In Sarah's Shadow

by Karen McCombie

  “Then why are you home at this time, Sarah?”

  “It’s the Battle of the Bands today, remember? The whole school got off early so they can go and support them if they want.”

  Well, that lie tripped easily out of my mouth. Whatever next?

  “You know, I still don’t understand why you dropped out of the band,” she frowns at me. “It seems very silly.”

  Silly, that’s me – silly for ever thinking I could count on any support around this place, when all the support Mum and Dad can muster has already been assigned to Megan.

  “Like I told you, it was a case of musical differences,” I shrug, letting another little lie float into the air. “Anyway, I’ve got some homework. I’m going to use the time to catch up. ‘Scuse me.”

  “Well, even though you’re not involved any more, I hope you still wished Meggie good luck for this afternoon!” Mum’s voice drifts up the stairs after me.

  “Mum, she’s not in the band,” I reply through gritted teeth, without looking back down at her.

  I just want to get to my room and get on with tearing those music college brochures into tiny pieces (and the rest of my room too, the mood I’m in), but before I reach the door, something stops me in my tracks. Megan’s door is slightly ajar…and it looks like she’s got something new on her dresser. I squint; it’s a whole heap of new somethings, where normally an old lamp and a pile of her favourite books sit.

  I can’t resist peeking, seeing what’s sparking Megan’s interest at the moment, apart from trying to wreck my life, that is.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly isn’t this mini-shrine, with a semi-circle of tea-light candles set around a brooding picture of a girl (isn’t that PJ Harvey?) and a bundle of what – lavender? – tied with twine next to them. There’s a partially burnt piece of paper here too, with snatches of writing still visible.

  ‘He will be mine, he will be mine, he will be mine…’

  And what’s this?

  “Witch Way Now? – Spells To Make Your Life Special!…” I read out loud, lifting the book that’s lying open beside all this paraphernalia.

  It’s one of those books that everyone went crazy over last year – strict parents and moral guardians were up in arms, moaning on about the dangers of encouraging kids to mess with witchcraft, while the teen mags wrote about what harmless fun they were; how they were mostly filled with confidence-boosting advice disguised as something more exotic.

  A spell? So is this what Meg’s been up to? I flip the book around in my hand and read the heading: ‘The It Should Have Been Me! Love Spell’. What’s this in aid of? Is she hoping Conor’s going to fall for her today? Has she been praying to the dark powers of PJ Harvey that Conor will pull the clipboard out of her hands and kiss her madly?!

  “Good luck…” I mumble sarcastically, chucking the book back down on the table and hurrying away from Meg’s room, and away from this creepy little hocus-pocus set-up.

  But, God, I wish I knew a spell that would stop my heart tearing open every time I let a thought of that boy into my head.

  Chapter 10

  Shadows and light

  “Here…you want this? It’s got vodka in it!” the boy asks, sidling up to me as I sit on a bench high up at the back of the darkened seating area of the arena. He’s holding out a white plastic cup.

  Good grief, I’ve just been hit on by a twelve-year-old boy. He’s from that hip-hop band; the ones who should have won the competition. They were miles better than the goth band and…and whatever it was that my ex-fellow band members had finally decided to call themselves.

  “No thanks,” I shake my head at the cup, and turn my gaze away from him and back to everyone dancing down below. I hope he gets the message and leaves me alone.

  Yeah, right.

  “I don’t remember seeing you around. Were you in one of the bands?” Hip-hop boy quizzes me.

  “No, I just came to watch.”

  And torture myself.

  “Well, you missed the coach back to your school then,” he informs me of something I already know. “Everyone else left ages ago.”

  I don’t say anything, I’m too busy musing about what Megan’s up to. I watched her walk away from the rest of the band a few minutes ago and perch herself on the lip of Stage 2. She’s doing a lot of hair flicking and gazing around soulfully, like she’s waiting for someone to notice her. Then he did – Conor and her have been whispering together, heads practically touching, for the last few minutes. What could they be talking about it? Meg’s starring role, stepping into my shoes?

