The Suburban Strange

by Nathan Kotecki

  “I see Mariette was your lab partner,” the woman said. “How are you?”

  “I don’t know,” Celia said plainly.

  The teacher smiled kindly, pityingly. “The two of you have the highest averages, so don’t worry about this class. I don’t see how you can get anything less than an A.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Maybe you could tell me, since your grades are so good. Do you have any idea why this class has been doing so much better than Mr. Sumeletso’s other sections? I’ve looked through his grade books, and it’s like night and day. Not everyone in here is doing as well as you, but they’re all doing well enough. In the other Chemistry One section, and in Chemistry Two, it’s a miracle if half the students are passing. I had a line to the back of the room of people asking for extra credit. I can’t figure it out.”

  “I don’t know. I always thought he was tough but not impossible,” Celia said honestly. She was sure it had something to do with the secret truth about Mr. Sumeletso, but there was nothing she could say to this woman.

  “Here’s another strange question, then: have the lights always flickered in this room? It’s been driving me crazy all morning.” Celia followed the teacher’s gaze up to the fluorescent bulbs, which took turns faintly shifting in intensity. Dark rings traveled up and down their lengths, and now and then one of them blinked.

  “I don’t think so. I never noticed.”

  “I’ll have to call the janitor,” the teacher sighed. “Would you like to join one of the other lab groups?”

  “Actually, I think I’d rather work by myself,” Celia said. “But thank you.”

  And she was happy to find she was able to do quite well on her own. She knew Mariette would have been proud of her, even if she did have to measure everything carefully and the experiment took her the full period. Celia’s attention was divided, though. In that room Mr. Sumeletso never left her thoughts. He had been so unassuming, so mild, it was easy to understand how she and Mariette never had suspected him, and she was bitterly unsurprised that no one would think to accuse him of anything worse than negligence. She hated him, from his knit tie down to his crocodile loafers, and even though she didn’t fear him as much, now that he was gone, it made her insanely angry that the strongest punishment he was likely to receive for killing Mariette was losing his job.

  Celia was in agony about it, but she couldn’t think of anything to do. She had learned and kept a good many secrets this year, but she didn’t want to keep the things she knew about Mr. Sumeletso to herself. The list of people in whom she might confide shortened, though, every time she thought of how one of them would react. Her mother, Regine, Marco, anyone in the Rosary. I think Mr. Sumeletso drowned Mariette on purpose . . . She might as well just say, I’ve taken leave of reality, and please listen to this insane story . . .

  She still wanted to tell Tomasi, but every time she entertained that thought she remembered Tomasi cowering away from his father, and the way his mother kept the door almost closed, as though she were containing some kind of animal that might try to run between her legs. Celia imagined all the time he must have spent locked in his room while they sat downstairs, weaving their own guilty superstitious ideas about what kind of demonic child they had brought into the world.

  And she thought of Mariette, cold and lifeless at the side of the pool. For all the miraculous things Celia had seen Mariette and Tomasi do, they were kids, just like she was. If she told Tomasi what she knew about Mr. Sumeletso and he did something foolish, he would get hurt, or worse. It might not even be at the hands of Mr. Sumeletso. Celia was sure Tomasi’s parents were more than willing to take drastic measures to control the son they feared because they didn’t understand him.

  She preferred to hope that with Mr. Sumeletso gone from Suburban, all the danger was gone, too. It might have been altruistic, or selfish, or downright foolish, but it was the decision she made. Celia found small comfort in the idea that at least no other girls would be hurt for the rest of the year. Soon enough school would be over, and then she would pray for the news that Mr. Sumeletso wouldn’t be returning to Suburban in the fall.

  Liz showed Celia the obituary before she published it in the school paper.

  Mariette Ann Hansen died on May 1, the day before her sixteenth birthday. She was a sophomore who had distinguished herself as a scholar and a free spirit. She was well known at Suburban for her strawberry blond hair and her exceptional kindness. Mariette was particularly gifted in science. Her chemistry partner remembers her conducting experiments as easily as if she were baking a cake.

  No one ever expects to confront the death of someone as young as Mariette. No one ever should have to. We need our school to be a place where we can learn and grow, safe from the dangers and concerns of the world outside. It is a tragedy that her death could have been prevented simply if it had been better known that she couldn’t swim, and this terrible accident casts a shadow on our new swim facility in its very first year. Our responsibility to one another as a community—students, faculty and administration—is to look out for one another, even at the most innocuous times, so nothing like this accident ever happens again.

  Mariette is survived by her parents, Ron and Justine Hansen, and her brother, Steven. Funeral services were held this past Wednesday. The family suggests that charitable donations be made to the botanical garden in Mariette’s name.

