White is for Magic (12 page)

We stand there a moment in awkward silence--me, not knowing whether or not we're done, if I should leave; him, awaiting my next move. I steal myself from his stare and turn away, back out through the forest, back on relatively safe campus soil. But I can still feel him, his eyes, watching me.

I follow the moon back around to the front of the dorm. Where I'm alone. Where it's safe to let out my breath and untwist the binds on my heart. I lean back against the front door, my heart beating freely now, throbbing inside my chest. My whole body's shaking, the blood stirring inside my veins, over my bones, and beneath the skin. My mind races with questions:
What's
wrong with me? Who is this guy? Why didn't I even ask his name?

I cover my eyes with my hands in an effort to stop the collision of questions, but that only makes me dizzier. Because all I can picture there, in the dark and dankness of my palms, are his penetrating slate-blue eyes.

125

nirxtm]

I fumble with my keys at the door of our dorm, trying my hardest to get my fingers to work right, to put the mind-scrambling events of the last twenty minutes far, far behind me. What I need right now is to talk to Chad, to tell him we were stupid to fight on the phone, to recommend that we spend some serious make-up time together.

So what that he didn't call earlier? He was probably busy with his teammates. Maybe he was even thinking that I

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needed space. I probably did. I just hope he didn't call while I was out because I'm not so sure I can handle lying again tonight, especially to him.

After several attempts, the lock finally clicks and I'm in. I charge my way through the lobby and into the common room. And there he is, sitting on the vinyl couch, a bouquet of wildflowers clenched in his hand, like the perfect boyfriend that he is.

"Look who decided to drop by," he says, standing up.

But instead of saying anything I just run into his arms, melodramatic-style, like right out of one of those old blackand-white movies, the kind where they play lots of orchestral music and the girls wear long, sweepy dresses. Chad hugs me back; his arms encircle my waist, the plastic wrap on the bouquet crinkles against my back.

I peer over his shoulder at Drea, sitting on the edge of the couch, the corners of her mouth turned slightly downward.

"Hi, Dray." I take a slight step back from Chad, but still keep a hand pressed against his shoulder.

She smiles a hello, but then looks away.

"So, where have you been?" He hands me the bouquet of wildflowers. "I've been waiting for you."

"Oh, really?" I ask, looking at Drea, wondering just how long he's been waiting, how long he and Drea have spent together.

"Yeah," Chad says. "But it's no big deal. Me and Drea were just talking about old times." He laughs and looks at Drea, who shares his smile.

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"Old times? Like stuff that happened last year?" I ask.

"God, no," Drea says.
"Good
old times. Like stuff from grade school--funny stuff."

"Yeah," Chad says. He proceeds to tell me some story about a middle-school field trip to the zoo and how an elephant squirted Drea with a trunkfull of water. Apparently the water got all over her chest and she was only wearing a thin pink T-shirt. And so their ever-ready teacher pulled this old-lady blouse from her bag of emergency supplies--a blouse with a giant seventies collar, ruffles at the wrists, and pastel zoo animals patterned across the polyester fabric. She made a mortified pre-teen, fashion-sawy Drea wear it for the remainder of the trip.

Drea and Chad laugh at the story like it's the funniest thing ever, but all I'm thinking is how it really isn't that funny at all.

"Well, I'm sorry you had to wait all this time," I say to Chad, putting a blunt end to their ugly-blouse story. "We didn't have plans tonight, did we?"

"No," he says. "It's no big deal. I just thought I'd catch you. You're usually in your room by now."

I look at the clock--11:10. After dorm curfew. "Oh my god, where's Keegan?"

"Relax," Drea says.

"Where is she?"

"Sleeping." Drea gets up and pulls at the length of her flannel pajama-shorts--hiked up, I imagine, for Chad's benefit; pulled back down, I'm sure, for mine. "She had a headache and went to bed early."

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I'm starting to feel a smidge of a headache coming over me as well. I rub at the ache in my temples and notice how dirty my fingers are from the spell. I wipe them as discretely as possible on my pants, keeping an eye on Drea's nauseatingly perfect Coppertone legs as she walks back to our room and closes the door behind her.