  “Sure I can’t tempt you?” asks Hip-Hop boy, wafting the drink under my nose.

  The old me would have been nice to him, indulged him. He’d have mistaken my friendliness for interest and I’d have been stuck with him for an hour while he tried to get me drunk and score points with his twelve-year-old mates for snogging an older girl. But it’s like Mrs Harrison said, I’ve got to think of myself more.

  “Sorry,” I shrug and stand up now that I’ve seen enough. More than enough. “Got to go – got stuff to do.”

  “What, stuff that’s more interesting than hanging out with me?” Hip-hop boy grins cheekily. He’s got some nerve, I’ll give him that. He should try working that charm on girls his own age; he’d blow them away.

  I give him a little wave and a smile for his trouble and veer along the aisle towards the stairs. Actually, I spun that boy a line there. The only ‘stuff’ I’ve got to do is get myself out of here without being spotted by anyone I know.

  Of course, that wasn’t my initial plan, oh no. I didn’t mean to sneak in here and play spy unnoticed. The reason I changed my mind and came along here to the Battle of the Bands competition was because I wanted to see Angel and Cherish, and even Conor, if I could face it. I know how that sounds – like I’m a glutton for punishment, but honest, it’s not that way at all. After I’d tried to talk to Mum earlier, after I’d seen all that surreal, spook stuff in Megan’s room, after I’d spread out all the music college brochures on my bed and stared at them, deciding which one to tear up first, it suddenly sank in – what Mrs Harrison had been saying to me, I mean.

  So I decided to get along here this afternoon, not to watch the band do their thing without me, but to catch my friends afterwards and confront them. Instead of cowering away in confusion – being sweet, non-confrontational Sarah as usual – I decided I wanted to have it out with them: ask Angel why she prefers to be mad at me instead of Joel; ask Cherish if our friendship means so little that she feels she can flip out at me without giving me the chance to defend myself; ask Conor why he chooses to listen and believe Megan over me. So what if I didn’t much like their answers, I just needed to know, for me.

  Well, that was the plan, till all my new-found confidence seeped away the second I saw Megan – glammed up and smirking – step up to the mike between my not-so-best-friends…

  I sat rigid and stunned after that, even once all the rest of the audience had cheered or booed the winners, depending on their allegiance, and filed their way out. I didn’t go and find the others, didn’t have it out with them, didn’t make it up with anyone like I’d half-hoped. Instead, I’d just sat and sat, watching my sister ingratiate herself with my old crowd, until she’d pulled her little-girl-lost routine and lured Conor to her.

  The exit door’s in sight now, a beam of neon light shining harshly in the corridor beyond, guiding me out of this dark and suddenly claustrophobic hall. I’m almost there; just need to squeeze my way past these girls here…and the DJ decks that have been set up there, and…

  Oh.

  He must have been asking the DJ for a request. Now he’s turning away, en route back to her, but he stops dead when he sees me, looking about as glad to set eyes on me as he would be if I was Jack the Ripper and Cruella De Vil rolled into one. Why do I get the feeling that I’m the bad guy here?

  “Hello, Conor,” I say as boldly as I can.

  I haven’t don
e anything wrong, just remember that…

  “Hello, Sarah,” he replies dryly.

  Piss off, Sarah, is what I think he really means.

  “The band sounded good,” I tell him, hoping I sound gracious and grown-up.

  “Yeah, Megan did really well,” he says pointedly. “Everyone thought so.”

  Tell him about all her lies, a defensive voice whispers in my head. Tell him about her deliberately wrecking your stuff; tell him what she’s done to her own best friend; tell him what you’ve just realised – that Megan’s not sad and troubled, that she’s selfish and manipulative; tell him that the whole of your childhood – your life – has been messed up by this miserable shadow of gloom that Megan casts over your whole family…

  But as I stare into his hooded eyes, I know that it would be like trying to tell Mum what was going on and expecting to be believed. Just like our parents, Megan’s got Conor – and my friends too, by the look of it – wrapped around her little finger. Maybe she’s got a real talent for it, this ability to reel people in, or maybe she’s just a bit of a witch after all, in more ways than one.

