Mom was a doctor, and that was why she felt that way. It was probably also why she felt so responsible for Haley’s illness.
But it just wasn’t her fault.
***
Our house was so horribly sad, a place where all we did was wake up every morning and hope Haley wouldn’t die that day. She had transfusions several times a week and after all these years was still undergoing diagnostic tests.
She didn’t have hemophilia, which affects mostly men, or von Willebrand disease, which affects women. Both of those are caused by the absence of some clotting factor. Haley’s disease didn’t seem to be, so they couldn’t just add the right chemical thing and get her blood to clot.
Just about all Mom’s time went to taking care of Haley, and I tried to take up the slack. I did the best I could, and Mom did the best she could. I just wished she’d given me more credit for it. I mean, I did all the laundry and cooking, and with all that blood, you can imagine the laundry alone! But I couldn’t do anything right around here any more. I know Mom was frustrated— did I mention she’s a pediatrician? She had to give up her practice to take care of Haley, and the worst part was that she couldn’t really do anything for her own child! I knew how close to the edge she was.
But this is how it was: All Mom’s attention went to Haley; all Mom’s frustration landed on me. And she wouldn’t even talk to Dad and me about the only thing in the whole world that might help Haley. So I’d made a vow: By hook or crook (mostly crook) I was going to get Haley to that alternative hospital Mom didn’t want to hear about. So what if my method was a tiny bit felonious? It paid really well.
“They have places for girls like you, you know.”
She meant boarding schools.
I knew all about them. She’d already threatened and shown me brochures and made me look at a website so I could see what they looked like, which was grim. The kids looked like robots. Ken and Barbie robots.
But she did it just to threaten me. I knew perfectly well my dad wouldn’t let her send me to a place like that and most of all wouldn’t send me away from Haley. Who knew how long we had with her?
“Meanwhile, you are grounded until doomsday.”
That night, when we were in bed, Haley whispered to me. “Deb? Reeno? Don’t leave me, okay? Don’t let them send you away.”
All I could think was, Don’t leave me, Haley! Don’t die on me.
She didn’t get this thing till she was twelve. It had come, as so many things do, with puberty. Before that, she’d been my rock, my big sis who took care of me and taught me games and grooming and never let anyone bully me. Oh, and read to me when I was really little— that might have been the best of all.
I am aware that crime queens do not cry, even if they get arrested and grounded till doomsday. But when Haley said that— my poor sister who couldn’t even move without leaking out part of her life— this one bawled. I went into the living room, where she couldn’t hear me, and all night I sobbed like a sissy, shaking and squirming and getting everything wet.
In the wee hours I finally fell asleep, but I had The Dream, this recurring dream I have that involves bleeding from my tongue. How demented is that? Except that part didn’t come from my imagination. That’s how Haley’s ailment first started— with her tongue bleeding.
When I woke up, eyes still burning, I took this mental vow to give up my life of crime, and I really, really meant it. I was through with all that. I was so, so sorry for what I’d done to my family, and I told everybody I was over it forever.
Mom remained stony-faced.
Dad said, “Now, Patricia, don’t be so hard on her,” and gave me one of his sad looks. He took me aside later and said why didn’t we go somewhere together, just the two of us, to talk about things. Maybe next weekend.
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. My dad and I had never been anywhere together. “I think you need a break from all this. I know how much you love Haley, but it’s just too much to ask…”
I threw my arms around him. “Dad, you’re the greatest! I mean it. The greatest dad ever.”
Mom said, “She’s not going anywhere if the Zungers press charges. I swear to God, I’m not even going to get her a lawyer. Let the ‘system’ handle her. They can send her to kingdom come for all I care.”
Like I wasn’t even there.
CHAPTER TWO—THE BELL RINGS
Mom had a positive genius for making me feel bad. All week I was extra good, using a whole lot of bleach on Haley’s sheets, sitting with Haley so Mom could have a little time to herself, making sure our dog Curly had plenty of water, even making chicken Caesar salad for dinner.
