sort of vegetable.”
Gabby put her hands on her hips. “Okay,
I can do that, but only if I get to be Dorothy.”
Mrs. Henderson rolled her eyes, and
Gabby seemed to realize that she’d gone too far. Her shoulders slumped as she
headed toward the Henderson’s and frozen pizza.
Dylan, his confidence stuttering under
my dad’s glare, said, “Maybe I should go and help her.”
“That would be good,” my dad said.
A strange car, maybe even older than
Uncle Mitch’s T-bird, turned down our drive. Baby blue and white and as long as
a hearse, the car looked a lot like the one I’d seen in the film clips of JFK’s
assassination, which meant it was about the same age as my dad.
“This day just keeps getting better,”
my dad mumbled, watching the car approach. He turned to me. “You better get
down here, Petunia.” Then he said without about as much enthusiasm as he would
say the city is overrun with rats, he
said, “Your grandmother is here.”
I leaned out the window, resting my
forearms on the sill. “Don’t you think you should have told me about her before
He grunted and turned away.
“No! You don’t get to be mad at me! I’m
mad at you!”
He didn’t answer, but banged through
the back door.
I ran down the stairs, wanting to
confront him before the mysterious grandmother arrived.
I stopped short when I saw her standing
in the almost never used living room. She stood on the tapestry rug, small,
trembling, fuzzy-haired, and bright-eyed. Despite the warm, autumn air, she
wore a long, crimson velvet skirt, a brown wool blazer, and a pink feather boa.
She came to me with her arms extended.
“There you are, beautiful!” She pulled
me in for a warm, lavender-smelling hug. She felt fragile and brittle in my
embrace, and the boa tickled my nose. “You must be very brave, dear,” she
whispered in my ear. Her words fanned my neck, and a trill went down my back.
Pulling away, she took hold of both of
my hands. “You look just like your mother did at your age.”
“Sonya has strawberry blonde hair,” my
dad said. He stood in the center of the room, frowning at us, and looking, for
“And she has honey,” my grandmother
quipped without looking at him, “both delicious and edible.”
Uncle Mitch, who must have shown up
some time during the hug, snorted.
My grandmother threw him a nasty look
over her shoulder. “What’s that, Mitchel?”
She said Mitchel, but for some reason
it sounded like Michelle. I had never noticed how similar sounding the two
names were until just that moment.
Uncle Mitch bit his lip and looked
“Shall we all sit down so we can
discuss my granddaughter’s education?”
Interesting, officially the house
belonged to my dad and uncle, and yet this tiny women acted like she owned the
place. She had the two grown men, both well-respected and exceptionally
successful, shuffling into their seats. What was there about her? She had to
weigh less than a hundred pounds. She looked about as old and as harmless as Penguin,
the Henderson’s Boston terrior. Sitting on the sofa, she smiled at me and
spotted the cushion beside her.
dear, why don’t you tell us where you would like to go to school?”
I looked at
the two nearly identical brothers. My dad wore a pin-stripe suit, a heavily
starched shirt, and burgundy tie. Uncle Mitch had on his khakis and a
button-down cotton shirt. But they both wore matching scowls.
“I want to
go to Norfolk High school,” I said, smiling into my grandmother’s dark eyes.
school?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
gave a small shake of his head.
I demanded, jumping to my feet.
met my gaze. “They won’t take you.”
take me?” I echoed. “What do you mean, they won’t take me? They’re a public
school. They have to take everyone.”
don’t have to take those who may put their students at risk.”
students at risk?” I echoed again, feeling woozy. I sat back down on the sofa
and, as if to complain, it let out a puff of dust. “They think I’m dangerous?”
know anything about this, Beatrix?” my dad asked.
“And if you
can’t go to the public school,” my grandmother pressed. “What would be your
shot both my uncle and dad quick glances. “Then I guess I would want to be
homeschooled.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. I wanted to go to Faith
Despaign, if only to see Dylan again.
call me Birdie.” As if she could read my thoughts, Birdie continued, “Faith
Despaign is a wonderful school. Your great-grandparents both attended there, as
well as myself, your grandfather and your mother.”
have read the surprise on my face. “Your mother never talked about Faith
talked about you!” I blurted.
naughty Sophia.” Birdie tsked her tongue. “And what does my daughter say about
this turn of events?”
brothers exchanged glances.
been able to get a hold of her,” Uncle Mitch said.
aren’t you a couple of pansies?” Birdie said, laughter softening her words.
I said. “I’ve tried calling her lots of times. She must be somewhere without
awful, Fred, I suppose,” Birdie murmured.
fixed her dark eyes on mine. “She’s my daughter.”
settled,” Birdie said. “Evelynn must attend Faith Despaign.”
smile flashed in my mind again. If he was Josh’s age, he’d be two grades ahead,
so we probably wouldn’t share classes, but I could still see him…at least more
than I would if I was homeschooled and stuck in my bedroom alone with a
computer. I thought about all the stuff I’d miss if I was homeschooled—the
prom, the games, the clubs.
sprung in my eyes, surprising me. I tried to blink them back, but a few fell
down my cheeks and landed on my hands clenched in my lap.
pick her up tomorrow.” Birdie lifted herself off the sofa, and smoothed down
her ruffled feather boa.
“So I can
take her to school, of course. Mrs. Craig is quite looking forward to meeting
“She is?” I
cupped my face in her hands. “Of course, she is. She’s intrigued by your
powers. We all are.”
and headed for the door. “I shall be here at noon tomorrow,” she said over her
asked my dad and uncle once Birdie disappeared out the door.
replied, but both studied the tops of their shoes as if they held some really
fascinating text or information.
another question. “Who’s we? What did she mean by that?”
I tried a
third time. “Noon? Wouldn’t school start at like, eight?”
That got a
grandmother has never been a morning person,” my dad said.
stood. “We need to tell her.”
his eyes. “You’re right.” He turned to me. “Your grandmother is a kook.”
loony.” Uncle Mitch sat down, looking relieved.
Loony? Uncle Mitch didn’t use words like
she’s a witch,” Dad said.
“And is Faith Despaign a witch school?” My mind went to my
sparking fingers. Witchcraft could explain a lot. Maybe.
Uncle Mitch both snorted.
no such thing as witches,” Dad said.
heaved a sigh. “Your mom and grandmother don’t speak.” He cleared his throat,
as if what he was about to say hurt. In all the years since they’re divorce,
I’d never once heard my dad say something unkind about my mom. “I didn’t agree
with your mom about this. I think she was too hard on your grandmother. She’s
goofy, but not mean or malicious.”
I tried to
put all of this information into a pattern I could understand.“So Mom went to Faith
Despaign, and she doesn’t believe she’s a witch. I’m not being sent to a
not. Look, Petunia,” Dad settled next to me on the sofa, “right now, your
options may seem limited, but you know they’re not. For you, the sky’s the
limit. If you want to come and stay with us—we would love to have you.”
have read my expression, because he pressed on. “I spoke to Maria, and she
agreed that you wouldn’t be expected to maintain the same religious training as
your step siblings.”
couldn’t be true. “I wouldn’t have to go to church on Sundays?”
know how your stepmother is. We’re a Christian home. You would be expected to
go church with us on Sundays.”
