Devil in Ohio

by Daria Polatin

  “I know you don’t like to talk to strangers, but you need to get some info out of that girl,” he pressed. “Give her the third degree.”

  I supposed he was right. “It’s still annoying that she’s staying in my room.”

  “Well, you said she’d probably be gone by the end of the week,” he said.

  She wasn’t. Mom had told us Mae was only going to be staying for a few days, but it was now Friday and she was showing no signs of leaving.

  Around the house, I mostly kept to myself. The news that Mae was possibly from a satanic cult had freaked me out. I wanted to ask Mae more about what she had hinted at, but every time we were near each other some kind of outside force seemed to interrupt before she would say anything about it.

  Helen and Dani were in their own worlds—Dani had gotten the lead role in Wicked, and Helen was in full-on field hockey season. Dad was distracted with whatever was going on at his work. No one in my family seemed that bothered by it. Mae was just a girl who our family was helping out for a few days.

  So far I’d avoided the whole issue of the profile I was supposed to do on Mae for “People You Don’t Know.” Sebastian had given us a few weeks to get the first column done. I kept telling myself I’d ask about taking her picture tomorrow, then putting it off. I’d also been trying to come up with the five questions for my column, but Sebastian wasn’t happy with any of them yet. “Right track, but let’s get more specific,” he kept saying.

  Meanwhile, Mae trailed me around school like a shadow. I was hoping that over the last few days something more about her home life would have slipped out, but Mae was always silent, too busy watching us.

  People were starting to wonder, though. I was actually grateful for my low social profile. I didn’t know what to do when people’s attention was on me, and this kind of attention wasn’t the kind I wanted anyway. But a few people in my classes still asked me how I knew Mae and why she was following me around. I’d said she was distantly related to my mom’s family and she was staying with us for a few days. I knew that wouldn’t satisfy the students of our gossip-starved school for very long. Word spread quickly around a place not known for any huge events outside of football games and who was dating who, so I knew something this big would catch like wildfire if anything about where Mae was from did come out.

  Since it was Friday, I was hoping that if I laid low for the rest of the day, the big football game this weekend against our school’s rival would distract people, and maybe she would be gone by Monday and I wouldn’t have to deal with answering any questions.

  But then Language Arts happened.

  Ms. Ramsey was rambling on about Pride and Prejudice, and something about reputation and the social constructs in rural nineteenth-century England.

  “Okay, guys. So let’s do a little survey!” The twentysomething teacher took a sip from her third Diet Coke can of the period.

  “Raise your hand if social constructs have affected your life.”

  A few people raised their hands tentatively.

  The teacher stepped through the desk aisles in her furry snow boots. A little overzealous with the wardrobe, I thought, given that it was still only September.

  “Come on, guys—social constructs. They’re a big deal, am I right? Who’s dealt with ’em?” Eventually everyone had raised an arm into the air.

  “Exactly!” she gleamed.

  Ms. Ramsey then looked at Mae, who was sitting in the far back corner of the room.

  “So Mae: How have social constructs affected your life?”

  Mae’s face went blank. She hadn’t been singled out in a class yet. Most of the teachers seemed to be giving her time to adjust before calling on her. But my guess was that Ms. Ramsey was just as curious about Mae as the rest of us and was using the question to get to know more about the strange, striking girl.

  “Have expectations of others in a social setting had an impact on you?” Ms. Ramsey rephrased.

  Mae was looking down at her fingers, which were running through the bottom of her hair. She usually kept it tied back in a braid, but today she’d left it down.

  Finally, Mae answered in a low voice. “Yes,” she admitted.

  Ms. Ramsey perched on the edge of her desk, causing her short skirt to ride up her tights. “How have you experienced those effects? Could you give us an example?”

  All eyes were on Mae. She was wearing a purple knit sweater of mine. I didn’t wear it much anymore because it had started to feel snug around my stomach and chest, but it fit Mae perfectly. She’d pulled the sleeves down over her palms.

  “I—grew up in a very small town,” she started. “People talked about what you did.”

