Sword Play (5 page)

The next morning I tacked Amy’s gift on the wall over my desk; a penciled sketch of Nona’s farmhouse with Lilybelle playfully swatting a cow’s tale. Amy must have known how much I’d miss living with Nona. Ashley had made a creative gift, too. She’d combined her singing and song-writing skills into a personalized recording of original songs sung by her.

And that wasn’t the end of our traditional Halloween celebration.

My sisters sorted through horror movies while I headed for the kitchen to make caramel popcorn. Caramels were melting on the stove when I heard the door creak and glanced over to see Amy.

“We need to talk alone,” she explained. Then she sniffed the pan. “Hmm, smells yummy.”

“Watch out, the pan is hot. So what’s up?”

“That’s what I want to know. Ashley is busy sorting through movies, so you can tell me the truth,” she said in a low voice. “About the ghost you saw.”

“I only saw his head.”

“Ooh, creepy. Was the head all bloody?”

“No. But he freaked me out for other reasons.” I glanced at the door to make sure it was closed so Ashley wouldn’t hear. “It was Kip.”

“You mean … Kip Hurst?” Her eyes bugged out. “Leanna’s brother?”

“That’s the dead guy. I think he wants me to help Leanna.”

“Why? She doesn’t need help. Leanna has a starring solo in our dance recital and she’s really popular because she does nice stuff like bringing treats when it’s not even anyone’s birthday.”

“Does she have any problems?”

“I don’t think so. She’s like the luckiest person I know.”

“Except she lost her brother,” I reminded gravely. “How’s she handling that?”

“Okay, I guess. She never talks about him.”

“But she was afraid of me. Any idea why?”

“Well, yeah.” Amy glanced down at the bubbling caramel on the stove. “But don’t get mad.”

“Mad? About what?”

“Leanna thinks you can do black magic. She’s afraid you’ll hex her.”

“Hex her?” I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“She’s watched way too many reruns of
Charmed
. Besides, she’s Ashley’s best friend, not mine,” Amy added as if that explained everything.

“Did Ashley tell her I wasn’t a witch?”

“Yeah, but Leanna’s so stubborn. Like even though Ashley keeps bugging her, she won’t hold a sleepover at her house.”

“Why not?”

“She says her bedroom is too small. But I wouldn’t know cause I’ve never seen it. She never invites anyone over—not even Ashley.”

I turned off the stove. Instead of reaching for the pan, I stared in surprise at my sister. “Her best friend hasn’t been to her house?”

“Leanna says she likes ours better.”

“Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“I never wanted to go there anyway.”

“But she must have a reason for not inviting her friends over.”

“Like a secret? By jove, you could be right,” Amy pulled out her toy Sherlock Holmes pipe and tapped it against the kitchen counter. “Astounding observation, my dear sister. Like this book I read where a girl’s parents were kidnapped and the bad guys moved in with her and she had to act like everything was okay. But her identical cousin found out and traded places with her and the villains were caught.”

I chuckled. “I doubt Leanna is hiding anything that wild.”

“But if she has a secret, I’m going to find out.”

“I can always count on you.”

“I’ll send you a bill,” she joked. Then we carried sodas and caramel popcorn into the family room.

By the time I went to bed that night, I was exhausted in a good way. I sorted through my box of night-lights until I found one shaped like a musical note that Amy had given me.

I awoke feeling refreshed and eager, at first not sure why I was in such a good mood. Then I remembered.

Josh was coming this morning!

I couldn’t wait to see him. We’d have the whole wonderful day together. But what would we do? Hanging out at my house could get boring. I’d have to think of somewhere else to go. My old hangouts like West Valley Mall or the ice skating rink were out of the question. What if I ran into someone I knew from Arcadia High? Seriously awkward.

Josh knew I’d been forced out of my old school, but he didn’t know the whole story. His best pal (and my worst enemy) Evan Marshall tried to turn Josh against me by telling him that I’d predicted Kip’s death. Only Evan’s plan backfired. Josh was outraged that I’d been accused of having supernatural powers. He thought my dad should have sued my accusers for slander. And he’d warned Evan not to spread any rumors about me at Sheridan High.

