The Year I Flew Away

by Marie Arnold

  Chapter Four

  Pale

  LADY LYDIA STANDS IN FRONT OF ME, waiting for me to tell her to go away. And that’s what I should do—that’s what a smart girl would do. And I am—I’m very smart. But I’m also a little curious. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?

  “Oh my, I’m so sorry to take up your time like this, Gabrielle. You’ve made it very clear that you are not interested in my help. I will go now. Enjoy the rest of the school day, dear.” She starts to walk away.

  When her sharp heels hit the shiny surface of the hallway floor, they make a clicking sound. Her steps fall in line with the pounding of my heart. Her walk is slow but steady. And with each click, each heartbeat, I become desperate.

  What if her magic is the only way I will ever make friends? What if I’m standing here doing nothing while my only hope for happiness gets away, one click at a time?

  “Lady Lydia, wait!”

  She stops but doesn’t turn around.

  “Yes?” she says in a deep, booming voice.

  “I was thinking. It’s rude not to listen when someone has something to say—even if that someone is a witch.”

  “Are you saying you’re interested in my help?”

  “I’m saying . . . maybe,” I reply, and swallow hard.

  She slowly turns to face me. Her mouth curls into a crooked smile and her eyes gleam with delight. She places her hands together, making her needle-like fingertips collide with each other.

  “Come closer, dear,” she says.

  I take a step toward her, and then another. And another. I’m tingling. Yes, I could be heading for danger, but I could also be heading for a whole new life.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me what it is you’d like my help with?” she says.

  “Um . . . well. I don’t know. I mean, I do, but . . .” I know exactly what I want help with, but why can’t I just say it out loud?

  “Dear, are you embarrassed?”

  Yes.

  “No, I’m not,” I reply, unable to look her in the eye.

  “It’s okay. Many people have trouble making friends and fitting in. That’s why I’m here. To make sure you get everything you want.”

  “Let’s say I did have trouble making friends—and I’m not saying I do. But if I did, what would you be able to do for me?”

  “Oh, so many things. I can create something to make all your troubles go away. You’d fit right in with everyone at this school. You’d have friends, you’d be popular, and you’d be liked—loved! You’d be loved by everyone at school, but most importantly, you would belong. Don’t you want to belong, Gabrielle?”

  “Yes!”

  The word jumps out of my throat before I have a chance to stop it. It’s a bad idea to let a witch know just how much you want what they have to offer. But it’s too late. I can tell by the wild expression in her eyes that she knows she has something that I want—no, something that I need. I need to belong, no matter what. It’s pointless; I might as well come out and say it.

  “Lady Lydia, I want everyone at school to like me, to be my friend. I want to . . .”

  “Say it, Gabrielle.”

  “I want to belong.”

  “Lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing . . .”

  “Really? Where is it? Can I have it now?”

  She laughs. “Oh no, the school hallway isn’t the proper place to finish this conversation. If you want my help, you’ll have to meet with me later.”

  “Where?”

  “Midnight. Under the faded red bridge in Prospect Park.

  “Midnight at Prospect Park?!”

  “Yes, I would imagine it will be difficult to sneak away, but you strike me as a resourceful young lady, Gabrielle. I think you’ll figure out a way to get past your aunt and uncle.”

  My heart sinks. My aunt and uncle have been going to bed later because the twins have had a cough. What if they are still awake by the time I have to go out? Lady Lydia studies me and then says, “Okay, fine. I hate to see a young lady as desperate as you struggle.” She whisks her right hand in the air, and a small blue vial appears in the palm of her hand.

  “This is called ‘Pale,’” she says as she holds out the blue vial. I step back. I’m no fool; I can’t just drink whatever a witch gives me, any kid knows that.

  “Are you afraid? Don’t be. It’s perfectly safe,” she says.

  “How can I be sure?”

  “It’s a little something I whipped up to help a client of mine; his name was Gus. He wanted to be invisible so that he could sneak past his wife and eat the delicious pies she made in their family bakery. She’s only allowed him to have one slice a week. He came to me, and I gave him this. He became invisible and ate as many pies as he wanted.”

