Wildcat Fireflies (27 page)

“I—”

As if a switch had been thrown, she relaxed and went back to grinning at me like a girlfriend. “It’s not a crime to talk to people, Juliet.” She sipped and sat back in her chair.

“He came by Dunklebarger, but I didn’t say anything to—”

Her smile grew. “Say no more. It’ll be our secret! What did he want?”

I shrugged. “Just to invite people to a party.”

“Did he call it a party?” Her voice sharpened.

“Uh, no. I guess not. I don’t remember. I told him when to come back to speak with Mistress.”

“Maybe I’ll have to pay a visit to this nonparty. Sounds like loads of fun.” She hummed. “Tell me more about you.” Each word lost more of its patina of sincerity.

I began to doubt if she really cared. “Uh—”

“What are your dreams? Hopes? Where do you see yourself in ten years? Twenty?”

“I don’t know.” I didn’t have time to dream. I didn’t have the energy to hope. I never saw past today except to wish for a different tomorrow.

“Every girl dreams of something or someone. You can tell me. Is there a boy waiting for you, perhaps? What do you most want to become in this world?”

My face burned at her mention of a boy. I assumed she’d read the postcards she delivered and knew about Kirian, but I hated sharing that with an adult. “I guess—” I racked my mind for a plausible something. Anything. I finally blurted, “A mom.”

“You want kids? I don’t know what I’d do without mine.”

“You have kids?”

Startled, she sloshed her coffee. “No, no. Not officially. But I’ve built a family much the way you will with people who value me and take care of—” She broke off. “What job will you do?”

“I think I’ll be a mom full-time.” I was drawing on conversations and dreams I’d shared with Kirian to answer these questions. I wasn’t connected to these answers on a personal level. Not anymore.

“You want to be a mom? That’s all?” Her face fell.

“Sure.” I latched onto that.

She seemed disappointed. “That sounds like your— Only a mom? I see you as so much more than a mother. An actress, or a politician, or a lawyer.”

Why was being a mom, a real mom, the kind who put their children first and protected them and played with them and loved them forever—why was that less than being an actress or a lawyer? I didn’t ask. Her answer might make me mad. I didn’t think there was anything more impressive in this world than being a good—great—mom. Nothing. But to keep the conversation moving I caved. “A teacher?”

Her face took on a calculating expression. “Teacher. That sounds intriguing. I can see that. So, you’ll need college. That’s the benefit to a placement at Dunklebarger—you have a savings account.”

I played with the whipped cream on top of my drink. “A what?”

Surprised, she asked, “Haven’t I told you this? You’re so mature for your age, but we usually don’t tell kids before they’re sixteen. You get paid for your work helping around the house. It goes into a savings account.”

I’d never heard this. “Really?” I licked more cream off the top with a plastic stirrer.

She seemed genuinely upset with my ignorance. “Yes, absolutely. You didn’t think you were doing all that work for nothing, did you? They don’t tell the little kids—they want you to learn the value of hard work, have a work ethic before you find out. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Really? Were the beatings our Christmas bonuses? The more she talked, the more I felt like a player in a game with rules I didn’t know.

She tapped bloodred nails on the glass tabletop. “But you’ll need your GED to apply to colleges.”

“Uh-huh.”
Not happening soon
.

“There’s two years until you can apply, so plenty of time. Have you given any thought to the next stage in your life?”

I inhaled and pretended I was brave. “I’d like to stay at Dunklebarger until I’m eighteen.”

Her face fell and she appeared sorry, reaching a hand out to me. “Oh, honey, that’s just not possible.”

“But—but—” I stuttered as tears threatened. I had to make her understand. “Can’t you make an exception? Just until I’m eighteen? Who will look after the kids?”

“Silly, I know you think your job as the eldest child there is an important one, and I’m sure the kids love you, but they’ll be fine. You’re not their guardian—they have one, and they have me, and there will be new kids coming in soon.”

“But—”

“Juliet, I’ve been doing my job for years. Much longer than I look old enough to be. And every teenager I see says the same thing. Human beings don’t like change. We resist it. I want you to stop resisting it. Change isn’t the enemy. Go with it. You’ll never know unless you take risks, Juliet. Trust me. I’m on your side.”