Why was I even thinking about this? I put my hand on my dad’s. “That’s sweet,
Dad—and sweet of Maria—but I don’t want to move away from my friends. Besides,
think of Uncle Mitch.”
smiled, and looked a little relieved…and a little guilty. “And your mom, you
know that she’d love to have you as well.”
say that now that I already told him that I didn’t want to leave Woodinville.
We both knew the conversation would be completely different if I said I wanted
to live with Mom.
good with new places and people.” The thought of having to have face classroom
after classroom full of unknown teachers and students gave me a heavy, sinking
feeling in my belly. I’d be expected to raise my hand and participate. I’d have
to stand in the front and give oral reports, and worse of all, I’d have to
brave the cafeteria alone. “I’ve gone to Hartly my entire life, and this is the
first time I’ve ever done anything wrong! Isn’t there something you can do to
make them take me back?”
shook his head. “Petunia, it’s only three years.”
Maria told me that Jesus’ earthly ministry was only three years. Look at all
the bad stuff that happened to him.”
chuckled. “She’ll be glad to know you were paying attention.”
years is a really long time. Lots can happen in three years. Heck, your life
can change in three minutes. Just look at Bree.” I took a deep breath. “And
this is my whole high school career! It’s the only high school I’ll get to
have.” I decided to borrow a few of Mrs. Mateo’s clichés. “Life isn’t handing
out re-dos. We can’t put the genie back in the bottle.”
again. “Actually, I think you can put a genie back in its bottle—but let’s not
tell your stepmother that we talked about the Lord and genies in the same
conversation. Do you want to go to a different private school? There are plenty
to choose from if we leave the area.”
what I don’t get—why do we have to ‘leave
his gaze with mine. “You. Burned. Down. A school.” He spoke slowly and
distinctly, carefully enunciating every word.
full of terrified students and a teacher are saying you did.”
matter what they say.” I blinked back tears, and the growing fear in my head
and heart. I couldn’t have burned down the science lab. I would never do that.
“It had to be a wacky Bunsen burner or a gas leak or…I don’t know! Something,
but not me! Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”
you, sweetie. I do. I just…We’re doing the best we can. Norfolk Baldwin is a
great school. We’re lucky that they’ll take you, because NO ONE ELSE WILL.”
out the window, his lips tight and his brows lowered. Standing, he reached
down, took my hand, and pulled me into a hug. “I don’t want you to make up your
mind about Faith Despaign so quickly,” he said into my ear. “Go with Beatrix
tomorrow. See what you think. You can even start, and if you don’t like it
after a week, I’ll pull you out and we’ll come up with a different plan. Maria
said she’d be happy to homeschool you along with Bianca.”
Oh, please no.
of her,” I said, thinking, that sounds like hell. I pulled away from him. “If I
can’t go to Hartly or Norfolk High, I guess Faith Despaign is my third choice.”
smiled at me, and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Okay, but
remember. It doesn’t have to be your entire career. Genies can switch bottles.”
feeling a little better. “No, they can’t!”
you’re right, they can’t. But you can
As soon as
Dad left, I ran upstairs and booted up my computer to look up Faith Despaign. A
stone building with white woodwork and trim popped up. I scrolled past its
awards, student population information and recommendations until I reached the
Faith White Despaign (c. 1660
– c. 1740), known as the Witch of Woodinville, is the last person known to have
been convicted of witchcraft in Connecticut. A farmer, healer, and midwife, her
neighbors accused her of transforming herself into a cat, damaging crops and
causing the death of livestock.
No drawings or paintings of
Despaign exist, but contemporary accounts describe her as attractive, tall and
possessing a strong sense of humor and wit. Despaign grew medicinal herbs and
wore trousers while working on her farm; both traits were atypical of ladies of
that era. It is speculated that this combination of clothing and good looks
attracted local men and upset their wives. Despaign biographer and advocate Cory
Fowler suggests that Despaign's neighbors may have been jealous of Despaign and
that the witchcraft tales may have been conjured up in an effort to remove her
from, and subsequently to gain, her property.
Today, Faith Despaign’s
property is home to Faith Despaign Academy, one of the most prestigious schools
in the state of Connecticut.
ten the next day, I sat in the living room on the sofa waiting to go and see
Faith Despaign’s school. Uncle Mitch sat beside me, his hands clenched in his
lap. He seemed more nervous than me.
sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked for about the twelfth time.
be silly. I’ll be fine.”
not sure I’ll be,” he muttered.
wandered into the room, feather duster in her hand, caught sight of us and
frowned. “Where is that woman?”
looked at his watch.
she’d be here, so I’m sure she will.” Although, I really had no way of knowing
that. I’d met Birdie the wanna-be witch once and talked to her for a grand
total of maybe two minutes.
you myself,” Uncle Mitch said.
have a class in an hour.”
“I can miss
it.” Uncle Mitch started to jiggle his leg, making the sofa bounce. If he
didn’t stop soon, my woozy stomach was going to lose its insides all over the
can’t,” I said, just as the scrunch of tires sounded from outside. I bounced up
to look out the window and watch Birdie’s old Cadillac pull down the driveway.
old, feeble, and about as powerful and influential as a butterfly, Birdie
climbed from her car. She wore Mary Poppins sort of shoes, a skirt that looked
like it’d been patched together from about a hundred different pieces of
fabric, a burgundy colored sweater, and a fur thing around her neck.
bothering to knock, she let herself in the door. No self-respecting teenager
wants to be caught dead in the company of a parent, let alone a grandparent. And
especially not a grandmother who wears a creepy fox-fur thing with its head
still attached and glass beady eyes around her neck.
my jeans, sweater and boots. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked.
beneath her gaze. “Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. At least an animal didn’t
have to die for me to get dressed.
“No. Go and
put on your navy sweater dress.”
Uncle Mitch a questioning look.
He gave a
chop,” she said, waving her hand to hurry me along.
climbed the stairs, wondering how Birdie knew I had a navy sweater dress. Maybe
she had magic all-seeing powers. Once in my room, I reached into the far corner
of my closet and pulled it out. I tried to remember the last time I wore
it—church with Maria? I slipped it over my head, and since it looked cute with
my boots, I left them on, briefly wondering if Birdie would object.
she said, running her gaze over me when I returned. She reached into her bag
and pulled out a heavy silver pendant. “I brought this for you to wear.”
between us, catching light from the window, and sending mini rays of sunbeams
around the room.
beautiful,” I breathed, feeling a mesmerizing pull. I wanted to cradle it in my
hands, but I also knew I shouldn’t take it. “It’s too nice to wear to school,
don’t you think?”
