Sunblind (7 page)

“The evil twin is super skilled in the art of deceit,” she says. “Oh and he or she has vowed to, you know, destroy your life and stuff.”

Oh my God! When I silently speak that phrase, I translate it into Japanese so Jess will fully understand my freak out.
“
Nanite koto!”

So I was right about the twins all along. They are different, and they do play a role in my life. Perhaps a much larger role than I ever imagined. But according to Jess these twins are on opposing sides, one good, one evil. But which one is which?

“Jess, please, you have to give me a hint,”
I beg.

Miraculously the sunlight fades from Jess's body, and all that's left is the girl that I remember. The change only lasts for an instant, but it brings back such cherished memories that I feel tears sting my eyes. Jess may be this immortal entity, but underneath all the sunshine and wonder, she's still my best friend. Death hasn't changed anything. Except that now Jess can't tell me everything that's on her mind.

“Sorry, Dom,” Jess says, resuming her golden goddess appearance. “I've said everything I can.”

I nod my head. I'm not happy, but I understand. I feel Jess's hand brush against my cheek and watch her disappear, her sundrops mingling in with the dandruff galaxy that's still visible on Danny's back.

Pondering the question about which twin I can trust, I suddenly zero in on three dandruff flakes that are lined up perfectly in one horizontal line. I've seen that before in the sky, but somewhere else too. Yes! Jess's diary. Caleb said it was Orion's constellation. The same star cluster as is in the tattoos Nadine and Napoleon have on their hips. Somehow the twins are connected to Orion. And thanks to Jess I now know that one of those connections is made up of pure evil. But which one?

When the bell rings signaling the end of class, I'm not worried about writing down Dice's homework assignment; I'm not worried about the pop quiz he's threatening to give us this week; I'm not even worried that if I maintain this study ethic I'm bound to get my first failing grade in my entire life. The only thing I'm concerned about is finding out which twin I can trust.

Slamming my textbook shut I feel my body shiver as if deep inside of me the wolf is trembling. And I know exactly why: We have to unlock the latest mystery and quickly.

Our lives depend upon it.

Chapter 6

Weirdness doesn't always begin with a capital
W
.

Transforming into a werewolf, yes, that's
weird
capitalized, no doubt about it. But there are other times that can still be classified as weird that don't scream at the same decibel level of weirdness. Like earlier, when I bit into one of The Worm's mother's brownies in honor of our special half day thanks to some off-site teacher meeting, the brownie was stale. Stale! Beverly Worman's brownies are never stale; they're always nothing less than scrumdillyumptuous. Again, weird. Or like just now when I snuck into the choir room to avoid bumping into my boyfriend and my best friend on their way to football practice. Also weird.

Why would I do such a thing? Why would I want to avoid Caleb and Archie, especially when I could use their help in deciphering Jess's cryptic message? Is it because they've been acting strangely lately? Because I've been acting strangely around them lately? Or because I don't want to introduce any more strangeness into their lives? Lots of questions; not a lot of answers.

If it's because they've become Mr. and Mr. Strange, how can I blame them? I've turned their world into an episode of
Stephen King's Most Bizarre Happenings in the History of the World
. And I have to admit, they haven't been acting that odd. I just get the sense that the novelty of my affliction is starting to wear off.

I know that Caleb and Archie have both sworn to have my back for as long as I'm cursed, but I don't want to keep bringing them down with my drama. I want to make sure they're fresh and invigorated and excited to do battle on my behalf whenever the time comes for us to fight. Right now, however, is the time for a detour. So I've decided to leave my little soldiers alone and let them do battle on the football field, while I hide out among choir robes, choral risers, and music stands. I definitely got the bad end of the deal though, because I hate to sing.

“Oh my gosh, Dominy!” Gwen squeals. “Are you joining show choir?”

“No,” I reply.

“Jazz choir?!” Gwen squeals again.

“No.”

“Madrigal choir?!” Gwen squeals for a third time with remarkably the same amount of excitement in her voice as she had the first time.

“Sorry, Gwen,” I start, amazed that I never knew how many types of choirs Two W had before. “I'm not here to join any type of choir or to do singing of any kind.”

Gwen's face contorts into the same expression of horror and disbelief and fury that Jess's used to whenever I expressed my disinterest in becoming a member of Broadway Bound, the drama club she was the president of.

“Then what are you doing here?” she demands.

“I just needed a safe haven for a few minutes,” I confess.