  Ms. Ramsey waited for Mae to go on. So did the rest of the class.

  “That’s very common in small towns,” Ms. Ramsey encouraged her, trying to guide the conversation forward. “So tell us more about that. Did you feel pressure to think or act a certain way because of the socially agreed-upon expectations?”

  Mae considered this for a moment, then continued, “Well, you had to act in a way that they liked if you didn’t want them to get—upset.”

  My pulse quickened. I was terrified of what else Mae was going to say, and how that would make me look by association. Was she going to tell them that she was from a town associated with a cult? Would people think that I might somehow be involved?

  Ms. Ramsey inquired, trying to sound casual, “And where is it that you grew up?”

  Mae took a deep breath.

  “Tisdale,” she stated.

  A snicker came from across the room.

  “Tisdale?” Jason Kessler had a smirk on his face. He was wearing his personal daily uniform of workout clothing. “That’s where the devil worshippers live.”

  People turned to him. “My dad’s a lawyer,” Jason proudly explained to the class, who were listening attentively. “He had this case where a guy who owned a store sued these farmers for not delivering what he’d paid for. The farmers were from Tisdale. When my dad questioned the farmers they blamed the wheat not growing on their sacrifice not being accepted or something totally insane like that. They, like, worship the devil.”

  Giggles burst out from various parts of the room, but it seemed more like nervous laughter.

  “Okay, Jason, that’s enough.” Ms. Ramsey brought the conversation back toward the issue at hand. She cleansed her palate with more soda.

  “So Mae, do you find that some of those same social constructs are universal?”

  Mae thought about it for a moment, then turned to me.

  “Yes. Jules has been explaining them to me.”

  The whole class stared at me. It was true, I had been trying to explain things to Mae. The internet. Social media. Packaged foods. I wanted attention at school, but not the attention of being associated with Weird New Girl. I seriously wished I were invisible.

  “So is it true?” Jason piped back up. “Are you guys devil worshippers?”

  “Jason, enough,” Ms. Ramsey interjected, but I could tell she wanted to know just as badly as everyone else.

  “What, I’m just asking a question,” Jason faux-scoffed. “Aren’t we supposed to be developing inquiring minds?” he challenged her.

  Ms. Ramsey looked to Mae, uneasy. She wasn’t sure what to do here.

  Mae went ahead and answered the question, clearly hoping that would stop her having to give any more answers.

  “People—believe what they want,” she stated simply.

  “Do you believe in Satan? Do you worship the devil?” Jason pushed.

  Mae was sitting very still. The room was pin-drop quiet, which never happened. Even Ms. Ramsey was watching Mae, transfixed. Finally, Mae replied—

  “No, I don’t believe,” she said definitively. Then she added forcefully to Jason, “I never did.”

  Mae’s face tilted down toward her desk, and in a kind of chant she whispered—

  “They can’t make me they can’t make me they can’t make me they can
’t make me…”

  I shrank in my chair. No one knew what to say, even Ms. Ramsey.

  Mercifully, the bell rang. A relieved din rose as everyone left class, happy to get as far away from Mae as possible.

  I moved through the lunch line, accepting a too-thin turkey burger and opting for a lettuce bun. But I couldn’t resist the French fries—sometimes you needed comfort food, and this was definitely one of those times. Over at the condiment table I loaded up a few white paper containers of ketchup. I knew it was filled with chemicals and kind of gross, but for some reason I loved the sugary red sauce.

  Mae trailed behind me. I hadn’t been sure how to talk to herbefore, but after what had happened in class, I really didn’t know what to say to her. Mae tried to get closer to me, probably because I was the only person she knew, but I kept as much distance between us as I could. However every time I turned around she was there—closer—like a creepy game of Red Light, Green Light.

  As I stepped away from the condiments, I noted there was a seat left at the volleyball girls’ table, but a right side hitter strode over and took the seat. Damn.

  I considered crashing Isaac’s debate practice in the auditorium, but I didn’t feel like being around conflict. I turned back to see Mae moving through the lunch line, watching me. She quickly averted her gaze, pretending she hadn’t been staring, and paid the lunch lady with money my mom had given her.

