Locked Inside (6 page)

Marnie drifted off into an elongated daydream that was part
The Swiss Family Robinson
and part
Raiders of the Lost Ark.
It was only the realization that the room had become considerably brighter that roused her again. What
was
her problem? She had to get back upstairs. But she paused anyway, to log back on and write the Elf a message.

Yes, I’m Skye’s daughter. I think I agree with you about personal revelation being bogus, but she really and honestly believed in it.

What subjects can you help me with? At this point I just want to pass some tests. Chem, European history. Oh, and I have a couple of English papers to write. I don’t suppose you have any you’d be interested in selling?

Marnie almost clicked Send, but then went back and added a smiley face icon at the end, so the Elf wouldn’t think she was serious.

She got upstairs and safely inside her own bleak, computerless room without incident.

“You see how much is possible when you focus?” said Ms. Slaight just after noon on Monday.

“Yeah,” said Marnie uneasily.

With Ms. Slaight standing guard, Marnie had spent the entire morning in the teacher’s empty classroom, toiling through three chapters of chemistry
and taking the quizzes at the end of each one. Somehow she’d managed to ignore Ms. Slaight, who, Marnie thought, was being as careful of Marnie as Marnie was of her. Once Marnie had caught Ms. Slaight watching her, but then both of them had quickly looked away. Marnie didn’t want any trouble. Maybe Ms. Slaight didn’t either.

Still, the woman made her itchy.

Marnie had passed all the quizzes. But her head was now overstuffed with atomic structures, molecular weights, and balanced equations, and she knew she wouldn’t retain the information for long. “I want to review tonight and take the section test tomorrow,” she said, and Ms. Slaight nodded.

Why not see if she could make this awful woman crack a smile? “On to history!” Marnie declared, pumping one fist in the air. But Ms. Slaight only compressed her lips.

Really, Marnie thought. Why had she volunteered to help her? Were they paying her more to do so? Maybe she’d use the bonus to buy some new clothes.

In point of fact Marnie was not due to visit her history teacher until one o’clock. That left time for lunch—or, if she was careful, a quick check-in at Jenna’s room to see if the Elf had replied.

She sprinted.

He had. Sort of. He’d sent an address for a college Web site that featured an outline of important dates in European history, along with several lengthy student bulletin-board discussions. But there was no note; just the URL. Had Marnie offended him with her question about English papers?
Carefully, she wrote back,
Thanks for the URL. Looks good. I’m off now to write my first English paper, on
Wuthering Heights,
which I hated.
She hesitated, then added,
Stupid Cathy
, so he would know she’d read the book. Then she closed.
Talk to you later, I hope. Can you be online at midnight?

Marnie sent the message and lingered, checking incoming mail several times, in hopes there’d be a quick reply. But there wasn’t.

T
here was also no message waiting from the Elf when Marnie checked back at eleven
P.M.
But he was sure to be online at midnight, as she’d asked. Wasn’t he? She wrote a little note reminding him, and read it over once, twice, a third time. Then she sighed and deleted it. She’d already asked him to be there. Nothing was more pathetic than multiple messages saying the same thing. Wait—could she maybe send a note about something else, and then add the part about being online at midnight very, very casually, at the end? That would be fine … except she could think of nothing else to say. And anyway, it was only an hour away. She thought of checking in on Paliopolis, of looking for him there, but somehow Paliopolis had lost its savor. She kept seeing Mrs. Fisher’s smug face.
Addiction.
She’d show them. She fingered her imaginary hatpin.

The Elf
had
to be on tonight. Was he truly mad at her, or was she making that up? Why had she made that crack about him selling papers? She was so utterly
stupid.
Skye would be disgusted.
Spontaneity is fine
, she’d say.
But there are things you shouldn’t do without thinking first.

Marnie
did
think first—it was just that she always seemed to be thinking the wrong things.

But
Self-pity is worse than useless
, Skye had written in one of her books.
Long-term, it’s damaging.

Marnie sighed again and felt her eyes slip shut. Rest. She needed rest….

A sudden scraping noise—a key turning in a lock. Marnie froze. Behind her, the door opened. She didn’t turn, couldn’t turn. She heard an indrawn breath, almost a gasp. And then Jenna’s voice, raspy and harsh.

“What are you doing here? This is my room!”