I don’t think!” She caught herself with a laugh. “That’s not what I meant. Of
course, I think. If I didn’t, I would cease to exist.” She sent Mitch a warning
glance. “Don’t say it,” she said.
forward, she placed the pendant around my neck, and I caught a whiff of her
lavender scent. “There,” she said, smiling and looking pleased. “Now everyone
will know who and what you are.”
will?” I asked, picking up the pendant, holding it to the light and watching
the dancing light rays.
Good, I thought. Maybe then they can tell me.
find your place soon enough,” Birdie said. “No need to hurry. Come along, we
don’t have all day.”
seemed like a contradictory thing to say, but I followed her out the door and
to her car.
leave the top down, shall we?” Birdie asked after we settled in.
I had a
thousand questions I wanted to ask, but with the wind blowing in my hair and
the roar of the traffic around us, I kept my questions bottled up inside,
promising myself that I’d have other opportunities.
the familiar landscape pass by, but after a few minutes we turned down a road I
had never even known had existed. Woods, dark and deep lined the way. The
trees’ canopy hung low, and sunlight flicked through the branches and red and
gold leaves. I wondered how it would look in the dead of winter when the trees
lost their leaves and their black branches reached for the sky.
A witches’ forest, I thought. Twisting my hair around my
hand, I tried to keep a hold of it, worried that by the time I reached the
school, it would be wild and untamable.
didn’t seem to mind the wind tossing her silver curls about her face.
After a few
quiet miles with nothing to see but woods and brambles, we turned off the road
and stopped before a large wrought iron gate. Without any sort of remote that I
could see, the gates rolled open. Birdie flashed me a beaming smile. I tried to
return it, but I was pretty sure that her excitement far outweighed mine. We
rounded a hill, and the school came into view.
It sat in a
small valley, surrounded by hills covered in autumn’s trees. A stone mansion
with white window casings and trim, it looked just a bit larger than the
Henderson’s sprawling house and a couple of hundred years older.
warmed against me. I placed my hand on it, feeling its growing heat. The
enthralling pull I felt when I first saw the pendant returned, letting me know
that house and pendant belonged together.
didn’t mean that I belonged to either.
is one of the oldest in Connecticut,” Birdie told me after she cut the car’s
“The stone walls are nearly two feet
thick. It’s been a fort, a church, a private home, and now it’s a school.” She
funny,” I asked, keeping my hand on the pendant. I knew that its eerie warmth
should bother me, but instead I found it steadying and comforting.
find it ironic that this once was used as a church?”
that be ironic? The pilgrims came here to escape religious persecution. This
was probably one of the largest houses in the area. Why not meet here?”
me a disappointed look, slowly shook her head and climbed from the car.
Slamming the door shut, she turned to me. “Your mother taught you nothing.”
I got out
and placed my hands on my hips. “If you want to know the truth, I was raised by
my dad and my uncle. Right now, my mom is in India, but before that she was in
a country with a name that I can’t pronounce and that no one has ever heard
of…except for the people and yaks that live there, of course. I see her
sometimes. She calls when she’s someplace with cell service. So, yeah, my mom
hasn’t taught me much. I wanted to ask her what she remembers about this place,
if she liked going here. But all the stuff I really need to know, I learned
from my dad and Uncle Mitch.”
explains so much!” She slowly turned around, as if wondering what to do or
where to go next. Finally, she sat on a stone bench and patted a spot beside
I sank slowly
beside her, wondering what was coming next.
have a thousand questions for me.”
I bit my
lip, afraid of my questions and even more afraid of the answers.
burn down the science building.”
I shook my
head. “No! I would never do that!”
intentionally, but you still did it.” She heaved a big sigh. “This is really
your mother’s fault. You have powers and you need to learn how to control
my mom. Does she have powers, too?”
a noise that sounded a lot like Sparky grunting. “Your mother…such a
doesn’t have powers.”
shook her head. “Of course she does. She just refuses to acknowledge them.” She
caught my chin in her fingers and stared into my eyes. “But you listen to me.
You can choose to ignore your powers, but doing so will only make you
frustrated and bitter.”
Despaign a witch school?”
gaze turned to the school and her expression softened as if she was caressing
the stone building with her attention. “As I’m sure you are aware, we witches
have a long and painful history. Even in this supposedly enlightened era, we
must ever be vigilant and protect our powers from idle curiosity and those who
would harm us with their jealousy.”
is an evil place.”
a good witch?”
lips twitched. “Sometimes.” She pulled herself to her feet and smiled down at
me. “Here’s the thing, my pet. No one is ever black or white. A true villain,
just like a true hero, is a hard thing to find. People are people and witches
are witches—both for good and for bad. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we try
to do a good deed and it backfires. Sometimes when we set out to cause a curse,
it brings a blessing and vice-a-versa.” She shrugged and gave up trying to hide
her smile. “Sometimes a science building—or two—goes up in flames.”
rooted to my bench. “Can you help me?”
That’s why we’re here.” Birdie put her finger to her lips. “Most of the
students and many of the teachers here are not witches. That’s just the way of
the world. We have always been a select minority.”
I didn’t know if I believed anything Birdie
had said, but I did know one thing. I didn’t want to ever burn anything ever
Birdie turned and marched down the drive and up the stone steps.
after her. I wanted to stop and read the historic marker on the porch pillar,
but Birdie opened the door, and I had to hurry after her. Going to a new school
was horrible, but going there alone, and getting lost would be a hundred times
through the massive wooden doors, we paused in the foyer. A circular stairway twirled
in front of us. I looked up, counting the stories—three, maybe five. A small
parlor dominated by a tall enough to stand in fireplace to our left, curtained
French doors to our right, a hall sneaking away in front of us. It certainly
looked like a witch school.
everyone?” Birdie asked.
know, class? This is a school.”
cheeky. Especially not with Mrs. Craig.”
I thought they only had those in Britain.” Sounds
like the leading slut, I thought.
turned her beady eyes on me. “Do not be crass. What did you call the headmaster
Roberts. That was his name.” Just then, an amazing thing happened. Something
that I thought never, ever would. I missed Dr. Roberts and his plastic hair and
too perfect teeth. Maybe because he was the most un-witch-like person I knew.
about him,” Birdie said as she strode to the double French doors and pushed
Birdie read my mind? Or was she just guessing what I was thinking?
boned woman with a mop of curly white gold hair sat behind a massive desk.
Light streamed in through stained glass window, casting a warm glow in the
small room. Shelves jammed with books, jars of odds and weird ends, and boxes
and containers lined the walls. Regina looked up, her expression open and
friendly. When she saw Birdie, she hastily climbed to her orthopedic shoe clad feet.
Faye!” She extended her hand. “We’re so pleased to have your granddaughter
clasped Mrs. Craig hand briefly, before pushing me to stand before the desk and
the big-boned woman.
“This is Evelynn
Marston. Her education has been sadly lacking.”
“I’m a straight
A student,” I said, insulted.
continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Although, she is an incendiary.”
Was I? She
made me sound like I was a case of dynamite or a bucket of lighter fluid which
in either case was definitely not a compliment. “How would you like it if I
called you a gas can?”
little thing, isn’t she?” Mrs. Craig smiled at me, even though she spoke as if
I wasn’t in the room.