"Were you at the library tonight?" Chad turns to me.

"I was just out walking," I say, tucking my hair behind my ears so he doesn't notice the missing chunk.

"Walking?"

"Yeah. I went to look at the moon."

'Alone?" he asks.

I nod. I did, after all, go thereby myself. "What's the big deal?"

"No big deal," he says. "I guess I'm just surprised, that's all. You've been sort of acting on edge lately. I'd think you'd be leery to go anywhere alone."

"Weren't you the one who said I needed to put the past behind me and get on with my life?" I feel myself getting peeved all over again, and I can fear it in my voice.

"I didn't say it like that, Stacey. And if that's the way it sounded, I'm sorry. I was just worried about you."

"I know," I say, taking a deep breath. "Can we just start over?"

"From where?" he asks.

"The hug." I hold out my arms and Chad wraps me up, relieved, I think, that I'm choosing to keep things in the Land of the Light--where relationships are easy and uncomplicated, where the grave and serious don't have a place.

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"Much better." He leans slightly back and moves in for a kiss. And so do I, except I end up tilting my head the wrong way and the kiss lands beside my left nostril.

Chad smiles and squeezes me tighter. I suppose he's right about keeping things simple. This feels so much better, so much easier, the way relationships are supposed to be--all wildflowers and cuddly hugs. Maybe that's what I need right now.

"I hate to go," Chad says, breaking the embrace, "but I probably should. Just in case Keegan gets up."

"We should make plans for tomorrow night," I say. "Something fun. Maybe we could get something to eat off campus. Or go to a movie."

"Definitely," he says. "I'll call you?"

"No," I say. "Let's make definite plans. No more waiting around for phone calls."

"Okay," he says. "How about I drop by here after hockey practice?"

"What time?"

"Eight-thirty?"

"How about nine?" I say. "I'm working on this group project for bio."

"Okay," he smiles. "It's a date."

We spend the next five minutes or so kissing goodbye on the couch, trying to ignore the squeaking sounds of the vinyl as our bodies rub and twist against it. It feels so nice to be this close to him, enfolded in his arms, lip to lip, breath to breath--like normal. Like normal when normal has seemed so far away. I lay my head against his chest and think how great it would be if we could stay like this all night.

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But we can't, which is why Chad leaves a few moments later. I walk him to the door, reminding him about our date for tomorrow night, and then retreat back to the room, relieved that everything is finally back the way it should be between us.

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Drea and Amber are still in bed when I wake up the following morning. I roll over to glance at the bouquet of wildflowers Chad gave me--now in a vase with the pine needles I grabbed last night. I smile at it, at the thought of him coming by to surprise me like that.

I pull on my pair of fuzzy peach slippers and stumble out to the pantry for the requisite cup of instant coffee--

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barely drinkable but it does the trick. It's absolutely morgue silent. All the doors of the other rooms are closed, as if everyone's decided to sleep in, as if classes are cancelled for the day. I pop a couple slices of bread into the toaster and look out the window toward the parking lot. But everything appears normal--no devastating blizzards to render us all housebound. So where is everybody?

I decide to use their laziness to my full advantage. I gulp down my toast and coffee, grab my shower supplies, and am the first person into the bathroom, making me also one of the few who will actually get to shower with hot water this morning--a rare and delicious treat.

Back in the room, I suit up into my Hillcrest uniform, dab a bit of patchouli oil behind my ears and at the front of my neck, and grab up my books. Drea and Amber are still asleep, the covers pulled up over their ears like they don't want to be disturbed. But instead of honoring their silent request, I snap the window shades open, allowing a surprisingly bright November sun to shine into the room.

"Rise and shine," I say.

Still, no deal--they both look about as rise-and-shining as flatbread. So maybe I'll have to resort to force. I trot right over to their bunks and shake each of them.

"Get up," I say "You're going to be late." I take another look at my watch; it's 7:45, just a half-hour before the first period attendance bell.

"Mental health day," Amber slurs, rolling over to avoid me.

"I'm not going either," Drea says, following suit.