  “See you, Sarah,” he mutters flatly and moves off.

  “See you…” I mutter after him, feeling that familiar and unwelcome tear at my heart.

  With a shudder, I pull my coat close around me and hurry out of the gloom of the hall and into the retina-frazzling brightness of the corridor.

  Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back, I tell myself, sure that the sight of Megan and Conor together will hurt more than I can stand.

  “Sarah?”

  A familiar, friendly voice.

  I turn quickly to locate it, like I’m searching for a life-raft to save myself sinking into a tide of misery.

  “Are you OK?” asks Mr Fisher, taking hold of my elbow just before my shaking legs give way.

  “Yeah…I just felt a bit dizzy all of a sudden,” I lie, letting Mr Fisher lead me over to a couple of plastic chairs in the corridor.

  “Do you want me to get one of the St John’s Ambulance people to take a look at you?” he asks, his face full of concern as he sits down next to me.

  “No!” I shake my head, desperate to avoid any fuss. “I just realised I haven’t eaten today – stupid me! It’s probably just that…”

  Mr Fisher stares hard at me as if he’s not sure if he entirely believes what I’m telling him.

  “Listen, Sarah,” he says after a couple of seconds’ silence, “I’m glad you’re here – I just wanted to say sorry for coming down so hard on you this morning. I’ve just…well, I’ve just had a bit of extra pressure going on at the moment, but I was wrong to take it out on you.”

  Extra pressure? Could he be talking about Megan’s not-so-subtle attempts at blackmail, just to get involved with the band?

  “And I really rate you, Sarah – your talent I mean,” Mr Fisher clarified hurriedly, “so I guess I was disappointed that you weren’t going to be performing today.”

  I think Mr Fisher is expecting some kind of response, but something has just occurred to me: it’s only been a couple of hours since my music teacher lost his temper with me, but here he is now, apologising and obviously giving me the chance to say my piece, if I want to. Conor, who was supposed to be my boyfriend, has never done that, never once in the last week let me explain or heard my side of the story, whether it was the business of my so-called ‘flirting’ with Seb at the party or the stuff about me supposedly betraying Angel’s confidence. How much could I have meant to him if it’s so easy for him to believe the worst of me? And how can I care about someone who doesn’t care about me? And, of course, the same goes for Cherish and Angel. Oh yes, if there’s one thing I’ve learned lately – after years of trying to look out for Megan – it’s that it’s a total waste of your love and your life to care for people who throw it all back in your face.

  All of a sudden – at that realisation – I feel a warm wave of relief slip over me. It’s like all the unhappiness and disappointment I’ve been feeling, along with Conor’s hold over my heart, is all ebbing away.

  “Anyway, I just found out something pretty exciting,” I hear Mr Fisher say. “At least I hope you’ll think it’s exciting, Sarah.”

  “Oh, yes? What is it?” I ask him, managing my first smile in days.

  “The organisers of the Battle of the Bands – they’ve just told me they’re organising another competition next term, for solo performers this time. But it’s going to be much higher profile, with regional winners going to a schools final in London at the end of the year. They’re talking about some great prizes – even bursaries for music schools. I really think you should go for it, Sarah. You’re one of the most naturally talented students I’ve ever taught.”

  Mr Fisher’s words hang tantalisingly in the air and I feel goosebumps prickle over every particle of my skin.

  “Hey, you still look a little white,” he frowns, mistaking my stunned silence for a sign of illness. “There’s a cafe upstairs – why don’t we go up there and get you some water and something to eat? And we can chat more about this competition…”

  “OK,” I nod, letting him help me to my feet.