It was as if the very air had stilled. Marnie felt almost preternaturally aware. She could feel Jenna behind her, in the doorway. She could smell her smoky rage. In the space of a second, behind her closed eyelids, Marnie looked down a long corridor of future possibilities and saw them all leading to the same place: expulsion. Once Jenna reported her, this transgression, added to her academic problems, would put a finish to her career at Halsett. She didn’t know why she had ever thought leaving might be a good thing. It wouldn’t be. She knew now: it would be no different anywhere else.
She
would be no different anywhere else.

She was just … trapped.

Jenna slammed the door. It broke the spell, and
Marnie got up and faced her. Jenna was breathing like a bull. But her face was blotchy, her eyes puffy, and—and—

The words popped out of Marnie’s mouth without volition. “What’s happened? Are you okay? My God, Jenna, what’s
wrong?
”

Jenna’s whole body was shaking, as if the floor were being jackhammered. Marnie had never seen anything like it. She crossed the room in two strides and grabbed Jenna’s arms.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Marnie said. “Sit.” She forced Jenna to sit on the floor—it took surprisingly little effort—and to put her head down between her knees. “Close your eyes,” Marnie said. “Empty your mind. One deep breath. Hold it. Now let it out slowly. And now—again. Shhh. Slow. Again.” She could hear Skye’s soothing tones in her own voice. She kept her hand on Jenna’s back, feeling her breathing, feeling the shaking, rubbing a little, alarmed. Should she run and pound on Mrs. Fisher’s door? But she couldn’t leave Jenna, not like this. She felt as if she needed to physically keep Jenna from falling apart.

Jenna was crying, messily, snuffily.

Marnie’s mind whirred. That hockey boy. This must be about him. “It’s okay,” she murmured, over and over, not because she believed it, but because it was the kind of thing one said. She wondered exactly what had happened.

After a while, Jenna’s shaking slowed to a fine trembling. At least she was definitely getting air in, Marnie thought, her own anxiety lessening.

Jenna kept her head down.

“It’s okay,” Marnie said again. And again.

Eventually Jenna replied. “No. Not okay.” Her breath caught and Marnie returned to rubbing her back. Vaguely she was aware that this was wildly ironic, her trying to comfort Jenna Lowry. But she was the only one here.

Her right leg went to sleep under her, and then turned completely numb, and occasionally she looked up from the floor and bleakly watched Jenna’s screensaver speed through an endless tunnel of stars. Beneath it, she knew, was her own online session, still engaged. Twelve o’clock had come and gone, and even if the Elf had logged on and sent an e-mail message, Marnie would not be able to respond. Meanwhile, Jenna cried as if she needed to flood the world.

Finally she stopped. She jerked her body forward away from Marnie’s hand and, her face concealed, said huskily but very clearly: “Get out.”

Marnie was both relieved and alarmed. “Jenna, are you sure—”

“Get out!”

“All right,” Marnie said. Somehow, on her numb leg, she managed to stand. Jenna didn’t raise her head, and Marnie cast one look at the computer. All her messages were sitting there; a mere click would open any of them. She wanted desperately to at least reboot the computer, break the connection. Part of her mind screamed at her to do it, that Jenna was in no condition to intervene.

“
Get out!
” If Jenna’s throat hadn’t been raw, the words would have been a scream.

Marnie left and closed the door behind her. Through it, however, she could hear Jenna’s gasps, renewed, though not as dreadful as before. She stood uncertainly in the corridor, wondering again about getting Mrs. Fisher. But if she were Jenna—if this
were
about the hockey boy—she’d want to be alone.

Marnie stood in the corridor for quite a long time. Eventually she sank down on the floor, her back against the painted concrete block wall, and closed her eyes against the harsh glare of the corridor lightbulbs. She spent the rest of the night like that, counting her life’s mistakes like little black sheep and wondering drearily why she felt she had to be there … just in case Jenna needed someone.

“Marnie? Marnie, wake up! What are you doing here? Marnie!”

Marnie’s eyelids did not seem able to come unstuck. She could feel someone shaking her shoulder. She knew exactly where she was: in a cold little heap on the linoleum floor outside Jenna’s room. And she knew why. She swallowed a groan and managed to open one eye. Mrs. Fisher was kneeling, leaning over Marnie, her forehead furrowed.

