Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (35 page)

After I finished eating and loaded the dishwasher, I went to the bathroom and cautiously looked in the mirror. My forehead still had the dark splotches and the one protruding ridge above my eye, and the lid was still messed up, but my cheek
was
different. In places the surface had smoothed and the skin tone had evened out. Like it was healing. But that wasn’t possible. I put a hand up to feel and realized that the improved part matched up with my fingers. And then I knew. Not my fingers. Russ’s fingers. He’d placed his hands on either side of my face and said I was beautiful. And something from inside him had transferred to me and made my scars soften and fade. My face was nowhere near back to normal, but I did see an improvement. My fingers covered the place where Russ had rested his hands and when I pulled them back, I smiled at myself for the first time in the longest time.

Unconstrained joy bubbled up inside me. I knew Russ had healing powers because we’d talked about it during my visits, but all of the times he’d healed someone or eased their pain, it had been a fresh injury. I never thought he could help me because my scars were so old. They seemed permanent, unchangeable. But maybe not. Maybe, just maybe, he could fix me. I told myself not to get my hopes up, but it was too late for that. My hopes
were
up. I suddenly imagined going out in public without my hooded sweatshirt. I could be like everyone else, making eye contact and small talk without worrying people would be disgusted by the sight of me. I could have a regular social life, get married, and have children someday. I didn’t want much out of life. I just wanted what everyone else had. And now it was, just maybe, possible.

I considered calling Russ right away, but this didn’t seem like a daytime conversation. When I astral projected to him tonight, I would tell him the news and ask if he’d heal my face. If we did it in stages, my parents would think it was the ointment. And if it happened more quickly than that, they’d think it was a miracle. I actually didn’t care what they thought. I just wanted to be normal again.

Nadia

That night, at midnight, when I finally rested my head on my pillow, instead of thinking
take me to Russ’s house
, I thought,
take me to Russ
. But I wasn’t transported to his bedroom as usual. Instead I found myself pulled into a car—Mallory’s car, the silver car her parents gave her for her sixteenth birthday. She sat behind the wheel, staring straight ahead, while Russ, next to her in the passenger seat, leaned in her direction. The car was parked in front of Russ’s house. “Mallory,” he said in a low voice. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Oh Russ.” Mallory sighed heavily. “I just don’t know.”

In the past I found it necessary to make myself known in order for Russ to see me, but I held back this time and kept myself hidden, watching the scene from the backseat, and trying to piece together what was happening. It was wrong of me to spy on them, I knew. I also knew that I wouldn’t like it if they did the same to me, but I couldn’t leave and I couldn’t look away.

Russ leaned in closer. “You don’t have to decide anything now. Just think about it.”

“Okay.” Her voice was flat.

“Whatever you decide is fine. We’ll still be friends either way.”

She raised her eyebrows and turned to him. “Really? Because that hasn’t been my experience. Usually if a guy says he has feelings for a girl and she doesn’t feel the same, they
can’t
be friends. He’ll always be secretly hoping she changes her mind and then he’ll be pissy if she goes out with someone else, but he won’t say anything, he’ll just cut the other guy down and try to sabotage the relationship.”

“I wouldn’t be like that.”

She tapped on the steering wheel. “Good night, Russ.”

“I’m not sure why you’re pissed,” he said. “You’re the one who kissed me at the theater.”

“Well you gave me that look,” she said, flustered. “And the movie got me kind of choked up with emotion. Let’s just say, I got caught up in the moment. The kiss was a reflex. That doesn’t mean we’re going out now.”

“Okay. Let’s just go back to the way things were then. I promise I won’t get pissy.” He extended a hand. “Friends?”

Mallory gave him a reluctant smile. “Okay. Friends.”

They shook hands and then Russ clasped her hand in both of his. “You know I’m always here for you, Mallory.”