Everything I did Mom complained about. I didn’t spend enough time with Haley, I overcooked the chicken, I spilled bleach and got a white spot on one of Dad’s blue shirts, I didn’t arrange the pillows right when I made up my bed.
And there was no escape. I was grounded till doomsday.
Mom even took away my cell phone as part of the punishment. My only time outside— except for school— was walking Curly once a day, but Dad had to go with me, for fear I’d sneak over to Jace’s. I didn’t have a moment to myself the entire week after the Big Hit.
I was pretty worried about going to Juvenile Court and maybe getting sent to some gnarly reform school, but there were a lot of phone calls and meetings that week, and somehow or other my parents got the Zungers to drop the charges and chalk it all up to a “misunderstanding.” Or so they told me at the time.
Even though I was a perfect model citizen now (except in Mom’s eyes), Dad said there was still a lot to talk about and was I still up for a picnic on Saturday? He knew this great place near Ojai, less than an hour away. We could pack a lunch, hike a little, what did I think?
Oh, man, was I up for it! I’d never been to Ojai and never, ever, since Haley got sick, had time alone with my dad.
But I should have known the trip would come to no good. Because the night before, I had The Dream again, only with embellishments. I dreamed I was bleeding from my tongue, as usual. My tongue was bleeding and the blood was falling on paper, and then I picked up the bloody paper and put it in a little bowl and set fire to it. And the smoke from the fire somehow turned into a snake. Out of the snake’s mouth came a huge cat, a cat like that big ugly one that tripped me.
And then the cat somehow grew, turned into a jaguar with spots and everything. And I started to run, knowing it was going to tear me limb from limb. But instead it got small— it shrank before my eyes. And then it lost its spots and suddenly turned into a house cat again, but this time a real pussycat, a normal little ordinary cat, not a big ugly orange one. And I was suddenly huge, like Alice when she ate the mushroom.
But when I woke up, I didn’t feel huge. Just really creeped out.
***
We left Santa Barbara about eleven that Saturday, and on the way Dad talked about the town we were going to, regaling me with its completely wacko history. The average Californian knows it’s a colorful town where they have a film festival, a rock festival, a poetry festival, stuff like that. But my dad— who also is a Unitarian minister— happens to be one of the world’s leading experts on New Age Religion, which he teaches at UC Santa Cruz.
According to him, Ojai’s got “something about it” that attracts believers in the occult, the psychic, the spiritual, and the downright weird. First there was some offbeat religion called theosophy, an import from England, then this guru guy named Krishnamurti and another called Meher Baba, followed by Buddhists, and spiritual healers and people who founded “retreat centers”, whatever they may be. Yeah yeah yeah, fascinating.
But despite the semi-dryness of the subject, Dad’s a famously riveting lecturer, so I was pretty far into it, not thinking about much except the sound of his voice and the beauty of the road we were on, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I was feeling so close to him I ran my dream by him, thinking since he was so smart and all he might have something to say about it. He looked at me kind o
f funny.
“That snake thing…” he said, and then shook his head. “I don’t know, kid. Maybe it’s about leaving your childhood behind.” He looked significantly at my snakes, the gorgeous red and green ones tattooed on my upper arms. “About growing up, you know?”
Leave it to adults to dis your tattoos. I said, “But, Dad, I didn’t grow up. I was still me. I just got bigger.”
He still had the snakes on his mind. “Deb,” he said. “Why snakes?”
“I thought they were pretty.” And they make me feel powerful. But I left that part out. I couldn’t really have explained it.
***
I was so focused on bonding, on really having great conversations with Dad, that I didn’t notice anything odd until all of a sudden I realized we’d just passed through a gatehouse onto a more manicured stretch of road, an elegant, tree-lined one that didn’t lead deeper into the woods.
