The girl who gazed back at her was beautiful, with long and satiny dark hair, russet skin, and hazel eyes. Jacqueline almost didn’t recognize herself. She’d spent so long wearing beaten-up hand-me-downs—The Salvation Army Special, as one of her former foster sisters used to say—that to see herself done up, bathed, and smiling caused her to do a double-take. The black blouse was tight and ribbed, hugging her sides and the curve of her hips. She turned to the side, eyes wide and unbelieving. She looked so much older it was actually kind of scary.
Her compact was sitting on the dresser. Shaking a bit, she opened it and Mal appeared. She positioned the mirror so he could look at her.
“What do you think?” she asked shyly.
Mal grinned. “I like.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I like…a lot.”
Her tension released with a sigh. “Good.”
“Man,” Mal said. “I wish I could be there with you now.”
Jacqueline faltered. “Well…you are.”
The boy in the mirror shook his head. “You know what I mean, Jackie. I wish I could be there for real, instead of like…like this.” He blew a strand of hair from in front of his face and frowned.
Jacqueline sat on the corner of the bed and picked at her fingernails. “I know,” she said sadly. “I do too.”
They were silent for a moment, both staring at each other, until Mal’s lips curled up. “Hey, at least you’re happy, right?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“So that’s good. All the rest will come later. Right?”
“Right.”
“So for now, let’s just focus on how special you are. The most beautiful girl in the world.”
“Thanks.”
Jacqueline exhaled and cocked her head. She glanced around the room, from the smiling face of the boy in the mirror to those of her parents, looking down on her from their places on the wall. You’re all here, aren’t you? She reclined on the bed, spread her arms out wide. The sunlight shining in through the windows warmed her soul.
CHAPTER 9
After two weeks, Aunt Mitzy’s house actually started to feel like Jacqueline’s own. The nightmares still came occasionally, but they weren’t so terrifying anymore. She didn’t tell Aunt Mitzy about them; in no way did she want her aunt to ship her off to some psychiatrist because she had an overactive imagination. I have to learn to trust myself, she thought. After all, if Aunt Mitzy trusted her, why couldn’t she do the same?
On weekends, she and Mitzy would traipse about town, doing girly things like getting their nails done, trying on makeup, or just shopping. Aunt Mitzy loved to shop, but apparently hated cooking—every dinner was either at a restaurant or from the takeout menu. The only time the stove was used was when Mitzy wanted to bake cookies, which wasn’t often.
During weekdays, Mitzy left the house every morning at eight to go to her job in Hartford, and didn’t get home until six. Jacqueline spent those mornings lazing around the house, watching television and spending time with Mal. Come lunchtime she’d eat the sandwiches Mitzy left in the fridge for her—cucumber with tartar sauce, again her favorite. It seemed like whatever Jacqueline wanted, Mitzy gave her, and mostly she didn’t even have to ask.
Her afternoons were spent reclining on the hammock in the backyard, sipping iced tea while reading Mal some of the trashy romance novels Aunt Mitzy kept in the empty upstairs bedroom next to hers. She never left the yard, didn’t even walk down to the end of the driveway when the mailman came, and the only neighbor she’d talked to was an older man named Fran Mancuso, who lived in the nice white Cape next door. It was enough for her just to get used to living free from pain or stress. She’d locked herself inside her own private bubble, and she didn’t want to leave it.
On her third Tuesday in Mercy Hills, Mitzy surprised her by coming home from work just past noon. She breezed through the front door, whistling. Jacqueline rushed into the kitchen, fearing the worst.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Mitzy snatched a bottle of water from the fridge and turned to her, smiling. “We have a date today, remember? We talked about it last weekend.”
Jacqueline’s shoulders dropped, a frown tugged on her lips.
“You do remember,” laughed Mitzy. “Don’t worry, sweetie. It won’t be so bad. High school’s a necessary evil for everyone.”
