Look Both Ways (4 page)

“I think it would be incredibly romantic, being in a sleeping bag in the wilderness with the man you loved, like being inside each other’s skin or something,” Eden said.

“Ugh! I might be a jock but I hate sleeping on the ground! I hate it at our family’s camp when we have outdoor night.”

“I love the stars,” Eden said.

“So are you running away to get married?” Mallory teased and was horrified when Eden’s face paled under its perpetual rosy gold.

“Uh, no. Not really . . . I . . . well, it’s a gift. For a friend. A guy.”

Mally asked, “Is it someone you like, I mean . . . like?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re giving him a wedding present?”

“It’s for him and me. When we meet.” To Mallory’s wide-eyed look, Eden said, “Not like that! Not that it would be bad. He’s twenty-one! I’m almost eighteen! But it’s not like that. We just have to meet, well, secretly.”

“Because he’s older?”

“Partly. Look, forget it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Eden!” Mallory said. “I’m just worried because . . . I’m just scared for you.”

“Why?” Eden asked quickly.

“Never mind. It’s just this stupid feeling. What color sleeping bag?”

Eden looked down at her shoes. “Well, red is his favorite.”

“Okay!” Mally said, throwing her book bag into her locker as the second bell pealed. “I’ll check this weekend when I go in to . . .” Before she could close her locker door, Mallory staggered and stumbled. For an instant, Eden seemed to shrink to a dot the size of a pencil point. Mallory woke sitting on the ground, with Eden crouched in front of her.

“Mally? Mallory?” Eden said, suddenly her normal size again, her voice as loud as a crowded gym during a basketball game.

Mallory covered her ears. “How long have I been on the floor?”

“Just a few seconds,” Eden said. “What happened?”

Mallory thought how impossible it would be for her to explain. She had flashed on a young man lying wrapped in a huge red sleeping bag. And it was definitely . . . James. Mallory had seen James before. On the cold, miserable day when she confided in Eden about their visions, she’d “wake-dreamed” James walking along, whistling, in the fading light, under the greedy gaze of a mountain lion perched on an outcropping of granite.

“It’s James,” Mallory said. “I saw him last year, remember? I told you how dangerous the lion was to the guy on the hike, and you tried to brush it off. That’s who the sleeping bag is for.”

“Yes,” said Eden.

“But he really is in danger! You said it wasn’t like it seemed.”

“It isn’t.”

“I saw it, Edie!”

“You don’t know what you saw. It’s like . . . you and me being friends. You think I met you when you came on the Eighty-Niners. But I knew you before then. I saw you around when you were little. You’re in my pattern, written on the star blanket.”

“What?”

“The sky. The star blanket,” Eden said softly, her old, calm self again, not the angry, fierce, unfamiliar girl of just moments ago. “It’s all up there, what’s supposed to happen to people, and who they’re supposed to be with.”

“I don’t understand,” Mally said.

“You don’t have to,” Eden told her gently.

Mallory looked into Eden’s big dark eyes and thought she saw a fleck of gold glimmering there, amid the velvet brown. Golden eyes.

Shaking Eden’s hand off, Mallory turned and hurried down the hall, dodging groups of kids to break into a jog, then a run, not looking back even when she heard Eden call her name. Forget math class. She’d fake a sinus headache and chill out in the nurse’s office. Backtracking, she passed the door of the little theater and felt waves of menace furl out of the double doors. She stopped to catch a breath.

At that moment, Mallory knew for certain that no one was going to get up on that stage after school and kick and flip and punch out their little fists to “Ridgeline, So Fine!” or “Bring It Home!” Her sister, Merry, didn’t have to worry. No one would notice her lacquered face. There would be no tryouts today.

She had no idea why.

But Eden . . . there was something wrong, something that made Mallory’s skin go tight and cold—as it had when the mountain lion shrieked.

L
ater that morning, Merry was in history class when the P.A. system boomed, “Meredith Brynn. Please report to the office.”

Merry tried to slink out along the wall, but heard Neely, the new girl, whispering with Erika. One of them said, “Nice look, Mer!”

Merry wished a chute to the core of the earth would open and she could just allow herself to drop into nothingness.