I fumed, and
my fingertips tingled. I curled my hands into tight fists while my heart
pounded in my ears. I fought not to lose my temper.
“I have her
transcripts here,” Mrs. Craig said, resting her hand on a pile of papers
sitting on her desk. “But they can only tell us so much.”
Birdie said with a sigh. “So many things have to be discovered for oneself.”
Craig nodded, as if Birdie had said something remarkable and profound. Turning
to me, she asked, “And what do you like to do, Miss Evelynn?”
Dr. Roberts had never asked me that before, nor had any of my previous
teachers. I was supposed to do whatever they told me. That’s what going to
school was all about, wasn’t it? The teachers told me information and later
asked me to regurgitate it onto tests.
your passion, child?”
disliked questions that I didn’t know the answer to, and I really hated being
called a child.
Mrs. Craig broke the awkward silence, “we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”
wondered how she could be so sure. Because even with all the things Birdie had
told me, even with all her pretended clairvoyance, I still preferred to believe
in Uncle Mitch’s science, or even in Maria’s religion, than in Birdie’s witchcraft.
me.” Mrs. Craig stood, her big, boney frame reminded me of the scrawny cows at the
diary outside of town—all loose limbed, with knobby knees. Of course, I
couldn’t see Mrs. Craig’s knees, since her shapeless dress hung to the middle
of her calves, but I was pretty sure that all that gray wool hid a pair of
knees as big and round as frying pans. She headed for the door. “Everyone is
outside today for a pep rally. It’s a big game tonight!”
and I followed her down the hall, through the doors, and down the steps.
have a football team?”
place looked so prehistoric, it was hard to imagine them having sports teams.
We crossed a wide lawn, taking a path down a hill. There, past a thicket of
trees, stood a large stadium.
you like sports, dear?” Mrs. Craig asked.
now, I’m pretty busy with play practice.” I paused. “I’m in the Wizard of Oz.”
and Mrs. Craig exchanged glances.
a community theater production. My best friend’s mom is the director.”
what role do you play, dear?”
course, you are,” Birdie said, shaking her head. “This is all your mom’s
fault,” she added beneath her breath.
thought about telling Birdie what Mrs. Henderson told the cast—there are no
starring roles. She even read a Bible scripture to back her point. I wished I
could remember how it went. Something like, there are many people in the cast,
but one play. And the woodsman cannot say to the munchkin, "I don’t need you";
or the witch to Toto, "I don’t need you." Because there was one play
made up of lots of people and everyone needed everyone else. But most of all,
we needed people to pay to see the play.
Craig paused by the stadium’s gate. “This will probably seem overwhelming to
you now—everyone gathered together this way. But in reality, we are a small,
friendly school, specializing in the arts.” She winked at me. “With your love
of fire and drama, you’ll fit right in.”
the stadium, stamping feet and cheering thundered around us as the high school
band pounded out a song I didn’t recognize.
on your left,” Mrs. Craig yelled above the din, pointing across the field.
“Sophomores, your class, on your right.” She turned, and faced the crowd
directly behind me. “Juniors and seniors to the right and left respectively.”
turned, and there, directly in front of me in the senior section about five
rows up sat Dylan. He watched me with a warm, steady stare.
flushed and looked away, no longer caring that Birdie had called me an
incendiary, or that the bovine Mrs. Craig was the headmistress. As long as
Dylan looked at me like that—I was going to like it here.
much else mattered.
next morning, I bounced on the balls of my toes while waiting for Uncle Mitch.
I wore the same navy dress I’d worn yesterday, since it was the only navy thing
I owned so far. Last night, with the help of my dad’s credit card, I had
purchased online a navy blazer, five white button-down shirts, three gray
pleated skirts, three pairs of navy tights, and five pairs of gray pants. I
really hoped I liked it there, because I was about to have a closet full of
drabbiness. But somehow, the pendant made everything chic. And thoughts of
seeing Dylan made everything worth anything.
suffered a few guilty twinges when I thought about Bree. She’d liked him first,
and in best friend code that was the same as a double-dib. But I wasn’t going
to go out with him. After all, he was a senior and I was a sophomore, and sure,
Faith Despaign was different from Hartly, but it probably wasn’t that different. I couldn’t think of any
universe where a hot senior guy went with a beige sort of sophomore.
Uncle Mitch jingled his keys, breaking my Dylan induced trance.
shook myself to try and get back into the real world. “Yeah.” I swallowed.
my friends would go to Mr. Harnett’s for home room, Mr. Beck’s for biology, and
to the cafeteria—the same cafeteria where the same lunch ladies had been
serving me lunch since I was five. My breath caught in my throat.
if I’m good they’ll let me go back to Hartly?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Uncle Mitch jingled his keys and headed for the door, “you know it wasn’t a
matter of being good or bad. It was your grandmother. I think she’s been
waiting for an opportunity to get you where she wants you.”
steps faltered as I thought about Birdie and her witchy-ness. “You don’t think
she burned down the science room, do you?”
She wouldn’t do that.”
what makes you say that she’s got me where she wants me?” I closed the kitchen
door behind us and trailed after Uncle Mitch to his T-bird. “Why would she even
try? She didn’t even know I existed until I was sixteen years old.”
Uncle Mitch corrected me. “And of course she knew you existed.”
why now? Why did she wait so long?”
your grandmother, I’d say she waited until she thought you’d be interesting.”
He climbed into his car and turned over the engine. “I’m sorry if that hurts
I stop being interesting, can I go back to Hartly?”
think that ship has sailed. Besides, you’ll always be interesting. It’s who you
are.” Uncle Mitch pulled the car down the drive and paused at the mailboxes. He
changed the subject. “When does Bree come home?”
It’s been really weird not being able to talk to her.”
Mitch smirked. “Because you don’t have your phone?”
nodded and tried to look lonely and pathetic.
worries. All that weirdness will end tomorrow when she comes back. Although,
she’s going to have a hard time climbing trees with that cast on her leg.”
into a charged silence while the woods flashed by the car’s windows. Uncle
Mitch was probably thinking about eco-systems and I thought about Faith
Despaign Academy. No one would feel as awkward and new as me. School had started
two weeks ago, so I’d be two weeks behind. Everyone would have already chosen
lab partners in biology, a study group in history, locker partners. Teams would
have been aligned, cafeteria tables claimed, projects assigned—everyone would
have an established place, except for me. All the other new kids—if there were
any—would have already integrated. I’d be on the fringe. Alone.
my ponytail in the mirror, and rummaged through my purse for a tube of lip
great,” Uncle Mitch said, taking his gaze off the road to throw me a smile.
It’s temporary.” I smeared the gloss on my lips. Its familiar strawberry taste
made me feel a bit better.
you mean?” he asked.
to start wearing school-issues as soon as they get here, and they’d make Mother
Teresa’s clothes look vogue.” I closed
the mirror on the sunshade. “If I went to the public school, I could wear whatever
that what you think?”
think that if you showed up in a gorilla suit no one would mind?”