I gulped my Grande Blackberry-Swirl Mocha Supreme and scalded my tongue, my throat, all the way down to my stomach. The coughing racked my frame and shook the table.

“Slow down.” Ms. Asura handed me napkins and waited until I’d gotten my breath back. “There’s something else bothering you, I can sense it.”

I hesitated.
Do I trust her? I know better. One last time. Try again. For Bodie. Nicole. Sema. The nameless to come
.

“Juliet, I can’t do my job unless you trust me. Please let me help.” She reached out and touched my hand, gently, comfortingly.

“Mistress beats us.” I rushed the words out. The overly sweet drink turned sour in my stomach. The moment I’d said the words, I wanted to take them back.

She snatched her hand back as if I’d burned her. I watched her pale beneath her makeup and narrow her eyes. “I’m disappointed, Juliet. I thought we’d had this conversation before. Discipline isn’t the same as abuse.”

“But—”

“In all my years working with kids placed at Dunklebarger, I’ve never heard such an allegation. I’m shocked. Shocked.” She crossed her legs and leaned toward me across the table. Her eyes turned beady and assessing.

“But—”

“I thought more of you. You aren’t getting your way, so you’re going to sabotage the whole place? You could ruin lives, saying this. Ruin your future. Poof! Your future can disappear.”

“Uh—” I couldn’t get more than a sound out of my mouth. My face burned with shame.

“This is serious. Very, very serious. You’ve gone and ruined my day with this terrible lie.” She sighed. “I was going to get us cookies, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

She pouted. “Are you wrong? Did I mishear you?”

“Yes, I’m wrong.” I shrank deep inside myself. “We were talking about my going to college to become a teacher.”

Her smile broke across her face like sunrise on a cold morning. She prattled on about tests, courses, and colleges in the state with wonderful programs for teachers. I think she asked questions; I answered with one- or two-word answers. But all I felt turning over in my head was that I’d failed. All of them. Every kid after me. I’d failed to be brave. To make a case. To show her the wounds on my back and make her take me seriously.

I finished my coffee without tasting it and listened to her prattle on before dropping me back off at DG.

I thanked her and she told me she’d see me soon.

I failed
.

Again
.

Always
.

“T
ens, turn around.” I grabbed his collar and pushed it down to peer at his skin. Streaks of red bumps and fluid-filled blisters lined his neck, disappearing down below, on his back and over his shoulders. “Do they itch?”

“Yeah, they feel more like stings, though.”

“I don’t think so.” Seeing his back made my own start to itch. I was one of those people who should never go to medical school—give me a list of symptoms and I totally start thinking I have them. When Sammy came home with lice in preschool I walked around scratching my scalp for
weeks. Of course, once Mom poisoned the house the lice crawled into my hair to die.

“Not a big deal.” Tens brushed me off. “I’ll be fine.” He rubbed his thigh.

My back and forearms burned too.

“Tens?”

“Yeah?”

“Humor me and look down my shirt, will you?” I turned, already pushing up my sleeves. I gasped.

My forearms were ugly masses of blisters.

“Oh no. Is that what my back looks like?” Tens held my hands, then quickly lifted my shirt. “Your back, too.”

He dropped his jeans. The backs of both legs were mottled with red streaks.

“Poison ivy is bad, right?”

“Maybe it’s not that.” Tens scratched his back on the wall like a bear at a tree trunk. “I’ve had it and it wasn’t this bad.”

“I’m calling Joi.” I picked up the phone and realized the palms of my hands were also affected. “Crap!” I dialed. “Joi? What does poison ivy look like?”

Tens heard her squawk from across the room.

“Joi?” No answer, just a dial tone. “I think she must be on her way over.”

“It’s on your forehead.” Tens pointed at my face.

I was peering at my body in the bathroom mirror when Joi stomped into the cottage carrying an enormous basket of supplies.

“You need to get all your clothes off. There’s no saving
them. It’s in the sap. Take a cold shower. We’re a bit late now, but it still might help. And if you touch it again, you’ll start again. Take a shower, put on your undies, apply this cream, then put these on.” She held out mittens, a pink pair with a black and white kitten knitted into it and a pair with an alligator wearing a cowboy hat.

“Why?”

