The Mask That Sang (3 page)

chapter five

By the time they'd unloaded everything and hauled it into the house, Mom was starting to talk to Mr. Gregor like he wasn't a threat to her. And when he ordered them a welcome pizza, she didn't turn it down outright.

So they all ate around the little kitchen table, surrounded by boxes and bags, while the light began to gradually fade outside, and the kitchen glowed warmer and warmer. Mr. Gregor told them funny stories about his students. Like about the time they all came in walking backward and sat backward in their chairs. So he taught the class from the back of the room, facing the wall, until nobody could keep from laughing.

Mom was laughing too by the end, her face lit up and her eyes bright in the way Cass loved. Like nothing bad had ever happened, like Mom hadn't learned to be scared of everyone who came along. She was the hopeful, joyful Mom who came out only when it was safe.

At last, when it was quite dark, Mr. Gregor stood up and said, “Well, I hate to leave this welcome party, but Bessie will be waiting for her supper, so I must go!”

“Thanks for your help,” Mom said, not looking at his face, suddenly shy again. “And the pizza.”

“It was great!” Cass said with huge enthusiasm, to make up for Mom.

Mr. Gregor started carrying plates over to the little counter.

“No, leave it!” Mom said, jumping up.

Mr. Gregor ignored her, picking up the glasses next. He asked Cass, “Are you starting school tomorrow? If so, I'll see you there.”

An electric shock ran through Cass.

School.

“No biggie,” said Mr. Gregor lightly. “You can ignore me in the halls, I can take it!”

“No, no,” said Cass. She couldn't think of anything to say after that, though. It was too big, and too horrible.

“Cass has had a rough time at schools. There's been a lot of bullying.” For the first time, Mom was looking right at Mr. Gregor, with all her helplessness and love for Cass all over her face, making Cass adore her more than she thought was possible. “It never seems to get any easier.”

Mr. Gregor studied Mom's face. He looked from Mom to Cass. Then he nodded. He got down in a squatting position in front of Cass, who was still sitting in her chair. He looked her in the eye. “I'm making you a promise, Cass. It's going to get easier now.”

Cass flushed.

“Tomorrow,” said Mr. Gregor, “will be a piece of cake. That's a guarantee. Whatever flavor you like. You and me, we'll take them all on.”

His eyes crinkled at her, and for a second, she almost believed him.

™

Before Cass got into bed, she opened the drawer. That drawer. She pushed back the tissue paper. She and the mask looked each other in the eye.

“I think I like you,” Cass said after awhile. “But let's not go too far.”

Too late
, the voices seemed to sing, filled with satisfaction at their own funny selves, pleased with the mischief they had played while hiding and being found. Now they had a new playmate, and they darted around Cass as if they were strings binding her. But friendly strings, friendlier than what waited tomorrow.

Later Mom tucked her in, hugged her hard, kissed her on the forehead.

“I don't want to go,” Cass whispered.

Mom stroked her forehead. “I'll go with you. We'll walk together.”

“I hate school. I can't go back.”

“Maybe it'll be different,” Mom said helplessly. “With Mr. Gregor there, I mean. He said he wouldn't let anything happen.”

But Cass knew how it worked. Bullies did things only when teachers weren't there. And Mr. Gregor couldn't be there every minute of every day, nobody could.

“All we can do,” Mom said gently, “is start again. Over and over, as many times as we have to. And be brave. We can't change what is coming, but we can face it with courage. You are my girl who doesn't give up, no matter what. You are my powerful Cass.”

Mom's words resonated in Cass's head as she began to drift toward sleep. They mingled with the song of the mask. As Cass grew sleepier, the mask seemed to support Mom's words like a cradle of sounds, woven together to keep Cass safe in the night.

“You are not alone
,
”
the mask seemed to be chanting, softly, softly.

And then she was dreaming.

™

She was tiny, dwarfed by an enormous brick school, three or four stories high, with what looked like a bell tower on top. A series of balconies climbed above the front door, like cages.

Something was pushing her toward it, some unkind force that swept her up the stairs to the big front doors and would tolerate no refusal. It was larger than her, larger than anyone, and she couldn't fight it because she couldn't really see or understand it. But somehow she knew that when she was taken inside, it would not let her out for years. It would not let her be with Mom. Mom was not good for her anymore.

The doors opened, and although she fought, she was inside. Faces loomed everywhere, wide eyes like her own. They were all animals being groomed for something. For a show, maybe. They would not be free creatures anymore, because free meant wild.