“Why, hello there,” Marnie croaked. She put one hand up—her whole arm was stiff—and managed to rub her other eye open. Ow. “Mrs. Fisher. Good morning.”

The door of Jenna’s room opened. Jenna stood there, looking more or less ordinary in a robe.
Marnie gaped at her, and then at Mrs. Fisher. She sat up and tried to get her brain in gear. Mrs. Fisher was looking from one girl to the other, frowning.

“Jenna?” Mrs. Fisher said. “I thought you’d gone home for break. Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” said Jenna quickly. “I just—um, some of my little cousins were over and I realized it was impossible to get any work done at home, so I just stayed for the weekend. I, um, I had my mother drop me off last night. I’m sorry, I should have called you first….”

Jenna’s parents thought she was staying here at school throughout break, Marnie realized with a sudden flash of insight. While Jenna skipped off with hockey boy …

Mrs. Fisher was frowning at Jenna.

“Me,” said Marnie brightly, “I just fell asleep out here. Wow, how embarrassing. And how awful for you, Mrs. Fisher. Coming across me like that. I’m really embarrassed. Well, I guess I’ve figured out why they invented the bed.” She staggered to her feet. “Have you ever slept on linoleum? It’s hard, you know? And cold. In fact, what I really think I should do is go and take a hot shower. So if you’ll both just excuse me—”

“Marnie.” Mrs. Fisher stood in the way of escape.

“Oh,” said Marnie. “I suppose you’re wondering what I was doing here. Well. It’s very simple. Very simple. I saw Jenna coming in last night, and this morning I had a question I wanted to ask her, but she wasn’t up yet. Uh, this was
early
this morning. So I just sat down to wait and well, the rest you know.”

“Really,” said Mrs. Fisher skeptically.

Marnie stood her ground. “Yes, I just fell asleep. I must have been more tired than I realized.” She couldn’t resist adding: “I’ve been working hard, you know. I passed several chemistry quizzes yesterday.”

Mrs. Fisher’s lips compressed. She studied the two girls. “Jenna is up now,” she said to Marnie. “Go ahead and ask her your question.”

Marnie turned to Jenna. When you looked carefully, from straight on, you could see the night’s tears. “No,” Marnie said clearly, drawing Mrs. Fisher’s attention back to her. “I’m sorry. I can’t ask Jenna my question in front of you. It’s private.”

Mrs. Fisher’s whole being radiated disbelief and suspicion. But she said only: “You and I will talk about this later. Go get that shower now.” She turned to Jenna. Marnie ran upstairs and into her room. Perforce, Jenna would have to take care of herself now.

Marnie’s phone rang five minutes later. It was Jenna. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to,” she said, “but I want to be very clear about something. Keep away from me. I don’t need your help.”

Marnie listened to Jenna’s breathing. “Okay,” she said finally, but by then she was speaking to no one. Jenna had hung up.

After a minute, Marnie did too.

“
R
eady for the section test?” said Ms. Slaight the instant Marnie came into the chemistry classroom.

“I still want to give it a try, but …” Marnie trailed off in the middle of her prepared excuses and frankly stared. Ms. Slaight was dressed with unusual formality, in a red suit with a long jacket. The outfit screamed its newness. And Ms. Slaight had a new expression on her face, too—sort of excited and also, Marnie thought, maybe a little frightened. Marnie had never seen her wearing makeup before. Her thickly applied lipstick actually glittered.

Marnie had been staring too long; she had to say something. Lots of people dressed up for work, right? So what if Ms. Slaight never had before? And so what if it was only Marnie here today? “Er, you look very nice, Ms. Slaight.”

“Thank you,” Ms. Slaight said, smiling directly at Marnie.

Maybe Ms. Slaight had a date later—though somehow Marnie couldn’t quite imagine it—and she’d not only dressed up for it, but it had put her in an excellent mood.

Marnie couldn’t help herself. “Are you going somewhere special, Ms. Slaight?”

“Well, Marnie.” The lipsticked lips smiled yet again, looking even more surreal. “You worked so hard yesterday that I thought you deserved a treat. So, after the test, I’d like to take you out for lunch. To the Halsett Grille.” And as Marnie gaped in astonishment, Ms. Slaight finished awkwardly, “I’m aware we got off on the wrong foot. I’d like us to start again.”