Sleight (7 page)

Again I peeked out through the curtains, expecting the courtyard to be empty. It wasn’t. The shade from school, the woman who hovered near Henry in the lunchroom, was standing near Ted’s trailer. Her face was beautiful, but there was an underlying sadness in the way her mouth turned down at the sides. She was new to me as of today, and her appearance on the grounds was a little unsettling. The shades didn’t usualy folow me from one location to another. Feeling uneasy, I dropped the curtain.

Seeing the shades—the ghosts—freaked me big time when I was little. But after a while, and with much help from Irwin and Marlene, I learned that they didn’t want to hurt me. The shades just made themselves known, often appearing once and then not again.

Of course, there were exceptions, like the whittler in the meal tent.

For a few years, I’d seen a young man in the backstage area of the big top—he would pop in as if looking for something, and then fade out through the canvas side. But I hadn’t seen him in a long time. I hope that meant he was wherever he needed to go after his time in the in-between.

Up to this point, none of the shades had delivered news or warnings or winning lottery numbers. They just were. Because of my mother’s schizophrenia, Marlene, Ted, Irwin, and I agreed long ago to keep my little “secret” under wraps. No one trusts a crazy.

Outside our “family,” only my violin teacher Irina knew I was different, but that’s because she was a psychic and they whispered to her. No one else knew, not even Junie or Ash. There were those times when I thought Junie suspected something was up—when we were younger, we’d be playing and I’d stop and stare off at a shade, but when Junie’s mom mentioned it, concerned for poor little Gemma, Marlene pawned it off on my active imagination.

And I’d learned to adjust to seeing them, hanging around groups of the living, frequenting places from their own days as animate, breathing souls. The shades were always intact, not zombies or half-rotten like in the movies. They didn’t turn blue or black; worms didn’t crawl out of their eye sockets. Sometimes they seemed so real, I couldn’t tel if the person I saw was dead or alive.

As interesting as this little trick might have been to some (had they known), it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing I used to start conversations. “So, the other day, I was walking down the street and this dead guy floated past me…” But my mother, the ghosts tormented her. For her, they manifested as voices. Told her things, raged at her, especialy at night. When she was around, it was painful to witness, her screaming at air, puling clumps of her hair out and scratching at her face. They would get close, sometimes even close enough to touch her, and she hated that. It kiled me, knowing there was nothing I could do. I never saw her people, just my own.

Mine have always been quiet, unassuming, not at al intrusive. I wished the same could’ve been true for Delia.

Laughter in the courtyard puled me back to the present. I shook my head to clear it and took a deep breath. The essay. Focus. Irwin and Othelo were a good place to start. Let’s see…a little history, my life as a circus kid, nothing about my mom or my obvious lack of a father. I didn’t need the teacher to feel sorry for me. Maybe a snippet about my favorite musicians—stuff I’d want people to know, without getting too involved or too personal.

Three paragraphs down and an unfamiliar pop sounded out of my computer’s speakers, accompanied by a flashing indicator bar in my Web browser. “New message from Henry D!” it read. In true form, my cheeks tingled. I moved the mouse to click on the message alert.

“Hey, Gemma…you there?”

I smiled.

“Yup,” I typed. “Stalker!”

“I prefer ‘man of action.’”

“Thx for the warning.”

“How’s the homework?” he wrote.

“I’ve got about three ’grafs done. You made good time getting home.”

“Lucian drives like a maniac.”

“Hey, thx x 10 for being my buddy today. I’l be sure to let Mrs.

Thyme know that she should excuse al future tardies.”

“Yeah, Thyme Management. She’s brutal. :)”

“Then again, if u don’t show up for late slips anymore, ur gonna ruin the poor woman’s pink-filed fantasies. One less tardy slip to write with that pen of hers,” I typed. I could now understand the appeal of this online messaging thing—flirtation sans fear.

“Bet she dreams about writing tardy slips w/ her pink Trol pen.

Did you see her Trol colection…?”

As we bantered back and forth about nothing important, a quiet disappointment settled over me. At some point, we would have to sign off and get our respective assignments done. And sleep. And then get up and do it al over again. But I only wanted to talk to my new friend, this “Hottie McNaughty” who so far seemed witty and awesome and not weird, my first connection outside the circus world of pseudo-siblings and overworked, controling adults.

“You writing about the lion story?” his message said.