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK ANOTHER sophomore girl chose to stay home on the day before her birthday, but Celia knew the curse really was over this time. The requirements of the Unkind admonition had been met, and all that remained was to wait for the lunar eclipse. In their ignorance, however, the student body was reminded of Mariette again, and new rumors percolated. The flickering lights in the chemistry lab, which the janitor had been unable to fix, were attributed to Mariette's ghost. Some students refused to get into the pool, claiming they had seen Mariette's body at the bottom. Somehow in death Mariette had transmogrified from a left-of-center curiosity into a creeping monster. Once again Celia found herself saying rude things to strangers who had grown bolder as more time had passed. One afternoon Brenden pulled her away from a trio of junior girls, and she found herself sobbing in his arms.

  “She wasn’t just some weirdo who was killed by a curse!” Celia cried. “She was a beautiful person, and if any of these people had actually gotten to know her they would have seen that, and they wouldn’t be asking me if she died because nobody wanted to have sex with her!” She spit the last words down the hall at the retreating girls.

  “That is really tasteless. I’m so sorry.” Brenden hugged her close. “C’mon, let’s go to the library.”

  “I have to go to class.” Celia dug in her bag for a tissue.

  “So do I. Let’s go to the library.”

  They found a table in the back and sat down. “I keep forgetting how hard this has been for you,” Brenden said. “Even at the funeral you were so composed. If I lost a friend like you have, I would be a mess.”

  “I don’t know. I just hate how I feel now, doubting all the time, fearing all the time.” Celia realized Brenden couldn’t understand what she meant. She thought of all the magical nights she’d had—the visits to Diaboliques, her first kiss with Tomasi, First Night—and all the promise they represented. But since Mariette’s death the nights had been lonely, blackened oceans for her, filled with apprehension and loss. “It shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn’t be gone.”

  “Tell me something about her.”

  “About Mariette?” Celia thought of Mariette running happily down the hall on her way to class. “One of the reasons I wound up liking her is she was just as fearless as you guys. You know? You do what you want, wear what you want, listen to what you want, and if people don’t understand, screw them. She was the same way. Girls would tease her about her clothes or her hair, and she’d just look at them as if to say, At least I don’t look like you.”

  “I remember we judged her the same way,” Brenden said.
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  “I’m sure you guys would have been nice to each other, but she was just into different stuff. I didn’t even know about a lot of it.”

  “You’re a much stronger person now than you were when this year started.”

  “You think so?”

  “Sure. You never would have ripped into those girls like that,” Brenden said.

  “Probably not. Today I was ready to kick them down the stairs.” Celia remembered pushing the boy down in the hall before and wondered where she had picked up this violent impulse.

  “The first day of school I could tell you were a little overwhelmed by all the foolish things we like to do. But you were even more grateful to have a group to belong to, so you put up with all of it.”

  “I really do love it, though. All the things you’ve shown me, all our interests, our secrets.”

  “And we’re lucky you do. But back then, we were protection for you. You don’t need us for that anymore. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if when we look back on this year, we relied more on you than you did on us.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I think so. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Ivo and I have been friends so long, and he’s always been the leader. He wants to be roommates next year at college, but I almost wonder if I should say no. Maybe I should try being my own leader. Anyway, I think no matter what happens here next year, whether you and Regine and Marco decide to continue with the things we’ve done or not, you’re going to be fine making your own decisions and choosing your own course.”

  “I’ll bet we keep on with the foolish things.” Celia smiled.

  “You know we’d be happy if you did.”

  22. KISS ME, KISS ME, KISS ME

  THE WOMAN AT THE counter was nice. Celia had helped her a few times before, and she was a good customer. She bought novels by French authors like Zola and Hugo by the handful, and she always complimented Celia on her style. But Celia couldn’t wait for her to finally sign her charge slip, collect her things, and leave, because Tomasi was standing behind her, waiting patiently.

  “Hi!” she said finally when the woman had left.

  “Hi!” He stepped forward to take the customer’s place at the counter. His mouth barely moved, but Tomasi’s eyes were all Celia needed to see to know how he felt, and right now they danced. “I can’t stay long. Mom needed milk, so this is a test. I have to be back soon.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” This time Celia came around from behind the counter to be closer to him. They stood, each with one hand on the counter, facing each other, just enjoying being near each other again. Once again Celia felt the invisible current between them. I am such a girl, she thought blissfully. “So, how are you?”

  “Good. I mean, not great, but better than usual, so that’s something. I get to buy milk.”

  “So, at the funeral, I drew you close . . .”

  “I thought that’s what you were doing.”

  “Does it mean your admonition is fulfilled?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. From everything I’ve heard about admonitions, they’re rarely obvious. There could be something completely different I should have done, a different interpretation of any of those words. But it would be nice if you’ve done it. I would like it a lot if you were the one to fulfill my admonition and give me new powers. I just have to wait until the lunar eclipse and see if anything happens. Then we’ll know for sure.”

  Knowing that this moment was going to be fleeting, as all her moments with Tomasi seemed to be, Celia was not about to squander it. “There’s something I’ve always meant to ask you, ever since you wrote to me in my sketchbook.”

  “What is it?”

