Mom wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Actually, I thought Jules could stay with you, Dani. Then Mae can have her own room,” she explained. “And some privacy.”
It was strange enough that an unknown person was going to be living with us, but I had to give up my room? What bothered me wasn’t so much the fact that I was being displaced, but that Mom had made the decision without consulting me. She always liked to talk things through. Why would she just announce this without discussing it as a family first?
Mom could see that my face had clouded.
“It’s only for a few days, Jules,” she said. “You don’t mind, right?”
It sounded more like a strong suggestion than a question.
I considered. So what if I slept in my sister’s room for a night or two. If it was just until Mae found somewhere to go, it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe then Mom would get me the new camera I desperately needed.
“Sure, I’ll stay with Danielle,” I conceded, glancing at Mae.
“Want to listen to my Wicked audition?” Danielle chirped to Mae. “I recorded it on my phone!”
Before our new houseguest could answer, I spotted something on Mae’s shoulder.
“What is that?” I pointed.
A deep red blotch had appeared through the pink cat sweatshirt, the stain creeping up her back over the top of her shoulder.
“Is that blood?” Danielle gasped. She hated the sight of blood and swore it made her dizzy. I dreaded what was going to happen when she started getting her period.
Mom hurried over with a dish towel and placed it over the blooming bloodstain. Mae must have felt something, but she didn’t move.
I stared as Mae closed her eyes, going almost motionless in response to the pain. I’d never seen a reaction like that. When someone was hurt they usually cried, but Mae just—stilled.
Why was this girl bleeding from her back? Had she been beaten? Abused?
“Jules, would you find some clothes for Mae to borrow?” Mom requested. “And please change the sheets on your bed.”
“Sure,” I answered, standing. I couldn’t stop looking at Mae, wondering where she had come from, what had happened to her. I tried to read her face, but as opposed to my mother’s, Mae’s facade was placid, blank. From looking at it, no one would guess she was currently bleeding through her sweatshirt.
“Let’s change your bandages,” Mom said tenderly to Mae.
Mae didn’t respond. She just sat there, unmoving.
I felt bad for her. She was obviously injured, but there was also the possibility that she had done something to cause the injury, which scared me.
The whole thing was confusing. Who was this strange girl who had come into our home?
CHAPTER 8
MAE DIDN’T JOIN US FOR DINNER.
She said she was too tired, so Mom let her rest. Dad was working late, and Helen was at Landon’s. Dani was worrying nonstop about whether she’d get the lead in the musical.
I stared at the tomato sauce–covered triangle on my plate: there were mushrooms on my pizza. Yes, I knew it shouldn’t be the biggest deal in the world. Starving children in Africa and all. But it bothered me. My mom had completely forgotten about me—again.
Dani didn’t mind—she was chowing down, discussing why she deserved to get the part and not Taryn, even though Taryn was her best friend.
“She doesn’t know how to hit the high notes right. You go like this,” my little sister explained to my mom, knowing that I couldn’t care less. She contorted her mouth into an extra-wide almost-smile. “And then flatten your tongue, -ike -is,” she added, her tongue apparently flattened. “That’s how my notes soooooooar,” she sang.
I shot her a look: Really? She smiled back at me with faux innocence, then dug into a bite particularly ripe with fungus. I grimaced.
“What?” she asked. “Jules, are you insulting my food choices?” she baited me, eyeing Mom.
“No,” I returned. “I just don’t like mushrooms, which no one seems to remember.”
Mom, who had been staring blankly at the tablecloth and hadn’t eaten a bite, finally looked at me. I glanced down at my slice.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” she remembered. “I forgot to order some plain.”
“Whatever, I can pick them off,” I compromised, not wanting to get into an argument about it.
Mom’s gaze moved toward the leaves of arugula on her plate, but she didn’t eat. Why was she so out of it?
“Mom,” I started, picking up the crust end of my pizza slice. “After dinner I want to show you the website for an exhibit we can see in Chicago.”