  “What happened to him?” I ask.

  “He ate so much he became bigger than the state of New York. He popped wide open. Parts of Gus fell all over the city. It was like human confetti.”

  She laughs wickedly as she offers it to me. I scrunch my face, disgusted. I back away from the blue bottle.

  “Gabrielle, dear, I’m just kidding.”

  “Gus is fine?”

  “Gus is . . . He’s exactly where he belongs. Now go ahead and take it.”

  “This could be a trick. I know your kind, and I won’t be tricked into drinking something bad.”

  She opens the vial and pours a single drop on her left hand; while her body remains in the hallway, her left hand disappears.

  “Like I said, this is to help you get out of your home unseen.”

  I step closer to the vial and watch as her left hand returns. The vial really does make things disappear and reappear again. “So, I drink this and then disappear?”

  “But only for five minutes. Whatever happens, you need to be out of your house in that five minutes, or they will see you.”

  “So if I don’t move fast enough, I’ll get caught and be in big trouble?”

  “Only you will know if it’s worth the risk. The question you have to ask yourself is this: How much do you want to belong?”

  * * *

  For the rest of the school day, all I can think about is my meeting with Lady Lydia. I don’t hear any of the things my teachers say. When the school day is over, I get on the bus. I have to do my least favorite thing: walk down the aisle of the bus and hope someone lets me sit next to them. But no one wants me to. So I sit alone.

  Normally, I would feel really bad, but today, I am okay sitting by myself in the back of the bus. I need time to think. I can’t just drink the vial of Pale and make a run for it. I have to plan my exit carefully.

  Back in Haiti, there was a merchant who sold ice at the market. We called him the Ice Man. Sometimes we kids would have enough money to buy fresh lemonade from the Lemon Lady, but we didn’t have enough money to buy the ice to make the lemonade cold. There’s nothing sadder than warm lemonade.

  Some of the merchants at the market were really nice, giving us a free taste of their products, but not the Ice Man. He wouldn’t even give us a small piece of ice to split among us. In fact, he trained his dog to smell for us kids and to bark if we approached his large white bucket of ice.

  So Stephanie and the rest of us kids had to come up with a plan. One of us would start to dance and play music near the Ice Man. He hated noise, and he hated kids. So he’d chase us down, leaving his ice bucket for his dog to guard. The meat merchant was a friend of my mom’s, and she’d give us a thick, juicy bone to feed the dog. The dog would be too busy with his snack to notice us creeping up and taking handfuls of ice. We had to know exactly which route to take in order to get away fastest, or the ice would melt. I was the one who came up with the plan. I don’t want to brag, but I was always really good at making plans.

  This time things will be easier; there’s no dog to worry about. I just need to get past my family and not bump into anything. Yes, I will have the vial to help me, but if I smash into something and make a noise, I will be found out. I take out a pen an
d paper to write out my plan. Someone rips the paper from my hands.

  “Hey!” I shout.

  I look up to see who it is; her name is Tianna Thompson. She’s taller than a tree, with big owl eyes that seem to spot me wherever I am. And when she finds me, her mouth morphs into a bullhorn so she can amplify her teasing me.

  Behind her is a pod of dolphins. Okay, they are really just students like me, but that’s what they remind me of. They hunt in a pack, they sway in unison, and they follow whatever Tianna says and does. So now that Tianna has decided to tease me, they all join in.

  I should have taken my time to find the right words in English to tell them to give me my stuff back. But I can’t think of the right words. And I’m getting more and more upset as Tianna waves the paper just above my head. English is a hard language to learn, but when I’m upset, it gets even harder.

  I jump higher and higher to get my paper, and on the last try, I fall to the floor of the bus; Tianna and the dolphins laugh at me. Then she rips the paper right above my head. The pieces rain down on me. My face gets warm and my hands tremble with anger.

