The Suburban Strange (26 page)

“Where did you go?”

“To the reading teacher,” Tomasi said. “He was the only person I knew who could understand, and maybe help. And he did. He helped me figure out how to mask the original text so I can see what’s on the page.”

“How do you do it?”

“Glasses.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. They’re not ordinary glasses, let’s put it that way.”

“That must have helped.” Celia tried to imagine Tomasi wearing glasses.

“Yeah, except now I have to read the Bible all the time,” Tomasi said. “Good thing it’s interesting in most parts. It’s definitely an important work of literature. I see its influence everywhere, in so many other books.”

“You’re not religious?”

“I’d say I’m spiritual. But
religion?
” The word sounded like poison when Tomasi said it. “I try to believe in the goodness of people. Does that count?”

“Of course it does. So, do you have an admonition?”

“Yeah, I’ve had five, but I’ve never fulfilled any of them. They keep coming, though. I even got one in a cereal box.”

“Why don’t you try to fulfill them?”

“Because the power I have has kind of made my life hell. I don’t want any more!” He sounded angry, and Celia could understand why.

“My friend Mariette has been working on her powers for a year and a half. I don’t know about her parents, but I think she’s had a much better time with it than you. Maybe you could talk to her.”

“I
have
talked to her. She came over here. She was standing in the backyard, flickering like a lightning bug. I had to pretend to take out the trash just so I could tell her she wasn’t invisible and if my dad saw her he’d get his shotgun.”

“She didn’t tell me that!”

“She seems a little crazy, but nice. I didn’t tell her a lot, but I think she understood why I’m not as excited about being Kind as she is. It’s different for everyone.” They were silent for a moment; then Tomasi said, “It’s great, talking to you. Not as nice as if we were together, but it’s a lot easier for me than writing in your book.”

“How do you do that?”

“That’s hard to explain. It’s like trying to tell someone how you swallow. The first time I did it . . . Do you ever have dreams where you do things with your body that you can’t in real life, like kiss your elbow? It felt like that. It’s the first time I’ve used my power for anything that turned out well.”

“So maybe it could be good after all?”

“Maybe. I haven’t ruled it out completely. When I get out of the house and away from my folks I might give it a try.”

“I love when you write to me, but talking is better. And easier, it sounds like. So can I call you now?”

“For the moment it looks like you can. Anything can change around here, but let’s be optimistic.”

“I will be.”

"HEY, CELIA." CELIA SHUT HER
eyes for a moment, then closed her locker door and turned to see who it was this time. She recognized the guy, a junior she barely had given a moment's consideration. Having already endured what was about to happen a dozen times since the beginning of April, it no longer disconcerted her, and she tapped directly into an automatic disdain for him.

“Who are you?”

He was fazed for a moment by her bluntness. “John. I know we really haven’t talked that much, but—”

“We’ve never talked. Ever.”

“Hey, I’m trying to be nice,” he snapped back at her. “I’m not being a jerk here. I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not stupid. You think you’re the first one to try this?”

“You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say,” he said.

“Fine. Give it your best shot.” She made a point of digging in her bag, pretending to look for something so he’d have to continue without her full attention.

“Listen, I’m not trying to score with you. You’re beautiful, and I’d really like to get to know you. I know your birthday is coming up, and you’ve probably got some things on your mind, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a long time. I mean, who knows, maybe we’d hit it off.”

“What makes you think I’m single?”

“I don’t know, you’re always hanging around with the gay guys?”

Celia looked back up at him in shock. “You know what, this is a big school. I think you should go find somewhere else to be in it.”

“Excuse me for trying to help you. You know what could happen. Pardon me for thinking you’d want to explore your options.”

“Is that what you’re calling this? Exploring my options? Because I call it solicitation.”