Forty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of J. Robert Oppenheimer High School. It was a strange name for a school, since she’d never heard of J. Robert Oppenheimer before. It was also a strange looking place, a bunch of rectangles haphazardly stacked next to and on top of each other. Jacqueline found it fascinating and frightening at the same time.
The inside was dreary, with squares of dark linoleum beneath her feet and bland brick walls. The lockers lining those walls were painted a putrid shade of greenish yellow. Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Aunt Mitzy’s high heels clicked on the tiles while Jacqueline’s boots clomped dully.
They entered the administrative office. The secretary was a young woman with dark rings around her eyes. Her hair was slicked back and she was much too skinny. She greeted Jacqueline and Mitzy like she was terrified of them. They were made to wait a few uncomfortable moments in silence before the secretary timidly gestured for them to go through the principal’s door.
The office they walked into was small and meticulously clean. Every stack of papers was tidy; books were placed on a bookshelf to the left, organized from biggest to smallest. Jacqueline couldn’t see a spot of dust anywhere, not even on the plaques hung on the walls. The principal was fat, with thinning hair and sagging jowls. He sat behind a desk toward the rear of the office, sunlight streaming through the curtained windows behind him.
He glanced up from whatever he’d been working on. “Ah, hello,” he said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He gestured to the seats in front of the desk. “Please, sit down.”
The chairs were hard-backed and uncomfortable, with metal piping beneath that poked into Jacqueline’s rear. This must be how he keeps the students uneasy, she thought.
The principal cleared his throat. His smile was as phony as any Jacqueline had ever seen—and if anyone would know a fake smile, it was a child who’d spent the better part of five years in the foster care system.
“I’m glad you made it in, Miss Sarin,” the principal said. He reached a pudgy, powdered hand across the desk, which Aunt Mitzy shook without hesitation. “My name’s Ray Butler, and welcome to J. Robert Oppenheimer High.” His sad, shapeless eyes glanced in Jacqueline’s directions. “I take it this is Miss Talbot?”
The way he gawked at her gave Jacqueline the creeps.
“It is,” Aunt Mitzy replied.
“Good. Let’s take a look at what we have here.” Principal Butler rifled through a stack of file folders, pulled one out. He opened it and flipped through the papers inside. “Miss Sarin, I went through these last Friday, when you registered Jacqueline for school and set this appointment.” He looked up at them both. “Let’s just say I was a bit…concerned.”
“What’s the problem?” Mitzy asked. The fat man clucked his lips and stared at Jacqueline.
“Miss Talbot here has quite a sordid history.” His gaze drifted back down to the papers in the folder, and Jacqueline was glad. He had unsettling small eyes. “Emotional outbursts, multiple suspensions, a history of erratic behavior. Two fights on record. She’s attended…” he flipped to another page, “…nine schools in the past five years. And none of this takes into account her lackluster grades. Seems to me like we have a very troubled child on our hands.”
Jacqueline felt tightness in her chest and tears well up in her eyes.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Mitzy said. “She’s just a teenage girl who’s gone through great trauma in her young life. When you’re shipped around as much as she’s been, you’re bound to act up.” She reached over, squeezed Jacqueline’s hand. “But Jackie’s adjusting. She�
�s finally someplace stable, someplace loving. And she’s a smart girl. She’ll do well here. She deserves to learn along with everyone else.”
“Well…” Principal Butler hesitated, as if unsure what to say. “That’s not really the point. You’re right that she deserves her education, but you can’t deny she has a certain…history. And that history could endanger both her and the other students.”
“What history?”
He guffawed. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“She has…well…sometimes there’s a…oh, screw it. Look who her father is.”
Jacqueline whimpered.
Aunt Mitzy squeezed her hand again. “True, her father did some rather unfortunate things. However, are we to punish the child for her parent’s shortcomings? I mean, my sister was married to the man, yet you don’t treat me like I might be a threat. I think for you to do so to Jacqueline is entirely unfair. Don’t you?”
The man shifted in his chair. “Uh, well, I suppose.”