“You’ll itch while you sleep. These’ll make sure you don’t scratch so much you get secondary infections or scar those pretty faces. Take a Benadryl—it’ll make you drowsy, but it may help a little.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You’re having an allergic reaction. I’m serious. Undergarments, cream, pill, and mittens. And here are new sheets. Wrap yourselves in them, drape the furniture—that way it won’t matter what the greasy lotion touches. Here are ice packs. Put them on the worst places—it’ll cool the itch a little.”

“Is this a common thing?” I asked.

“Among children, yes.” Joi smiled at me. “And travelers who don’t know much about the woods. I would have thought you’d recognize it. These are the worst blister cases I’ve seen, though. Like you rolled around in the stuff.” She raised her eyebrows and glanced at Tens. “You didn’t roll about in the ivy, did you?”

He cracked a smile, but shook his head. “No, ma’am. We were a little too busy to, um …” He trailed off in embarrassment.

“Just checking.” She went back to her bags and pulled
out containers for the fridge. “I’ll leave you food so you can eat if you get hungry. One of you must go shower now. Tens, go.” She barked like a mom.

He raced toward the bathroom.

“Put your clothes in a trash bag,” she yelled at his back. “And you, how are you doing?”

I dropped my eyes. I felt like she could see too much. “I’m okay.”

“Do we need to get you to a hospital? Is this going to make things worse? I really don’t like the looks of your rash. Promise me you’ll see a doctor if it gets worse? Even a little bit?”

For a moment I didn’t know what she was talking about, then I remembered our cover story: I was recovering from an illness. “No, this won’t make me worse. But, yes, I’ll see a doctor if I don’t start getting better quickly.”

“Promise you’ll tell me?”

“I promise.”

“Is your family somewhere I should call?”

“No. We’re on our own.”

She grew more concerned. “You’re young to be so alone.”

“We’ve got each other.”

“I see that. You love each other. You look out for each other. And there’s no criminal activity. Any dolt can see that. But will you tell me if you need help? Or decide to go home?”

“Joi, please. Leave us be. We’re not hurting anyone,” I pleaded. “But, yes, we’ll come to you if we need something.
My home is with Tens, though; there’s no place to go back to.”

She frowned. “Things can change. I just want you to have support.”

I thought fast. “Rumi is helping us.”

“The glass artist?”

“Yeah, he knows what’s going on. He’s helping us with the search.”

“For your biological parents?”

I nodded.

“Okay, then. You need anything else from me, you tell me. Anything. I’m handy on a computer too.”

“I will. We will.”

With that she air-kissed me, careful not to touch me. She winked as she walked toward the door. “Remember, cold shower, undies, cream, pill—”

“And mittens,” I finished with a smile.

After Joi left, Tens finished in the bathroom, walking out in boxer briefs that rode low. If I weren’t so itchy, well, the blisters weren’t my idea of sexy, but he managed to stay delicious even with them. “Shower, then if you can, help me?” He pointed at his back. “I can’t reach.”

“Sure.” I didn’t realize how bad the rash was until I pulled off all my clothes and turned every which way in the mirror. It looked like the vines had made stick-figure handprints all over my skin. It creeped me out. I could visualize the ivy vines trailing along my skin, leaving the poison behind. The itch made me want to rub against the walls like Tens had. I turned the water to icy and got in.
My teeth chattered and my fingertips started to turn blue, but my skin felt relieved—the chill cut the burn.

“Merry? You okay?” Tens knocked on the door. “You’ve been in there a while.”

I loathed the idea of getting out. “Yeah. Fine.” I turned off the spray and patted dry with a towel, resisting the urge to scrape the terry cloth against my skin.

“This sucks!” I yelled through the bathroom door.

“Yep.” Tens sounded defeated in his agreement.

I tugged on boy shorts and a bra that was more like a bikini top, with ties around the back and neck. I hated the confines of bras, since for most of my life I’d had no breasts to cover up. Now that my cleavage was growing, I still wasn’t sure what to do with it. I opted for camisole sport bras or things like this that weren’t restricting. I wasn’t a lingerie angel.

I wrapped the sheet around myself. With all we’d been through, I still wanted to look my best when Tens was around. Stupid, but true. And oozing blisters didn’t peg anyone’s sexy meter. He managed to look wounded and uncomfortable, yet stay sexy as hell.