“Yup. What about you?” I was curious about what Boy Wonder would write. It seemed that everyone knew something about the Dmitri family, and based on the reactions of various females at EHS, I guessed that there had to be more to him than money and good looks. But I’d seen enough wild romances amongst the circus folks to know that women could be shalow creatures, especialy when it came to hot guys with fat walets. Summer had commented that she thought Henry was gay, but that could’ve been motivated by her own unrequited efforts at grabbing his attention. I wasn’t catching a gay vibe from Henry, at least not yet. Wel dressed? Yes.

Handsome to the point of pretty? Definitely. But gay? I wasn’t feeling it.

“Same boring stuff. Probably wil reuse an essay from another English class and throw in some details about the scheming you & I wil do to rule the world.”

“We should make the Hershey or Ben & Jerry’s plant our lair of evil,” I wrote. “Ample chocolate and ice cream to fuel our maniacal plotting sessions.”

“Ur a fan of ice cream and chocolate, I take it?” I laughed and spoke my response out loud as I typed it. “Duh!

I’m a GIRL!”

“Nuff said,” he wrote.

The chat box sat idle for one minute, then two. I watched the clock in the top corner of my screen. The suspense was kiling me.

“Are u writing???” Henry’s message popped, ending the two-minute-thirty stalemate.

“Yeah.” I fibbed. “Crafting genius over here. U have lines on the page yet?”

“Searching the hard drive for an appropriate essay to recycle.”

“An environmentaly friendly writer, u r…”

“I do what I can :).”

The inbox icon flashed with a new message.

“Look at the one I just sent u.”

“K. Stand by…” I clicked on the attachment but instead of a Word document, the preview screen opened to show a photograph of a much-younger Henry dressed as a clown, complete with face paint, the roomy polka-dot costume, and red foam nose. I was cracking up when the trailer door opened and Irwin ambled his way up the stairs. I hit the mute button on my keyboard so he wouldn’t hear the pop of the instant messages.

“What’s so funny?” Irwin said as he walked toward the front to his bunk. He plunked down on the bed, rocking the trailer, and proceeded to try to remove his work boots without losing his balance. “How’s the homework coming along, kiddo?”

“It’s going…sort of…trying to write an essay.”

“You need music,” he said. He shuffled to the stack of CDs on the shelf next to the kitchen pantry door, selected one, and held it out so I could read the artist.

“Mozart.”

“Just where I left it,” he said. Irwin’s sole request of me was that I organize his CDs in stacks of ten, the stacks lined up side by side, alphabetized by last name. I would then read the titles from the CD

case spines and he would commit the stacks to memory. It was incredible to watch him find Bach, Beethoven, Haydn, Puccini, Rachmaninoff, Strauss, Verdi, Vivaldi, or Wagner, without missing a beat.

My screen blinked with another message alert from Henry.

“Did u see it?” The picture.

“ADORABLE! Is that u???” I replied.

“Yeah. Think Ted is hiring? I’ve stil got the outfit.” I stifled a giggle, not eager to arouse Irwin’s too-keen senses. I swear that he could hear the blood rush into my cheeks when I blushed.

“What are you giggling about over there, girlie?”

“Nothing…some dumb thing Junie sent me via email,” I said.

Irwin disappeared into the bathroom for his shower, and I was glad he wasn’t nosy. Marlene, on the other hand, was. I knew my chat would come to a crushing finale once she turned in for the night.

She’d stand over my shoulder and read every word, mostly due to an insatiable curiosity that came from a total lack of technological competence. She’d love the concept of instant messaging and long-distance chatting, carried out in real time. Like magic! I was confident that if Ted ever did file for divorce, Marlene would learn about the Internet, and online dating services, before the ink had dried on the judge’s signature.

“U stil there?” Henry typed.

“Yes, sorry. Irwin just came in to get ready 4 bed.”

“U in trouble? I’m keeping u from ur homework.”

“It’s cool. I’m a big girl…”

“Not realy. You’re sort of on the short side, if you ask me. And you need to eat more. Perfectly good banana gave its life for you today.”

“Scuse me? I’m not short. Ur just freakishly tal. Freak. Forget about the clown thing. Join the circus FREAK SHOW!” I wrote.

This was way too much fun.

“I thought u guys were PC. Do u even have that anymore? Do u have a hairy-faced baby or a guy with 6 arms?”

“No. Just Junie. She’s our freak show.”

“Ooooooh, meanie. I won’t tel her u said that.”