She shook her head and laughed, and I felt a sudden hatred for her, my one friend in the whole world. Mallory was effortlessly beautiful, smart, and confident. Her skin was naturally the color of a great tan; her dark eyes were fringed with unbelievably long lashes. Mallory’s parents doted on her, other kids our age flocked to her, everything was easy for her, but I’d never resented her for that. She couldn’t help being who she was anymore than I could help being me. Fate had played a bad trick on me—that wasn’t her fault. But now, she had gone out to a movie with Russ, knowing he and I had gotten closer, and kissed him, something I’d only dreamed of doing, and then rejected him afterward as if it were a game. And here he was, practically drooling over her, saying they could just be friends when it was obvious he was completely crazy in love with her. I felt sick.

“Honest, I’d do anything for you,” Russ said, his expression full of eagerness and yearning.

“I know, Russ. I appreciate it.”

“So—tomorrow night at Mr. Specter’s house? You can make it?”

“I’ll be there. Jameson will too. Do you know what this meeting is all about?”

“We’ll find out when we get there, I guess,” Russ said.

Mallory said, “Does Nadia know about this thing at Specter’s?”

“Not yet. I doubt she can go but we should still include her. If she doesn’t astral project to me tonight, I could email her.”

“No, don’t do that.” Mallory looked alarmed. “Sometimes her mother reads her email.”

“Really? Wow, that’s even worse than I thought,” Russ said. “She has no privacy at all.”

“I can tell her if you want. I’ll stop by her house, or call her on her parents’ phone.”

“I don’t know how she gets by without a cell phone.”

“Yeah, I don’t know either. I’d die if it was me,” Mallory said. “Her mother is so mean. Poor Nadia. The things she has to put up with. That woman is a complete bitch. It’s like it’s her full time job to make Nadia’s life hell.”

“Poor Nadia,” Russ said in agreement.

I didn’t like them talking about me and my mother. I complained about my mom all the time, but that was for me to do, not them.

“And how can you stand for her to project to you every night?” Mallory continued. “Doesn’t it creep you out?” She reached up and pulled the elastic off her ponytail, then shook her hair out. Even with the crimp from the elastic, it fell beautifully around her shoulders, a dark frame for her bright eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and perfect skin. She ran a hand over her head to smooth it out and then tucked a strand behind her ear. It all looked effortless, but her movements had a flirty quality.

Russ said. “No, I don’t mind. The poor kid doesn’t have much and I know this is important to her.” He reached over and stroked her hair hesitantly, like he was afraid she’d pull away but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to touch her.

“Good night, Russ,” Mallory said, laughing, but her words had a finality about them this time.

Russ grinned. “Good night, Mallory. See you tomorrow night.”

When he left the car, Mallory waited until he went into the house before pulling away from the curb. I wished myself into Russ’s bedroom and waited for him to come up the stairs. Inwardly I was seething. They’d been talking about me like I was the loser friend, the one you only hang out with because you feel sorry for them. I wasn’t a Mallory, I knew that, but I wasn’t nothing either. I’d thought I was important to Russ. It hurt to find out that what I thought of as a personal connection was just him being nice.

Astral projecting to Russ and getting inside his heart and mind had been such an intimate experience for me that I thought of it as spiritual sex. Not that I’d had the real thing yet, so I couldn’t say for sure, but the emotional connection of the two of us together, nothing between us, everything exposed, was a lot like I imagined sex to be. Better in some ways, because there was no room for pretense. At least not for me.

The night before he’d said I was beautiful and it felt like he meant it, but it was clearly a lie. And an obvious one. No one looking like me would have believed a guy thought they were beautiful, but I had desperately wanted to believe it. Pathetic.

I’d intended to ask him about the evening—how did they wind up going to a movie together—was it his idea or hers? What movie did they see? Did he think it was a date at the start? I wondered if he’d tell me the truth. I had all of these questions in mind, but when he came into the room I didn’t have the guts to show myself. He was whistling, for one thing, which was unlike him. Unlike anyone our age, actually. He was whistling some tune I didn’t recognize and he looked really pleased with himself. I suddenly felt guilty for lurking in the shadows and spying on him. And so I left, silently and quickly. And that night, I lay miserably in bed, thinking I could astral project anywhere I wanted to, but for the moment there was nowhere I really wanted to go.

The next day, Mallory called me on my parents’ landline. “Happy Easter!” she said. I walked into the next room to get out of my mom’s hearing range. Normally she’d follow me just to make a point, but this time she let it go because she approved of Mallory.