  I surveyed the room, trying to decide where to sit. There weren’t many other options. I thought about going outside, but it was raining. Would it be better to sit alone, or should I just give in and sit with Mae? After all, people already associated me with her—

  “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

  I spun around. Jason Kessler was staggering through the cafeteria, his mesh shirt oozing red liquid from his chest.

  “She tried to kill me! Devil Girl tried to kill me!”

  He was pointing at Mae, who stood frozen, holding her lunch tray. Jason clutched his neck with his red-stained hands.

  “I’m gonna dieeeeeeeee,” he howled as he sank to the ground. Chairs scraped as people craned their necks to get a better view. “I’m dyinnnnnnggg!!”

  The whole cafeteria stared at Mae. Her face was pale. Had she really tried to hurt him?

  Suddenly, Jason popped up from the floor and addressed the gawking crowd.

  “Thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing, the red ketchup he had smeared over himself dripping to the floor.

  Realizing what Jason had done, the room started laughing. A gigantic, goofy grin spread across Jason’s face.

  A hair-netted cafeteria worker came over and started mopping up the carnage.

  Mae’s cheeks had quickly gone from white to nearly as red as the tomato paste that now stained Jason’s shirt. People were laughing and pointing at Mae. She tugged at the back of her sweater. Under the bottom edge I caught a glimpse of a white bandage. I think my mom had helped her change it last night, because they spent a long time in my room together with the door closed.

  Mae glanced up and locked eyes on me, begging me to do something.

  I felt awful. I had no idea what to do. Was there anything I could do to help this situation? And did I actually want to do anything?

  “You little shit!” a bossy voice boomed across the cafeteria.

  Larissa Delibero, sophomore cheerleader and apparent expert blow-job giver, marched over to Jason. I’d heard she and Jason had dated briefly over the summer but broke up right before school started under circumstances that were unknown to me. I guessed it had not ended well.

  Larissa shoved Jason in the arm and yelled, “You’re such a dick!”

  Jason wouldn’t stop snickering as Larissa pushed him away from the limelight. He returned to a grouping of his friends as the whole room now watched Larissa and Mae.

  Mae stood there like a statue. She had been outed by Jason and was now about to be humiliated by Larissa. I was standing a few feet away. I thought about helping her, but my legs felt frozen. Even though I’d watched countless classic films about others taking valiant actions to save people, nothing prepares you for what to actually say or do when those situations happen in real life.

  Larissa folded her arms over her tight cheerleading top and inspected Mae. Mae’s jaw was clenched, like she was trying to hold back tears.

  Everyone in the cafeteria stared. Larissa was one of the most popular girls in school. She had the power to grant this newcomer instant acceptance, or banish her to untouchable status for the rest of her high school days.

  Finally, Larissa spoke.

  “Your hair is shiny,” she evaluated Mae. “What do you do to it?”

  “Oh,” Mae said, surprised. “I put oil on it.”

  “Oil?” Larissa’s face scrunched, grossed out.

  Mae naively nodded yes to the oil, the weight of the social ramifications of this transaction unbeknownst to her. Larissa looked back at her group of friends at the table, who wrinkled their noses in solidarity with their leader.

  “Like, oil?” Jessie Herrera, a bubbly, curly-haired acolyte of Larissa’s piped up. The table full of cheerleaders looked on, awaiting the verdict that Larissa would pass down on this new girl.

  “Castor oil,” Mae added, almost as a question.

  Larissa’s well-plucked brow furrowed.

  I had pretty much stopped breathing. Not that I was a fan of Mae, but Larissa could be pretty cruel, and if things went down badly, the rest of the school would follow suit. The social wrath would certainly rain down onto me as well.

  There was a long silence.

  “Ohmygod, you have to tell me where to get that!” Larissa finally concluded. “I neeeed my hair to be that shiny.”

  A chorus of “totallys” and “me toos” rang out from the cheerleader table.

  The room seemed to collectively exhale. Larissa had deemed Mae cool enough to talk to and had actually given her a compliment.