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"Fine." I don't have time to argue unless I want to be late as well. I zip up my coat, pass through the lobby, and make my way out the front door.

That's when I see it. The banner. About twenty feet in length, stretched out across the two cypress trees in front of our dorm, as though just waiting for me.

A swarm of students stands around it. They shake their heads and cover their mouths--Cory and some friend of his, Keegan, Emma, all the girls from our dorm, Mr. Lecklider, Mr. Gunther, Mrs.

Halligan, one of the school custodians. Even Donna Tillings. She's dressed in black--from the bowllike hat with the net that comes down to cover her face to the thick black stockings and square-toed shoes. She looks like she's crying, a smallish bouquet of wildflowers clutched in her hands. They all just stand there, looking at the message and then at me, waiting for my reaction.

But how can I react when I don't even know what to do, when my mind won't accept what it says or what this means? I slowly begin my descent down the dorm stairs, focusing on their faces instead of the words, as though this isn't real, as though the message will change when I reach the bottom.

But it doesn't. I look at it once more, the words stringing together, the message becoming clear: IN LESS THAN ONE WEEK, STACEY BROWN, YOU'LL BE BEGGING TO DIE!

I feel a knot in my throat, cutting off my breath. A razor edge slowly slices down my spine. I take a few steps closer

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toward the banner, my legs, like twigs, ready to snap off beneath me.

"Stacey?"

It's him, the guy from the woods, the one who gave me the crystal. He approaches me from the back of the crowd, a shimmery pearl-colored stripe drawn down the side of his face and those slate-blue eyes, like melted candle wax, burning right into my own.

He uncurls my fist and places a wad of folded paper in the center of my palm--the MASH game.

I look down at it, but now it's an origami snake. He closes my hand around it and looks at me for some response. But I can't speak. Can't breathe. And I want to be sick. There's a cold and sticky feeling all around me, in my mouth, clogging up my throat.

He leans into my ear and whispers. "I know how you'll be spending your anniversary."

I open my mouth to scream. Feel myself sit up. Feel the vomit spew out my mouth.

"Stacey!" Drea shouts, rushing out from her bed covers.

"What happened?" Amber jumps down from the top bunk.

But I don't even need to say anything. The answer is dripping down the dresser mirror in the form of A.B.C. bean burrito mixed with long-grain wild rice--the cafeteria's idea of authentic Mexican cuisine. It slides down over the reflection of my face, right in front of me.

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tw^nty~orx

I wipe my mouth, flip the bed covers away, and head for the door. Amber and Drea yell out after me, but I have to see for myself. I turn the knob of the main door and run outside into the frosty November morning.

But it's just like normal. No banner. No swarm of students collected around it. Just me--even though it felt so real.

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"What's going on?" Drea asks. She and Amber are standing beside me now on the top step--Drea, tying the belt of her robe; Amber, fully outfitted in adult-size Wonder Woman pajamas.

"What do you think's going on?" Amber asks her. "Didn't you catch the exorcist spew on the mirror? She's wigging again. Nightmares, right?"

I nod.

"Lucky for us our beds aren't in front of yours," Amber says.

"Very funny," I say.

"Oh, come on," Amber says, picking a wedge. "We have to look on the bright side of the situation."

"What's going on?" says a voice from behind us. 'Are you girls all right?"

It's Keegan. She's standing in the doorway. "I thought I heard an elephant stampede through the common room."

"Is that your way of telling us we need to lose a few?" Amber cinches her gold belt.

"It's my way of asking what's going on," she says.

"Just getting some air," Drea says.

"Yup," Amber agrees. "A little H-2-O for the old windpipes. Don't tell me I didn't learn a couple things in physics class last year."

"Don't you mean Bio-I?" Drea corrects.

"Whatever," Amber says. "They're practically the same class."

"We should go back in," I say.

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I brush past Keegan only to find more nosy spectators: Trish Cabone, snot-rag Emma, and some of the other girls on the floor.

"Is everything okay?" Trish asks. She's pulling at her curlicues to give them height, failing to notice the one flat pillow impression on the back of her head.

"Fine," I say "Just checking the temperature."