The Face (8 page)

Why was I drawing a dead boy? Why do I draw you over and over?

A frightening thought made me shiver despite the heat of my bedroom.

Was the dead boy controlling my hand?

Was he forcing me to draw him? Guiding my hand
from the grave?

I crumpled up the drawing. Then I pulled two charcoal pencils from the desk drawer. I leaned over the drawing pad and tried to steady my hands.

“I'll draw a kitten,” I decided.

The deadline for the art portfolio was only two weeks away. If I didn't have some drawings to show, I wouldn't be accepted in the special course.

“I'll draw you, Rooney. Where are you?”

Of course the stupid cat wasn't around when I needed her.

I leaned over the pad and started to draw her from memory.

“Martha,” my mother called. “Adriana is here.”
I heard Adriana's footsteps in the hall.

“Hi. What's up?” I asked as she stepped into the room.

“Not much. How's it going?” she answered. She tugged off her wool muffler and blue down jacket and tossed them onto my bed. She pushed back her curly, black hair with both hands. “Whoa. It's cold out. You look great!”

“Yeah. I feel okay,” I replied softly. I'd been apologizing to Laura and Adriana ever since the sledding incident on Saturday. I must have apologized at least two dozen times and told them I was feeling fine.

But they kept checking up on me. And they kept telling me how great I looked all the time.

Adriana dropped down beside her jacket on my bed. She let out a long sigh. “You finish your homework?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I didn't have much. I thought I'd try sketching. This portfolio—”

“Things are bad at my house,” Adriana interrupted.

“Your parents?” I asked. “Are they fighting again? Do you need to sleep here tonight?”

A lot of times when her parents were battling, Adriana escaped by staying at my house. There were times when things were really bad that she just about moved in with my family for good.

“No, it's not my parents,” Adriana said, kicking the toe of her boot against a spot on the carpet. “Dad moved out Sunday.” She moaned. “Finally.”

I didn't know what to say. I knew that Adriana was closer to her father than her mother. I didn't think she was as happy about him leaving as she pretended.

“It's Ivan,” she said, fiddling with her long, blue wool muffler. “It's Ivan I'm worried about.”

I turned in the desk chair to face her. I pulled the drawing pad into my lap and sketched as I talked to her. “What did Ivan do this time?”

Adriana hesitated. “I—I'm not sure. But I went into his room tonight. To ask him something. And he had a new tape player and a new Discman.”

I stopped sketching. “So? Why is that so terrible, Adriana?”

She twisted the muffler around her wrist. Her dark eyes flared. “Where did Ivan get the money for those things?”

I thought about that, waiting for her to continue.

“I think he's been stealing,” she said finally. “I mean, he's been hanging out with some really tough kids. A couple of them got suspended from Waynesbridge High. I think they set a bathroom on fire or something.”

“Nice,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“Well, Ivan has been hanging out with these guys all the time,” Adriana continued. “He says they're great guys. They know how to have fun.”

She tossed the muffler back onto the bed. She frowned. “And now all of a sudden Ivan has a Discman and a new tape player. He's been stealing.
I know he has. He's so mixed up, Martha. He's going to ruin his life. And I—I—”

I started to reply.

But I gazed down at my sketch—and let out a startled cry. “No! Oh, no!”

I hadn't drawn a cat. I had drawn the face again.

Can't I draw anything else?

I felt Adriana's hand on my shoulder. I turned to see her staring down at the boy's face.

I saw her swallow hard. Saw her eyes narrow. Saw her grit her teeth.

“Want to go to the basketball game Friday night?” she asked, her hand still resting on the shoulder of my sweater.

“Huh?”

“The Shadyside game. Friday night,” she said. “Want to go? You know. Have some fun? Try to forget about everything?”

I don't want to forget, I thought unhappily. I want to
remember.

“Sure,” I told her. “Great idea. Let's have some fun.”

Laura came with Adriana and me to the game. Laura picked us up a little early. So first we cruised around town in Laura's Bonneville, with the radio cranked up all the way.

