“Thank you. I will definitely read this.” On the cover a woman in white stared directly out of a painting at Celia. Celia wanted to study Tomasi’s face, his eyes, but it was so much easier to look down at this woman’s pensive expression or to examine the mottled surface of the counter.
There was a moment when she didn’t know what to say, and it seemed as if he didn’t, either. A Philip Glass piece roiled in the speakers overhead. “You like Diaboliques?” he finally asked.
She looked up and got to see the mercury in his eyes again. “I do, I love it. I just found out about it, about all of that, the music, everything, this fall.”
“I just started going, too. I like it, but I don’t know if I take it as seriously as the other people there.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Celia said, feeling a little guilty, as though she were betraying the Rosary somehow. “I mean, I like dressing up for it, and how it almost feels like a show, but sometimes at home I just jump around to the songs I like.”
“I know! When he plays something like ‘This Corrosion’ by Sisters of Mercy, people should go nuts. You know, the one with the New York Choral Society at the beginning, all dramatic and religious, and then it just blows up.”
“I love that song.”
“It’s kind of an overplayed classic, and I don’t listen to it at home anymore, but in a club, when it’s really loud and everyone’s reaching up toward the lights like they’re in some kind of ecstasy, it’s pretty awesome.”
“I’m still learning about all the music.”
“It’s what keeps me coming back. And I like seeing you.” Tomasi looked uncomfortable the moment he said it. “Well, I’ll see you Friday,” he mumbled, and strode out the door. Celia said goodbye, but she wasn’t sure if he heard her.
He’d gone like a wind. She caught his profile as it passed outside the shop window, and she was tempted to go to the door to try to glimpse him on his way down the street. Instead, she looked down at The Awakening on the counter in front of her, proof he really had been there. The woman on the cover stared back up at her. Well, Celia thought, his name is Tomasi. I like his voice, and he doesn’t waste words. He wears the same clothes during the day that he does at Diaboliques. I wouldn’t have guessed he liked literature, but I like that he does. Did he come in here to buy something? After this meeting, Tomasi was even more mysterious to Celia, and she didn’t expect she would feel any different under his gaze come Friday. But she would speak with him this time, and that gave her an immediate thrill. Just wait until Regine sees . . .
The gentle clicking of Lippa’s gum told Celia she had come up next to her. Lippa noticed the book on the counter. “He’s not your boyfriend. You were too nervous. But you like him.”
“I don’t know him very well at all,” Celia heard herself protest, and knew she only was proving Lippa right.
“You don’t have to know someone to like him. Sometimes it’s easier if you don’t know him at all—at least, for a while. The two of you definitely look like you’re going to the same party, though.” The expression made Celia smile. “So, what do you think?”
“I think—I’d like to talk to him some more,” Celia said. “We’d never spoken before.”
“Very mysterious.” Lippa raised an eyebrow. “I like that. I like mysterious things.”
“I think you are mysterious,” Celia said.
“Yes, but you have to be careful. When you are young and mysterious, men write songs about you. When you are old and mysterious, boys throw stones at you.” Lippa tilted her head at Celia and then went back to the office.
READING THE AWAKENING WAS like hearing Tinderbox. Celia was absorbed into its world and held, transfixed. She finished the book in a few days, and she was so shocked by the ending, she started all over again, trying to make sense of it. If the books she'd read before then were the equivalent of those coarse high school dances, The Awakening was in league with Diaboliques. The primary reason Celia hadn't fallen in love with reading, she realized, was that she simply hadn't read the right books. Each new song, and now this new book, made her yearn to find more. At the bookstore Celia stood in the literature section as though it were a newly discovered shrine, wishing she could remember the other authors Tomasi had mentioned. Overwhelmed by the possibilities, she finally decided to pick a book by an author whose last name began with "A," and then "B," and read her way through the alphabet. It was arbitrary, but at least it helped her to narrow down her options. Jane Austen was the winner.
“Have you read The Awakening, by Kate Chopin?” she asked Regine in the car.
“No, is it new?”
“No, it was published in 1899. It’s so good I read it twice.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s hard to explain without giving it away. A woman who won’t accept the limitations of her life,” Celia said.
“Will you lend it to me?” Regine said.
“Sure.” Celia slipped it out of her bag and presented it.
“See, I didn’t have to hold my breath very long before I learned something from you.” Regine smiled at her. “I wonder if Liz has read this. How did you find out about it?”
“Someone at the bookstore recommended it,” Celia said. She deliberated for a moment and then plunged in. “You know the guy at Diaboliques who stares at me?”
“Yeah?”
“He came into the bookstore last week. He loves to read.”
“Wow! You talked to him? He recommended this? What’s his name?” Regine was genuinely curious, and Celia thought her tone was partly protective, partly alarmed that something interesting had happened to her when Regine hadn’t been there to see it.
“Tomasi.”
“Beautiful name. Where does he go to school?”
“We didn’t talk about that. We didn’t get to talk that long.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to meet Tomasi on Friday,” Regine said. “I just know there are some creepy guys at Diaboliques. You know that’s why I was so cautious, right?”
“I understand,” Celia said. “It’s okay. I like that you guys look out for me.”
9. THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL
DURING THAT WEEK, AS October pinched off the last warm afternoons, everyone at Suburban buzzed about the upcoming eve of the next girl’s sixteenth birthday. She was a bit dramatic about it, and spent her curse day shrieking at any sudden movement, but by the end of the day nothing had happened. Everyone waited for the next morning to find out if she had broken the curse. She arrived in splendor and paraded around, collecting accolades and trying to capitalize on having thwarted a superstition, even though she had no idea how she had done it.
“Leave it to the class slut to break the curse,” Regine said archly.
“That’s not nice!” Liz said.
Regine stood her ground. “Okay, leave it to the girl who has a reputation for being the class slut to break the curse.”
“I’m sure that has nothing to do with it,” Liz said.
“I’ve heard she is kind of a slut,” Celia whispered to Marco.
“So is the curse broken, then?” Brenden asked.
“Sure, the curse is broken. The stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Liz said. “Forget that. I want to know about—what’s his name? Tomasi? I hear you’ve started a book club with your new friend from Diaboliques.”
“No,” Celia giggled. “He just recommended a book to me.”
“I’ve only had it two days and I’m already halfway through it. You should borrow it when I’m done,” Regine told Liz. “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything like it.”
“The end will blow your mind,” Celia added.
“So does this mean the embargo is lifted and she can talk to the poor guy?” Marco asked.
“That’s not what ‘embargo’ means,” Regine said. “But yes, I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
“Why should you meet him?” Brenden said. “He hasn’t recommended a book for you.”
�
�Hey, you know perfectly well why we were telling her to be careful. And it’s not like we’re just going to turn her loose now. I’d do the exact same thing again.” Regine sniffed.
“Okay,” Brenden said, winking at Celia.
She was tickled by how they all had taken such an interest in this development. It would have been enough to savor her experience with Tomasi on her own, but it was more delicious to share it with them. Celia thought about telling Mariette that she had been right when she had predicted Celia would speak with Tomasi soon.
But in chemistry Mariette surprised Celia by bringing up the curse before Celia had the chance to say anything. “So, that girl who turned sixteen without anything happening to her—she’s, well, sexually active?” Mariette asked.
“Sexually active?” Celia tried to tease her for being so clinical, but Mariette didn’t take the bait. “She has a reputation, but I don’t really know. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Do you think it has something to do with why nothing happened to her? The curse, I mean?”
“Maybe. Or maybe she figured out some way to avoid it.”
“So, maybe it’s over?”
“Maybe. Somehow I don’t think so,” Mariette said, and Celia was shocked to see her silent for a while, lost in thought. When Mariette spoke again, it was to change the subject. “Has anyone from the other chemistry class asked you to tutor them?”
“A couple people have asked me for help with homework problems. Why?”
“I heard the other class is not doing well—like, everyone. They’re trying to say it’s Mr. Sumeletso’s fault, that he’s too hard. But our class is doing fine, so that doesn’t really make sense. I heard his Chem Two classes are struggling, too.” They looked across the room at Mr. Sumeletso, who was setting up a demonstration of vapor pressure. He smiled amiably at the students as they gathered around him.
“My friend Regine is in his Chem Two class, and she’s completely stressed out about it. It’s weird. I mean, he expects a lot, but we’re doing fine. I don’t think anyone in our class is failing, are they?”
“Not that I know of. It is weird.”
THAT FRIDAY THE ROSARY ARRIVED at Diaboliques, and Celia couldn't decide if she was more nervous to see Tomasi again or to see what would happen when he met her friends. She could imagine it only being awkward. The way their conversation had gone at the bookstore, she and Tomasi might as well have been on stilts, and it wouldn't be any easier with five people watching them. Once Celia told him all their names, the conversation probably would die a swift death. Then again, Regine probably would interrogate him, which would be mortifying, but at least that would prevent everyone from standing around staring into space. Celia resigned herself to all of it because she really wanted to see Tomasi, to attempt to talk more with him, maybe without blushing. Maybe she would touch him again. Not shaking hands this time. She might touch his shoulder or something . . .
But Tomasi wasn’t there when they made it upstairs at the club. And as the night wore on and he didn’t appear, Regine gave Celia a hard time about it. “Didn’t he say he was going to be here?”
“No, he didn’t. I just assumed because he’s been here every week,” Celia said.
“Ignore her,” Marco said when Regine had gone to dance. “That girl has her own plan for the world, and she spends way too much time trying to get the world to conform to it.” His voice turned conspiratorial. “You should have seen her at homecoming. It didn’t matter what Ivo did, as long as he was standing next to her. She had the time of her life.”
“I don’t understand—are they dating or not?”
“The simplest way to put it is this: she’s dating him, and he’s not dating her back,” Marco said. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it.”
Celia knew what Marco meant, and she struggled to understand how a smart, confident girl like Regine could cultivate such a large emotional blind spot. She also wondered why Ivo would lead Regine on, and why the rest of them were content to ignore this large, dark elephant that crashed around the two of them every time they were together. Celia feared it was inevitable Regine would have her heart broken.