What lay ahead were stone buildings in a gothic style, ostentatiously decked out with gargoyles and bell towers, and scattered around were kids my age. Lots of them. We were on a campus of some sort. Cold dread settled on me like a giant bird.
Dad pulled off the road, stopped the car, and reached for his cell phone. And I knew immediately what this was. It was a kidnapping.
Life as I knew it was over.
I drew a hot, furious breath. This trip was no happy daddy-daughter day to “re-evaluate and talk things over.” And this place was definitely no scenic picnic area.
It was my punishment. Bad Girl School.
Furious, I lunged at Dad, fists flying. “You lied to me,” I shouted, “My own father! You betrayed me.”
He grabbed my fists, not even fazed. “Deb! Listen to me! There’s no other way. We had to make peace with the Zungers.”
“What are you saying?”
“They’re not pressing charges, they feel sorry for you. If you want to know the truth, they probably feel sorrier for Haley than you, but somehow we talked them down. This is the deal, though— no contact with them or their precious Michelle.”
He spat out Michelle’s name as if he were a teen-ager himself, and I felt a burst of warmth for him. No matter what, Dad was still on my side! But he’d still lied to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me where we were going?”
“Oh, please. You’d have just gotten in the car, and come quietly?”
Okay, I could see his point, but that didn’t mean I had to stop being mad about it. “I didn’t get to say good-bye to Haley! And Curly.”
“I know.” He looked down at his hands on the wheel and I could see he was sorry about that. “But you can come home in a few weeks… for a weekend, maybe.”
“Why couldn’t I just go to some other school in Santa Barbara?”
“Honey, you’re only an hour away. What’s the big deal?”
What’s the big deal? What was the point even talking to him?
I twisted away and started to open the car door, intending to make a run for it, but someone was standing on the other side, grabbing for the door handle himself.
He was a middle-aged dude in Saturday attire— khakis and polo shirt— and to me, he looked yellow. But other than that, he was white, as in Caucasian. He had the sandy hair, the blue eyes, the all-around doughy look, the arrogance.
“Mr. Dimond?” he said to my dad. “Good trip?”
Dad said, “Deborah’s a little upset.”
The man leaned into the car. “Hi, Deborah, I’m Hal. The headmaster. Welcome to St. Joan’s.”
Welcome, you believe that? Like welcome to hell.
I was too furious even to answer.
The man and Dad looked at each other. Dad shrugged.
Hal said, “Okay, let’s get your things.”
Huh? I didn’t have any “things”.
Dad surprised me by pulling out my favorite bag— a little yellow one that I usually used when I slept over at a friend’s. That was how small it was. He gave it to Hal. “Here you go.”
Can you imagine the depth of deception that went into this? He’d actually sneaked around and packed a hell-bag for me. I started to cry.
“It’s best,” Hal said, “to make the transfer as quickly as possible.”
Dad nodded, looking as if he were going to cry too. “Deb, can you look at me? Deb? Okay, I understand. But please know that if we could have done it any other way, we would have.”
“You lied to me!” I screamed again, not caring who heard.
He turned back to the headmaster. “Give us a moment.”
Silently, Hal stepped back.
Dad said something so mysterious and, I’ll admit it, appealing, that I almost forgave him. “Your mom doesn’t know about this.”
Well in that case, I thought for a moment, how can it be all bad? But only for a moment.
“I mean, she knows I’m taking you to school, she just doesn’t know what this one’s like. I do, because one of my students did a paper on it. And it’s our only hope, Deb. Listen, babe, I understand things about you that your mother doesn’t. The way you dream, for one thing. And that color thing you’ve got going. What do you think that is?”
“You know what it is?”
“I think they might here. Just keep one thing in mind, will you? Before you close yourself off. The name of this place.”
“Huh? St. Joan’s— meaning it’s Catholic? What’s the big deal?”
“Deb, listen to me— this place can help us. And so can you. You’re our only hope.” I had no idea what he meant, but I saw the tears in his eyes. “Give me a hug?”