I wear a gorilla suit? That sounds really hot—and not in a good way.”
is that in every social circle norms and mores are established. They might be
subtle, but they always exist. It’s just like eco-systems. For a species to
survive, a careful balance—”
listening. I loved Uncle Mitch, but at that moment, I was way too worried about
Faith Despaign to listen to a lecture on eco-systems and abiotic components. At
Hartly, the thespians didn’t associate with the student government. The jocks
didn’t mingle with the chess club. The only two circles that overlapped in any
acceptable way were drama and choir. Even the band had an established hierarchy—the
jazz band was cool, but not as cool as the drum line, while the kid playing the
triangle was bottom tier.
the cello. Not cool. Not to mention huge, bulky and awkward.
I hoped to
make it on the school newspaper, because I liked writing stories and I thought
the kids wearing cameras around their necks looked boss. Did Faith Despaign
even have a newspaper? Or a journalism class?
back in my seat, miserable.
introduction of a non-native species can and will cause substantial shifts in
the ecosystem function,” Uncle Mitch said.
I tuned in.
Just because it was easier. “You mean me?”
“Exactly! Ecosystems, like any social gathering, is dynamic, subject to change.
By just being there—someone new in a new place—you’ve already disrupted the
status quo. After today and your introduction into this school, things at Faith
Despaign will never be the same. Returning to how things were before your
arrival is an impossibility.”
liked things way they were.”
were true, you wouldn’t have burned down the science building.”
mean to burn down anything! You know I wouldn’t do that.”
think it was intentional.”
think I had this burning ulterior motive?”
“I think you were angry.”
I was angry. Carrie Hopkins told three guys that I was going to ask them to homecoming.”
weren’t planning on that?”
Especially not those guys.”
they wouldn’t be suitable mates?”
Just stop. You are not helping.”
trying to understand why you got so angry.”
in my seat to look at him. “Okay—just because I got angry, that doesn’t make
buildings spontaneously combust, and you know it.”
as we pulled up through the gates. “My work here is done.”
you mean?” I asked, still seething.
longer nervous. You’ve successfully converted all your worries into anger.” He
put the car into park and met my unblinking stare with a goofy grin. “You’re
ready to fight.”
was so right. How did he do that?
‘em, tiger. Remember, by just stepping onto that campus, you have the power to
change it. You can make it better, or you can make it worse. But whatever you
decide, you will change it.”
out of the car, shut the door, and squared my shoulders, ready to make some
dressed in gray, navy and white swarmed around me. Curious gazes flickered over
my face, took in my dress and tall black boots. I stood out now, but soon I’d
blend into this monotonous crowd.
know why we wear uniforms?” A voice spoke just behind me, and I turned to see
Mrs. Craig. Her big horse face angled toward me with a welcoming smile.
I shook my
our ideas will shine, not our apparel. Keep that in mind. True beauty comes
from the good we share, not cosmetics or fashion.”
Mrs. Craig could use the help of some cosmetics and fashion. Especially since
today’s outfit—a black bag with mid-length sleeves—was, if anything, even more
shapeless and colorless than yesterday’s giant gray pillowcase. Still, despite
her horrible sense of style, I was glad for her company.
me show you to your first room.”
her up the steps. Yesterday, the foyer had been reverent-quiet, almost like a
church, but now it teemed with students and rang with hundreds of voices all
talking, laughing, and joking at once.
seemed to notice me. Their gazes slid past me as if they were looking for and
hoping to see someone else. Someone who belonged. A few people stared at my
boots, and I regretted wearing them. All of the girls wore black flats with a
single strap secured with a silver buckle. The boys wore black leather
slip-ons, the sort of thing that Uncle Mitch liked to wear and Sparky liked to
moment, I envisioned Sparky, or some other large dog—preferably not a bull dog,
but some other faster, hungrier breed—chewing up the student’s shoes, turning
leather into slobbery mush.
broke out. Students started pushing and shoving each other.
Mrs. Craig groaned.
I stood on
my toes, looking over the chaos. Books flew as students jumped out of the way
of a fierce-looking, extremely slobbery Great Dane. He held a shoe in his
buckled. Lightheaded, I sank to the floor, muttering, “Oh please, make him go
I woke on a
bed in a room with glaring white walls, a florescent light buzzing on the
ceiling, and eye-charts on the wall. A skeleton stood in the corner, keeping
watch. It took me a moment to remember what had happened, and why I was in this
place that I didn’t remember ever seeing before. New school, new people, the
dog of my imagination turned to scary, slobbering flesh.
eyes, I thought about Bree falling out of the tree and the burning science
building. Of course, I didn’t really want those things to happen…or had I? I
wouldn’t have pushed Bree out the window. Nor would I have struck a match to
destroy property. Was I really responsible for the destruction of the science
building and Izzy the Iguana’s death, just because I thought of them?
Birdie would come. Maybe she was kooky, like my dad had said, and maybe I’d
inherited some of her kookiness and she could tell me how to make my kookiness
not hurt anyone or destroy anything.
I had to
try the wishful thinking. It was like that whole “tell the universe what you
want, and it comes true.” Which was bunk. Right? I decided to test it out.
“I want an
ice cream cone,” I told the universe.
what?” a voice asked.
eyes, I bolted upright. The sudden movement made my head swim and my stomach
A girl with
black rimmed glasses stood in front of me, studying me as if I was creature in
a zoo. Super short dark hair and matching black eyes, dressed completely in
navy, she reminded me of a blue jay in glasses. A near-sighted blue jay.
kind of delirious, or something?” she asked.
the something,” I replied, leaning back against the wall. “I guess I’m in the
“Yeah, you took my spot.”
at the bed, and then scooted to the end. “I can share. I didn’t mean to be a
okay, I like to sleep alone.” But she sat on the bed anyway and the mattress
sagged beneath her weight. “What happened out there?”
you don’t have to tell me. If it makes you feel better, I pass out, too. Every
time I see blood.” She rolled her eyes. “Miss Cleaves doesn’t get it. She
thinks I need to woman-up. I keep telling her that if I have to sit through
another session of frog dissecting I’m going to throw-up. Not everyone can be a
science teacher…or a nurse.”
the nurse?” I asked.
Cleaves, she’s also the nurse andthe biology teacher. She’ll check on us after second
Second period? “How long have I been in here?”
know. Long enough to leave me standing.” She bumped her shoulder with mine.
“I’m sure Cleaves didn’t know about you she sent me here. But it’s okay,
honestly. As long as I got to skip bio, I’m good.” She smiled at me. “I’m
Courtney, buy the way. You can call me Court.”
new here? I haven’t seen you around.”
really didn’t mean to, I told her about Hartly, the science building, the fire,
all of it, except for the most important part. “I had nothing to do with the
fire, really, but the girl who told the guys that I was going to ask them to
homecoming, happens to be the same girl that claims she saw me light a fire,
and also happens to be a trustee’s daughter.
didn’t look at all scandalized, but nodded sympathetically.
since we were both sophomores, we shared most of the classes. When the bell
rang, Court suggested I follow her before Mrs. Cleave could come and inspect
Court told me, “it’s best to avoid her.”
