chapter 5
When the end of the day finally arrived, I found I was wary of going back to the electives hall. I still hadn't come up with a logical solution to what happened with the lockers, unless I had mad cow disease eating my brain, and to be honest I hadn't been trying to think about it. Once I actually got there, my irrational fear dissipated. The crowd was busy shouting and joking and scrambling to get to class. No room existed for my dread.
I went into the art room, and saw that my calculations through the window were correct. It was quite a bit roomier than our classroom from last year. But bright replications of famous paintings covered every wall, and carts of paper and paints crowded the side aisles. I looked to the board; no assigned seating. Those were the hardest classes now. Just finding someone to sit by became an awkward chore.
A girl sat alone in the back row, dressed in dark, creative clothing. Her dress looked like it was made out of torn sweater pieces stitched together. I wished I had the guts to dress like that, instead of my bland uniform of t-shirts and jeans. Behind her little tortoiseshell glasses, the girl's eyelids sparkled with thick silver glitter.
I walked towards her. She looked like a fascinating person to talk to, and I had never seen her before. But she spotted me, and picked up her brown messenger bag from the floor. Dropping the bag on the seat next to her with a clunk, she scowled at me. The bag was covered with little pins that had phrases on them I was too far away too read. I assumed they all had an antisocial theme.
"Okay..." I said under my breath, turning back around.
I took a seat in the second row next to a nerdy boy who ignored my presence. I had been getting a lot of that reaction today, so it didn't bother me. In front of me, I noticed with an internal groan, sat Lainey. Her cloying cloud of fruit punch scented perfume hit me in the face like a chemical warfare attack. But the only other empty seat in class was right next to her, and bumping elbows would be ten times worse.
Henry breezed in through the door the second before the bell rang.
"You have got to be kidding me," I said out loud, shocked at the coincidence. Both Lainey and the boy next to me looked at me as though I were insane. I began to conclude I probably was. But the situation was getting a little ridiculous, like the universe enjoyed rubbing absurd but gorgeous smile boy in my face. He swung into the seat next to Lainey agilely, depositing his books on the table.
To my surprise, Henry spun in his seat, looking at me. Gripping the chair back, he said, "I'm not following you, I swear. This is pure coincidence."
"Uh huh," I said, frowning. I had no idea how to react to his attention. I'd checked my face out discreetly earlier for stray ink or anything else that would have caused embarrassment, but found nothing.
"I have a question for you," he said, tipping the chair off the floor and looking at me down the bridge of his nose.
"Fire away."
"Why do I irritate you so much?" His face was open and patient, watching for my explanation.
Lainey had now turned towards us, her china doll face wrought with confusion, openly watching our conversation like she had stock in it. I remembered her words about going ballistic if anyone got near Henry, and I had no doubt that she meant it.
"What gave you that idea?" I asked, avoiding Henry's inquiring, curious eyes. Something about his stare seemed both intimate and knowing. I was mortified that he had caught on; I didn't think I acted that obvious. But judging my actions had become hard, now that I felt so removed from them.
"Just had that feeling," he continued, unfazed. "But I think you'll get used to me, now that we'll be spending our afternoons together." It seemed as if he enjoyed that idea. Or perhaps he was playing with me like a toy on a string. I felt hopeless to tell the difference.
"Funny how that turned out," I said softly.
My eyes flicked to Lainey again, whose face was scrunched so much at the center she risked imploding. That would be interesting to witness. Henry swung back around before I could respond again.
With the moment broken, I felt a wave of guilt crash over me. How could I be worrying about boys when I had no idea where Jenna was? Or even if she was alive or...I felt seeped in selfishness. I stared at the shiny copy of Van Gogh's Arles bedroom on the wall, until the orange and cyan started running together. I blinked. I could practically hear Jenna whispering, "What about me?" in my ear. But then of course I really would be nuts.
I breathed in sharply through my nose, shutting my eyes and detaching myself from the feeling as much as possible. It was a talent I had discovered recently, and while I knew it probably didn't fall under the healthy coping category, it worked to keep me functioning.
The teacher, Ms. Vore, came down the aisle, passing out black sketchbooks. I had nearly forgotten I still had class to sit through. Ms. Vore had replaced the batty, purple Mumu wearing art teacher from last year. I always assumed dressing like a carnival fortune teller was part of the job requirements, but this lady looked normal. Stylish even, her hair pulled up in a smart bun, and wearing a well-fitted black vest over a white oxford shirt.
As soon as she began to speak, she won my approval.
"Your sketchbooks are the window to your creativity," she said, rubbing her hands together, her eyes excited as though she were a student herself. "I'm going to give you assignments to complete in them, but I also want you to feel free to doodle whatever you want when the urge strikes you. If you fill up one book, I'll give you another. Just let yourself loose on the pages."
