I feel tears welling up in my eyes and open them. That’s a start, but I need them to roll down my cheeks. I want my make up to match Emma and Shar’s. I think about Leo, my first cat. He was black and looked like Emma’s Mister Black except he had a white spot on the tip of his tail. He had the peculiar habit of lying with his head on his water bowl and he’d get his chin all wet every time. Not that he cared. He never seemed to mind water. When I’d give him a bath, he’d get antsy, but he wouldn’t leap out of the tub. He was such a good cat. So was my second and only other cat, Mitsy. She was actually a stray that hung around outside Emma’s house. It took some convincing, but after asking twenty something times my mother finally said I could have her and she adapted to being an indoor cat almost overnight. And she spent almost every night lying with her back to mine in my bed. She was so domesticated that she didn’t even try to sneak out when we were bringing groceries in.
Now tears are pouring down my cheeks. Shar and I look at each other and the right side of her mouth rises slightly. It’s like she’s saying, good, you’re crying now. That’s fine. My lack of tears before probably made it look like I didn’t care and that’s not true. I love Emma’s father. He’s the only real father figure I’ve ever had. I just remembered when he first took the training wheels off of my bike, which I kept at Emma’s. I fell and scraped my knee badly and he took care of it. Hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin and quite the large bandage. I may or may not have told him to make it a big one so my mother would take me out for ice cream when she picked me up.
Wait. Why aren’t we using witchcraft? The three of us combined should be able to do something to save Em’s dad. “Guys, can’t we help him with magick?”
“Like a healing spell or something?” Shar asks.
Emma finishes giving her father a couple breaths and looks at me. “You guys do magick. I’m doing CPR.”
Shar and I look at each other as we slide our arms off of each others’ backs.
“Do you remember one?” Shar asks.
“Shit. No. Do you?”
“Kind of. Just say what I say. Lord and Lady, the highest of the high, the greatest of the great, please show your strength today and share it with Emma’s father.”
Shar says it with me as I repeat it. Emma says it, too, while continuing to do chest compressions.
Shar continues. “As you are impenetrable, please make Emma’s father impervious to all wounds and restore his heartbeat.”
We all say it together. Then Shar says “so mote it be” and we all repeat it. Emma’s mother says it, too, lowering the phone from her ear for a moment.
Emma is clearly getting tired. She’s not pressing down as hard as she was a few minutes ago.
“Em, let me take over,” I say, getting down on the floor beside her.
She glares at me.
“Seriously. I’ve been watching you. I know what to do. You’re getting too tired. Let me help.”
“OK, thanks.” She stops the compressions and moves aside, though she remains sitting on the floor. Shar sits beside her and wraps her arms around her.I check for a pulse. He still doesn’t have one. I give him two breaths then I start chest compressions. I am determined to get him back. I have to do that for Emma. I can’t let her lose her father. I continue until I’ve done 15 compressions then I check his pulse and... he has one! “I’ve got a pulse!”
Emma leans over him. “Dad, dad. Can you hear me?”
He opens his eyes. “Hear you? I can smell your breath.”
Emma’s mother drops to the floor beside him, still holding the phone. “You were gone, honey. You had a heart attack.”
“It sure feels that way,” he says jokingly.
Everyone laughs. Not heartily, of course, just a little.
I jolt awake in bed in my room. It was just a dream? I guess so. What a weird dream it was. I hope to Lord and Lady that it wasn’t a premonition. But at least it kind of had a happy ending. Still, I wouldn’t want that to happen to Emma’s dad and her mother’s birthday is next week. I’ll have to tell Emma about it. Just in case. If it was a premonition then she probably already knows. The reason I’m inclined to think that it was just a dream is that last time our little coven had a premonition we could see each other, standing there, watching it happen. We could talk to each other, too. Granted, there’s no law that says they all have to go down that way now. Although, it would be cool if they did. I think they’ll be less harrowing if the three of us are standing there watching them take place together.
In spite of the dream ruffling my feathers, I feel much better now that I’ve had a nap. I still feel like it’s my fault Kat is dead, but, yeah, I get that we all let her check for that trap, not just me. I guess my guilt was just amplified this morning because I was tired from being awake most of the night with my racing thoughts. Plus, I kept having flashbacks from the shooting every time I shut my eyes.
Now, I just have to figure out when to tell Emma about the dream. I’m thinking tomorrow would be better than today since the memorial is tonight and everyone is already downtrodden.
I text Shar to see what she thinks: “Hey, love. Had a nap, feeling better. But I dreamed Emma’s dad has a heart attack at her mom’s b-day party. Unless it was a premonition. Did you just have one?”
She texts me back immediately. “No, no premonition. Did it feel like one?”
Me: “No, I guess not. Anyway, we saved him so it had a happy ending.”
Shar: “Whew. So your nap was otherwise good?”
Me: “Yes. Sorry about this morning. You know how I am when I’m sleep deprived.”
Shar: “Do I ever. Lol.”
Me: “I should probably tell Emma about the dream just in case, right?”
Shar: “Yeah. The three of us don’t keep secrets from each other, you know?”