In the background, behind Mallory’s voice, I heard a lot of commotion—what sounded like a roomful of people talking and laughing. Visiting relatives, she explained. And then she said, “Is this a secure line?” When I said yes, she said, “Here’s the thing—our science teacher, Mr. Specter, is having a meeting on Tuesday night at midnight at his house. He wants all of us there. Are you in?”

“Of course.”

“Really?” Mallory said, sounding surprised. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble…”

“I’ll be there.”

“Okay, well I can give you directions—”

“I can find it,” I said. Russ had talked about Mr. Specter’s house before. I knew where it was.

“When you get there, just go in the back door and down the basement stairs.”

“Got it.”

“Good. I’ll see you then. I hate to cut this short, but my little cousin wants me to play Jenga with her. I promised.” Sure enough, in the background I heard a small child whining Mallory’s name.

“Go,” I said. “Play Jenga. We’ll talk later.”

After I hung up, my mother asked, “What did she want?” As if you could only talk on the phone if there was a pressing need.

“To wish me a happy Easter.”

“That girl is so thoughtful.”

My mother had taken to Mallory from the first time we’d met her at a get-together organized by the homeschooling organization. I hadn’t wanted to go, but my parents insisted, saying it would be good for me to “socialize,” as if I were a puppy going to the dog park. This was about two years ago, right after we’d moved here from Illinois.

The social was held in a church basement, in a hall decorated with sagging crepe paper and half-filled white balloons, remnants from a previous event. A crooked banner above the door read, “Happy 40th Anniversary, Betty and Steve!” I sat on a folding chair off to one side and sipped orange soda from a plastic cup. My mother sat next to me, making inane commentary. “There’s an older boy about your age,” she’d said, pointing to a kid who didn’t even look close to my age. He was just big.

And then nudging me, she said, “Maybe you should go and introduce yourself to that man. He seems to be in charge.” I tried to ignore her. Not easy.

Most of the kids there were younger than me, and I had no interest in scaring them with my face. I also had no interest in doing any of the activities set up as icebreakers; there was a ring toss and face painting and an enormous chess board with inflatable pieces the size of small children. All of it was so cheesy and incredibly stupid that I was itching to leave as soon as we arrived. When Mallory walked in with Jameson, I was too busy inspecting the floor to notice them. Luckily, Mom doesn’t miss much. She said (way too loudly), “Those two look like they’re in high school.” Once I glanced up, it was impossible to look away.

Mallory was like a celebrity in the local homeschooling world. Kids of all ages came running and she knew all of them by name, returning hugs, giving out high-fives, handing out compliments. Her smile lit up the place. She was beautiful, but not in a flashy way. But once you noticed her, that was it. That day Jameson followed her like he was attached to her right elbow. Mallory’s own personal lanky bodyguard.

Once Mallory was done working the room, she came our way and introduced herself to my mother and me. Impeccable manners, is what my mother told my father later. “You should have seen how everyone flocked to this girl,” she’d said. “Nadia could learn from her.” As if being a people-magnet was a learned skill instead of a God-given gift.

After that, Mallory, Jameson, and I became friends. Since we were all in the accelerated program, we had some of the same courses. Occasionally they came over to my house to visit so we could meet in person. My mother approved of Mallory and she was fine with Jameson, which was saying a lot. One night, very late, the three of us were online and none of us could sleep. Coincidentally, all of us felt strangely confined being inside, so when Jameson suggested we sneak out and meet outside, I didn’t hesitate. I knew I’d catch hell if my mother found out, but she didn’t. Not that night, and not any of the nights after that.

It became an ongoing thing. We found ourselves walking the same route, ending up by the abandoned train station on the edge of town. After a while, we began to cap off the night by going to Rosie’s Diner (open twenty-four hours!) for a middle-of-the-night breakfast. We got to be regulars there. We told Rosie we were college students, coming in after a late night of studying. No one ever questioned our story. I came to look forward to those nights since it was the closest thing I had to a social life. We went out like this for months, drawn out two or three nights a week by some unseen force. And despite my worries, my parents never woke up, not once.