Mom turned her threadbare attention toward me.
“For our trip,” I explained. “These photographers re-created iconic images from classic Hollywood films with African American models. It looks super cool.” Photographers Omar Victor Diop and Antoine Tempé had a stunning collection of photos I really wanted to see in person and not just on my laptop screen.
Mom pushed a smile onto her cheeks. “Sure, honey,” she said, and finally speared a cherry tomato.
I was really looking forward to this trip to Chicago. Yes, for the pure excitement factor of traveling to a new place and checking out as many museums and galleries as I could possibly squeeze in, but also to spend time with Mom. She and I never hung out one-on-one anymore. I knew I was a teenager and shouldn’t have cared about hanging out with my mother, but it had been a long time since we had, and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia, that in a few years I’d be out of the house—and hopefully out of the state—and hanging out with my mom would be a thing of the past.
“You want me to make you some pasta?” my mom offered.
“No thanks.” Mom sometimes got distracted like this for short periods of time when she was ultrafocused on something, so I didn’t want to cause any more trouble for her.
I diligently took a bite of my pizza crust, the puffy dough warmly comforting. Glancing over at my mom, I saw the cherry tomato still lingered on her fork. Something was definitely wrong.
“Mom, what’s the deal with Mae?” I asked. Maybe if she told me more about what was going on it would snap her out of it.
“While I would like to tell you more, Mae needs some privacy right now, honey” was all she’d answer.
Whatever. I had my interview at the Regal to think about. I couldn’t be concerned over what was worrying my mother. I had to nail this interview tomorrow with Sebastian. That way not only would I have a recurring reason to hang out with Sebastian, I could also get Isaac off my back with this whole extracurricular thing.
After dinner I camped out in the living room to get my homework done. Mae was in my room, and I wasn’t quite ready to brave Danielle’s neon-pink ecosphere of musical theater posters and preteen video chats.
Even though she was just resting upstairs, Mae’s presence somehow made our house feel off.
BLIP, BLIP.
It was Isaac, video messaging me. I clicked yes to the call on my laptop, happy to see his face pop onto my screen.
“Señorita,” he greeted me.
“Señor.”
“Wanna see me do my debate speech?”
“Wanna see me hang up?”
“Fine, your loss. And hopefully Victoria Liu’s,” he added in an evil-geniusy way.
“You guys are on the same team—you have to stop hoping she loses.”
“Do I?” he asked, only half kidding.
“Whatever,” I grumbled, scrolling through my Instagram.
“What crawled up your butt?”
“Ew. Nothing.” I lowered my voice. “It’s just been a weird night.”
Isaac leaned toward the camera. “Regular I’m-a-teenager-and-life-is-weird weird, or a different kind of weird?”
“Different kind of weird.”
“How so?”
I modulated to a whisper. “Okay, when I got home today—”
Before I could tell Isaac about the arrival of Mysterious Mae, I heard Dad walking
in the front door.
“Hi, Dad!” I called to him, which also signaled to Isaac that I no longer had privacy.
“Hey, Jule-Jule,” my father hollered back, entering the living room and loosening his tie. I could tell he was tired.
“Hi, Dad,” Isaac sang from my computer.
Dad leaned down to see Isaac on my screen. “What’s happening, Isaac?”
“Besides a debate with my nemesis Victoria Liu, who I will wipe the floor with, and trying to find an extracurricular to put on your daughter’s academic résumé, not much.”
The corners of Dad’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Well, keep up the good work.”
“Peter!” we all heard my mother’s strained voice call from the kitchen.
Mom burst into the living room, then composed herself.
“Before you go upstairs, can we talk for a minute?” she asked my father. She glanced at me. Then added to my dad, “In the kitchen?”
“Sure,” he replied as he headed over and gave her a kiss on the lips.