Me: “Well, she hasn’t told us she’s into January, but I feel you. I think I should tell her tomorrow, however, with the memorial tonight.”
Shar: “I guess it can wait. Her mom’s b-day isn’t until next week anyway.”
Me: “My thought exactly.”
CHAPTER FORTY
EMMA
I’m sitting at the desk right in front of Mr. Solomon’s, facing him. He didn’t say anything about me running a little late. It’s not like I was late for a class anyway. Just an interview.
He’s eating an egg salad sandwich and I’m having my PB & J as I interview him. My cellphone is on his desk to make sure the recording app I downloaded last night records his responses clearly. If my voice is faint, that’s fine because I have my questions written down.
“Have you ever written for a school paper, Emma?” Mister Solomon asks.
“No, but I’m always writing and my friends and I used to do a zine. I’m sure they’ll like my article about the frog incident. Or Frogger 2016, as some people are calling it.”
Mr. Solomon laughs. “I remember Frogger. My brother and I played it all the time on our Atari 2600. Is that game still around?”
“I think so. I’m not much of a gamer, though. But they do sell an Atari game system that has all the classic Atari games on it. My Dad has it.”
“Well, if you want to make people laugh, that’s what you should call the article, Frogger 2016.”
I nod. “Will do.”
He takes a sip of his water. “So, what would you like to ask me?”
I read my first question: “What was your first reaction when the frogs started moving?”
“Disbelief. I’m a very logical person and it didn’t make any sense. I tried to wrap my head around it and come up with some scientific explanation but nothing added up.”
“How did you feel when the frogs started jumping around?”
“Honestly, at that point, I started worrying. Because the students were getting out of control. And I didn’t know what to do. It was unprecedented.”
“What theories were running through your head?”
He straightens his posture. “Well, my first thought
was that the frogs were drugged. That someone replaced the dead frogs with heavily sedated ones so that I’d be able to give them out before they started waking up.”
“But wouldn’t the frogs have died when they were put in formaldehyde?”
“Well, that’s why that theory doesn’t add up. I checked the container afterwards and it was definitely formaldehyde. Even five minutes in that would kill most animals, especially small ones like frogs.”
This is interesting. “What other possibilities did you consider?”
“When I couldn’t explain it scientifically, I considered that a student may have brought in a bag of frogs and had everyone swap out their dead ones for live ones.”
“That makes sense.” I can’t shoot down all his ideas. I’m supposed to make him look good in my article. “Although nobody had me and my friends do that.”
“Right. And the trouble with that is that I can’t see how it could’ve happened without my noticing. My eyes were constantly sweeping the room to make sure students were preparing their frogs as they were supposed to.”
I nod. “Sure. Is there any theory that does add up?”
“That’s what everyone wants to know, including Principal Clarke. But I’m at a loss. Nothing makes sense.”
“Something has to, though, right?”
“At this point, I honestly don’t know.”
“Maybe it was magic?” I couldn’t resist saying it. “Some kind of grand illusion?”
He laughs. “That’s a good one. But I think we can rule it out.”
“Why are you so sure of that?”
“There are many gifted students in your class, yourself included, but I doubt any of you are master illusionists. Besides, people touched the live frogs. They weren’t an illusion.”
“Are you going to get fired if you can’t figure it out?”
“Oh, no. No. Principal Clarke isn’t that upset. But you probably shouldn’t mention her in your article. For your sake as well as mine.”
“Understood. I guess the big question now is whether or not you’re going to order more frogs and have us dissect them?” I sure hope not. If so, I’ll make it a point to be sick that day. It shouldn’t be a problem since I recently realized that I can raise or lower my body temperature with simple spells, meaning that it wouldn’t be hard to fool Mom and Dad.
“Dissecting is a big part of biology. It allows us to see so many things and learn so much. Is it gross? Yes. Do I feel bad that the animals were sacrificed for educational purposes? Yes. But I’m not about to change the curriculum I’ve been using for the past seven years because a few students are squeamish.”
“What if students can’t dissect things because of their religious beliefs?” I can’t seem to stop playing devil’s advocate today.
“I don’t know how you’d like me to answer that. If I say that then they won’t have to, students will read that in the paper and the next thing you know every student will claim to have a religious objection.”
I guess he’s right. “I’ll just leave that question out then.”
He lets out a sigh. “I would appreciate that.”
“Enough to give me an A on the next test?” I give him a wide smile.
He laughs. “Don’t push your luck.”
I laugh. Mr. Solomon might be in his thirties, but he’s quite charming when you get past the nerdy glasses. Although sometimes I find glasses to be a turn on. Not that I fantasize about teachers. Mais non. Pas du tout. “So, do you have anything else you’d like to say about Frogger 2016?”
“Yes. That I hope it never happens again.” He pauses for a few seconds. “I think that if students give it a chance, they’ll find that they can learn a lot from dissection.”
“Will we have to dissect anything besides frogs?” I sure hope not.
“Yes.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“I’d prefer to keep that under wraps for now.”
“Oh. Then let me just ask you what you’re going to tell yourself when you look back on Frogger 2016 in the future? I’m sure a man of science like you will have to rationalize it somehow.”