“Then why mention it at all? What we have here is a bright girl who’s lived the last few years in situations you couldn’t even imagine. Yet look at her. She’s exemplary in every way. She deserves a chance. In fact, the law in the state of Connecticut demands she have that chance.”
Again that phony smile stretched across Principal Butler’s face. “Of course, Miss Sarin. I would never even hint at turning away a potential student in Jacqueline’s situation. The only reason I bring it up is because it might prove…problematic down the line. Children can be cruel, high schoolers more than most. Should one of our more unsavory students take a dislike to Jacqueline and do some digging, they could use it against her. Life could get quite difficult should that happen.”
Jacqueline dropped her head and stared at her boots. There it was again, her past coming back to haunt her. It’d been the same with other principals in other schools she’d attended. She was sure Aunt Mitzy would turn her away like all the others, thinking her too much trouble.
Her aunt said, “”So why don’t we make sure no one finds out?” and gently tickled the inside of her niece’s palm.
For the next twenty minutes she sat there and listened while Aunt Mitzy and Principal Butler discussed curriculum and class schedules. When asked a question about her schooling, such as how confident she felt moving on to Algebra 2 even though she’d gotten a D in Algebra 1, she gave short and to-the-point answers. Otherwise, she kept her mouth shut. Given the barely-veiled threat regarding her father, she didn’t want to say something Principal Butler might hold over her head. Besides, Aunt Mitzy seemed to know exactly what she was doing, using coy expressions and playful gestures to get her way. From what Jacqueline had seen, Mitzy always got her way.
The meeting wrapped up, and Jacqueline and her aunt headed for the exit. “Jacqueline, one more thing,” Principal Butler said.
She paused. “Yeah?”
His counterfeit grin grew wider. “When school starts, you’re going to be on your best behavior, correct? I’ll have my eye on you.”
Jacqueline shivered and walked out the door.
There was a road block on the way home. A man wearing a fluorescent yellow vest ushered traffic down a side street while a road crew worked on the power lines. Aunt Mitzy rolled down the window.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
The man ogled her a moment before stammering, “Transformer blew, ma’am. Knocked down three of the lines. Got some live wires in the road.”
Mitzy sighed, muttered, “Thanks,” and rolled up her window. She then jacked the wheel and skidded around, heading down the detour. Jacqueline gripped the handle above her head. Her aunt looked downright pissed.
“What’s wrong?” Jacqueline asked.
“Nothing, sweetie,” Mitzy said through clenched teeth. “I just hate detours.”
Something in the tone of her voice said she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but Jacqueline left it alone.
It was a gorgeous day that just got even more beautiful as they drove down a suburban road. Hydrangeas and rhododendrons were in full bloom, painting the front yards of the quaint houses with washes of vivid greens, purples, and reds. Children played beneath the bright afternoon sun, making Jacqueline think that maybe she should venture around the neighborhood for once, see if she couldn’t drum up some kids her own age to hang out with.
Mitzy circled a bend, and the houses became farther apart, the yards less well maintained. An uneasy feeling formed in Jacqueline’s stomach. Aunt Mitzy drew in a sharp breath.
They soon entered a straightaway where there were no homes at all. The woods were immensely thick on either side of the street, ominous and dark. They passed a dirt driveway overgrown with weeds to the right. Beyond the driveway, mostly hidden by skeletal, warped trees, was a house.
Even though she could only see a portion of it, it was still the creepiest house Jacqueline had ever seen, like something out of an old horror movie. The place was huge and sagging, everything about it darker than it should’ve been. The top floor poked above the leafless tree limbs like a predator, its window-eyes hungrily staring at the car as it passed. For a moment, Jacqueline thought she saw something flash across one of those windows, and she jumped in her seat. The seatbelt dug into her collar, a loud buzzing filled her head. Jacqueline closed her eyes, covered her ears, and hummed.