We sang at the top of our lungs and shouted out the window at boys on the street. Squealing around corners. Laughing and joking.

Acting like jerks. But we didn't care. It had been
such a cold, grim winter. We were determined to have some fun.

We roared into the student parking lot at school about ten minutes after the game had started. And scrambled into the gym, greeted by the steady
thud
of the basketball being dribbled on the hardwood floor and the shouts of the crowd.

As we climbed the bleachers, searching for a seat, I glanced up at the scoreboard: already eight-to-two in favor of our opponents, the Ironton Hawks. Not a good start.

“Go, Tigers!” I shouted. “Tigers rule!”

Laura, Adriana, and I made some kids move down. And we squeezed into seats near the top of the bleachers.

Shadyside scored on an easy layup, and the crowd sent up a cheer.

“Where's Aaron tonight?” Laura shouted over the roar.

I shrugged. “Don't know. He didn't call.” I turned to the floor, determined to concentrate on the game.

I wasn't going to worry about Aaron tonight. Or anyone else.

I wanted to enjoy the basketball game. Cheer with the crowd. Shout for the Tigers. Maybe cruise around with Adriana and Laura after the game. Or hang out at The Corner or Pete's Pizza.

Act like everyone else. Not like some freak with a chunk of her life missing. Some freak everyone felt sorry for.

“Go, Tigers!”

The whistle blew. A time-out. I saw Corky Corcoran jump up and lead the cheerleader squad onto the floor.

“Check out that guy on the Hawks!” Adriana shouted. She pointed to their bench across the floor.

“Which one?” I squinted against the bright lights. “The tall one?”

She laughed. “They're all tall. The one with the curly black hair.”

I squinted harder. “The one who can't figure out how to tie his sneakers?”

Adriana ignored my sarcasm. “I'm cheering for
him!”
she declared. “Wow!”

I shook my head. “Traitor.”

The cheerleaders did their splits, then went running off the floor. The players tossed down their towels and water bottles and walked back onto the floor.

A buzzer sounded. The game started up.

A close game. As it neared the half, the score was tied at twenty-four.

“I'm starving,” Laura moaned. She tugged my arm. “Let's beat the crowd to the food counter.”

“Yeah. Let's go,” Adriana agreed.

With about a minute left in the half, the three of us started down the aisle of the bleachers. Outside the gym, food stands were set up with popcorn and hot dogs and stuff.

We were nearly down to the floor when a Hawks
player scored on a slam dunk. The crowd grumbled as the Hawks took the lead.

I saw our players turn to take the ball down the floor. Saw their faces set, their hard expressions. Eager not to be down at the half.

A pass. Then another pass.

The player started to dribble. Lost the ball. I saw the angry scowl on his face.

Saw his face.

His face.

No!

He had the face—the face in my drawing!

“It's
him!”
I shrieked, grabbing for Adriana. “It's him! It's him!”

I missed her shoulder. Started to fall down the bleacher aisle.

Caught my balance. Raised my eyes to the floor.

Another Shadyside player turned. He had the face too!

I stared at two more players.

Stared at their wavy, brown hair. Their turned-up noses. Their serious, dark eyes.

The face!

They all had the face! The face I'd been drawing.

The face of the dead boy.

And as they turned to stare back at me, their smiles faded. Their mouths twisted. Eyes bulged in horror.

They all started to scream.

And I screamed with them.

“I
t's him! It's the dead boy! It's him!” Was that
me
shouting those words over and over?

I could feel everyone's eyes on me as Adriana and Laura pulled me from the bleachers.

“It's him! Let me go! The dead boy! The dead boy! I have to see him!”

The buzzer went off right over our heads. It shocked me into silence.

My friends dragged me to the gym doors. I struggled free. I had to see him. Had to talk to him.

But the players had all turned away. They were running off the floor to the locker room.

“Martha—come on!” Adriana pulled me out
into the hall. She and Laura led me away from the food stands. Down the long hallway.