I searched for Dylan
between every class, but I didn’t see him until lunch. He
sat at a corner table furthest from the line—the senior section, I immediately
decided after watching the tall, older students. He had his face angled away
from me—his shoulders almost intentionally turned. It was as if an invisible
line segregated their domain from the rest of the cafeteria, or as if a sign
reading, only the tall and beautiful
welcome here, marked their territory. The guys didn’t look like jocks or
geeks—they looked both beautiful in a ripped, muscular way and smart. And the
Weird word, I thought, as soon as it popped in my
head, but I didn’t dismiss it because it fit so well. Some were wispy thin with
long hair, some were as statuesque as a Greek goddess, and the one leaning on
Dylan’s arm looked like she belonged in a Victoria Secret commercial—despite the fact she wore
clothes over her underwear. But somehow she made the monotone Faith Despaign
uniform look sexy.
my boots felt clunky and shapeless.
stratosphere,” Court whispered, following my gaze. “Don’t stare. It only feeds
their superiority complex.” She plopped her tray down on a table and a group of
kids looked up, welcoming me with curious glances. “Sorry, this is an ageist
school, and until you’re older—or deemed worthy—you’re stuck in the sophomoresubdivision.”
okay.” I was happy to be included anywhere, especially since the one person I
thought I knew wouldn’t meet my eye. Stung, I sat down beside Court and smiled
and nodded at her friends.
“This is Evelynn
Marston.” Court picked up an apple and polished it on her sweater. “She’s an
rattled off a list of names I tried to commit to memory.
guys, one with a Hawaiian shirt underneath his navy blazer and the other with
dollar signs plastered all over his tie, looked more interested in me than the
an arsonist,” I muttered, before biting into my sandwich.
Court said, launching into my story. Before she finished, everyone was
interested in me.
I flushed from
the attention. “It was an accident,” I muttered.
you do it?” the kid in the Hawaiian shirt—Ryan, I reminded myself—asked.
I shook my
head. “I didn’t. Someone said that I did, but no one could prove it…because I
didn’t do it.”
his head slowly, “That’s what they all say.”
kid—Austin—with the money tie elbowed him. “They all say that you’re a moron.”
unlikely friends, Ryan with his red floral shirt and messy, blond surfer-dude
hair and Austin with his Wall Street wanna-be starched white shirt and black
tie, and I wondered if they had anything in common other than Court.
at me. “I bet Evelynn doesn’t call me a moron.”
just ‘cause she doesn’t know you, yet,” Austin said, biting into his pizza.
new, by the way,” Ryan said.
nodded. “We’re the fringe.”
to hang out with us because everyone else has already drawn their circles,”
new?” I asked.
nodded. “My family moved here from Maryland in June. Ryan came from
California—if you couldn’t tell—and Austin is from New York City. There are a
couple of new freshmen, but they’re freshmen.”
I tried to
chew and swallow my pizza, but it tasted like cardboard. Finally, I put it down
and pretended to listen to Court, Ryan and Austin while I watched Dylan out of
the corner of my eye, willing him to look at me.
He never did.
picked me up after school. On the ride home, I gave him a detailed account of
my classes, books to read, and projects assigned.
terribly behind?” he asked.
into my seat and clicked the safety belt. “No, it’s like Mrs. Craig promised.
The first two weeks are all review.” I shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”
shot me a quick, concerned glance. “You don’t sound so okay.”
really.” It was silly for me to think that Dylan, a senior, would want anything
to do with me, and even sillier to think that I had anything to do with the sudden
appearance of a Great Dane. I sighed,
looked out the window and wished I was still at Hartly with my friends.
Henderson called. She wants to talk to you about something.”
I raised my
eyebrow, waiting for more. Sometimes with Uncle Mitch you have to wait a long
she has a proposal.”
Mitch grinned and shook his head.
sketchy.” But I knew it wasn’t sketchy at all. I knew what she wanted, because
I knew what Bree would want. Sometimes I thought I knew Bree better than I knew
myself. She didn’t want to give her Dorothy role to Erin, the understudy.
we can’t offend her, on account of the cookies,” Uncle Mitch said.
No one made cookies like Mrs. Henderson.
pies lately?” I asked.
Mitch’s brows lowered, and he shook his head.
laughed. Our neighbor across the street, Janette Starks, had been making Uncle
Mitch pies since before Dad and I had moved in seven years ago. I loved the
chocolate silk. Uncle Mitch preferred the razzleberry. Sparky loved them all.
he said, as if it was a total afterthought. “Your mom called. You need to call
her when we get home.”
Maybe Mom could answer some questions. “With my phone?”
nodded. “It’s grounded, too.”
does that mean?”
means you can use it, but it has to stay at the house.”
Uncle Mitch joke. Best to just ignore those and not encourage him.
dug in his pocket and pulled out my phone. “Here.”
I said, taking it. I wanted to talk to my mom, but not in front of Uncle Mitch.
It was like when I first got my period.
looked at me expectantly, so I pushed her number.
distance between us crackled and electrically rumbled.
my mom’s voice floated above the poor reception.
Crack, crack, err…..
Err, crack, crack…
send …. email, okay? Will… me …. your…school?”
didn’t you tell me I have a grandmother?” I yelled above the failing connection.
line went down.
I put the phone in my bag.
Mitch held out his hand, palm up. “Nice try. Hand it over.”
You said I could have it at home.”
I reached into my bag. The phone buzzed in my hand. Pulling it out, I saw I had
about a hundred texts, the latest from Bree.
wants me to come over so her mom can proposition me. It’s about the play. Can I
Mitch looked straight ahead. “It’s hard being the uncle.”
patted his leg. “You do a great job.”
had an email from Mom waiting for me when I got home. I glanced out my bedroom
window and caught sight of Dylan’s car parked in the Henderson driveway. I
really wanted to be there while he was there, but I also wanted my mom to
answer my questions. My curiosity was at almost boiling point. So many giant
things had recently happened and I only understood a few of them.
looked out the window. Dylan still there.
glanced at the computer.
and curiosity won.
Hi Pansy, (Don’t ask me why my parents
decided to each call me different P flower name. I asked them once, and neither
could offer an explanation. Uncle Mitch summed it up with “they’re both highly
I know you must have a
million questions about your grandmother and I wish I was there to answer them
for you. You must think I’m a terrible person for not telling you about her,
but I wanted to protect you. I thought your father—who doesn’t always things
eye-to-eye with me, but agrees with me on this, about her—would be able to keep
her away from you. I see now that we’ve failed.
For nearly sixteen years she
hadn’t shown a spec of interest. I don’t know why she would do so now, but I’ve
never been able to understand my mother.
Let me be very clear. Beatrix
is not a nice person. Everything she’ll tell you is lies. She suffers from
delusions of grandeur. She might look small and harmless, but she’s not.