  “Sit with us,” Larissa insisted, linking her arm in Mae’s. I saw a nearly imperceptible flinch as Larissa’s hand passed close to Mae’s secretly bandaged back.

  Mae wasn’t sure what to do. She looked at me.

  “I was going to sit with Jules,” Mae said.

  Which was a lie. Mae knew I hadn’t been planning to sit with her. But she was giving me the benefit of sharing her moment in the spotlight with Larissa. Her niceness made me feel even worse that I hadn’t done anything to help her.

  Larissa turned to me, perplexed. I’m sure she didn’t remember that she had reverse slut-shamed me, or that we had algebra together last year.

  “I’m Jules,” I said, and added, “Mathis,” for clarity.

  Larissa looked me up and down. She pointed at the blue-and-white-striped sweater dress I’d found in the attic. Another one from the Grandma Lydia Attic Collection.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “It’s vintage,” I managed to sputter.

  For one heart-stopping moment, Larissa deliberated. Then—

  “Cool,” she said appraisingly, and waved me over to join them too.

  Mae and I went to sit with Larissa and her cheerleader friends.

  “Sit here,” offered Christine Symkowitz, a tall, athletic blonde who I’d had science class with for two years but had never said a word to me before. They scooted around to make room for us at the table. Girls who had never even acknowledged my existence were now making a place for me.

  Larissa dove in, sitting down next to Mae. “Okay, you have to tell us. You grew up in a cult, right? How bizarre was that!”

  And somehow, just like that, Mae was cool.

  And, by association, so was I.

  PART TWO

  And so it is, that both the Devil and the angelic Spirit

  present us with objects of desire

  to awaken our power of choice.

  —Rumi, “By the Sound of Their Voice”

  CHAPTER 16

  “THAAAAAN, PAHT THE LINAHHHR RIGHT ON THE ADGE of your lahd—”
/>   “Why is she talking like that?” marveled Mae at the overdyed blonde on my phone screen giving a tutorial on how to apply liquid eyeliner.

  “I have no idea,” I returned, adjusting my seating on the bed. I’d forgotten how soft the mattress was, since I’d been staying in Dani’s room the last few weeks while Mae stayed in my-slash-her bedroom. I didn’t mind it that much—Dani pretty much lived in her own world, and I’d started spending more time with Mae. Mom had said finding Mae a new foster home was taking longer than expected, so I’d decided to make the best of the situation. Besides, Mae and I were hanging out more at school, since we were in all the same classes, and it was actually kind of fun to have her around at home. Mae had included me in her newfound popularity from moment one, which was very cool of her—especially since I hadn’t been particularly nice to her when she first arrived. Also, I was used to being on my own around the house, but ever since Mae had defended my outfit to Helen before school one morning, I liked having her as an ally at home. And although I had Isaac, it was nice to have a girl friend.

  We watched the screen skeptically as the talking head ran through tips on applying the goopy dark liquid. I had never been good at applying makeup, but it was a task that I had forced myself to get better at, resigned that it was something I would probably be doing for the rest of my life. I usually didn’t wear much—just enough so that my eyes “popped,” as Isaac said, and so that I didn’t look like an insomniac zombie all the time.

  More important, I’d never been invited to hang out with upperclassmen, so this seemed like the perfect occasion to up my grooming game.

  Larissa Delibero had invited us to a party at senior Chelsea Whiff’s house this Saturday night. Well, she invited Mae, and me by association. Over the last couple of weeks, Mae and I had been hanging out with Larissa and her #squad, which despite my initial skepticism of their cool-girl aloofness had been a lot of fun. At Larissa’s insistence, we all went to the store together to buy makeup. I hadn’t realized makeup buying was a group activity—it was usually something I did on my own, as an afterthought when I was at the drugstore—but I admit that it was actually helpful to have friends there to remind you that no matter how on-trend it is, blue mascara or pink eye shadow are terrible ideas. Larissa swore by liquid eyeliner, so I bought some, even though I’d never used it before. Mae had asked me how to apply it, but I had no idea, so we turned to YouTube.