We stopped at the stairs beside the darkened cafeteria.

“I'll get her something to drink,” Laura told Adriana. I watched her run back toward the gym.

I sat down on the bottom step. Adriana dropped down beside me. “Martha—are you okay now?”

“I—I don't know,” I replied honestly.

I shut my eyes and saw the players again. The players with the same face. His face.

“Am I okay? I really don't know, Adriana.”

When I opened my eyes, she had a large silvery coin in her hand. “Let me show you a relaxation exercise I learned from Dr. Corben. It always calms me down when I'm stressed.”

She held the coin up close to my face. “Watch the coin,” she whispered. “Follow it with your eyes.”

She moved the coin slowly, left and right, close to my face. It glimmered dully in the dim light. Adriana whispered softly as I followed the coin. “Concentrate on the coin. Calm. Calm. Just watch the coin.”

Eager for the faces to disappear, I obeyed.

I wanted to be calm. I wanted to be okay.

The coin floated slowly in front of me. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I grabbed Adriana's hand. “Whoa. What are you doing?”

“It's okay, Martha,” she replied softly. She gently
removed my hand from her wrist. “I'm giving you a hypnotic suggestion. To calm you down.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Her face disappeared into shadow, then came back into view as she leaned close. “You're … hypnotizing me?” I demanded.

She nodded. Her black hair fell over her eyes. “Relax. I do it to myself all the time. It's easy.”

She raised the coin again, but I brushed her hand aside. “I'm feeling better,” I told her.

Laura hurried up to us. She handed me a paper cup of cold water. She studied me as I took the cup from her, her face filled with concern. “You okay?”

I nodded. Took a long sip of the cold water. “Yeah. I'm fine. Really. I—I don't know what happened in there.”

I heard shouts from the gym. Loud laughter in the hall.

I wanted to be laughing too. I didn't want to be sitting here in the dark, sipping water, staring into my friends' worried faces.

“What happened?” Laura demanded.

I shook my head. I tilted the cup and finished the water. “I don't know. I saw the face. You know. The face I've been drawing. The Tigers—the whole team—they all had the same face.”

I saw Laura exchange glances with Adriana.

“Pretty weird,” Adriana muttered.

I took a deep breath. “Whose face is it?” I demanded. I jumped up from the step and grabbed
Laura by the shoulders. “Tell me! Tell me right now. Whose face is it?”

Adriana gently pulled me away from Laura. “You know we can't do that,” she said, softly but firmly.

Laura lowered her eyes. “I wish I could help you, Martha. But your doctor said—”

“Tell me!” I screamed. “Tell me!”

“Let's get you home,” Laura said softly.

They started to guide me to the doors.

My legs felt shaky and weak. My whole body felt tense and trembly.

People were standing around outside the gym, eating and talking. Some kids called to us, but we kept walking.

I tried not to look at anyone. I was afraid. Afraid I'd see the boy's face again.

We passed the gym and turned the corner, making our way to the back door that led to the parking lot. The air turned cooler. I could hear the buzzer in the gym. The second half was about to begin.

I suddenly felt so terrible.

I just wanted to have a good time. And now I'd spoiled the whole evening. For myself and for my two friends.

I opened my mouth to apologize when I saw someone against the lockers at the far wall. A boy and a girl. Hidden in shadows, they had their arms wrapped around each other. The girl had her back against the lockers. The boy was kissing her.

Kissing her.

His back turned to us.

He pulled his head back and turned slowly as the three of us started to pass by. I guess he heard our footsteps on the floor.

He turned and his face came into view.

His face.

I saw his face.

I didn't want to believe it.

But I saw him so clearly.

Saw his face so clearly.

“No!” I cried. “It's you! No!”

“M
artha—wait!” he called. He spun away from the girl against the locker.

“Aaron—!” I choked out.

And as he came toward me, I saw the girl. Saw the tangle of red hair. The pale, round face. The bright red lipstick, smeared from kissing.

Justine.

Her lipstick smeared from kissing Aaron.