Remember, your dad, your
uncle and I love you very, very much. I so wish I could be with you. It breaks
my heart to think of you being ousted from Hartly and forced into Faith
It’s a good school. I loved
being there, but I didn’t always fit in. Its history is steeped in
superstitions and riddled with insane rumors. None of it is true. The legends
are merely stories told to keep the students subjected to fears.
And, of course, the uniforms
are emblematic of the school’s dreariness. (I assume they still make you wear
clothes the color of a November sky.)
There’s nothing for you to
do, but join me here in India, where the skies are always robin’s egg blue, and
the clothes are as bright and cheery as a field of wild flowers. There are
numerous online homeschool programs and you would excel at all of them. In no
time at all, your Uncle Mitch could be showing you to your Yale dorm room, and
you’ll be reunited with your friends.
An education via the internet
might not be the high school experience you dreamed of, but trust me, high
school at Baldwin High isn’t going to be dream-worthy, either. I’ve already
contacted your dad, he’s fine with whatever you decide.
always, my Mom never failed to disappoint.
heart stuttered when I saw Dylan’s red convertible was still parked beside the
Henderson’s van. Knowing I had to get to Bree’s while he was still around, I
decided I would write my mom later. After I’d let all my questions and
frustrations percolate into something I could actually put into words.
I pulled off my dress and boots, and rummaged
through my closet, searching for something to wear. I had to look cute, but
casual. Pulling on my favorite jeans, I considered all my tops. Nothing said
I’m not a sophomore. I glanced out the window, making sure the car was still
there, before returning to the clothes staring at me. Immediately, I dismissed
everything I had bought when Maria had taken me shopping. And of course all of
the Hartly red sweaters were itchy and hot…Then I remembered the clothes my mom
had sent me for my birthday.
I’d first seen them, I had thought them too Mom-like and utterly non-New
England chic. But now…I wasn’t so sure.
found the box near the back. Opening it, my mom’s familiar musky scent floated
out. I bit my lip and threw another glance out the window. I really wanted to
talk to my mom, but I also wanted to talk to Dylan…and Bree and her mom, of
slipped on a colorful gauzy, cotton blouse. It reminded me of my mom, and the
gypsies in Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent, and made me feel better. I pulled
out my hair tie so that my curls tumbled around my shoulder, slipped in a pair
of hoopy earrings, and found a pair of red sandals that matched, but still
didn’t look as if I was trying too hard.
took a deep breath, knowing that I was
trying too hard. But if Dylan could just even pretend to be my friend at Baldwin
High, I knew that I would immediately be accepted. All the social circles would
open up to include me. We didn’t have to go out, but if he could just talk to
me, introduce me to his friends, help me move out of the fringe…
that I wasn’t grateful for Court, Ryan and Austin. I was. I loved that I didn’t
have to sit alone in the cafeteria.
down the stairs, and banging out the back door, I gave myself a small, mental
shake, and promised that I wasn’t going to overthink this, and I wasn’t going
to try too hard. I was just going over to talk to Bree and her mom and if I
happened to see Dylan, and if he happened to talk to me, and if we ended up
chatting tomorrow at school…my steps faltered when I reached the Henderson
had his shirt off. With his low cut jeans, he looked exactly like a guy from
the cover of one of his mom’s romance novels. Why had I never noticed this
before? He squatted down beside an ancient looking dirt bike, a rag in his hand
and a bucket of soapy water by his feet.
must have heard me, because he looked up.
greeted me with a grin. “Hey.”
I said. “Is Bree home?” That was a stupid thing to ask. Where else would
someone with a broken leg be? “And your mom?” I quickly added.
I think so.” Joshua returned his attention to the dirt bike.
was a fascinating conversation, I thought, eager to dismiss Josh and his big, buff
chest from my thoughts. It didn’t matter that he looked like he belonged on an
Abercrombie and Fitch poster, I couldn’t look at him that way. He was my best
friend’s brother, which made him practically my big brother. I hurried up the
steps of the back porch into the mudroom. The dogs started barking when I
opened the door.
Gabby called from somewhere in the kitchen.
just me,” I told the herd. Bending down, I ruffled Riddler’s ears and scratched
Penguin on the head.
hey,” a voice said.
looked up and into the eyes of Dylan Fox. “Hi,” I said, my conversing skills
barely lukewarm after my preparation practice with Josh in the driveway. I
couldn’t think of anything to say. I wanted him to say something like, I saw you at school today, or I didn’t know you went to Faith Despaign, we
should hang out sometime, or I’m on
the tennis team—you should try out. No, scratch that last one. That would
be bad. Because then I would have to try out for the team, and I’d bomb and he
would know it, then he’d have to feel sorry me, and if he was ever nice to me,
I would know it was just pity-niceness, and not because he liked me. Not that I
wanted him to like me, because Bree liked him, so I couldn’t possibly…
moved passed me and out the door.
dogs and I stared at the back door, all of us wondering what had happened.
there you are.” Diana Henderson spotted me. She wiped her hands on her apron
and beckoned me to join her in the kitchen.
sat at the window seat, her leg propped up on a bunch of mismatched floral
pillows. Janette Sparks, our pie-baking neighbor and director of the drama
guild, sat beside her. Janette pulled out a chair for me.
have something to ask, and it’s a little unorthodox,” Janette said.
okay with unorthodox,” Bree said.
kind of a big thing to ask,” Diana said.
sat down, guessing what was coming. “You want me to be Dorothy.”
smiled and nodded.
until Bree’s better,” I finished.
might not get better,” Diana said.
totally will,” Bree said.
doctor said—“ Diana began.
back door banged open and closed, but the dogs, all lying on their beds in the
mud room, didn’t start yipping, so I knew it had to be one of the Henderson’s.
I looked up, hoping to see Josh, but it was just Lincoln. He wasn’t wearing a
shirt either, but since he was only seven, he offered a totally different sort
he barked, sounded a lot like the dogs. “Josh won’t let me ride his dirt bike.”
doesn’t even run,” Diana said, without even turning to look at him.
won’t let me even sit on it!” Lincoln continued.
working on it, Lincoln-love,” Diana said.
just want to see if it’s comfortable! Why does he get a motorcycle and not me.”
he’s seventeen and he needs a ride to work and school,” Bree called back. “Does
that mean I can get a Vespa when I’m seventeen?” Bree asked her mom.
Henderson rolled her eyes. “You know I didn’t want him to get that thing, but
your dad insisted. So, if I get my way, when you get a job, you can get
yourself a foot-powered bike.”
Lincoln placed his hands on his hips. “Make Josh let me sit on his bike!”
we’re having a grownup conversation and you’re interrupting,” Diana said.
frowned at us. “No you’re not. You’re talking to Bree and Evie. They’re not
Mrs. Sparks is,” Diana said.
smiled at the boy.
glared back. “Did she bring a pie?”
his mom reprimanded him.
don’t know why we call her Mrs. Sparks,” Lincoln said. “She doesn’t have a
his mom and Bree both yelled at him.
okay,” Janette said, smiling, but looking tired. “I had a husband.”
what happened to him?” Lincoln wanted to know.
died,” she said.