I loved how Josh wanted to protect my reputation … but did I love
him
?

Doubts kept creeping in, especially when Dominic was around. So today would be all about me and Josh. We could do something romantic, like picnic by a lake or drive to the Overlook where there was this amazing view of the city. Not once would I think of Dominic.

After quickly slipping into jeans and a stretchy sky blue top, I went to the kitchen, popped a frozen waffle in the toaster, and poured orange juice. No one else was up, so the house was eerily still; the only sounds from the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of a wall clock.

It was strange to be back here; sorting through a cupboard for cereal, pouring non-fat milk (the only kind Mom would buy), sitting alone at the kitchen nook by the large picture window. I stared at familiar things and felt out of place. Like I was a visitor in someone else’s life.

It was too early for Josh to arrive, so after washing my dishes (house rules); I returned to my room to check email. Two from Penny-Love, a joke from Manny, and over a dozen spam. But nothing from Josh. He was probably already on his way.

So I listened to Ashley’s songs, her sweet raspy voice making me feel less alone. I pulled out my craft bag, sorted through yarn and fabric, and worked on a knitted scarf for Nona. A magazine article I’d read said that knitting was creative meditating. I agreed. My fingers moved swiftly and automatically. Clink, ping, clink, ping. The silver clash of needles was mesmerizing. Thrust and parry, metal striking then retreating, then striking again, like a miniature sword battle.

And I thought of fencing.

It had been so cool to see Mr. Landreth again, but unsettling, too. He’d said fencing wasn’t finished with me. But what did he know? I hadn’t fenced in over six months and survived just fine. Fencing was over for me and I was okay with that.

Or was I?

Fencing always gave me such a huge rush—suiting up in protective clothes, wielding a saber, and facing an opponent. My competitive fire ignited, and I felt like a warrior going into battle. Nothing else existed except my opponent and me. Sometimes when it was over, I’d look up to find spectators applauding.

What an honor when I received the invitation to join Foils! I’d grinned for days. The elite exhibition group only included the most skilled teen fencers and was locally famous for performing demonstrations at mall openings, fairs, and other special events. I still had my shirt with the silver sword design below the word Foils and the matching silver pants. I’d loved being in Foils. Not because of the performing (I was a little shy about that part), but because of the tight friendships. Foils became my second family, and a group of us always hung out at school: Tony, Jennae, Derrick, Alphonso, Tiffany, Vin, and Brianne.

Brianne. My ex-best friend.

Needles slipped, and a sharp point stabbed my thumb.

Why did I have to go think of her? Bold, impulsive, betraying Brianne. We’d been inseparable since third grade when she moved across the street. We made up a fantasy world called “Castle Kingdom” with cardboard boxes and stick swords. Petite Brianne looked like exquisite porcelain, yet always took the role of the bold knight who rescued the captured princess (me) from a horrible dungeon.

She was fearless, while things like loud voices and darkness scared me. But at sleepovers, I was the one who scared her by telling ghost stories. I’d been surprised to find out she didn’t see ghosts or even know the name of her spirit guide (Septina, a wise Egyptian woman). And when I tried to explain about the other side, she thought I was making it up. She eventually believed me and we bonded like sisters—until she changed. I still didn’t know why. But with a stroke of a pen, she turned against me, signing a petition to kick me out of school.

Her betrayal cut me deeper than a thousand swords.

A ringing phone startled me and I jumped, scattering knitting needles and yarn to the carpet. By the time I reached the hall phone, the ringing had stopped. Then my mother’s bedroom door opened and she came out in a robe, her hair mussed, and wearing an annoyed expression instead of makeup. She didn’t say anything as she handed me the phone, but her frown warned that it was too early for phone calls on a Saturday.

“Thanks,” I murmured, then I grabbed the phone and retreated to my room.