She launched into a demonstration of different types of shading on the board, alternately putting down her chalk and picking up a dog-eared book that she held up and swooped around so everyone could see. I paid close attention, hoping that my art skill could magically improve.
While she had perfectly okay skill, it didn't seem like she was the best artist ever, either. Which I found endearing, compared to the effortless talent my father had. Ms. Vore seemed to have more appreciation than talent.
"All of these people spoke through their art," she said, admiring the colorful pictures from her book upside down. "There's no reason you can't do the same. It's very freeing to explore various techniques. You might be used to acrylics, for example, and find a whole new world can be created with oils."
The class breezed by, the only one other than History to seem faster than the hour allotted. Ms. Vore stood in front of her desk as we walked out, smiling and saying goodbye. She even knew some of the other students' names already.
I felt tired after school, but not as hopeless as I had expected at the beginning of the day. All of my teachers were fine, save for English and Geometry, and I would make it through, if I kept my head down and kept going. Time had become the thing that I lived through, instead of anticipating or keeping track of it.
"How was your first day back?" Hugh asked as we were driving home. He gave me the side eye. "You appear to be in one piece."
"Mostly. It went fine." I shoved my heavy backpack between my knees. In some convoluted logic, nearly all of my teachers had decided to assign homework. I thought we were supposed to be immune from that the first day.
"I'm glad," he said. "I worried all day about how it would go." This from the person who said I'd do fine.
I sat wordlessly for a moment, watching the blurry outline of trees and street signs through the car window, the shards of sunlight falling on the sidewalk.
"You know," I said, cautiously bringing up a touchy subject, "It's such a short drive, I could easily walk."
He paused for a second, eyes fixed on the road. "Claire wouldn't like that. I'm assuming that's why you're asking me, the pushover."
"You're not a pushover," I protested. "I'm asking you because she's hardly around, and you're here. And it's probably only a ten minute walk. The school is in the center of town, I wouldn't have to set foot on any back roads." I had laid out my whole case, and now I could only wait for him to deliberate on it.
Briefly, he took his right hand off of the steering wheel to pat me on the shoulder, managing a quick grin. "I'll talk to her about it."
He had finally shaved off the wiry beard he adopted when he opened the gallery last year. His face looked ten years younger, his childish, rounded cheeks making him boyish.
"When did you shave?" I asked.
"About two weeks ago," he said, looking perplexed. "Didn't you notice?"
"Of course I did," I said, trying to act as though I had been joking. But I hadn't noticed at all before now.
The Mazda pulled into our driveway, and Hugh parked in the garage behind the house. I went in through the back door as he fetched the mail, lobbing my backpack onto the table to await later attention.
I pulled out the makings for a sandwich from the fridge, taking the bag of bread off of the top. I was suddenly starving, as I hadn't eaten during my odd lunch break. I smeared mustard on bread, and I wondered again about Henry Rhodes, the odd newcomer who had caught the attention of Hawthorne.
It definitely seemed as though he had assimilated with the popular crowd quickly, but he seemed genuinely nice. And very hot, to be honest. Possibly the cutest boy in school. Which meant I never had a chance.
Not like I wanted a chance, I protested with myself. I had more important things to focus on. And every possibility remained that his friendliness could merely be an act, and beneath it lurked another carbon copy popular boy, who rated girls on websites online and took great pride in his gelled "just got out of bed this way" hair. It did look a little too perfectly tousled, now that I thought about it.
As I finished my sandwich, I went into the office, where the only computer I had access to in the house was located. Claire and Hugh both had laptops, but they wouldn't let me touch them. My potential for internet corruption was a great source of fear to Claire. Only last year did she get rid of the persnickety child filter, and only because her work website would no longer load.
I booted the computer out of sleep mode, and navigated to Jenna's fan page. It had become a wall of people posting monthly "I miss you's" and "Come back homes". But I noticed the posts had become much fewer in the last month. There was nothing new. I turned off the monitor, the sinking feeling only lasting for a moment. I was so used to it now I just brushed it off.
I went back in the kitchen and rinsed my sandwich plate off. A pile of dishes awaited me in the sink, so I began rinsing those off to pop in the dishwasher. I shook my head. A bowl with pools of running paint held Hugh's paintbrushes, a mess against the white porcelain. He used to scold me for the same thing when I did paint-by-number books.
I glanced out of the window above the sink as I washed. Startled, I nearly dropped the plate in my hands. Bright green eyes were watching me.
It was the weird girl from the back row in art class. She glared at me over the fence that separated our house from the neighbors'. Her glittery eyelids sparkled wildly in the low sun. It took her a second to notice that she had been caught, but as soon as she did, she quickly turned around and ran back towards the house behind her.
