?????
On Monday, when Taylor and Riana scampered off to track, she waited in the lobby until long after the final bell. Long after all the other students had cleared out, the buses left, the parking lot had emptied, until she finally started the three-mile walk home. Summer was looming, next year they’d be sophomores, starting to think about college and leaving Mt. Oanoke. Not Lucia, though. She’d be working at the Goodwill until she was old and gray.
She pictured Andrew and Porter, stoned and sleepy in his bedroom without her. Would they talk about her?
She felt the fury rise in her chest, a metallic bitter taste on her tongue. She’d only wait once, she hoped he knew that. One time, one chance. Jimmy taught her that. Fool me twice, shame on me.
She can’t deny that she looked, though, for those two bobbing heads in front of her, one abnormally tall, one short, dark, and blond, thin and round. She saw nothing.
Her toe kicked it before she saw it, its black wings shining in the sunlight. She bent down and knew it was dead, its eyes frozen open, but unscathed, like it had simply dropped out of the sky. They all came to her that way, perfect, unharmed, but utterly still, like the breath had simply left their little lungs and never come back.
She picked it up, the blackbird. It was still soft, like it had died only seconds ago; the feathers were smooth in her palm, and she ran her finger under its silken wing.
In the distance, she saw Andrew’s house, out of her way in the cul-de-sac at the end of the street and began to walk. She tucked the bird in the crook of her arm, like a doll, or a real baby.
She heard the music from his room, heard his laughter. Imagined she could smell the smoke. She could taste that cool pop of raisin and the warm sweet oatmeal on her tongue.
She laid the bird down on the welcome mat (the one that said Wipe Your Paws) and wondered if they’d think the cat brought it in, but then decided she didn’t care. She nudged it with her toe, almost changed her mind, but didn’t.
She ran all the way home.
?????
“What’d you do?” Taylor hissed, dragging Lucia into the bathroom the next day.
“What?” Lucia shook her head, her ears buzzing.
“I know it was you. You have the bird thing. What the fuck, Lulu.” Taylor pinched her arm, twisting the skin.
“It wasn’t me. They have a cat. It was probably the cat.” The skin on Lucia’s arm started to welt where Taylor’s fingers were.
“You can be such a freak sometimes. Why? Was it because he made out with you at the mill?”
Lucia blinked hard. She hadn’t told Taylor. Then, reflexively, “No.”
“He makes out with everyone. Did he do that thing with his hand?” She motioned down toward her pelvis and fluttered her eyes. She flipped her hair and looked in the mirror, her reflection watching Lucia, her eyes narrowed. She inspected her face, pulled at her nose, mumbled about her pores. “You’re lucky, you know.”
Lucia’s stomach felt hard and heavy, like she’d swallowed a rock.
“You’re so moony over him. We all see it. But you didn’t really think, did you?” She turned then, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a little O.
Lucia shook her head again, her mouth dry, a film of hot tears she’d never shed against her eyelids. The warning bell clanged. Taylor turned to leave, leaned in close, her hair soft against Lucia’s face, her fingertips against Lucia’s arm cool and light.
“I’ll drop you so fast, Lucia Hamm. I will. This is high school now.” She said it like a warning.
And that’s when everything changed.
CHAPTER 22
Bridget, Thursday, May 7, 2015
“It was a poisoned berry bush. By the paper mill, arsenic in the soil, and it poisoned the berries.” Dale’s face was flushed, breathless with the delivery. Bridget was grading journals, her feet propped up on her desk, her chair leaned back. She read every third one, skimming the rest. So tired of teenage angst.
“What?” Bridget asked, distracted.
“The birds. The DEP figured it out. It’s all rumor right now, but they’re saying it was an arsenic poisoning. From the paper mill.” Dale’s hands waved toward the window.
“I’m not sure that makes sense. Wouldn’t the water be contaminated, then?” Bridget tapped her pen against her teeth, thinking. They’d taken air, water, and plant samples from around the town for days after, their vans and Tyvek suits all anyone could talk about.
Bridget was beginning to think the town itself was a blight. A poison.
It reminded her of something.
“Dale,” she said, but he was already halfway out the door, hot to be the first to spread two-week-old news that no one cared about anymore. Talk of Nate and Lucia had replaced the birds in the halls, in the cafeteria, the faculty lounge. Everywhere. The story of Lucia’s “abilities” had spread, well, like wildfire. She even heard that Lucia’s eyes glowed red and she mumbled some kind of spell that everyone, even Principal Bachman, had heard. It was all nonsense, but it seemed like only Bridget treated it that way, brushing off the whispers with a wave of her hand, a little burst of air from the back of her throat in disgust.
They’d hired a substitute to replace Nate. She was young, twenty-two, fresh out of college, scrubbed clean and squeaky. It was almost a mockery. She wondered if they did it on purpose. She was blond and wore turtlenecks. The boys elbowed each other when she walked down the hall and the irony hadn’t escaped Bridget.
Dale turned back, poking his head back in, his glasses slid so far down his nose she couldn’t see his eyes.
“Have you seen Lucia?” Bridget asked. “She hasn’t been in school since the paper incident. Today is day four.”
“Hmmm, was she suspended?” Dale asked, obtuse. Deliberately, Bridget thought.
“No. Because Riana almost set her on fire? No, Dale. Lucia was not suspended for that.”
“Well, not exactly, and we don’t know what happened,” Dale stammered, then backed out of the room, waving a little, his smile watery.
Bridget sighed. Because Lucia was clearly capable of setting things on fire with her mind. The idea that there were teachers playing into this, well, the whole thing was disgusting.
The phone on her desk buzzed. Her mother-in-law’s number, but Bridget declined it with a twinge of guilt. Sorry, Petra. The voice mail later: Have you thought more about a location? Please call, Bridget. Time is running out.
Bridget deleted the voice mail. She had more important things to take care of. Between classes, she snuck into the office and peeked at the attendance sheets for the week. Lucia’s name had been on the list Tuesday, Wednesday, and today. She asked the secretary if anyone tried to contact her.
“How?” Bridget had heard it before, only a few weeks ago. The only number they’d had was Jimmy’s.
Bridget thought about how a person could just drift away from their life and leave not one ripple behind.