Campbell was waiting with a small brown bag. Together, they slipped into the washroom and Meredith washed her face. Then Campbell dabbed on the stuff she’d brought, a drop at a time from the tube. Scared to open her eyes, Merry turned toward the mirror. The concealer really did work! She no longer looked like someone who’d died earlier in the day from smallpox. Merry hugged her mother. “You saved my future!”

Campbell said, “This stuff is thicker than the department store kind. And it’s waterproof, which I thought would be good if you got sweaty. It’s for covering up, well, scars and stuff like that.”

Merry noticed her mother trying to slip the box into the trash and grabbed it. The brand was called AfterLife.

AfterLife? Meredith looked at the back. “Creating a memory picture of the loved one,” it said. In a quivery voice, Merry asked, “What is this? Did you bring me . . . undertaker cosmetics?”

Campbell shrugged. “Maggie Lonergran was in the ER for a broken toe. She sent her son Luke back to grab a tube for you. Take it or leave it, Meredith! You’re not going to cover up that mess with a little powder.” Lonergran’s was the only funeral parlor in Deptford. Meredith had been there exactly once, one of the worst days of her life, for David Jellico’s funeral.

“But ick, Mom!”

“Merry, it’s not recycled!” Campbell said sharply. Campbell was
such
a crab lately.

“I’m sorry,” Merry said. “I was just thinking about . . .”

“I know, honey. Look, let’s make a deal. We won’t tell Adam so he can’t get in your face about it, and everything will be all right, okay?” Merry noticed new lines of weariness on Campbell’s face: The new job was clearly too much for her. She didn’t even have time to run anymore, and she was getting a potbelly. Merry had overheard Campbell tell their father that if they didn’t need the extra money, they could stuff combat pay. She decided to take it easy on her mom, who had done her best.

Merry put on some light foundation and blush over the concealer and added just a little gray eye shadow and more mascara. This amounted to about 75 percent more makeup than Merry ever wore except for a cheer competition.

“You still don’t look like you,” Campbell said.

“But I look like a person,” Merry said.

Later, in the cafeteria, Merry pulled her sister aside.

“I look pretty normal,” Meredith said. “Don’t I, Mal?”

“You never look normal,” Mally answered, obviously back to her old self.

Merry persisted. “Come on! You’re not even looking!”

“I don’t have to. Bug off, Mer. I have bigger stuff on my mind.”

“I’m serious,” Merry said.

“So am I,” Mallory answered. “I have a quiz next hour.”

“That’s not what you meant.”

“No, it isn’t.” Mallory glanced up, a half-gnawed pita in one hand, and stuck a pencil behind her ear. “It’s way more than that. But I have to figure it out. You do look . . . um, better. I’m sorry. I can’t concentrate.”

Meredith decided she
did
look normal. What she didn’t look was natural.

She looked the way Danielle Sibelius looked on an ordinary day—as though she were made up for Halloween or the red carpet outside the MTV music video awards. Danielle Sibelius wore skirts so short that Merry and Mallory’s father would have made the twins wear them over jeans. Danielle wore double layers of false eyelashes. If she was honest with herself, Merry didn’t even look as
good
as Danielle Sibelius because makeup on Meredith made her look a little sinister—given her pint size—like a sort of old-time
Bride of Chuckie
doll.

It
was
almost Halloween.

“I’ll find Drew and ask him,” Merry said, turning back to Mallory. “He’ll tell me honestly.”

“What are you going to do about it when he does?” Mally asked. “Anyhow, it doesn’t even matter, Mer.”

“It doesn’t matter? Because it’s my tryouts and not yours? Because I don’t have to fall in the dirt and slap other girls on the butt and make fart noises? Because I’m as good as you, but I get to be a girl too instead of pretending to be a boy with boobs? All you do is disrespect my sport!” Mallory snorted, which only made Merry madder. “That so stinks! Do you even think it’s a sport? If you don’t, do this, okay?” Meredith held her leg straight out in front of her, at hip height, for twenty seconds. “Do it, Mallory. Come on.” Merry’s leg was granite-steady. “Come on, Mal.”

“Okay, I admit you’re an Olympic leg holder.”