It was Josh—with bad news.

I didn’t yell or complain or smash the phone into a million pieces.

Although I wanted to.

Instead I assured Josh I understood he couldn’t refuse a lunch invitation from his mentor in magic, The Amazing Arturo. Of course I didn’t mind that he was busy on Sunday, too. We’d see each other next weekend. He should have a wonderful time and not worry about me.

If Ashley heard me, she’d take back what she said about my being a terrible liar.

I was damn good at lying.

And heartbroken.

But what would it solve to lose my temper? Josh would be disappointed in me and I’d end up feeling guilty. Even after I slammed down the phone and punched my pillow until it was a squashy lump, I felt awful. I’d counted on having Josh here for support. Now a long, empty day stretched ahead.

If I still lived with Nona, there’d be tons to do. Walking in the woods, hunting for chicken eggs, helping Nona around the house, or catching up on the latest gossip with Penny-Love. Ms. Love Doctor was probably busy working for Nona, while I was stuck here with nothing to do.

Be positive,
I could hear Opal in my head.

Okay, okay. It wasn’t like I was completely alone. My sisters were just down the hall. I could hang out with them today.

So I went to Amy’s room, and tapped on the door.

After Amy called out, “Come in,” I stepped inside. She was curled up in a red beanbag by her window, her thick hair spilling around her like a dark cloud. She glanced up from the book she was reading and grinned at me.

“Morning, Sis,” she said. “Sleep okay?”

“If you mean, did I see any more ghosts, the answer is no. How about you?”

“Fell asleep reading.”

“Typical Amy Bookworm,” I teased, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her.

“I’m not a bookworm. Worms are gross.”

“Would you rather be a book bug?”

“Maybe a book butterfly. Yeah, that sounds cool.” She tilted her head to study me. “So how you dealing with being home?”

“Nona’s house was my home.”

“But you’re happy here, right? I mean, this is your
real
home.”

I hesitated. “It’s great being with you and Ashley. Hey, maybe we can do something today. Josh was supposed to visit, but he cancelled. Want to go to a movie later? Ashley’s invited, too.”

“I’d love to … but I can’t. And neither can Ashley.”

“Oh.” I acted casual to hide my disappointment. “How come?”

“Saturdays are always busy. Voice lessons, manicures, and hair stylists.” She invited me to go along, only I declined.

When Mom found out I didn’t have any plans, she cornered me after breakfast with a purposeful glint in her eyes. I caught a whiff of her carnation-scented perfume and was close enough to see faint wrinkles under her carefully made-up face. She wore a tasteful beige suit, camel-colored low heels, and a pearl necklace with matching pearl earrings.

“Sabine, I’ve been waiting for a quiet moment to have a serious discussion,” she said, idly stroking her necklace. “Let’s go in the family room and talk privately. We need to make some decisions before Monday.”

“About what?” I asked nervously.

“Your schooling.”

Panic sliced through me. Here came the big talk about going to a private school with boring uniforms. Or what if it was worse? What if despite everything, Mom wanted me to return to Arcadia High?

But a sudden flash of knowing came to me like a death sentence reprieve.

“Not now, Mom.”

“Why not?”

“The phone is going to ring.”

“How do you—” she said at the same time the phone rang.

“It’s for me,” I told her. “I’ll get it.”

She pursed her lips in a disapproving line. “I hate it when you do that.”

Ignoring the acid in her tone, I hurried to answer the phone. And I wasn’t even surprised to hear Mr. Landreth’s voice. After the first ring, I’d known who was calling. I even knew what he wanted to ask me—if I’d assist with his beginner fencing class this afternoon. He didn’t really need an assistant, this was a ploy to get me back into fencing. He hoped once I felt steel in my hand, I’d be hooked and never want to quit.

And I had a feeling he might be right.

When he offered to pick me up, I weighed the risk of falling back in love with my favorite sport against a disturbing talk about school with my mother.