It's the perfect reminder that honesty is not always the best policy. Gwen interprets my need for a safe haven as the simultaneous need for a friendly ear and a sympathetic shoulder. I don't need either; I just really need some quiet. But now that Gwen thinks I'm some sort of emotional basket case or a girl with a deep dark secret, she wants to be my bestie.

While Gwen is babbling on about how important it is to open up to people and not keep problems and secrets and morbid thoughts quiet, I silently formulate a plan of escape. I don't want to hurt Gwen's feelings, especially now that I've vowed never to call her The Hog again. I don't want to dismiss her kindness, and I definitely don't want to come off as evasive so she IM's Miss Martinez, our guidance counselor, with an anonymous tip that I'm in need of a special one-on-one session. I don't want to do any of that, but I don't want to listen to her jabber on any longer either.

“You have been exactly what I needed, Gwen!” I shout, mimicking her squealy sounds.

“Me?”

Gwen might be a good singer, but she's a horrible actress, and she's unable to make her voice sound as humble as she intended.

“Yes, you!” I add.

“What did I do?” she asks. “I mean, I don't even know what your problem is or why you needed a time-out.”

Sometimes you don't have to scramble to think of something to say; it just spills out of your mouth naturally. Maybe because the truth is more powerful than any fib.

“I just needed to hear somebody else's voice for a little bit so I could turn off my own.”

The smallest sopranoesque note pops out of Gwen's mouth. “And I did that for you?”

Before I can reply, Gwen's arms fly around me and wrap me in what can only be described as a very intense bear hug that threatens to suffocate me and sends the books I'm holding falling to the floor. A few kids scramble into the room, presumably songbirds like Gwen hurrying into rehearsal, and either they are so excited because they're going to get to sing in a few minutes or super hugging is a common occurrence at choir practice, because no one raises an eyebrow at our embrace. My eyebrows, however, practically fly off of my face when Mr. Dice bursts into the room.

“Dominy,” he says. “Jess never mentioned that you like to sing.”

What did he say?!

“You never mentioned that you like to sing,” he repeats.

Okay, that makes a little more sense. Less sense than the math teacher also being a choir instructor, but more sense than his mentioning Jess's name.

“I don't,” I reply, picking up my books from the floor.

“Are you sure you don't want to give it a try?” he asks. “Finding your voice can be very liberating.”

The only way I'm going to feel liberated is if I can get out of this room. Suddenly the walls feel as if they're inching closer toward me every second. Gwen's hulking body contact, Mr. Dice's sudden appearance, me thinking I heard Jess's name—all signs that I have overstayed my welcome. Guess it serves me right for trying to duck out of the way instead of just ramming into the oncoming traffic of my boyfriend and best friend. That's the last time I do that.

“I think if I freed my voice you'd all want to lock it back up,” I joke. “My father used to say I couldn't carry a tune if someone gave me the handle.”

The way Mr. Dice looks at me and the hush that comes over the choir room is startling, because it takes a few seconds for me to understand that I'm the cause. I crossed the line into Taboo Land by mentioning my father's name, effectively reminding everyone in earshot that I've been legally orphaned. And since everyone in this room aspires to tap into his or her sensitive side, they're even more affected by my comment than if I were surrounded by the more analytical minds that make up the debate team.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to put a bummer on the music fest before the music even begins,” I mutter.

This time Mr. Dice's expression is startling, but in a positive, uplifting way.

“Never apologize for remembering something or someone who brings you joy,” he says, his features softening into a kind smile.

Too bad I have absolutely no musical talent whatsoever, because I think this room would be a comforting place to spend some after-school quiet time.

On my way home the good energy stays with me, clinging to me like a crocheted poncho, light and flowing and warm. Sometimes it's necessary to take a detour to get back on track, and standing next to The Weeping Lady I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Looking up I can see that The Lady is in full bloom. Her body is covered with thick leaves; most are a deep green, but some have already started to turn yellow and that interesting shade in between that I'm not sure really has a name other than the not-so-original yellow-green. Regardless, the cluster of colors is vibrant, and it makes her look beautiful and sad and alone, the way she'll always look to me. It's an image that has become a source of calmness to me. Today, it's also a source of camouflage.

Off in the distance, somewhere beyond the rows of tall, majestic-looking trees that serve as the unofficial entrance to Robin's Park, I can hear two people talking thanks to my ESP—enhanced sensory proficiency. The fact that I can hear people speak who I can't see has become normal to me. What's odd is the fact that voices are coming from inside the park, a place that Louis has urged residents to steer clear of until the serial killer can be captured. Odder still, these voices are making me afraid.

