Christabel
The cafeteria was all scuffed linoleum, French fries, girls squealing, and guys laughing too loud. But with the help of a good novel, I was in a parlor lit by beeswax candles, with windows wreathed in a damp, menacing fog rolling off the moors. The chatter of voices became the crackling of a fire and the strains of a waltz played on a pianoforte by a girl in a dark dress. The plastic bench underneath me was actually a velvet sofa.
“There she goes.” Lucy interrupted my travels, her voice sounding as if it were far away.
But not far enough.
“Earth to Christa.” She grinned, slapping her lunch tray down onto the table. Green Jell-O wiggled alarmingly. She didn’t look hung over, despite how drunk she claimed to be last night.
“Go away,” I mumbled, trying not to lose my spot. I struggled to smell the wood smoke, to feel the tendrils of mist.
“Never mind her,” Lucy assured her friends cheerfully. She’d introduced us before but I hadn’t really been paying attention. I thought the guy was Nathan and the girl Linnet. Linnet had beautiful dark skin and blue eyes and didn’t say much. Lucy was convinced that if I sat alone at lunch I might waste away from loneliness. I couldn’t convince her that if I had a book with me, I wasn’t lonely.
And it was ironic that now she wanted to talk to me. On the way to school she kept the music so loud my ears rang. She wouldn’t answer a single question about last night.
“She’s always like that when she’s reading,” she continued. “And she’s always reading.”
I peered at her over the top of my novel. “Does your mom know you eat Jell-O?” Aunt Cass thought white sugar, intolerance, and cell phones were the devil. In that order.
Lucy shot me a conspiratorial grin. “If you tell her I eat white sugar, I’ll tell her you’re antisocial and depressed at school. She’ll make you hug.”
“She wouldn’t,” I said, even though I knew she totally would.
Nathan snorted. “When I came out, she made me hug her,” he confirmed. “And she baked me a cake.”
“She baked you a cake?” I echoed. “For being gay?”
“A stevia-sweetened, organic, whole-wheat cake for being brave enough to come out,” Lucy said proudly. I had to admit, Aunt Cass was kind of awesome in her own way. Only she could reclaim a coming-out tradition from the pages of one of my favorite novels and turn it on its head.
“What did she call it?” Nathan shook his head fondly. “An affirmation cake or something?” His hair was short and spiky, bleached bone white. “Your mom’s cracked.”
“Yup,” Lucy agreed cheerfully.
“My mom’s not nearly as cool. She cried for three days straight. Think yours’ll adopt me?”
“Probably.”
I stole a French fry off Lucy’s plate. They were definitely not allowed in the Hamilton household, like the contraband Jell-O. “How come Nicholas and Solange don’t go to school here?” I asked.
“Oh.” Nathan and Linnet both sighed. “Nicholas.” It was the most I’d heard Linnet say. She was quiet as a cat.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Shut up, you two.” She smirked at me. “They’re totally crushing on my boyfriend. Nathan saw him last night at the lake and he hasn’t shut up about it all day.”
“He is yummy,” Nathan said. “There is a definite dearth of hot guys at this school.”
“The Drakes are homeschooled.” Lucy answered my question before Nathan could really sink into a tangent. Connor had told me he’d been homeschooled too. It must be some kind of family tradition.
“You’re still bringing him to prom, right?” Nathan asked.
Lucy groaned. “You’re as bad as my mom with the prom stuff.”
“I just think he’ll look good in a tux.”
“Stop drooling.” Lucy pointed her finger at him. “And get your own date.”
“Oh, all right,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “He has brothers, right?”
“Yes, like a gazillion of them. But I don’t know if any of them play for your team.”
“Well, find out, woman.”
“What am I supposed to do, take a survey?”
“If you were a real friend,” Nathan said primly, but his eyes twinkled.
“Got your little friend pimping for you, queerbait?” someone sneered from behind us. Nathan went red in the face. Linnet looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.
Lucy leaped to her feet, her fists clenched. “Shut up, Peter.”
I turned my head slowly, flicking him the most disdainful glance I could muster, then I turned my back as if he wasn’t worth my time. And he so wasn’t. Peter just laughed with his friends. Bullies.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a bully.
I’d nearly had to deal with Social Services because a bully shot her mouth off at school after my dad died. Sara and I had to work on a school project, and when she came over, my mother was drunk. She told everyone at school the next day, and the day after that, until even one of the teachers was asking me if everything was all right at home. Sara didn’t stop until I burst into tears in the lunch line in front of everyone. It wasn’t until I flushed her favorite bra down the toilet after gym class that she finally left me alone.
“Just ignore them,” Nathan said quietly.
Lucy was the color of pickled beets beside him. He, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm.
“Yeah, Lucky,” Peter guffawed. “At least queerbait here knows when he’s whipped.”
I thought Lucy was actually going to jump right over the table, littered with empty chocolate milk cartons and lunch trays.
Apparently, since the last time I’d visited, Lucy had decided she was a ninja.
Only Nathan was able to stop her. He put his hand on her arm. “Don’t,” he said mildly.
