The Accidental Siren (37 page)

“Shh,” she replied.

“Mara–” I said, but she shushed me again.

“Just sleep.”

* * *

When I awoke again, Mara was still there.
“What time is it?” I asked.

“Midnight,” she said. “You slept all
day.”

“Tomorrow night... let’s go on a date.”

“Where to?”

I wiggled my face into the pillow. “How about
Gator Golf? Milkshakes afterwards. Dad’ll drive us.”

Mara nodded in the darkness and smiled. “I’d
love to.”

* * *

The sun was up. My stomach was nauseous and
hungry. Twenty-six hours after returning from the carnival, I
finally rolled out of bed.

A pair of shorts and a fresh tee were folded
and waiting for me on the nightstand. I dressed myself, pressed the
swollen bags beneath my eyes, and patted down my hair.

The castle was quiet. Livy’s door was open.
Her room was spotless.

“Hello?” I called, but my throat was dry and
my voice cracked. I swallowed and tried again. “Mara? Livy?”

“In here, sweetie,” Mom said from the dining
room. “There’s tea in the refrigerator.”

I braced myself on the piano, then stumbled
through the archways to the kitchen. I cracked an ice cube tray,
poured myself some tea, then stepped into the dining room.

Mom, Dad and Livy were sitting around the
table. My sister stirred her ice with her index finger. Dad rolled
the base of his glass on the wooden top.

“Mornin’” I said. “Where’s Mara?”

“Have a seat, hon,” said my mother.

I narrowed my eyes and asked again. “Where’s
Mara?”

Mom stood. “James...” Her voice waned, but
her face said it all.

I stepped backward to avoid my mother’s
advance. “Dad?” I asked. “Where is she?”

Mom answered for him. “Honey... Mara’s
gone.”

I shook my head. “We have a date
tonight.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Greenfield picked her up this
morning. They’re adopting her, James.”

“Adopting?” My mind grappled with the news.
“But school starts next week.”

“Mara’s enrolled in a private school near the
Greenfields,” Mom said. “She gets a brand new start, James.”

My chest heaved and I dropped the glass. It
clamored on the tile but didn’t break. Tea splattered
everywhere.

“Honey–” Mom stepped closer but I held out my
palms and she stopped.

“How long did she know?”

Mom sighed.

“How long!”

“She knew for... a while. She wanted to be
the one to tell you.”

“Well she didn’t!” I screamed, then backed
against the wall, slid to the floor, and cried.

* * *

I knew better than anybody what was best for
Mara. Although it took days to admit it to myself, Mom was right,
she was safer with the Greenfields.

Mara Lynn could never live within biking
distance of Grand Harbor. Her biggest obsessors were years from the
legal driving age. Forty miles was enough distance to sever all
ties with the boys who lived to love her.

Why was I spared Mara’s wrath? With Mara
gone, the answer was obvious:
I wasn’t spared.
The kiss was
my punishment. The kiss had sealed our bond. I belonged to Mara
Lynn
and now she was gone.

Ryan Brosh was a testimony to the power of
Mara’s lips; without ever hearing her sing, a silly kiss propelled
him to destroy my sister, to lie to my family, and to perform
Shakespearean monologues in public. Now, the desire was in me
too–more potent than love, lust, or infatuation–and it could never
be satisfied.

* * *

Life carried on in spite of my loss.

The carnival deaths made the front page of
the tribune for nine straight days and appeared on CNN twice.

Dad took up marksmanship as his new hobby.
Friday nights were spent at a firing range, and he even purchased
an automatic skeet shooter from Mr. Greenfield’s store.

Mom was scheduled to pick up Fantasia on my
first day of school. She changed the sheets in the crib, bought a
new pack of onesies, and vacuumed the entire house in anticipation
of the baby’s arrival. But the night before Fantasia’s return, Mr.
Anderson called and explained to my mother that her foster license
had been temporarily revoked. Her stability had been called into
question thanks to Mara’s involvement in the carnival carnage.

A thorough investigation lasted through
November. In the end, the charges were unsubstantiated and Mom’s
foster license was reinstated, but she had already lost the
devotion necessary for foster care. Mara Lynn was our last
temporary blessing.