“Cold glass?” she offered for the beer she would probably pour for him. He followed her into the kitchen.
“Yes, please,” he replied.
The door swung closed behind them.
“Since when do your parents have secret meetings?” Isaac investigated.
“I’ll call you back,” I answered, quickly shutting my laptop before he could ask any more questions.
I tiptoed over to the kitchen to eavesdrop, careful not to touch the swinging door.
Through the door I heard muffled conversation. Mom was speaking way too calmly. It was the voice she used when she wanted us to go along with whatever new therapy study she was testing out on us. I heard snippets:
“Last night … work … news…”
Suddenly I heard a glass break.
Dad’s frosted beer glass, I presumed. I wondered which of my parents had dropped it. I then heard clamoring and the sound of broken shards being swept. Over the shuffling and scraping, my dad’s voice was beginning to rise. My parents barely ever argued. Was Dad actually getting mad at Mom? Was it about Mae?
The swinging door suddenly shuddered, thudding against my knee. Someone must have passed close to it on the other side.
I quickly moved away from the door. I’d ask Dad about it tomorrow, and hopefully he’d tell me more than Mom had. It wouldn’t help my case if I were caught eavesdropping. My detective skills were obviously lacking. I’d have to brush up and rewatch The Maltese Falcon.
I grabbed my laptop and crept upstairs.
Sharing a room with Danielle wasn’t ideal. She was really messy and she went to sleep much earlier than me. And she was known to snore. Like a chain saw, shaking-the-walls snore. The good news? She was also the deepest sleeper ever. One time on a family trip to Florida she’d slept through a fire alarm at our motel.
Thankfully, she’d taken the trundle and left me the regular bed. After I’d finished my homework, gone through what I was going to say in my interview one more time, and brushed my teeth, I was about to climb in. Then I realized I’d left my headphones in my room. If there was any hope of me getting sleep I’d need noise-canceling sound protection.
I shuffled out of Dani’s room and crossed the hall. The door to my room was cracked, a shaft of light slicing the carpet. Mae must still be up.
I knocked lightly on the door.
No answer.
Should I knock again? Maybe she had fallen asleep with the light on. I didn’t want to disturb her, but I really needed those headphones if I was going to survive a night in Dani’s room.
I gently peeked my head into my room.
Mae was awake, and standing in front of my full-length mirror. She was wearing my old robe, a baby blue terry-cloth one, which I never wore anymore and shared with friends if they needed it on a sleepover. (Not that I had a lot of sleepovers. Or friends. Okay, Isaac wore it once when his aunt went out of town.)
Mae was squinting at her reflection, as if trying to recognize herself. It was like she didn’t know who she—
EHHHNNNT—
—creaked the door. Mae whipped around, her bright eyes wide.
I could feel the blush rushing to my cheeks. My mom had brought home this girl with cuts on her back to protect her, and here I was spying. Classy, Jules.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She looked down toward the off-white carpet, pulling the bathrobe tight around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” she replied quietly.
Awkward. Silence.
Which was understandable, her being a complete stranger sleeping in my bedroom. But one of us would have to speak first.
Okay, I could do this.
“Find everything you need?” I asked. “There are extra towels in the bathroom.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” Quiet descended again.
“I just came to get some headphones.” I motioned to a pair of wireless aqua-blue ones on my desk.
“Of course,” she said, taking a small step backward as if giving me space, even though we were all the way across the room from each other.
I gently padded over to retrieve the headphones. It was strange to feel so uncomfortable in my own bedroom.
Mae looked at the headphones.
“Dani snores,” I explained.
“They’re pretty,” she mused, as if she’d never seen a pair like them.
“Thanks.” I had pined over and gotten them for Christmas, which meant I could listen to my music as loud as I wanted without either of my sisters complaining.
“Feel free to borrow them when I’m at school tomorrow, if you want to listen to music or something.”
Mae gave a mild shrug in what I assumed was a thank-you.