  One of the kids on the bus, the girl I tried to speak to this morning, extends her hand to me. I want to take it, but what if she’s just trying to embarrass me? I shake my head and get up by myself. That’s one thing I know: I’m all by myself in this country—at least until I get help from Lady Lydia. She’ll solve all of my problems.

  * * *

  That night when I’m sure it’s all clear, I drink the vial of Pale. My body tingles and gets really warm. It feels like I need to sneeze. Oh no, that might wake someone up! But there’s no stopping it. I’m going to sneeze—but instead, I disappear.

  That’s so cool!

  Gabrielle, focus! You only have five minutes.

  I leave my room and head down the dark hallway. I have to get past the bathroom, the kitchen, and finally the front door. I mapped this out in my head, so even though it’s dark, I know exactly where I am going. I place my hands on the wall and feel my way around, but I hear . . .

  “Gabrielle! Don’t do that!”

  My heart drops to my feet and then melts through the floorboards. It’s my cousin, Kayla.

  She’s sleepwalking!

  “Keep away from my stuff. My stuff!” she says, in a deep sleep.

  “Okay, Kayla. No one will touch your stuff. C’mon, let’s go back to bed.” I gently guide her back to her room.

  Her voice changes into a high, girly sound. “Oh, Donnie, I love you too,” she says as she puckers up to kiss the leader of her favorite rap group. I twist my face in disgust. Gross. I tuck her in, and she starts to snore peacefully. I walk out of Kayla’s room and see my uncle sneaking a late-night snack in the kitchen.

  I look at my watch. I only have two more minutes to get out of the house. I quickly make my way past the other room. I need to make a run for it.

  One minute.

  I try to run past the kitchen, but instead, I trip on one of the twins’ toy trucks and slide clear across the room. I’m headed right for the kitchen window—the closed window. There’s a fly near the wall that’s headed for the same window as I am. In half a second, both of us will be smashed to death.

  “Open the window!” I shout.

  Uncle turns around and sees nothing.

  “Who said that?” he asks. He looks over at the fly. “Did you speak, fly? Hmm . . . I thought only flies in Haiti talk. I guess not.”

  “Open. Now!” I yell.

  My uncle opens the window. And both the fly and I hurtle through the opening down onto a small mound of snow. The fly takes off. My uncle calls out from the window, “Be free, fly; be free!” Then he closes the window and backs away, just as I am visible again.

  Phew! That was close.

  I get up and make my way to the witch.

  Chapter Five

  Prospect Park

  IT’S SNOWING NOW, and the wind is howling in my ears. I put on a lot of layers so I wouldn’t be cold. It doesn’t work. I’m chilled to the bone, but I don’t think it’s because of the weather. I think that any time you are headed to meet a witch, your bones get cold.

  “Hey! What’s the big idea?” someone says in a high-pitched voice.

  I look around but don’t see anyone.

  “Down here, kid!” someone says.

  I look down on the ground and see a large black rat, with his paws folded across his chest, scowling.

  “Rat!” I shriek, and take cover behind the bushes.

  “Typical human. You ruin my home and then make me look like the bad guy!”

  “Are you talking to me?” I ask.

  “Do you see anyone else around here, destroying my house?”

  “Your house?” I ask from behind the bush. I peek out a little. “All I see is trash.”

  “That’s what I said, my house!”

  I look closer at the small pile of trash, and there’s a hole. I guess that’s the doorway. And he’s right. I trampled it.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see it,” I say.

  “Well, that doesn’t help me at all! You humans, think you can do whatever you want. Get out from behind that bush and put ’em up!” he says and makes two fists. He moves around like a boxer.

  I stand up and face him. I am scared of rats, but tonight is not a night for fear. After all, if I’m brave enough to stand up to a witch, a rat should be easy, right?

  “I didn’t mean to trash your . . . trash.”

  “No! Rocky’s taking a stand! Put ’em up!”

  I check the pink plastic watch my aunt gave me. I have a few minutes before I have to meet Lady Lydia.