Junior high began without incident. My
teachers knew my situation and offered me exemption from class to
deal with the anxiety that comes with witnessing death. I declined
their offer and attended the first day of school with Whit at my
side. It was my only distraction from the sickness.

I rarely slept in those first few weeks,
spending my nights editing the movie, losing myself in Mara’s fuzzy
image, yearning to hear her sing
just one more time
.

I finished
Fairytale
during the second
week of school and dedicated the movie to Dorothy with a handmade
title card. Mom promised me we’d visit the Greenfields when Mara
was ready for approved guests. I could even bring a copy of the
movie to show the whole family.

I reached my goal weight of one-twenty-five
in anticipation of my reunion with Mara, but excuses were made and
the date was rescheduled.

I tried to call her house, but the
Greenfields were diligent in picking up the phone first. “She’s not
ready, James...” they told me. “But if you have a message, I’ll be
sure to deliver it for you!”

It would be Christmas before I saw her
again.

* * *

It was my idea to visit Ryan Brosh at his
home. Maybe I thought Ryan was the key to my unanswered questions.
Maybe I longed to connect with the only living boy who understood
the sickness caught between my ribs and my spine. Maybe I wanted to
witness my enemy’s pain.

Rumors had been flying like spit wads through
the hallways of junior high; jokes about the jock who turned
retarded because of a crush on a girl.

“I heard his parents lock his door from the
outside so he can never come out,” said Jeffery Spitler as Whit and
I eavesdropped from a nearby lunch table.

“That’s not half of it!” said his friend.
“Jodi’s sister Tori brings him homework after school. Said he’s
strapped to his bed and his parents slip food through a special
crack in his door.”

“If he’s strapped to the bed, how does he
eat?”

“How the hell should I know? Maybe they hire
somebody to feed him.”

For the first time in the history of seventh
grade, the rumors weren’t far from reality. Ryan’s mother greeted
me at the front door with a hug and a shower of gratitude. “You’re
the first person to visit Ryan since... the incident,” she said.
Her face reminded me of warm wax. Eyeliner was the only makeup she
wore, giving her face a distorted, top-heavy quality, and drawing
attention to her pink eyes. “I know you and Ryan had a falling out
after the incident with your sister. But Don and I... we really
appreciate your effort to rekindle a friendship.”

Friendship was hardly my goal. “It’s not a
problem, Ma’am.”

“Does blood bother you?” she asked as she led
me through a corridor of black-and-white family photos in uniform
frames. “Ryan refuses to wear a bandage on his neck. The nurse
comes every two days to dress the wound, but the gauze is off
before she leaves the room. Do you know how to play Mad Libs?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“He likes filling out Mad Libs. Connect Four
is another favorite. It’s on the bookshelf if you want to play.”
She knocked lightly on the last door on the left. “Ryan?
Sweetheart? You have company.”

At the foot of Ryan’s bed, a television
balanced on a glass coffee table that matched the living-room set I
passed only moments ago. On the screen, an operator was explaining
the benefits of ordering The Disney Channel. Then a burst of
static, followed by a political advertisement condemning Clinton’s
healthcare plan. More static, another commercial.

Ryan’s eyes were blue without the charm. His
summer tan had dissolved weeks ago into the off-white hue of
kindergarten paste. His bangs hung past his eyes, but he was too
enthralled by the TV to care.

A vanity was partially obstructed by an open
closet door. Its mirror was missing, leaving an empty, oval frame.
A stack of textbooks sat on the floor with crisp covers and
unbroken spines. Heaps of magazines littered the nightstand forcing
a lamp to the edge. The pages were crinkled and torn. The top
magazine was an issue of TIME with a close-up of a woman’s face.
The eyes and lips had been meticulously removed. The carpet was
vacuumed with checker-board precision and I felt rude for not
removing my sneakers at the front door.

Mrs. Brosh stepped inside just long enough to
remove the remote from her son’s meager grip. She flipped off the
TV and said, “Why don’t you two talk for a bit?” Remote in hand,
she left us alone in the room.

Ryan’s head rolled to face me and it smiled.
“They keep me from sleepwalking,” he said.

“Huh?”