Fencing won. I headed to my closet to dig out my fencing equipment. I lugged out the large oblong bag. Zipping it open, I checked to make sure everything was in there. White canvas protective jacket, saber, epee, foil, steel-mesh helmet, white knickers, and my favorite lavender glove.

An hour later, I was walking into a large gym with wooden floors lined into cross-sectioned strips for fencing.

I felt like I’d come home.

The room even had a distinctive smell, a hint of lemon floor wax and sweat, which might not sound appealing, but I loved it. The air crackled with energy, too, most of it coming from the excited group of beginners lining up against a far wall.

“Everyone, let me introduce my talented assistant Sabine,” Mr. Landreth told his class, waving as I joined them.

After a chorus of “Hi Sabine!” I smiled and waved in reply.

There were fifteen fencing students, the ages ranging from guys younger than me to a group of women around Nona’s age. This was their second lesson and everyone was excited about using sabers for the first time.

“I can’t wait to hit people,” a boy with a shaved head and gold earring said.

“Will it hurt?” A middle-aged woman with her auburn hair in a ponytail frowned uneasily.

Mr. Landreth chuckled and tapped his knuckles on his protective helmet. “Nothing gets through this baby. You can smack it all you want and not feel a thing.”

“How do we keep score and know who wins?” someone asked.

“In the sport of fencing, the first one to die loses.”

A few people looked worried, but then they relaxed when Mr. Landreth chuckled. “No one really dies. It’s all very safe,” he assured. Then he shifted into teaching mode and announced, “Sabers ready? En garde.”

I spent the next hour showing students how to parry, advance, jump back, lunge, retreat, and hold their saber. Then they paired off with partners and practiced advancing with raised sabers, hitting each other, then retreating. Repeat over and over. Pretty basic stuff.

Wearing my heavy canvas jacket and peering through my wire mesh helmet felt so natural. The checkered wire mesh made things look fuzzy, but I hardly noticed. I liked having my face hidden; the anonymity boosted my courage.

My fingers closed firmly around the sword hilt and a wild energy built up inside me. I longed for real competition. Like when I was in Foils.

I considered challenging Mr. Landreth to a match after class. He was so skillful, I could never win, although I loved to try. Of course if I challenged him, it would be like admitting he was right about fencing being important to me. Too humiliating.

So I said nothing.

As I worked with beginners, a kid named Kevin, who was about my sisters’ age, kept asking me for help. I snapped buttons on his jacket, showed him how to hold the saber, found him a new helmet since his was too tight, and offered to be his partner since there were an odd number of students. When his questions got personal (No, I didn’t date younger guys and would not give him my number), I quickly matched him with another partner.

Then class was over. We lifted our swords in a goodbye salute.

Reaching up, I removed my helmet and smoothed away loose blond strands.

What a great workout! My skin was damp with sweat and my adrenaline rushed. I was more breathless than I’d expected, and annoyed with myself for being out of shape.

I was thinking about starting a fitness routine, when I sensed someone behind me. Before I could look, I felt a poke of a blunted sword tip in my back. Assuming that Kevin or one of the other beginners was messing around, I turned and found myself face-to-face with a fencer my height, wearing full protective gear.

The unknown fencer lowered his (or her?) saber and said in a muffled voice, “Sabine.”

“Huh?” I tried to peer through the wire mesh helmet, but all I could see was black hair and a shadowy face. “Do I know you?”

“I know you.”

The masked fencer was slim with an athletic build and definitely not a beginner. I suspected it was a guy, but it was hard to tell through the tinted black mesh.

“Who are you?”

“Want to find out?”

“Sure,” I replied, intrigued. I didn’t recognize the voice, but something about the fencer’s stance was familiar. “How?”

“By fencing.”

“Can you handle it?” I retorted. “I used to be a pretty good fencer.”

“I still am good. Can you handle it?”

“Definitely.”

So I put my helmet back on, bent my knees, and raised my saber. Then I declared in challenge, “En garde.”