“Admit that you don’t have that kind of leg strength.”

“I can’t admit I don’t because I do.”

Mally was trying her best—she had to act like herself instead of the little simpy-wimp she’d been this morning—but even sarcasm was an effort. For a moment, Mally wished that she and Drew still had the basket on the fishing wire they used to pass notes back and forth between their open windows.

That would mean they would still be kids. Which would be fine with her.

Now, telling all to Drew was getting tricky: He might have known her since she was a baby, but Mallory could tell that he now considered her a babe. She didn’t want to encourage that.

Or maybe she did.

No! Drew was like a brother!

Still, he was getting to be kind of cute.

Everything
was turning upside down!

For the rest of the day, she wandered from class to class, half-aware. She wished she’d held the thermometer that Mrs. Avis put in her mouth against the light for a couple of seconds and been sent home with a fever.

At last, she did what you do when something is driving you crazy: She faced it. In her study period, Mallory tried to analyze her dream.

Mally now suspected that what David saw when he lunged for Merry was . . . a pale cat. A cougar. A mountain lion. A panther. All the names people used once, and still used, for one kind of animal. Back then, Meredith had described seeing just a shape, a long low white shape—and it wasn’t the translucent figure of a white-haired lady with a kind face who leaned over her after she fell. Grandma Gwenny assured them that the little old lady was an ancestor, a Massenger woman, perhaps the kindly ghost of Grandma’s own mother. At her own wish, Grandma Gwenny’s mother had been buried not in the town cemetery but high on the ridges where she loved to walk at the end of a long day of cleaning other people’s houses. Once a month, sometimes with the girls, Gwenny tended the two white rosebushes she’d planted near the modest copper plate in the ground that showed where her mother lay. Only last year had she told the girls that one of the rosebushes was meant to symbolize Gwenny’s own twin, Vera, who’d drowned as a child. Gwenny regretted that she had never moved Vera’s poor little wooden box up into the hills near the family camp, where she could sleep beside her mother. Grandma was a halfway decent Catholic, not a fanatic like some of her siblings were. But she also thought that anywhere love abided was holy ground.

So if Merry—and David—had seen not a woman but a cougar, was it too a spirit? Or some crazy sign? Cougars were extinct in the east, and if one had wandered down from Canada, it had wandered a long, long way. Did it hate men, which would have accounted for Mallory seeing it staring down so hungrily on the boy Eden loved? Was it a zoo animal, which would account for its exotic coloration?

During study hall, she slipped into the library and typed in “Cat Mythology.”

Bast, a god in cat form, was one of the top guns in the Egyptian pantheon. Many ancient religions considered cats spirit guides for humans, wise but unable to reveal their wisdom because they could not speak. Was this what the mountain lion meant? And why was she seeing it, now that David was gone? Why had it appeared in their school, when clearly no real animal had been there? Was it still after Eden’s boyfriend? Or was it after Eden?

She was ashamed that she’d run away from Edie.

How could her visions be so at odds with what she felt inside?

David had been model-handsome and a monster. But long before the visions, Mallory sensed something way off base about David. Eden wasn’t like David. Her heart told her Eden was caring and good.

Grandma had told them that “the gift” came from above, that it was meant for them to use for good, that it was granted the twins for a reason that only the saints knew. She had to do this: She accepted that it was her destiny. Grandma Gwenny told her that the gift went down among the Massenger women like a gene for hair color (or a disease, Mally thought!).

The last bell rang. Mally looked up toward the sky. The star blanket.

She didn’t realize until later that her lips had moved and hoped everyone who saw her thought she was using an earpiece for her cell, as she addressed the giver of the damned gift.

She said, “If this really is what my grandmother believes it is, and you want us to fight for the right or whatever, can I please at least have some rules?”

That was when she heard the scream.

C
rystal Fish went on screaming all the way into the ambulance from the pain of torn ligaments that would need surgery and months of physical therapy. Her hope of making varsity as a sophomore was shot.

The tryouts were postponed until the second week in November. Mallory felt sorry for Crystal. Hitting the floor in Chinese splits when it was only possible for you to get there after a half-hour warm-up must have been killer.