“No, I think it’s going to be one of the great mysteries of my life. Although, I do intend to discuss it with some fellow biologists. Maybe they’ll have some enlightening explanation.”
“I hope so,” I lie. Because the only explanation is magick. [Magick fucking magick!]
“Do you have any other questions?”
“Could I ask you some questions about yourself? So, I can put snippets of it in the interview to help people see you as more than just the science teacher.”
His brow creases. “As long as we wrap it up in ten because I do have some quizzes to grade.”
I smile. “Fair enough. So, we were talking about Frogger. Do you play any video games these days?”
“I still have a Super Nintendo from when I was your age. Sometimes I hook that up.”
“What games do you have?”
He thinks for a second. “I have quite a few, but the ones I play more often than not are Street Fighter II and Final Fight.”
“Have you tried any of the modern fight games?” They’re way too complicated for me, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he avoids them.
He shakes his head. “No. I see the commercials on TV and they seem like sensory overload. Besides, I was a video game addict to some degree when I was younger. Fortunately, I snapped out of it. Then I didn’t play them for a long time until I recently connected the Super NES.”
I know from hearing my father talk about old gaming systems that NES means Nintendo Entertainment System. “What kind of movies do you like?”
“I just like quality movies that are made for intelligent people. None of the nonsense that plays in Lowell.”
“Why are those movies nonsense?”
“They just seem to cater to the lowest common denominator.”
This is interesting. “Meaning stupid people?”
“Meaning people who just want to laugh at fart jokes or see things explode. I’d rather stay home and order an IFC movie on demand than go see Iron Man in 3-D.”
“Not a superhero fan?”
“I do like Batman. The movies with Michael Keaton and Christian Bale especially.”
“Which do you prefer?” I have to ask.
“That’s a tough one.” He taps his pen against the desk, thinking for a moment. [You’d think he was doing a mathematical equation, for fuck’s sake!] “I suppose the Michael Keaton because those were the first ones that I saw.”
“What appeals to you about Batman?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just liked him since he was a kid. I guess I find the whole vigilante thing appealing.”
“You think vigilantes are a good thing?” I can’t believe he just said that.
“In the movies. Not in real life. Let’s make that clear.”
“No problem. So, what kind of music are you into?”
“I like just about everything. I can listen to Beethoven one minute and Aerosmith the next. About the only type of music I don’t like is polka.”
That’s intriguing. “You like rap then?”
“I do. Mostly underground artists. For me, the lyrics have to be about more than sex, money and guns. And I find it a turn off if every third word is an F bomb.”
“Who are your favorites then?”
“Off the top of my head? Hmm. Childish Gambino. Apathy – he’s an excellent East Coast rapper. Bishop Nehru is great, too. Those are the ones that immediately come to mind.”
I like Childish Gambino, but I’ve never heard of the other two. “Who are your favorite bands?”
“I’m a big Metallica fan. Anthrax, too. And Megadeth. Can’t forget them. In the non-thrash metal department, I love Rilo Kiley and Jenny Lewis’ solo material. I think Halsey is great. I’ve been a fan of The Killers since they started off. I also love Bjork, Interpol and Massive Attack.”
“I like all of those. Not Metallica so much as the o
thers, but I would say that you have great tastes.”
“Thanks. You’re really familiar with Megadeth and Anthrax?”
“Oh, yeah. My Dad plays them from time to time. He even goes through periods where that’s about all he’ll listen to.”
His eyes glow with excitement. “That’s sweet.”
I think students will be pleasantly surprised by his tastes in music. “What music format do you listen to the most?”
“I listen to a lot of music on my PC with Spotify. But I also have sizeable CD and vinyl collections, most if which I’ve ripped with iTunes.”
“That’s cool – I listen to all of those formats, too.”
“Even vinyl?” He seems impressed.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s been making quite the comeback. Are you surprised?”
“That it’s making a comeback? No, I’ve been rejoicing over that for the past several years. I love it. But am I surprised that you listen to it? I guess so. I didn’t think it was becoming popular with people quite as young as you.”
“I’m not sure how popular it is with most teens. I’ve been a fan since I was young because my dad has always played me his old records.”
“What do you like from his collection?” He taps his pen again.
“All kinds of stuff. Everything from The Carpenters to Led Zeppelin to Run DMC.”
“Then I have to say, you have great tastes, too.”
We share a laugh. “I think that covers everything.”
“You sure?” He seems disappointed. But the bell will be ringing shortly. [And he has stupid quizzes to grade.]
“Yeah,” I say as I lean over and pick up my phone. I press stop on the app and it saves the recording, which I’ll listen to later when I can transcribe what him and the students had to say. I’m not looking forward to writing the article though. Maybe I wish someone would’ve said it was witchcraft. Shar would freak out, but then she’s the one who wanted the frogs to come back to life. I mean, sure, I may have helped her resurrect them, but it was mostly her. [Mostly, yeah, but she couldn’t have done it without me.] Well, I’d like to think so, but I’m sure she could’ve managed it on her own. Especially where she was so emotional about it. Her magick always works better when she’s really passionate about something.
In Memoriam Page 29