  “Why did you—how do I say it . . . show me who you were—Kind—by using your power, writing in my sketchbook?”

  “Well, you didn’t freak out about it.”

  “But how did you know I wouldn’t?”

  Tomasi made sure no one was near. “A couple reasons, I guess.” He took her hand, and she looked down at her delicate fingers in his grasp while he went on. “To start, you know the little power I have has caused me more trouble than it’s worth, so far. Who cares if you can read old texts, if it makes your parents think you’re possessed? This was the first time I could use my power to do something that felt good. So I guess part of me didn’t really care.” She looked up and saw the corners of his mouth lifting again in a half smile.

  “I’m glad you did, but you know it’s dangerous if regular people—citizens—find out. I mean, your parents . . .”

  “Definitely. And maybe I was foolish to tell you. But the other part of it is, I don’t think you’re a citizen.”

  “Mariette said the same thing! She was sure I was Kind, too. Why do you think that? I’ve never done anything powerful. I’ve never received an admonition.”

  “I know, but see, the Kind can sense each other. At least, as you get stronger, you can sense when someone else is Kind or Unkind. I don’t know how it works, and I can’t really do it myself, because I’ve never taken it seriously before now. But sometimes I think I can tell—it’s like someone kind of glows from the inside. Or I’ll feel something, almost like the way a magnet reacts when you hold it close to another one. Or I’ll hear it, like there was a noise in the background that I hadn’t noticed, but near one person it goes silent. I’m pretty sure that when I feel something like that, I’m sensing another member of the Kind.”

  “And you feel that around me?”

  “The first night I saw you at Diaboliques, it was like . . . You know how dark that room is, right? And how loud the music is? The moment you were there it was like everything was slightly out of focus, except you. When you moved, I could see where you’d been for a second, like you were leaving a faint trail in the air, light gray. That’s why I couldn’t stop staring at you. Well, and you’re beautiful.”

  “Wow.” Celia slid her free hand back and forth across the surface, wondering if Tomasi was seeing something in the air around her.

  “So when I wrote to you, I didn’t feel like I was taking a risk. Because I don’t think you’re a citizen. I think you’re Kind, too.”

  “But I can’t—I mean, wouldn’t things be happening to me? Wouldn’t I discover I could do something, that I have some kind of power?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still learning about all this. I just know what I can feel when I’m around you. And you don’t feel like anyone else.”

  “Well, I feel that way around you, too.” Celia smiled.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go.” Tomasi stroked the back of her hand with his finger.

  “Don’t get in trouble. It’s not worth it.”

  “I think you’re worth it,” he mumbled, suddenly shy. “I’ll call you later?”

  “Okay,” she said. He hesitated, then leaned in to kiss her. His mouth lingered against hers, and it was heaven, and then he squeezed her hand and walked away. She watched him on his way out the door and then waved to him when he looked in the window as he walked by. Celia turned to see if Lippa had been spying on them again, but no one was there.

  WHEN CELIA GOT HOME there was a letter from Mrs. Hansen, who had enclosed Mariette's note addressed to Celia. She unsealed the envelope and read Mariette's familiar script.

  Dear Celia,

  I don’t know why I am writing a last will and testament, or whatever this is properly called. Nothing is going to happen to me, and I don’t really have any possessions that should be distributed to anyone. But I suppose there is a tiny chance something could happen to me, and if it does, there are some things I’d really want you to know.

  First of all, I love you. You are beautiful and smart and such a good person, and I love you. It’s so amazing to write that! I would have told you, but I knew there wasn’t any point. I understand you won’t ever feel the same way toward me. Don’t worry about it. Being close to you is enough for me. Protecting you is enough for me.

  Seco
nd, Tomasi loves you, too. Or he will, if you let him. And I think you will love him, too, so I hope you will be happy with him. I never told you how I met him when I went to his house. Apparently I still haven’t figured out how to turn invisible! We had a nice talk, mostly about you, of course! You can trust him, and I think you can help him, so pay close attention to his admonition. Speaking of admonitions, you have helped me in a way you couldn’t know. This is mine:

  Strength and power come to you

  Like night flowers or morning dew

  If you protect the one you love

  And keep her safely, tell her true

  If she puts you to paper soon

  Before the earth crosses the moon

  The course is fixed toward your goal

  To light your way, like sun at noon

  Beware the one who hides in sight

  And seeks the darkness, not the light

  Who knows seventeen many ways

  And offers wrong disguised as right.

  When you gave me my portrait at Christmas it was all I could do to keep from kissing you, because of course you had fulfilled my admonition by putting me to paper! I wish all my admonitions were so enjoyable (and that they all involved you)! You see now why I was sure you are one of the Kind? A citizen wouldn’t be able to fulfill an admonition like you have—at least, I can’t imagine it.

  And I might as well tell you about the admonition I fulfilled at the beginning of the year—the one I said was too personal. It was to find you at Suburban and become your friend. I suppose you won’t be surprised to learn that now!