I looked at my desk, which I’d left messier than I’d have liked. “Sorry, I should have straightened things up.”
“You didn’t know I would be here,” Mae stated, her tone matter-of-fact.
I looked over at her. She was staring at me, like she was studying me. It gave me a creepy feeling all over.
More dead silence filled the space, creating a weird, quiet standoff.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” she continued. “On you and your family.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” I didn’t love her staying here, but I didn’t want her to feel bad about it. It didn’t seem like any of it was her fault.
Mae looked around my room slowly, inspecting everything with laser focus.
“Seems like you have a nice life,” she concluded.
A chill swept over my body, giving me goose bumps under my flannel pajamas. I guess I did have a nice life, but having someone point it out like that, with curiosity—jealousy, almost—made me feel uneasy. I wanted to get out of there, but this also seemed like my chance to find out what was really going on.
Be bold, Jules.
“I guess it is,” I returned, trying to sound casual. “So, where are you from?”
Mae turned away from me and sat down on the bed, as if the question itself had made her tired. Maybe I’d overstepped.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to—”
“Tisdale,” she answered, burrowing her toes into the carpet.
“Cool,” I said, not knowing anything about the town. “Is it far?”
She took a deep breath and sighed, like she was resentful that I had asked her the question. “About an hour away, I think.”
Now I felt weird about prying.
“I’ve lived in Remingham my whole life,” I shared nervously. “My parents are from here. Well, my dad is. My mom moved here in high school. My grandparents are here too—on my dad’s side; we do holidays with them. My mom’s side isn’t around anymore. Her mom passed away a few years ago, and her dad—I think he died a long time ago. She never talks about him.” I tapped a headphone with my index finger self-consciously.
Mae didn’t respond. Her back was toward me. Under the collar of the blu
e robe I could see part of a white bandage. I wondered if she’d have to sleep on her stomach to avoid pressing on whatever was on her back.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my focus still on the bandage.
The wind rattled against the windowpanes.
Mae looked down at her unpainted toenails. Then she turned and stared me dead in the eye.
“I will be.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. After a few moments of silence, I excused myself and said good night.
There was something off about Mae. Not like I thought she was a vampire or a werewolf or anything. She just seemed out of place in the regular world. I didn’t know what to make of her.
As I passed my parents’ bedroom en route to bed, I could hear faint arguing coming from behind their door. My parents never fought, which only added to the strangeness of the whole situation. Was Dad mad at Mom? Was there something about Mae that Mom had shared with him and not us? What was wrong with Mae?
Back in Danielle’s room, I stepped around her sleeping on the trundle and climbed into bed. I crawled under the pink covers and pulled up a Billie Holiday playlist I often listened to while I worked. I liked listening to classic jazz—it calmed me down when I was feeling anxious, which was more often than I liked to admit.
I put my headphones on and pulled up a search window on my phone. I quickly realized that I didn’t know Mae’s last name. I did some sleuthing on social media, but no one came up that looked remotely like her.
Then I typed in “Tisdale, Ohio.” Maybe where she was from would tell me more about her.
Tisdale popped up on my search. I scanned through a few entries about the town. There wasn’t much info: farming town … founded in eighteen-something …
Then I clicked on the last link. My screen loaded an image:
An upside-down five-pointed star, surrounded by a circle.
The symbol looked familiar, but before I could think of what it meant—
CRASH!
CHAPTER 9
IT WAS A BRANCH. A HEAVY ONE.
It had fallen from the oak tree in our front yard last night. The wind was blowing so hard it knocked the dead bow into the bay window of our living room, shattering the glass. Dani slept through the ordeal (surprise, surprise), and Mom went to comfort Mae. I helped Dad sweep up the glass and tape a tarp over the window. Neither of us spoke much. I could tell he was preoccupied with whatever was going on between him and my mother, and it was the middle of the night, so it didn’t seem like the right time to ask any questions.
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