How is that possible? I'm the one the town is supposed to be afraid of. I'm the reason there are witch hunts and curfews and no trespassing signs. And yet the sound of these voices, soft and muffled and unidentifiable, is actually making my knees buckle and my heart race. So much for latching on to good energy.

Impulsively, I straddle the huge oak tree and scramble up The Weeping Lady's body. My fingers act as claws, digging into the trunk, ripping pieces of bark off during my ascent, pulling me higher and higher until I'm face-to-face with the woman I've come to consider a friend. Her wooden eyes are staring back at me, and I know that she will do her best to protect me from the voices that are getting louder. I'm not sure what's more disconcerting: the fact that I can communicate with a tree-woman or the idea that I need protection.

When I recognize the voices, I know it's the latter.

The faces are still just shadowy outlines that I can barely see from within the combination of branches and foliage, but the voices are familiar. They belong to Nadine and Napoleon.

What are they doing coming out of Robin's Park? They got out of school the same time I did; there's no way they could have passed me, gotten all the way into the park, and then turned around. I did dally a little bit while I was trying to remain unseen, but it was hardly that long. Plus, it doesn't make sense that they would be in a part of town that's strictly off-limits. Sure, Nadine knows that it's okay to wander through the area, but Napoleon doesn't. Why would she arouse his suspicions by bringing him along for an after-school nature hike? And even if she did, Napoleon has never appeared to be a risk taker like Archie; it doesn't make sense that he would do something that's so completely against the rules. Unless Nadine for some reason convinced him to follow her into the park? Maybe she has a much stronger hold on her brother than anyone suspects.

I position myself so I'm straddling The Weeping Lady, my body pressed right into hers, and I'm reminded of Gwen. Maybe our embrace was a foreshadowing to this event? Maybe I'm just losing my mind? Maybe I should concentrate on not being seen so I don't cause the twins to stop talking?

The closer they get, the easier it is for me to eavesdrop, because they're speaking so loudly it's obvious they're not trying to hide from anyone. But when their conversation becomes clearer and I can finally understand every word they're saying, I realize that they're not having a friendly chat; they're having a fight.

“It's time that you man up, Nap,” Nadine hisses at her brother.

“Stop talking to me like I'm a child,” Napoleon replies.

“Start acting like an adult and I'll speak to you like one!” she screams. “You need to make choices.”

“I have.”

“The right ones, Nap!” she replies, hurling her words at him like daggers. “You have to start making the right choices!”

“Right for who? Me?” he asks. “Or everybody else in our family?”

My grip is so tight I expect The Weeping Lady to shriek in pain. The tips of my fingers are white, and I loosen my hold slightly just so I don't accidentally break off a branch and reveal my hiding place to the bickering siblings below. They're still about two hundred yards away, but they're walking in this direction, so in no time at all they'll be passing right underneath me.

“We're all in this together, Nap,” Nadine answers. “You know that.”

At some point I stop listening to their words, because even though I hear them clearly, I have no idea what they're talking about. However, I am learning a great deal by listening to the tones of their voices.

It's come as no surprise that Nadine is the louder one, the angrier one, the one who seems to be steering the conversation. In their twinlationship it's clear that she's the dominant force, the one with the more aggressive personality. Napoleon has always been the follower. I don't know if he's technically younger or if Nadine, being a girl, is just more authoritative, but Nap definitely takes a backseat to his sister. Until he decides the ride is better up front.

“The only thing I know, Nadine,” he replies, “is that somewhere along the way you appointed yourself the boss of us all.”

While Nadine's voice is brittle and loud and shrill, Napoleon's is quiet. But within that softer sound lies some unexpected strength. Their roles have become reversed; the butterfly's wings are made of steel, and the bee's stinger is easily bent.

Stopping in her tracks directly beneath me, Nadine makes her brother turn around to face her. I don't know if his words shocked her so much that she can't move or if she's adopting some strategy to make Nap have to react to her sudden actions. Either way she appears to be unsettled.

“A long time ago I made a choice,” she says, trying hard to keep her voice even. “A choice to control my fate and not be a pawn in someone else's game.”

Now when Napoleon's voice echoes throughout the empty land and into the air, it sounds different. Because it's the sound of laughter.

“You really think you're in control?” Napoleon asks when his laughter finally subsides. “You're being used just like I am.”

Nadine's lips form a smile, but there is no indication whatsoever that she's going to laugh. It's the creepiest, most malicious-looking smile I've ever seen. I press my thighs and ankles closer to the trunk of the tree and tighten my grip so I don't slip. There is no way that I want these two to see me. I have got to keep my presence hidden because I know—somehow—that they'd rather kill me than let me live if they discovered I overheard their argument.