™

She woke up sweating, all tangled up in bedsheets and the multicolored quilt. Her heart was pounding so hard it was like a drum against her chest. She opened her eyes, hoping it was still dark. But sunshine flooded the little room.

It was tomorrow.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut again.
Go away, go away!

Gradually she realized that the mask was singing to her. It had maybe never stopped, all night long. The voices darted around her, like specks of light. They were singing about the children in her dream, with the terrified eyes. The voices were calling out to them, comforting. But they were calling to Cass too.

“Be strong, be brave! Do not forget about yourself!” they chanted, looping about Cass like an incantation.

“How could I forget about myself?” Cass said aloud.

™

Mom surprised her with oatmeal and brown sugar, Cass's favorite. They ate side by side in the little kitchen, while Cass's stomach did loops and twirls. It felt like her last meal before being executed. Then Mom washed the dishes, while Cass brushed her teeth and got her shoes on.

“Ready, sunshine?” Mom shrugged on her coat and grabbed her purse, a hopeful smile pasted on her face.

“No.” Not even with oatmeal warm in her stomach and a mask singing in her head and Mom doing the I-love-you eyes.

But she followed Mom anyway, down the dirt driveway and along the sidewalk, past the huge houses and the ornamental bushes. Other kids had started walking too, in pairs and trios, carrying backpacks. They'd all probably be chasing Cass home tonight.

It was a quick walk to the school, just one turn and there it was, nestled in a green field and looking nothing like the school in her dream. On the far side, the road led to a downtown with little shops, the kind of place where people strolled and had coffee. Unlike Cass, who was going to jail.

™

The secretary looked up as Mom and Cass walked into the office.

“Good morning,” Mom said, standing stiffly, with a voice that barely shook. “I need to sign up my daughter for school.”

The secretary shuffled through a filing cabinet, bringing out some papers. “We'll need to get you to fill these out. Have you got your supporting documents with you?”

“My—” Mom looked at Cass helplessly. “What do I need?”

The secretary turned the computer monitor around so she could see. “It's all online at the school board website.”

Mom flushed. “I'm sorry. I didn't know. I don't have a computer.”

“Oh!” said the secretary, as if Mom had just said that she didn't have a stove.

Just then, the office door swung open. In strode Mr. Gregor, carrying a briefcase and whistling. “Good morning, Sheila!”

Then he noticed Cass and Mom. His face broke into a smile.

“Welcome! Getting all registered?”

“I—I don't know,” Mom said, getting flustered and rummaging in her purse. “I don't know if I have my supporting documents.”

Mr. Gregor said smoothly, “Well, Sheila, what do we need? Proof of address? Birth certificate?”

For the next several minutes, Mr. Gregor kept up a light level of chatter while helping Mom to figure out what she needed and simultaneously making subtly funny faces at Cass, as if this was all a ridiculous series of hoops they had to jump through. At last, Mom filled out the forms and it was all done. Cass's life was signed away again.

Mr. Gregor conferred with the secretary quietly. Then he said gently, “Cass, I'll take you down to meet your teacher. Come on, it'll be okay.”

Helplessly, Cass looked imploringly at Mom. Water sprang to her eyes.

Mom hugged her and held on for a long time. “You will be just fine, sweetheart.”

“Be brave,”
sang something else, just on the threshold of Cass's hearing.

She breathed in slowly, and out again.

Mr. Gregor held the door open for her and she walked through.

chapter six

When the bell rang, Cass was already crouched in her chair. Ms. Clemens, Cass's new grade-six teacher, had allowed Cass to pick out a place where her new desk would be put, so Cass had chosen a location as far away as possible from the front of the room. Ms. Clemens had grouped the desk with two others.

“We'll try it for today,” Ms. Clemens had said kindly. “If you don't feel comfortable there, we can always change it.” She had chatted with Mr. Gregor for several minutes in the hall, and Cass was pretty certain Mr. Gregor had told Ms. Clemens about the bullies.

Great, now all of the teachers would be feeling sorry for her, on top of everything else.

The kids burst into the room, shouting and laughing, scraping chairs to desks, slamming backpacks down. Cass shrank further and concentrated on rubbing her fingers together under the desk.

“Hey, who are you? Are you new or something?”

It was a stocky boy with red hair and surprisingly fine features, a light sprinkling of freckles over his nose. Brows drawn together, clever eyes, trying to figure Cass out.

She nodded, voice caught in her throat. “Y-y-yes.”