“But …” She glared at Peter. “I really want to.”
“Please. Just don’t, Luce.”
Peter and his winged monkeys got bored and drifted to another table. Nathan pushed away from his chair and stood up. His ears were red but his expression hadn’t changed. Lucy hovered at his elbow, scowling.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” he told her.
“Do too,” she insisted mutinously. “And I could have taken him. I’m taking self-defense classes. I could have made him cry.”
Nathan half smiled. “You’re scary enough without the classes.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” she wondered out loud.
“Can we just go now?” Linnet asked, still looking as if she wanted to cry. “People are staring.”
Lucy put her hands on her hips. “So?”
“So, Nathan hates that.”
Lucy deflated quickly; if she’d been a helium balloon she would have careened through the cafeteria. She still might. “Oh.” She winced at Nathan sheepishly. “Sorry, Nate.”
“It’s okay.”
She glanced at me. “Are you coming?”
I shook my head. “I’ll catch up.”
I knew Peter. He was in twelfth grade, like me, and he was a jerk. He belonged in one of those John Hughes movies from the eighties that Lucy loved so much. I slowed my pace as I approached his table, carrying my plastic cup full of soda. He was talking too loudly, as usual.
“What a loser,” he half shouted. “We should key his car.”
“He rides his bike to school,” one of his friends said.
“Figures. Fag.”
That did it.
I was so used to keeping my grades up and my head down so as not to attract the attention of the school counselor that I usually fumed quietly to myself.
Not today.
Maybe not ever again, if Mom’s treatment went well.
After all, the worst had happened. Her secret was out. I didn’t have to stay quietly in the background anymore if I didn’t want to.
And right now, I really didn’t want to.
I couldn’t help but think about a story I’d just read about Percy Bysshe Shelley when he was at school. Someone picked on him until he finally jammed his fork through the guy’s hand and into the table underneath.
If a cherubic blond poet in a cravat could kick ass, so could I.
Besides, I’d never gotten detention before, and there was something liberating about having that option. Plus, Nathan shouldn’t have to deal with Peter’s homophobic crap all year. Anyone could see Peter wasn’t going to let up. Also, Peter’s shirt gaped away from the back of his neck just enough. And there were a lot of ice cubes in my cup.
Perfect.
I tipped my drink, spilling the cold, sticky soda down the back of Peter’s neck, making sure most of it dribbled into his shirt.
He screamed like a little girl at her first horror movie.
Even more perfect.
He pawed at his back while simultaneously scrambling to his feet, scattering his lunch tray and knocking over his chair. Everyone turned to stare. The silence cracked like an egg, spilling laughter. Someone clapped. Peter whirled on me, rage making him sputter.
“What the hell, you bitch!” He took a threatening step forward. He was really tall and as wide as an ox. And clearly used to people backing away from him in fear. When I didn’t move, only lifted an eyebrow, he looked briefly confused.
I smiled, showing a lot of teeth, like an angry badger. “Oops,” I said insincerely.
“You are so dead,” he seethed while our audience kept laughing.
I tilted my head obnoxiously and batted my eyelashes. “Ooh. Scary.”
He stepped in so close to me that I had to crane my neck back to look up at him. “New girl, you just made the biggest mistake.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Who writes your dialogue?”
When even his friends laughed, he reached for me. His hand dug into my arm, wrinkling my favorite T-shirt and bruising the skin underneath.
I kneed him right in the crotch.
He squeaked, doubled over, and then lost his balance entirely when I shrugged off his grip. One of the teachers rushed toward us, blowing her whistle. She did not look impressed.
I tried not to smirk but failed. She pointed at me. “You. Principal’s office. Now.”
I put down my empty cup, pulled my copy of Jane Eyre from the back pocket of my jeans, where I’d kept it safe from soda spills, and nodded politely. “Yes, Mrs. Copperfield.”
Lucy was in the hall on the other side of the glass, grinning wildly and bouncing on her toes like a little kid.
I grinned back.
The stern lectures, disapproving head shakes, and threats of spoiled school records were way more brutal than detention could ever be. And they were nothing compared to what my pacifist aunt and uncle would do when I got home. They didn’t believe in violence, ever, for any reason. But then, they’d never met Peter. I had a feeling that fact wouldn’t be worth much to them.
I managed, barely, to talk myself out of anger management classes and Peter into a tolerance seminar. I planned to use that later to diffuse any mention of being grounded. Not that I could go out after dark anyway. I mean, look at last night. We’d finally been allowed out and then Lucy and her friends got weird.
Also, the principal was impressed with my obviously beloved copy of Jane Eyre and my straight As. No one tells you that if you get really good grades, adults are sometimes willing to overlook a little badly placed attitude.
“Are we clear, Ms. Llewellyn?” The principal drummed his fingers on his desk. I wanted to tell him his tie clashed horribly with his shirt. Instead, I just nodded.
“Yes, Mr. Ainsley.”
“I don’t want to see you in here again.”
“Yes, Mr. Ainsley.”
