White is for Magic (20 page)

219

"Miles Parker didn't get nearly the punishment that he should have," I say. "He killed her--no matter how much they tried to call it an accident. They found rope and a hunting knife in his car, for god's sake."

"At least he's in prison now," my mother says, "where he belongs."

"Maybe he is," I say. "Or maybe he's plotting to do it again--kidnap another little girl."

"Stacey . . ." my mother squawks.

"I know," I say, taking a deep and calming breath.

For the next several seconds, my mother and I just sort of sit there in the booth, staring into our mugs, not really knowing what to say. A part of me wants to hug her and tell her that I understand, that I forgive her for not taking my nightmares more seriously. But I don't, because it doesn't make sense. Because it seems that after experiencing something so tragic, she should have wanted to help me, to listen to me all the more.

I press the coffee cup to my lips and fake a sip; I just don't know what else to do or say right now. There's a mixture of sadness and anger lingering inside my mouth. I want to tell her I'm sorry. I want to tell her that the tragedy of her cousin's death, of experiencing firsthand what can happen when you ignore your nightmares, makes it so much worse. It almost would have been better if she never told me all of this, if she just let me go on thinking that she didn't understand this part of me.

"What are you thinking?" she asks.

I shake my head since now it's me who doesn't understand.

220

'After the death," she continues, "I did everything in my power to stop from dreaming--I tried staying up all night, I'd force myself to wake up every hour. After a while it worked; I didn't feel or see anything. I was hoping it would work for you, too."

I'm shaking my head like this isn't real, like it isn't my life. I'm looking at my mother, but it's as if I'm seeing her for the very first time. She looks so much smaller and frailer than I've ever noticed--head tilted downward, shoulders huddled in--like a little girl herself.

"I'm so sorry, Stacey. I only did what I thought was best."

Tears slide down my cheeks. I look away, remembering how Gram once told me that the more you use your senses, the keener they'll become, but if you decide to push them away, eventually they'll taper off to nothing. No wonder my mother didn't like my close relationship with Gram, didn't like Gram teaching me all she knew about spells and the healing arts. Mom was only trying to protect me.

221

thirty-four

After breakfast, my mother drops me back off at the dorm, telling me she wants to return to her hotel for a nap and then we'll get together later tonight. I'm still feeling completely stunned and confused by our conversation, but also clearer--if that's even possible.

I storm through the common room with the full intent of relating the details of my life-altering morning to Amber

222

and Drea, swing open the door to our room, and there, standing dead center, gazing into each other's eyes like some cheesy ad for breath-freshening gum, are Chad and Drea. They take a step back when they see me.

"Oh, hi," Drea says, smoothing out the back of her hair. She takes another step away from him, like that will make a difference.

"I came by earlier to see you," Chad says to me.

I manage a nod, noticing how my lip feels like it's trembling.

"But you weren't here," he continues.

Still nodding, doing my best to hold it all together.

"Me and Dray just ended up going for a ride," he says.

"To talk," Drea adds, nodding her head. "We talked."

"What else
would
you be doing?" I ask, almost choking on the words.

"Nothing," Chad says. He looks to Drea, but her gaze has fallen to the floor, to Amber's pile of shoes clumped in the corner. "Whatever you're thinking," he says, "it's not what it looks like."

"And what
does
it look like?"

"Not what you're thinking," he repeats.

"Really?" I say, zooming in on Drea.

She peeks over at me--her cheeks stained with guilt roses--and moves to take a seat on her bunk.

"I'm sorry," she says.

Jaw locked, I nod, looking now at Chad, thinking how maybe we've both done our share of romantic line-crossing for one twenty-four-hour period.

223

"We should talk," Chad says. 'About last night."

"I don't have time." I grab the noose, the cassette player, and the letters, and stuff them all into my bag, doing my best to look away so they don't see my face--how upset I must look.

"Where are you off to?" Drea asks.