Lincoln said. “How come?”
an appropriate question, love,” his mom told him.
okay,” Janette said. “My husband died of a heart attack. It was a long time
you need to walk the dogs,” Diana said with a sigh.
of them?” His voice squeaked.
Penguin? He’s too slow.”
Lincoln banged around the mudroom, trying to harness the dogs, Mrs. Henderson,
Janette and Bree turned their attention back to me.
a lot to ask,” Diana said.
can’t ask anyone else,” Bree said.
about Erin?” I asked, even though I thought I knew the answer.
Diana and Janette each glanced at each other, as if silently coming to an
has had to back out of the play,” Diana said. “She got a role in the Nut
That surprised me. “When? Why?”
shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her,” she said with a small satisfied smile.
knew you would want to step in and help Bree,” Janette said.
you can totally do it,” Bree put in.
what if you don’t get your cast off in time?” I asked, my heart skipping while
I thought about playing the leading role. I was pretty happy as a munchkin.
I have to dance?” I asked.
you okay with singing the solos?” Janette asked. “Mrs. Olson said she’d help
knew I could sing. I also knew I couldn’t dance.
modify the dances,” Diana said.
no reason for you to have to learn those since I’m going to get my cast off in
time anyway,” Bree said.
shot her a sad, sympathetic look before turning back to me. “Mrs. Olson said
she could help you with the music tomorrow after school. Does that work for
nodded. Even though I had expected something like this, the reality of it
smacked me in the face, taking away my breath. I knew I could fill in during
the rehearsals, but what if Bree wasn’t better by opening night? She couldn’t
be Dorothy with a giant pink cast on her leg.
Diana called out. “I want you to run upstairs and bring down the ruby
let out an irritated groan. “I just got the dogs roped up!”
them with you,” Bree said.
Lincoln and the dogs trooped through the kitchen, Janette showed me the scripts
and handed me the score, but when Dylan and Josh walked in—both without their
shirts—I pretty much lost all interest in anything Oz related.
next day when I passed Dylan in the hall, he looked right past me. I thought
about bumping into him, or throwing my books at his head, but instead, I
swallowed my disappointment. It was a lot easier to swallow than my tuna
must have noticed, because she whispered, “Why do you keep staring at Dylan
put down my sandwich, and glanced at Ryan and Austin, not wanting them to
overhear me. They were arguing about a video game involving werewolves and
know him. Or at least, I met him.” I shrugged and tried to look like I didn’t
care. “I’ve seen him without his shirt, and that should mean something. I
should at least get a hello.”
with guys like him,” Court said.
looked down at my sweater dress. It was on its second day, and everyone knows
you can’t wear the same thing two days in a row. But since it was the only navy
or gray thing I owned, I felt like I didn’t have any other choices. I wasn’t
about to wear something colorful. I’d stand out like a butterfly in a swarm of
moths. I thought about wearing my black dress, but I didn’t want to look like I
was in mourning, and since it was the dress I wore to Grammy Jean’s funeral, I
was pretty sure that was exactly how I would look.
touched the pendant, liking its solid, radiating heat.
do you know him?” Court asked.
friends with my neighbor.”
lucky you,” she crooned.
feeling so lucky. More like snubbed.”
let him bug you.” Court nodded at a tall, reed-thin blonde lounging at Dylan’s
table. “See her?”
Heather, his ex.”
wow. Just wow.”
nodded. “And she’s still in love with him.”
do you know?”
knows. It’s totally obvious.” Court bit into her apple and chewed. “I’m just
telling you that the competition is steep.”
didn’t want him to like me…or at least not in that way.”
flushed. “Well maybe I did, but even if he didn’t—don’t you think he should at
least say hi? You know, acknowledge me?”
wagged her head back and forth, looking somber. “You want too much.”
guess.” After another look at Ryan and Austin, I leaned closer to Court. “What
can you tell me about him?”
chewed thoughtfully. “He’s rich, but you probably knew that from his car.”
captain of the tennis team.”
I’d guessed that spot on.
do you look like that?” Court asked.
said tennis, and you looked as if I said Disco.”
rolled my eyes. “I was just thinking that it’s probably a good thing we’re not
can’t play tennis.”
looked at me as if I’d admitted to having a flesh eating virus. “No.”
truly. And if we were friends, maybe he’d ask me to play tennis, and
then…really, it’s just safer for everyone if I’m not holding a racquet.”
put down her apple core. “I’m going to teach you how to play tennis.”
shook my head. “It’s hopeless. And a little dangerous.”
if you want to see the king of the forest, you have to play in the woods. You
have to hang in his natural habitat.”
sighed. “You’re right.”
know I am. If you want him to notice you, you have to go to where he hangs out.
This is my new mission,” Court stated.
is?” Ryan asked, dialing into the conversation.
going to teach Evie how to play tennis.”
Ryan said. “Can I watch?”
want to play,” Austin said.
shook my head. “This is not happening.”
it’s happening,” Court said.
riding the bus home today,” I said to no one in particular, hoping to change
yeah,” Ryan said. “Me, too. Where do you get off?”
right before my exit!” Ryan said.
Save me a place.”
try, but that has nothing to do with anything” Court said. “But tomorrow, we’re
eating lunch on the courts. Do you have tennis shoes?”
I shook my head.
bring you my old pair until you can get some,” Court said.
English, my last class of the day, I battled
sleep while the teacher, Dr. Price, yammered about Charles Dicken’s Bleak House—because, really who wants to
read a bleak gazillon page novel? Dickens also wrote Hard Times. If he’d been alive today, he probably would have
written a book called This Sucks. At least we didn’t have to read Bleak House and Hard Times. Because school had started two weeks ago, and the
advanced English class had assigned summer reading, I was thousands of pages
behind, and Bleak House made up about
800 pages of that. Fortunately, I had already read some of the books, and I
liked to read. Just not about Bleak Houses.
I hoped it didn’t matter, because I wanted to swap advanced English for the
was seriously struggling to dial in to the class discussion until some girl on
the front row raised her hand and said, “Mrs. Price, because I was curious I
did some research on spontaneous human combustion.”
first thought was, kiss-up, but then the phrase spontaneous human combustion
caught in my head. Human combustion?
good, Vanessa,” Mrs. Price adjusted her bottle lense glasses so she could focus
whose glasses mimicked Mrs. Price’s, looked exactly like the sort of girl who
would do unassigned research.
the important thing to note is even though we might not believe in spontaneous
human combustion, Dickens did.” Mrs. Price settled her ample bottom on the edge
of her desk. “A more important question might be is why Dickens chose to employ
this rather nasty end for poor Mr. Krook?”
That was not the important question. The important question was what the hell
is spontaneous human combustion?
raised his hand. “I think it was a simple way for Dickens to off a character.”
I put my hand on my forehead, trying to gauge my temperature, and I found it
pretty much impossible to think about anything else for the rest of the day.