“The straps.” He nodded to a velcro loop at
the top bed post. “Not ‘cause I’m crazy, just ‘cause I dream.”

I nodded.

“Didja bring the movie, James?”

“What movie?” I asked, scrambling to remember
the reasons I came.

“The fairytale, Jaaames.”

“I didn’t bring it this time, but I can make
you a copy tonight.”

“You’re here to talk about her, aren’t ya
James?” The hole in Ryan’s neck watched me as he spoke. “You’re
missin’ her too, aren’t ya?”

“I just came to say hi.”

“You came to pry!” he said. “You came to find
out what Mara showed me.” The hole mimicked his words like a second
mouth. When Ryan smiled, the hole smiled too. “I’ll never say,
little dude. It’s for me. It’s locked away and I’ll never tell a
soul!”

“I don’t care about that.”

“It was a gift, James. I don’t know what
changed, but in that moment, I know she loved me.”

“What do you mean you don’t know what
changed?”

“In Mara. The monologue? I was desperate. I
never expected it to work. She turned me down so many times
before–”

“Turned you down?”

“Jaaames, you’re so out of touch with
reality!”

“When did she turn you down?”

“The first time? The day we met.”

“On the roof?”

“I wanted you to ask her if she liked
me.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I know. So I grew some balls and did it
myself.”

“But Mara
did
like you.”

“Ha!”

“She did! She said so in her diary! You read
it yourself!”

“Jamesie, Jamesie, Jamesie... you should be
the one strapped to the bed. Mara never mentioned me in her diary.
I read it that night but it only confirmed what I already knew:
Mara liked you, and she liked Whit.”

“Whit?” My eyes burned as I repeated his
name. The pieces began to drop into place like a rapid game of
Connect Four.

It was Whit from the very beginning.

He broke his own VCR to keep us at the
castle.

He gave me candy to sabotage my diet.

He abandoned me so I couldn’t finish the
film.

He told me about Ryan’s comment about my
sister because, thanks to me, he also thought the jock was in the
mix.

He staged the fight with A.J. to make himself
look like a hero... but how did he convince Age to go along with
it?

The new candy!
Of course. Whit was the
richest kid in the seventh grade. If A.J. accepted twenty bucks to
rig a game of Truth or Dare, Whit could certainly pay him to take a
hit.

Ryan fingered the hole in his neck while my
mind digressed into an alternate reality where my arch nemesis was
an innocent lunatic and my best friend was my sworn enemy.

The modem!
Whit knew about the
adoption and ordered the modem that the Greenfields found on their
front step! Now Mara had email.
Whit
had email. And I was
stuck making phone calls to a girl who wasn’t allowed to answer the
phone!

The final revelation struck me so hard that I
stumbled backwards in Ryan’s room. The boys with bleach... the
ferrets in my trees...
they were Whit’s friends from computer
camp.
Somehow, he rallied them together. They were boys he
could trust and control, pawns in a game I didn’t even know we were
playing, deployed by the mastermind as a diversion from his real
plan!

Whit had it all figured out, but his schemes
unraveled at the carnival. A.J. got mad and fought back for real.
The pawns–sick of waiting in trees for Mara to sing–accepted her
invitation and armed themselves for war.

“She makes you blind,” Ryan said. “She has
that ability.”

I finally understood Mara’s despondent
reaction to Ryan and Livy’s relationship. She wasn’t spiteful
because Ryan loved another girl, but
angry
because she knew
Ryan’s plan! The moment he showed interest in Mara, she knew the
trajectory of her relationship with Livy. And it made her sad.

I realized too my part in Ryan’s fate: my
slip of the tongue during his driveway apology.
“Mara doesn’t
like you anymore,”
I had blurted.
“Anymore?
” he asked.
And two days later, he staged his grand proposal.

“Jaaames,” Ryan groaned. “I want that movie,
Jaaames.” His eyes snapped shut, then opened wide.

I shook my head and walked to the door.

“You owe me that movie, Jaaames,” he said
again. “Bring me the movie, James! BRING ME THE MOVIE, JAMES!”

I twisted the knob and dashed from the room
and ignored Mrs. Brosh on my way out the front door. I leapt on my
bike and peddled like mad, but Ryan’s psychotic plea followed me
home.