"I have some stuff to attend to," I say, wiping my eyes. "You know, like saving-my-life stuff?"

"Well, I'm going, too," Chad says.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Because I'm worried about you. I heard about that jump-rope thing you got."

"And?"

"And what?"

'Aren't you going to tell me you think it's someone's idea of a prank?"

"Stacey--no."

For just a second, I feel a pang of guilt, jumping to conclusions about his reaction. But then I look at Drea again. She's got her knees scrunched up into her chest, her cheek resting atop them, tears rolling down her face--the picture of sheer and utter heartbreak, which makes me feel even worse.

"I'm gonna go," I say.

"Wait," he says, taking a step toward me, "after last night, you of all people have no reason to be mad at me."

"Nothing happened," I say.

"And nothing happened here," he says. "Can I at least come with you?"

Drea looks up at me for my response.

224

"My mother's in town," I say. "She just dropped me off for a second to get my stuff. I have to go; she's probably waiting for me now." I feel my lips pucker up at the lie.

"Call me when you get back," he says.

I nod, knowing that I probably will, but also knowing that right now our fighting seems insignificant compared to what could happen within the next couple days. I sling my backpack over my shoulder, a mix of fear, sadness, and relief battling inside my heart all at once. I head out to find the one person I'm hoping will be able to put that battle to rest: Jacob.

225

thirty-five

When I get to the boy's dorm, Mr. What's-his-face, the RD, tells me right away that Chad isn't in his room.

"No," I say, feeling my cheeks pinken. "I'm looking for Jacob."

"Jacob
who?"

I feel my face go blank. It suddenly occurs to me that I don't know Jacob's last name. "Umm ..." I stall, "how many Jacobs have you got?"

226

"Two."

"Well, I'll take the one with the blue hair and dark eyes." Did I just say that? "I mean the
dark
hair and
blue
eyes."

What's-his-face gives me this goofy sort of look--a crooked smile accompanied by dark, furry eyebrows that arch up and down, Amber-style. He picks up the phone and dials Jacob's room to announce my visit. "Mr.
Leblanc
will be down in a jiffy," he says, still ogling at me like this is the age of Puritanism and I'm some scarlet-lettered harlot for wanting to talk to
two
boys in one day.

I mutter a thank-you and look away to avoid his dirty mind. It
is
weird being here, though, looking for someone other than Chad. But when Jacob emerges from behind the double set of doors, that feeling fades. Because I know I'm in the right place. Because I'm confident that he'll be able to help me in some way.

"Hi," he says. "I was hoping we'd see each other today." He's wearing a black turtleneck sweater that shows off a modestly worked chest, and a pair of jeans that hug just enough at the thigh.

I look back at What's-his-face. He's got his chin propped up on his fist, staring at the two of us like we're starring in some cheesy reality dating show, the kind where couples separate to hook up with other people's partners in an effort to test their relationships. Jacob leads me past a few boys scattered around the lobby area--a couple actually studying on a Saturday, a few playing cards, and a group kicking around a Hacky Sack. Since girls aren't allowed in boys' rooms and vice versa, and since he wasn't lucky

227

enough to score one of the more lenient senior houses, we sit at a table in the corner of the lobby where it's relatively private.

"I'm sorry about what happened last night," he says. "If it'll help I can talk to Chad, tell him there isn't anything going on between us."

I search Jacob's eyes a moment, looking for the truth. Maybe it's lost somewhere behind all that grayish-blue, behind the tiny flecks of yellow that spiral the center and aim to suck me in. I mean, does he really mean that? Nothing going on? Wasn't it he who tried to kiss me last night--

who got so close to my face and touched my hand and smelled like lemongrass incense and made my insides turn to complete and utter mush? Did all of that
not
happen?

"Forget it," I say, taking a deep and cleansing breath. "Right now I just need your help." I prop my bag up on the table. "I was thinking that maybe we could do a spell together."