Although whoever had moved there had only arrived a few months ago, this was the first time I paid any real attention. Awesome, I thought as I started rinsing out the sticky brushes, another person that hates me.
I fed a plate of spaghetti and round meatballs to the hungry carpet. I tipped the plate over and the long noodles cascaded down. The mess disappeared as the carpet absorbed it, nourishing itself. A smear of crimson was all that was left. My actions didn't seem strange to me at all. But the smear looked like something else. Like blood.
I bolted upright in my bed, heart hammering below my ribcage. I didn't think it was a nightmare, but I was scared. Terrified, in fact. I tried taking a few deep breaths, but I couldn't get the air down low enough.
My bedroom was one of three small rooms that came off of the main basement. Our basement ran the entire length of the house and was all finished, so it was very comfortable. The main space had seen its share of entertaining in the day, and couches and a fairly large TV were buried beneath boxes of junk and castoffs from Erasmus. I was grateful for the privacy, although I never did much to take advantage of it.
But now I realized how cut off I was from the rest of the house. Still groggy, I stood up out of bed, bare feet slowly touching the floor. The reason for my fear suddenly became obvious.
There was someone here. An animal instinct took charge. I was sure that someone was watching me. I could feel a change in the regularity of my surroundings, a foreign buzz of electricity. One of these things just doesn't belong...
Fearfully, my eyes darted to my closet first, the usual suspect in slasher films. Before I could think about it too much, I walked over and looked inside. The hair on my arms and neck prickled. Adrenaline made me brave as I pawed through my hanging clothes, but nothing awaited me there.
I turned, half expecting a serial killer in a hockey mask to be casually hanging out behind me, but for all I could see, I was alone. My room wasn't that big and there was really nowhere else for someone to hide. I peeked underneath the bed, but all I could see were shoeboxes.
I opened the creaking door, every second expecting the intruder to show him or herself and catch me off guard. Out in the hall, I peered in the laundry room. The washing machine and dryer stood alone opposite a freezer chest. I lifted the lid of that, not knowing why even as I did it, but the inside harbored only a frozen turkey and leftover freezer pops. Then onto the storage room, although it was so packed with junk no one could jam themselves inside no matter how skinny. The main room awaited me, the only place I hadn't checked.
I flicked on the overhead light, bathing everything in yellow fluorescence. The bric-a-brac and furniture in the room cast shadows on the floor and in the corners. Shadows anything could wait in, watching me as I unknowingly stepped out.
Stop thinking like that, I scolded myself.
I peered behind a few items: a tub of Halloween costumes, a broken box fan, a pile of outdated computer equipment Hugh always said he'd use but never did. But still, I found no sign of the invasion that I felt. The adrenaline ran out, and flight mode threatened to kick in. It took everything I had not to run, but stubbornness is a powerful characteristic, and I had inherited that in spades from Claire. I needed to know what had overrun my house.
There was a sliding glass door downstairs, as our house was built on a slope. Usually, I was proud my parents trusted me not to take advantage of it. Right now, it just made me feel exposed. I contemplated running either up the stairs or to the door. The motion detector lights outside hadn't been activated, and I was certain that I had locked the door before I went to bed.
For a split second, I envisioned Jenna walking to that same door and into the night. I won't miss you, her voice echoed in my head. I shook the completely inappropriate memory away.
I stood still for a moment, then decided it was ridiculous to keep playing this cat and mouse game with my own fear. I stomped over to the door, throwing the lock and sliding it open. If someone waited to ambush me, I might as well get it over with.
Stepping outside into the cold night, I looked from side to side. But I didn't see a soul. The sky lacked a moon, and the world slept peacefully beneath it, quiet and calm. Only the occasional rumble of a car on the street broke the silence. But the creepy feeling remained, as strong as ever.
My bare feet were beginning to freeze on the cement slab porch. I faced the strange girl's house, but she wasn't around, either. Of course she wouldn't be in the middle of the night. Normal people were sleeping in their ordinary beds, not chasing phantoms. I shivered, looking up at the windows of the house anyway. No sign of movement.
I shut the door, ready to go back to my room. Out of nowhere, the air against my skin turned to ice. My fear peaked, my heart racing as though I were in a race. As if I were face to face with something terrifying that I couldn't see, but my instincts knew endangered me. And then, as fast as it had swept upon me, the feeling disappeared.
I was left gasping for breath. I sunk down to my hands and knees, waiting for my heart to return to normal. When I could finally breathe, I stood, locking the door. A second of indecisiveness kept me still, and then I raced back to my bedroom.
"What the hell just happened?" I asked the empty air. But no answers came back to me.
I shut my door tightly, and jumped into bed. I tugged the blanket up around my chin, but it was a long time before I fully got back to sleep. Even though I now felt utterly alone.