I gave him a look like the North Pole. “No way,” I said, “in hell. ‘Cause that’s where I am.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Your mother and I love you. We all love you.” He turned away, shoulders drooping.
You’ve got a dynamite way of showing it, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Instead, I screamed again, and I was amazed at what came out of my mouth: “Daddy, don’t leave me!” I grabbed for him, but he pushed me away, saying not another word, not even another “I’m sorry.”
I watched him get in the car and turn around, and then I just stood there bawling, tears flowing freely, raw sobs coming out of my chest. I was shaking, I was so scared. And so mad.
When the gate closed behind him, I was left with Hal, the headmaster. More like the warden.
This was so goddamned unfair. I was completely reformed! How come I was being punished for it?
I was humiliated. That and betrayed. And momentarily flummoxed. But I reminded myself that I was still Reeno and started pulling myself together.
Whatever, I thought. I still rule. I am still one tough cookie. And by the way, I am no longer reformed. That Good Girl thing didn’t work out.
They are not going to break me.
CHAPTER THREE—ORIENTATION
I trudged up the steps after Hal, into a building that looked more like my idea of a British prep school— equipped as it was with leaded glass windows, leather furniture, and lots of dark wood— than a convenient cooler for embarrassing offspring. Oddly, there was a certain air of luxury here— not what I’d expected at all.
Hal’s office was lined with books, and he had some plants in there. It was nice, with sun pouring in, pictures of his family on the desk, church art on the wall. But I noticed it was church art with a strange twist— it kind of looked contemporary. I was sure the student quarters were going to be a lot more primitive than the headmaster’s little palace.
Hal smiled at me. “You like the paintings?” he said. “They were done by a former student— that’s St. Joan there; and St. Malachy— you’ll like him; and Simon Magus next to St. Francis of Assisi.”
I stared at the last two. “They look like they’re flying.”
“Levitating, yes.”
“So this is a Catholic school?”
“We…” Long pause. Way too long. “We have Catholic support. But actually we’re non-denominational. Now.” He turned businesslike. “We have two
units here. You’ll be in remedial.”
Remedial! I was insulted. “I’m crooked, Hal, not stupid. Believe me, I can keep up.”
He smiled. “This isn’t about levels of accomplishment, Deborah. Remedial is… well, let’s just say St. Joan’s wasn’t the first choice for our remedial students.”
“Oh. It’s the prison unit.”
He was smiling again, with little eye-crinkles. I could almost have liked the guy if he hadn’t been so damn superior, like he had some big secret that I wasn’t in on. “Sometimes you don’t choose a school. Sometimes a school chooses you.”
What kind of cheesy-cheerful crap was that? Like, “you make your own reality”, or “there’s a reason for everything.” I can’t stand that kind of bull.
“Your adviser will explain more. Evelina’s on her way.”
A young Latina bustled in, as gorgeous and exotic as Hal was blonde and bland, maybe a little heavier than average by Santa Barbara standards, but that could only be good. She had fabulous thick curly hair, a round face, and a big smile. And she was a fantastic fuchsia color. I couldn’t help it, I liked her. “Deborah Dimond? I’m Evelina Gonzalez.” She pronounced my name DiMOND.
“DImond,” I corrected, saying it right. “Reeno Dimond.”
She ignored me.
“Let me show you your room. Bring your suitcase, please.”
Well, I was right about the kids’ quarters lacking the luxury of the headmaster’s office. But, that said, it wasn’t a bad room. Actually, it was really cool and totally unexpected, furnished with two white beds with really fun sunflower sheets, one a tangled mess, the other one mine, I presumed; also one chest of drawers, white as well, two white desks, and even a couple of polka dot bean bags. Truth to tell, it was better than my room at home.
Except for a highly disturbing development. On the made-up bed, curled like a rattlesnake and looking just as deadly, lay a big, evil cat. A really familiar-looking cat.
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