He leans back in his chair and looks away. "I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Because spells are kind of private for me. I prefer to do them alone."

"Couldn't you make an exception? I mean, my life is at stake here."

Jacob stares into me for a few seconds without saying a word. A lock of his dark walnut hair falls over one eye, making the stare even more intense, more deliberate. I bite my bottom lip and look away.

"What did you have in mind?" he asks, finally.

228

I pat over the main section of my bag and release the tooth-grip on my lip. "I thought that maybe we could do something with the noose, maybe try to channel the energy of the person who left it, figure out who it is."

Jacob nods, but I can see his reluctance. I can see it in his eyes and across his lips--a tightish sort of look. He glances off in the direction of the Hacky Sack game. "It's not that I don't want to help you," he says.

"What's the big deal?"

"The big deal?" He looks back at me, a look of surprise hanging on his face. "The big deal is that spells are personal. They reveal things."

"Well, yeah, isn't that the point?"

"No," he corrects. "They reveal personal things--stuff about you, stuff about me, about the people conducting the spells."

'And you don't want that?" I feel myself swallow.

He looks away again. "I don't know."

And I don't even know what I'm asking.

"It's just that I've never had that before," he continues, "that kind of . . . sharing. And I don't know if I'm ready for it now."

"Forget it," I say, feeling my cheeks go pink for the second time today. "I was stupid to even ask." I stand up, sling my bag over my shoulder, and make a beeline for the door.

229

thirty-Jix

Instead of going back to the dorm, I hop on the shuttle bus and head into town. I just want to get away right now, even if it's only for an hour. The bus passes by my mother's hotel, prompting me to ring the bell that signals to the driver that I want to get off.

As I make my way through the peach-colored lobby-- past couches littered with dandelion-yellow pillows and bud vases filled with bright pumpkin-colored tulips--I think 230

how nice it would be to actually stay here for the week. To shut myself up into some generic room, between four generic walls, and sleep peacefully at night in a big generic bed--to only have to answer to room service and cleaning staff who would remain nameless and faceless throughout my entire, blissful stay.

The person behind the front desk calls my mother's room to announce my visit, and then grants me permission to take the elevator up to the fourth floor. My mother is waiting for me when I get there. Her eyes are heavy, like she's been sleeping, and she's got on a thick terry robe with matching white slippers.

"I'm so glad you stopped by," she says.

She ushers me into the room and I stand in the center, taking it all in--layers of yellow and peach, the shiny, gold-framed prints on the walls, and the long and flowing linen drapes. It's basically an extension of the lobby, only smaller and more compact.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asks, poking her head into the tiny fridge.

"No, thanks," I say, gazing out the window. The clouds have swallowed up the sun and the sky has started to darken. I look at my watch. It's just after four. I wonder if Drea and Amber are looking for me. If Chad and Drea are still together. I clench my teeth at the thought of it, of them, standing there in the middle of our room, almost kissing, and feel my eyes begin to well up all over again.

"Are you hungry?" my mother asks. "Do you want to grab a bite to eat?"

231

I shake my head and look away. I don't really know what I'm doing here, why I'm not instead back in the room, sucking up whatever personal issues I have with Chad and Drea, and focusing on what's really important. I need to reflect on my dreams so I can piece together what they're trying to tell me, and so I can figure out how the noose, the song, and the mysterious notes fit into the puzzle as well.

But instead I'm here. Because, deep down, after hearing about my mother's experience with dreams and premonitions, I'm hoping she can help me with mine.

"I came to talk," I say, taking a deep and cleansing breath.

She nods like she already knows, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

"About my nightmares." I sit down beside her. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I'm here," she says, "because I thought there were some things about me that you should know."

'And now that I know them?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's horrible what you had to go through. And I'm glad you told me about it. But you also know that I've been having nightmares of my own."

She nods.

"And you know that starting some hobby or joining some club is not going to make them go away. Not now. My senses are too developed."