“You’re a bright girl, Christabel. I know moving to a new school in your last year can’t be easy, but I’d hate for you to sabotage your future.”
Oh God, the “future” speech. “Yes, Mr. Ainsley.”
I think I said that about six more times before he finally let me go. Lucy was waiting for me at my locker. “That was so cool,” she gushed.
I tossed my extra binders into my locker. “That guy just really bugs me.”
“Last year he gave Nathan a black eye.” Lucy scowled. “But Nathan’s all ‘ignore them’ or ‘kill them with kindness.’ ” She huffed out an impatient breath. “That just takes way too long.”
“Dude,” an eighth grader interrupted us, eyes wide. “Is it true you busted Peter’s legs?”
“No.”
Lucy grinned. “But it’ll hurt for him to pee for the rest of the day.”
“Cool,” he returned. “He once held my head in the toilet.” He looked at me adoringly, as if he had cartoon hearts for eyeballs. Awkward. I stared back.
“Go away,” I finally had to tell him. He fled.
“He’s totally crushing on you now.” Lucy chuckled.
“Lucky me.”
“And you’re, like, the school hero.” She was entirely too happy about it.
“Hero with detention.” I shut my locker door. “Starting tonight.”
“Already?”
“Yeah, there’s some parent-teacher thing for the ninth grade. I have to help set up chairs or something.” I wrinkled my nose. “Think your mom will freak?”
“About detention, no. About using physical violence to solve your problems? Definitely,” she confirmed. “Oh, and there’ll be a poster of Gandhi on the back of your door by tomorrow. The man, not the dog.”
I blinked. “Um, why?”
“It’s Mom’s very unsubtle reminder that nonviolence can change the world, blah, blah, blah. You’re supposed to imagine Gandhi looking at you the next time you lose your temper.”
“Creepy.”
“Yeah. I’ve had my poster since second grade. I used to have nightmares that he was so hungry he’d try to eat my head like an apple,” she said, shuddering. “But you can talk her down some if you mention Nathan. She loves him.”
“Cool.”
She paused. “Oh, but I’m going to Solange’s tonight.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t following the abrupt topic change.
“So it’ll be dark when you finally get out of here. These parent-teacher things don’t usually start until seven thirty.”
I rolled my eyes. “This curfew thing is stupid, Lucy. I’m from the city. You know, where there’s actual crime and stuff?”
“I know.” She bit her lip for a moment and then brightened. “You can take my car home. Mom’s working today, so I’ll just go over there after school and get a lift home with her. Dad’s got the snowplow on the truck already, so no one’s allowed to drive it. But I can take Mom’s car to the Drakes’.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She handed me her keys. “Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting to kick Peter since I was thirteen.”
“About last night,” I said. “What were you guys on?”
“Nothing!”
I knew she was hiding something. I could just tell. I’d had enough experience sorting through my mom’s lies. “Lucy.”
“I gotta go!” she practically yelled before turning on her heel and running down the hall. I sighed and went to math class. Peter wasn’t at his desk. I should probably have felt bad about that.
Oh well.
As it turns out, detention is boring.
I helped the janitor set out rows and rows of chairs, fetched plastic cups, and made punch, and when they’d exhausted the normal errands, I had to clean the whiteboards in all the classrooms. Even detention was wholesome in this backwoods town. On the plus side, by the time the parents started to arrive, I was allowed to go home.
The parking lot was filled with cars and parents in sensible shoes and sweaty, nervous-looking students. The sky was dark, with a thin line of lilac in the west. The mountains were already black, but I still felt them there, tall and stately. Most of Main Street was closed up except for the cafes and a bookstore. I would have stopped if I wasn’t in enough trouble already. I rolled down the windows and the cool evening air was full of smoke and pine needles and apple trees. I loved October.
I did not love Lucy’s car.
At a stop sign just outside town, it stalled. It didn’t even have the decency to stop under a streetlight or by a restaurant where I could drink cappuccinos and wait for a tow truck. I got out of the car, turning up the collar of my jacket as a light rain began to fall.
“Perfect,” I muttered. I popped the hood and peered inside. I had no idea what I was looking at. If the engine had been a haiku, I’d have been perfectly able to fix it. I slammed the hood shut again as the wind picked up. It smelled worse out here, like mud and rotting vegetation. Deserted roads and crumbling, abandoned farmhouses were creepy, way creepier than biker bars and that homeless guy downtown who threw soda cans at you when you walked by.
“I hate this town,” I grumbled to myself, slipping back into the warm car. I reached for my bag to get my cell phone.
Just as someone reached for me.
“Lucky,” a gravelly voice said.
I jerked back, my heart leaping into my throat and taking up all available space so that it was impossible to open my mouth and scream. I swallowed. “I’m not—”
“Sleep now.” A puff of white powder wafted toward me. I coughed frantically. Was it anthrax? Some kind of drug? Who the hell did that? I struggled to let anger and fear burn through the fog settling like sticky spiderwebs over my eyes and my legs and my mouth.
And I could have sworn that the man was blue.