“So—did u find an essay to use yet, Mr. Reduce-Reuse-Recycle?”

“Yeah. Found one from sophomore year that’l work. You wanna be luled to sleep?”

“Send it. And if it doesn’t suck, I’l put in a good word for u with Ted about joining the sideshow lineup.”

“Touché,” he wrote. “And u have to finish yours, young lady, so I’l leave u alone. Besides, your aunt is coming. Quick! Look busy!” As the message appeared on my screen, the trailer door again opened. It was Marlene.

Stunned. That was my immediate reaction. The hairs on my neck tingled.

“How’d u know she was RIGHT there?” I typed. The chat box flashed a notification: Henry D is offline. Click here to send as a message. I clicked the box closed.

“Did I startle you?” she said. I smiled and shook my head no.

Marlene tapped at the thermostat with her long red fingernail. “You warm enough in here, Gemma? Uh-oh, is the homework hard? The look on your face…” She leaned over and kissed my forehead.

“Um, no…it’s good. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Marlene sat across from me at the smal kitchenette table. I was stil dumbfounded that Henry had known she was coming.

“Kiddo, I’m very proud of you for being so strong and grown-up about al of this. I can imagine it’s hard, but you’re realy handling everything wel. So mature. My girl is just getting to be such a young woman,” she said, her hand tapping the top of mine.

She looked as though she might burst into tears.

“Wel, as much as I hate to admit it, school wasn’t that bad,” I said.

“I’d say by the looks of things, you and that Henry are going to be fast friends, don’t you think? He’s such a nice boy,” she said.

“I wouldn’t say he’s my friend, Marlene. And as Lucian Dmitri’s son, he probably just feels obligated to be nice to me,” I said.

“Besides, he showed up late for school and the guidance counselor kinda forced him into being my buddy. Said she’d excuse the tardy.

It was no more than a business deal for him.”

“Wel, I doubt that, but I honestly expected you to come home very upset with me and Uncle Ted. Thank you, Gemma, thank you…,” she said. Her voice trailed off as she plucked a tissue from the sleeve of her blouse.

I rose from the table, sensing she could use a hug. It was only because I’d had a good day, that I hadn’t been shoved in a locker or one of the other horrible things they do to new kids (yes, I watch too many movies) that I was at al wiling to let darling Aunt Marlene out of the doghouse.

“Don’t get overconfident, Auntie,” I teased, “tomorrow’s another day. There’s stil plenty of time for me to throw a rager of a temper tantrum.” She gave my cheek a quick nudge and then wrapped her arms around me. She was a mix of perfume, hairspray, and Ted’s cigarettes.

We hugged for a moment, and when she let go, I decided to pul my laptop and books from the table and retire to my bunk where I could pul the curtain and have a sweet slice of privacy.

“Auntie, speaking of tomorrow,” I said, toeing the box from New Horizons, “could you move this for me? Anywhere. Just not in here?”

Marlene frowned. “You don’t want to open it, honey?”

“No. It sorta talks to me at night. I want it out. I can’t go through it. Not yet,” I said, looking down. “Maybe someday.” Marlene nodded and gave me an empathetic smile.

During the interim while I moved my stuff and got situated on my bunk, another email had arrived from Henry, this one with a document attached. I opened it and began reading.

Henry Delacroix Dmitri, age 16.5 19. Sophomore Senior, Eaglefern HS. Son of the late Alicia Eléne Delacroix and the very much alive Lucian Marku Dmitri. Height: taler than the average bear. Weight: not enough if you ask the nanny.

Siblings: none (that I’m aware of). Pets: a betta fish named Kurosawa. Favorite music: anything that makes my father grit his teeth. Career aspirations: undecided, though I hear Dumbledore dies in the sixth book, and his job has some cool perks. Favorite vacation spot: any place that isn’t here.

Earliest memory: talking to my mother. Closest friend: position stil vacant but his/her name wil start with the letter G. Biggest fear: dying young. Personal accomplishments: Taught myself to play Blackbird on the guitar. One thing I’m sure about: The sun wil rise, and set, tomorrow. Favorite author/book: Stephen King, Bag of Bones. One famous person I believe is a fake: Wiliam Shakespeare. My hope for the future: Man wil learn how to fly without the use of airplanes or Richard Branson. My biggest regret: Tearing the tag off my mattress when I was eight and my dad having to pay off the FBI agents who knocked on our door twenty minutes later.