After a few seconds, the sensation drifted away. Jacqueline opened her eyes and stared out the window. They were now on a familiar suburban road, and everything seemed normal again. She glanced at her aunt, saw the frown on her painted lips.
“What was that house?” Jacqueline asked.
“A bad place,” Aunt Mitzy answered gravely.
Those were the last words spoken between them until they got home.
CHAPTER 10
The next day, after Mitzy got home from work, Jacqueline and her aunt sat down for another take-out dinner. The boxes from the previous night’s meal were heaped in at the other end of the table. Mitzy pointed at them as she chewed her tofu.
“I thought I asked you to take care of those,” she said, though not in a mean way.
“I forgot,” said Jacqueline. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. But when we’re done, I want them thrown out. And the dishes washed. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mitzy cringed. “Ouch.”
“What?” Jacqueline asked, half a noodle sticking out of her mouth.
“I just sounded like a nun at a boarding school, didn’t I?”
“Sorta.”
Mitzy crossed herself with her right hand. “Swear to God it won’t happen again. So long as you don’t call me ma’am anymore.”
“Deal…ma’am.”
“Okay, now you’re just being mean.” The smile on Aunt Mitzy’s face could’ve melted ice.
Jacqueline danced her fork around her plate, repositioning her food. She didn’t feel very hungry. Her stomach rumbled, her thoughts reeled. School was only a week away. She wished she never had to go to school again at all. I just need to think of something else, she decided.
“Mitzy, what was that house?” she asked.
“What house?”
“The one we passed yesterday. The, er, scary one.”
“Oh. That. It’s just an old house.”
“You said it was a bad place.”
“I did?”
Jacqueline nodded.
Mitzy put down her fork and placed both hands on the table. Her brow furrowed in concentration, as if she had a mental lockbox somewhere inside her skull and was having a hard time getting it open.
“It is just a house,” Aunt Mitzy finally said. “Every town has one like it. An abandoned place with…well, history.”
“What kind of history?”
Mitzy’s eyelids fluttered. “You really want to hear it?”
Again, Jacqueline nodded.
Her aunt sat back in her chair and played with the top buttons of her blou
se as she spoke. “I told you that your mom, dad, and I grew up in this town, right?” she asked.
“Yup.”
“Well, the street your father lived on is actually the one with the manor house on it. At the time, the old widow Gabriella Coppington still lived there, with her cats. The estate had been in her husband’s family since the 1700s, when they first started growing tobacco. They’d owned a few farms in Mercy Hills, and twelve generations of Coppingtons grew up in that house. That is, until Bertrand Coppington, Garbiella’s husband, passed away. Their lands fell into the possession of his widow, but she was too old to take care of it all. None of their children wanted any part of the family legacy, and so Gabriella sold off the land, bit by bit. One of the farms was sold to a guy named Bruce Mancuso.” She pointed next door. “His son, Francis, is our neighbor. You met him, right?”
Jacqueline bobbed her head.
“Anyway,” Mitzy continued, “the woods behind that house are thick, and when your mother and I were young, we’d hear stories of the neighborhood kids ignoring the ‘No Trespassing’ signs and sneaking through the fences to go drink and party and all that. We never did—we were only in grade school at the time. Widow Coppington was always calling the cops on them, and it became a running joke that the Mercy Hills police department was run from that house, they were there so much.
“Then, one day, the phone calls stopped, and kids started getting even more brazen than before. They’d organize huge parties, and half the kids in town would show up. Joe would say he could hear them at night, whooping it up and revving their engines. The lawn in front of the manor went without upkeep for weeks, and there were empty beer and liquor bottles all over the place. Kids started making huge bonfires that would light up the night sky in summertime.”
“That must’ve been scary.”
“It was. Even more so when one of those bonfires got out of control during an extended drought. I think I was ten or so. Fire departments from three towns away had to be called in to put it out. Six teenagers died, probably too drunk to run away. Which is why it’s not a good idea to drink and play with fire.”
Boy in the Mirror Page 6