Soon, though, Celia’s thoughts returned to her own disappointment. Fortunately the others had given up on Tomasi, and she could belabor it by herself. She wondered why he wasn’t there. Perhaps he had just taken the night off. That excuse rang hollow, since he had been there consistently, every week before. It was the first time Celia had experienced Diaboliques without the Leopard watching her from the other side of the floor, and while it still was a magic place, it wasn’t quite as miraculous without him.
CELIA HOPED TOMASI WOULD STOP in at the bookstore that week, but he didn’t. And he wasn’t at Diaboliques the next Friday, either. Celia regretted that she hadn’t been forward enough to exchange phone numbers with him, but she knew it was foolish to reproach herself that way. It was a kind of courage she could muster only in hindsight. She reminded herself that she barely had carried on a somewhat intelligent conversation with him when they’d met, barely had managed to meet his gray stare when it was so close to her. She had taken for granted that she would see him at Diaboliques in a matter of days. And he had turned bashful and left so quickly . . .
Another week passed and Tomasi failed to return to Diaboliques. Though he had vanished, the curse reappeared just in time to catch the next girl on the birthday list completely off guard. The conventional wisdom at school had decreed confidently that the curse must have been broken by the girl who made it through unscathed—even though no one could explain why—and this next girl had expressed her relief to be safe from harm several times during the day before her birthday. In seventh period, her appendix ruptured and she was carted off, and the school returned to a state of agitation. How had the other girl escaped the curse? Was there something girls could do to protect themselves? Instead of being exasperated by it all, this time Celia was a little more credulous, as though the exception had somehow proven the rule. In taking the curse seriously, Celia’s interest in Mariette became more serious, too. All the unanswered questions Celia had pondered about her free-spirited friend returned to preoccupy her again.
In chemistry lab she watched Mariette, wishing she could read her mind. She couldn’t think how to start a conversation that would get Mariette to reveal the answers to her half-formed questions, and she didn’t have the nerve to just come out with it and interrogate her, as she imagined Regine would. To make matters worse, Mariette was going on about her attempts to learn to play the dulcimer. When Mariette finally wound down, Celia asked, “What do you think of the curse?”
“I think there’s definitely something going on, but I don’t think it’s a curse,” Mariette said, not looking up as she shuffled chemicals around. Celia noticed how seriously Mariette answered the question, almost as if she had been expecting to be asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, a curse is just causing someone harm or misfortune. I can understand why people would call what’s happening here a curse, because girls definitely are suffering harm or misfortune.” Mariette filled a beaker with water and sloshed a little back into the sink before she was satisfied with the amount. “But I think there’s more to it than that. I think there’s someone who stands to gain something if something bad happens to a girl before she turns sixteen, and so that person keeps trying to make it happen.”
“What do you mean, trying? It’s happened every time except one,” Celia said.
“Not if this isn’t the intended result. I don’t think the point is to hurt a girl,” Mariette said.
“What is it, then?”
“I think the point is to kill her.” Mariette looked Celia straight in the eye for a moment; then she turned back to the solution she was heating.
“Kill her?” Celia gasped. Mr. Sumeletso passed by and she dropped her voice, hoping he hadn’t heard her. “You think someone is trying to kill girls at Suburban?”
“Not all
of them, just one. And then that person will be rewarded when they succeed, though I don’t know what the reward is.”
“Who would reward someone for killing an innocent girl?” Celia stared at Mariette, who stared back, only shrugging. “Have you lost your mind?”
“You tell me,” Mariette replied, partly amused and partly curt. “Clearly if you think there’s a curse, you’ve considered the possibility something supernatural is happening. Well, I agree with you about that, but there’s more to it than getting hurt before you turn sixteen. You asked me what I thought, and I told you.”
Celia repeated Mariette’s theory, in an attempt to consider it at face value. “So you think there is someone who believes killing a girl on the day before she turns sixteen will bring some kind of reward?” Around them their classmates labored at their experiments.
“Yes, some kind of power. The problem is, I don’t think this person is very skilled at it, so the spells are harming girls, but they aren’t strong enough to kill them.”
“The person is casting spells?”
“Well, trying to. That’s what I think.”
“So this is, like, black magic or something? Do you believe in that?”
Mariette’s curt amusement returned. “Doesn’t a curse count as black magic? And weren’t you prepared to believe there was a curse?”
“But people casting spells?”
“Someone casting spells in hopes of sacrificing a girl at a precise moment in her life, in order to gain some kind of supernatural reward. I’m just guessing,” Mariette said. She blew her hair out of her eyes and picked up a pencil to make notes on the experiment, as though she had been humoring Celia with the entire conversation.
Celia kept staring at her, and eventually Mariette turned back to meet her gaze, daring her to pursue it further. But Celia lost her nerve. She couldn’t bring herself to just come out and ask Mariette a question as insane as Are you a witch? She was disoriented by how serious Mariette was now, when usually she was so bubbly, so flighty. Celia wanted to believe that Mariette was a good, honest person, even if she suspected Mariette had secrets that were more significant than the type kept by most high school girls. But this conversation, almost completely made up of sentences Celia never would have expected to say or hear in real life, made her wonder things she never would have expected to wonder.
The Suburban Strange Page 9