“So what do you think will happen?” He had given up now. “Maybe you’ll get hit by a car? That hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe
you’ll
get electrocuted, too. That might be good for you, you frigid—”

“Hey!” John went lurching sideways, and Skip took his place in front of Celia. “Don’t talk to her like that!” For a moment she thought the two guys were going to fight, but John thought better of it. He retreated down the hallway, calling rude things over his shoulder at both of them. Skip turned to Celia.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sick of this. I’m sure you are, too.”

“You have no idea,” she said. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Can I say something to you, though?”

“Sure.” Celia looked at him curiously. She smelled his cologne and noticed the way his wide neck pushed his shirt collar open, but she no longer regarded him as a simple jock.

“I have no idea what your personal situation is, but if you’re even thinking about hooking up with someone—don’t, okay? Just be really careful and you’ll be fine. Whatever’s going on, it’s not worth doing something like that.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” Celia said.

“Well, it’s how I feel,” Skip said simply. “If you need help, if anyone crosses a line, you let me know, okay?”

“Okay, thanks.” Before he could turn away, Celia asked him, “What happened with your sister, Stella?”

“You mean the curse? She was sick, and I guess staying home was enough for her, though I’m not sure that works anymore.”

“Were you scared for her?”

“I was concerned. If she hadn’t been sick, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Why do you think you and I have been around when so many of the injuries have happened?”

“It’s not like we’ve been there for all of them,” Skip said. “Why, are you feeling like you’re responsible for the curse or something? It’s just a coincidence. If someone gets hurt, I try to help. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

Celia nodded, smiling in spite of herself. She watched him walk off down the hall.

REGINE STEERED THE CAR
through the school parking lot after she and Celia had said goodbye to the rest of the Rosary at the end of the day. "I'm really looking forward to your birthday," she said, "because as soon as you get through it, I can go back to just being annoyed by this whole ridiculous curse thing. As sad as I will be to see this year end, I really hope it puts an end to all the nonsense. Can you imagine if it just kept going through the summer and into next year? The sophomore class would be all boys in no time flat, because no girls would enroll here. Now you don't even have to come to school to get hurt on your curse day. If you stay home it's even worse. It's relentless."

“It’s funny how we listen to songs with all these dark themes, but when it happens in real life it’s not so glamorous,” Celia said.

“What are you saying?” Regine asked.

“I’m saying it’s one thing when the tornado is on the cover of an album, and it’s another thing when it’s coming toward you, ready to rip the roof off your house.”

“Of course. Do you think we trivialize that or something?”

“No. I just wonder what the difference is . . . between art and the real world, sometimes.”

“I think I prefer art to the real world,” Regine said. “Everything should always be mysterious and beautiful and meaningful.”

“But what about when it isn’t? This afternoon a sophomore girl whose birthday is tomorrow got her chest burned by defibrillator pads in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

“Then I’m a horrible person, because I’m thankful it’s not happening to me,” Regine said.

“Is that how you’ll feel next week, on the day before my birthday?” Celia asked.

“You’re going to be fine.” Regine said it sternly, as though that could make it so. “Let’s talk about something else. I wish you and Liz were coming to promenade.”

“Promenade?”

“Well, that
is
its real name. ‘Promenade’ sounds so much more elegant than ‘prom,’ don’t you think? Why don’t you just let someone take you so you can be there with us? Or you and Liz could go as each other’s dates. It’ll be the last time we’ll get to be the Rosary like that at Suburban.”

“Has Ivo asked you yet?”

“No, I think he’s planning some kind of surprise to ask me. I’m sure it will be good. I already have my dress. It would just be so much better if all of us were going.”

“Can I ask you something? I’m only saying this because you’re my best friend.” Celia wasn’t sure that was true, but she hoped hearing it would make Regine more receptive. “Do you ever wonder if your relationship with Ivo is a little one-sided? Every time the two of you do something as a couple, it’s because it was your idea.”

“Ivo’s not very good at that. Anyway, I like making the plans.”

“I just would hate it if you were disappointed. Have you talked about next year, when he’s off at Metropolitan?”