  We can chat about the competition for sure, and maybe we should chat about something else too: the fact that he doesn’t have to worry about what my parents think of him and me, considering that any weird ‘him and me’ concerns on their part were only ever a figment of my sister’s vivid and vindictive imagination. After all, maybe I’ve always protected her in the past, but I don’t owe Megan any loyalty any more; she’s made sure of that. The only person I need to be loyal to is myself – isn’t that more or less what Mrs Harrison advised me?

  “Feeling all right?” Mr Fisher checks with me as we begin to walk towards the stairwell leading up to the cafe,

  I am all right, more than all right now that Mr Fisher’s helped me glimpse a future that doesn’t involve being emotionally manipulated by my little sister, or let down by people I thought I could count on (Conor, Angel, Cherish…I’m talking about you). But strangely, I can’t help myself; I can’t resist turning quickly for one last look back into the hall…and see them straight away – Megan and Conor – slow-dancing to some fast song I vaguely recognise and don’t much like.

  Maybe it’s one of those psychic, sisterly things, but Megan chooses that second to glance over Conor’s shoulder, and instantly her eyes smile at me, and the fingers of one hand raise off his neck just long enough to give me a small, victorious wave…

  If she’s hoping that upsets me, then she’s wrong – I watch her and feel nothing but a wonderful, soul-preserving numbness. Once upon a time – up till a few minutes ago, in fact – everything in my world, in my life, was affected by Megan and her moods, but I’m not going to let that happen any more. I’ve got better things to do; starting now, I’m going to look forward to my bright, shiny future, maybe one that involves a music college in a couple of years time. Yep, I like the sound of that – a college far, far away from here, from my past and from Megan. (Better dig those brochures out of the bin when I get home.)

  It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to come quick enough, but I’ll get there.

  Wish me luck. Better still, wish me patience – I think I’m going to need it…

  Preview

  THE KILLER’S COUSIN

  NANCY WERLIN

  “Tell me,” Lily said, as if casually. “How did it feel when she went down?” All the air left the room. Lily was leaning forward, her gaze avid, sucking at mine. “Did you feel…powerful? Even for a minute?”

  Recently acquitted of murder, David has moved to Massachusetts to stay with his aunt and uncle and complete his senior year of high school. But his aunt makes it clear that he is not welcome in their house, and his young cousin Lily is viciously hostile. As Lily’s behaviour becomes increasingly threatening, David wonders what secrets lurk within her. And the more he thinks about Lily, the more he is forced to deal with the horrors of
the past.

  Winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Award, The Killer’s Cousin chills and thrills on every page.

  Ted van Lieshout

  BROTHERS

  Can you still be a brother when your brother is dead? Luke often wonders. His brother Marius has died, leaving Luke alone with their parents. When their mother decides to burn Marius’s belongings in a ceremonial bonfire, Luke saves his brother’s diary and makes it his own by writing in it. And so begins a dialogue between the brothers, the dead and the living, from which truths emerge, truths of life and death and love.

  Acclaim from the International Press: “Van Lieshout has written, in clear and simple language, one of the most beautiful books for adolescents I have read in ages.”

  CUT

  PATRICIA McCORMICK

  Most of the girls are anorexic. They’re called guests with food issues. Some are druggies. They’re called guests with substance abuse issues. The rest, like me, are assorted psychos. We’re called guests with behavioural issues. And the place is a residential treatment facility. It is not called a loony bin.

  Callie isn’t speaking to anybody Instead she watches and listens, absorbing and analysing everything that goes on at ‘Sick Minds’, the place where she was sent because she cuts herself. Yet Callie finds herself drawn into the lives of the other guests. And discovers she has power over life and death…

  “I read Cut in one breathless sitting…You will not soon forget a girl named Callie and this remarkable novel.” Robert Cormier

  DISCONNECTED

  SHERRYASHWORTH

  “It’s hard to know where to begin. I’m not even sure who I want to talk to. Or what I want to say. But maybe if I try to put all the different parts together it will make some sort of sense. So here’s my story, and it’s for each of you to whom I owe an explanation. But remember, I’m not sorry.”