  “It was your house. I messed it up, and I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of time, but I will help you rebuild it, okay?”

  “Well, I suppose that’s all right. The house wasn’t that great. I ate a big chunk of the roof earlier—I was hungry.”

  I carefully reach into my coat pocket and hand him a candy bar. His eyes light up. He gladly takes it. While he eats, I start to relax a little. Yes, he’s a rat, but he’s cute. I mean, in a rat kind of way. I try to assemble his house again.

  “I’m Rocky. Who are you?”

  “I’m Gabrielle.”

  “Sorry I had to get rough, Gabrielle. It’s not easy being a rat in New York City. But I’m working on something. I got dreams—big ones!”

  “Really? What’s your dream?” I ask.

  “No, I’m not telling you. It’s a secret.”

  “Okay,” I reply as I add more layers of trash for the new roof.

  “Okay! Okay! Geez! You badgered me enough—I’ll tell you! I’m gonna be a rabbit.”

  “Um . . . a rabbit?”

  “Yeah! Everybody loves those guys! Humans give them treats, let them live in their homes, and even pet them. No one has ever petted me. And let’s face it: I’m adorable! But soon that will change!”

  “How will you do that?” I ask.

  “By thinking, moving, and existing as a rabbit. I’m almost there. Look!” He stands in front of me, clears his throat, and gets down on all fours. He lowers his face and looks up at me as if he’s a doe-eyed rabbit. He’s not. He still looks like a rat.

  “Um . . . yeah, that’s very rabbit-like.” I know it’s wrong to lie, but I don’t want to break his little rat heart.

  “Thank you; there’s no need to clap,” he says.

  “But I’m not clapping—oh. Okay.” I start to clap, and he bows.

  “Where are you going at this time of night?” he asks.

  “I’m meeting someone.”

  “A witch.”

  “Yes! How did you know that?”

  “A witch’s power is strongest at midnight. That’s why humans call it the witching hour. So, which witch are you meeting?” He starts to laugh uncontrollably. “Get it? ‘Which witch’?” he says as he rolls on the ground with laughter. When he finally stops, he says, “I’m sure you can tell I do some stand-up comedy on the side.”

  “Oh, ye
s. And you’re very good.”

  “Thank you. Now, what’s the name of the witch you are here to meet?” he says, and takes a huge bite of his candy bar.

  “Lady Lydia.”

  Rocky spits out his food and almost chokes. “You’re going to see Lady Lydia? No! She’s wicked. More wicked than all the other witches.”

  “She has something I need.”

  “What does she have?”

  “Something that will make the kids at school like me.”

  “Don’t they like you already?”

  I didn’t plan to cry. I didn’t even plan to tear up or anything. It just happened.

  “Gabrielle, tell me. What’s wrong at school?”

  “No one likes me. They all make fun of me because of my accent. They call me names. They tell me to go back to my country. I just want them to be my friend. But that will never happen if I don’t change and become more like them. The witch says she can help me do that.”

  “Don’t trust her.”

  I look at my watch; it’s only three minutes until midnight. “I’m sorry, I have to go, Rocky,” I say. I take off running. I hear Rocky shout after me, “Gabrielle, no!”

  The wind drowns out Rocky’s voice. If he’s still yelling, I can’t hear him. I look at my watch—it’s almost midnight, so I run faster. It’s so easy to get lost here, the snow makes it hard to see well, and the night sky isn’t helping at all. Luckily, I’ve been to this park before with my family. I know that just past the clearing of thick trees, there’s a small stream that makes its way underneath the bridge. Now, where’s the stream?

  Wait, I see it!

  I follow it, and it takes me to the meeting place. It was dark before, but now it seems as if the darkness has grown. The air has gotten even colder because of the water. I zip my coat to the very top and warm my hands in my pockets. It doesn’t help.

  I try to think about something warm: the midday sun on my back as my mom and I carry food in a basket on our heads from the market. I can almost feel the sunlight hit my body.