“We’re going to try a long-distance relationship, like Brenden and Marco,” Regine said, but it sounded like she was making a wish. “Why are you making everything so complicated today? Remember when we used to just listen to CDs and talk about the music?” She turned up the volume on the stereo, and Celia looked out the window.

18. THE DREAMING

T
HE DAYS PASSED BY
,
and the clock ran down, and Celia’s birthday loomed. She knew she was facing a very real danger, and soon it would be her turn in the bull’s-eye. Every day she looked at her mother and tried to figure out something she could tell her that wouldn’t sound completely crazy. At one point Celia had thought she would make up any excuse, or just beg to stay home. But that week a classmate was hospitalized with third-degree burns—something to do with an electrical short and some gas fumes—when she stayed home for her curse day, so school was looking like the safer, if not entirely safe, place to be.

She didn’t accept Marco’s offer. Or John’s, or anyone else’s, explicit or implied. As scared as Celia was, the idea of losing her virginity was such an alien concept, she knew she just wasn’t ready. She wished she could feel ready. Her feelings weren’t religious, or pure, or chaste; they were messy and incoherent. No matter how she thought about it, having sex now would amount to forcing herself to do something she didn’t want to do, and the risk of a curse day injury actually weighed lighter than rushing into sexual experience. All Celia had was blind hope that something would change the situation and take the problem off her hands.

She sat at her desk in her room on the night before her curse day, waiting for nine o’clock, the time for her nightly phone call with Tomasi. She had told him more about Mariette, more about the mysteries they couldn’t solve. He asked questions, but it was hard to tell what he thought. Still, talking on the phone was all she could have of him, so she took it.

“So, tomorrow is my curse day,” she said after they had talked about school.

“What are you going to do?”

“Be careful, I guess. I’m going to school. At least I’ll have Mariette there if something happens.”

“I wish I could do something. This is the one time I wish I had powers that could help you.”

“It’s okay. I understand why you don’t want them.”

“Do you want to see my admonition?”

“I’d love to! I didn’t want to ask. Mariette is very private about hers.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have shown you mine before now . . . but that’s because you’re in it.”

“I am?”

“I think you are. I got it last August, and the moment I saw you, that first night at Diaboliques, I was sure you were the one. That’s the reason this is the first time I’ve tried to fulfill an admonition.”

“Wait, so you
are
trying to fulfill your admonition?”

“I was. And then I wasn’t, because everything got so bad at home. I want to, but I can’t figure out how. You should just read it. Do you have your sketchbook?”

“It’s right here.”

“I’ll write it to you, but I’ll have to get off the phone because writing like that takes all my concentration, and then I’ll be exhausted. Be careful tomorrow, will you? And call me tomorrow night to let me know you’re okay.”

“I will.” They said good night, and then Celia put down the phone and watched the blank page in her sketchbook. Soon Tomasi’s admonition began to unfurl slowly down the page, like ivy creeping across bare soil. She wondered what effort it took him to write this way. Was he gritting his teeth? Was sweat beading his forehead?

To claim the power that you seek

Befriend the one you see each week

Make her rich, no money spent

And kiss her lips—if not, her cheek

Before the earth eclipses moon

Your day will darken, though it’s noon

Remember her—to her stay true

Her hands must draw you close, and soon

Beware the one who knows you not

But tries to change this story’s plot

Who hopes to kiss her just like you

And steal the treasure you have sought

Celia remembered her initial fascination with the Unkind admonition with its instruction to kill a girl when Mariette had shared it with her. Seeing Tomasi’s rekindled that fascination. Celia studied the stanzas, so specific in some places, so vague in others. Did admonitions ever actually spell out what the power would be? If you misunderstood their instructions, what happened? If you missed the deadline, was there a second chance? Did every admonition include something to be won by a kiss and awarded at the eclipse of the moon? Was there always someone who could thwart your efforts? Or were the two admonitions she’d seen similar by coincidence?