The boy threw himself heavily into the desk beside hers. “What's your name?”

“Cass. Uh, Cass Foster.”

“Ellis McCallister. Oh no, that's my mom.” He ducked down.

A tall, very well-dressed woman was striding across the classroom to Ms. Clemens. Cass's new teacher stood up from where she had been bending down over a student's desk. The smile she presented to the woman was about the most pathetic imitation of a friendly welcome that Cass had ever seen. Ms. Clemens was almost as bad at faking things as Mom.

“Good morning, Mrs. McCallister,” said Ms. Clemens.

The well-dressed lady smiled widely and held out her hand. “So nice to see you again, Ms. Clemens. How have you been?”

“Fine, thanks. And yourself?”

“Very well!” The lady put a hand on Ms. Clemens's arm. “I didn't know if you might have just a minute to speak? Just regarding a question I had about Ellis's social studies quiz? There were a couple of answers I was wondering about, and I was hoping we could revisit them. I have a feeling there might be a couple of marks that you missed. Is this a good time?”

“Well,” said Ms. Clemens, gesturing around to the class, as they continued to drag chairs to their desks and loudly take out their materials for the day. “I am just about to start teaching. I'd be happy to talk about Ellis's test, if you wanted to make an appointment for another time….”

“Oh!” said Ellis's mother, penciled eyebrows crawling up her forehead. “Oh, I'm very sorry. I must have misunderstood. I thought parents were encouraged to be part of the education process?”

Ellis groaned slightly and began to slide under his desk, making gestures at his neck as if he wanted to rip his head off.

Ms. Clemens leaned her head close to Mrs. McCallister, and they spoke quietly for a minute. Mrs. McCallister said a number of things back, and although Cass couldn't hear the words, she was sure from the tone that Ellis's mother was not happy.

Ms. Clemens stood straight and raised her chin to the taller woman. She said in a clear, cool voice: “I will be happy to phone you later to arrange something at our mutual convenience.”

Ellis's mother looked very displeased, but left a moment later.

Just then, another boy placed a chair in front of the desk opposite to Cass's desk. His dark hair fell forward over his face, and his eyes were looking down, as he sat. He unzipped his backpack, pulled out a notebook, and began to write in small, neat movements, as if he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

Ellis said to Cass, “Watch this.” He grabbed the boy's notebook and threw it in front of Cass. “See, this is what you do when you're a loser like Degan.”

Cass couldn't help looking at the notebook in front of her. It was covered in little drawings—so many that they obscured the words written there. Branches and vines curled upward around the letters, and amid them a variety of creatures were hidden. A mouse nibbled seeds, a bird nestled in a bed of leaves, rabbits huddled amid roots. Here and there, children climbed up the vines like Jack up a beanstalk.

But the most amazing part was the background, toward the top of the page. There, the boy had drawn mountains with snow glinting off them. And between the mountains was a gleaming lake. It was a lot like the lake in Cass's daydream.

“That's so good!” she said.

The boy flushed and glanced at her quickly. He held out his hand, and Cass put the notebook into it. He placed it on the desk, picked up his pencil, and began to draw again as if neither Cass nor Ellis were there.

Ellis looked annoyed. “No, it's not. It's stupid. It's a waste of time.”

“Why do you care so much?” the boy asked in a voice that was calm. He kept drawing. “Why does it matter to you?”

Ellis edged back. “Hey, don't scalp me, Hill, I'm just trying to help you. You gotta learn focus, my friend.”

Don't scalp me.
Cass looked again at the boy's face.

With his dark hair and brown skin, she wondered suddenly if he was Aboriginal. Mr. Gregor had said there was a large Aboriginal population in the city. She had never seen a Native person before.

Then she felt angry. What a rude thing for Ellis to say!

Something curled around the back of her mind, the merest hint of a voice that sang softly in agreement.

Before she knew it she was sitting up straighter, chin out, just like Ms. Clemens.

“I'm Cass Foster,” she said to the boy in the strongest voice she could. “I think you're talented. I think you'll be an artist one day.”

The boy glanced up at her from under his fringe of hair; his neutral expression didn't tell Cass what he was thinking. Then he looked down again, hunched over his notebook.

“Don't bother,” Ellis told Cass. “He just sits there and draws those stupid pictures all the time. I don't think he even knows English.”

“Degan Hill,” said the boy in a muffled voice. Then he cleared his throat, shot Cass another wary, darting glance. “That's my name. Degan Hill.”