by C. J. Valles
“I almost forgot!”
She rushes over to the pantry and pulls out a bag of potato chips, waving it in the air like a trophy. I laugh.
“It’s all about …”
“… the little things!” I chime in, laughing even harder.
“Mmm!” she says, taking a handful of chips. “And the big things. … Your birthday is coming up pretty soon. Seventeen! I can hardly believe it. What do you want to do?”
I’m still smiling, but the carefree moment of elation I had only seconds ago has withered. The weight of my decisions, made and unmade, are collapsing in on me. Could I lose my life by tomorrow—or will I wake up eighty years from now, ancient like Madame Rousseau? Should I have said yes to Ever and gambled my life for the possibility of forever? But what would I have to give up in return? My mom? My humanity? I look up as she waves a playful hand in front of my face.
“Wren? Hello?”
“Sorry. I hadn’t thought about my birthday much.”
This is an outright lie. Just a week ago, I had a very specific thought about my birthday: that I wasn’t going to live to see it.
“Well, let me know. We’ll go anywhere you want.” She pauses. “I know moving in the middle of your junior year wasn’t what you were planning on …”
The pained expression on my mom’s face causes my chest to tighten. There are some things that people whose parents didn’t go through a bad divorce wouldn’t understand—like when I look at my mom and know that I can’t be angry with her. Not for long, at least. We’re all that’s left of our family. I can’t hurt her.
But I very nearly did. If I had disappeared, if I had died, it would have been a betrayal on my part. My decision to give myself up will always haunt me, regardless of the end result. Ashley is safe, and I didn’t abandon my mom—but there was still no good option. Either sacrifice myself and cause my mom suffering, or make Ashley pay for my decision? Still, I can’t torture myself now. Because there wasn’t any good choice. The same goes for my mom. What was her choice? Not take a good job? Not try for new start?
“Mom, A, I love it here. And B, Oregon is full of hot guys. Have you seen my boyfriend?”
She laughs, which is exactly what I was hoping for. Picking up both our plates, I walk to the sink and wash them. When I come back to the table, I wrap my arms around her. She looks up at me, a worried look lingering in her eyes.
“Honey, you’ve always been such a serious little thing, and part of that’s my fault—”
“Mom!”
She raises a hand.
“Will you just promise me you’ll have some fun, and stop taking life so seriously? Enjoy yourself. Don’t worry so much. Be young while you can.”
I force myself to nod, but deep down I can’t help thinking that I’m not taking things seriously enough—and that I’ve only seen the very edges of darkness. Darkness that I have no chance of escaping.
9: Let Go
What my mom said is true. I have a hard time living in the moment. Even when I was a little kid I worried a lot. My mind remains hyper-aware of the pieces of my life hanging in the balance, or threatening to tip it. Before we moved to Portland, it was my parents’ marriage—the deathly silence of family dinners, my mom trying too hard, my dad working late nights at the office.
Now it’s actually life itself hanging in the balance. But I need to let go and take my mom’s advice to enjoy the little things. And the big ones. Because other than being afraid that my life might end at any moment, things are as good as they’ve been in a long time. And if I don’t let go, just a little bit, I’ll go crazy.
As Ever and I walk to Art on Monday morning, I’m grateful that Alex has made himself scarce, at least for right now. Mr. Gideon smiles and shakes his head at us when we pass him. Blushing, I look down and wonder if he somehow gives me credit for Ever’s statue-come-to-life transformation.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Gideon says dramatically, “I hold in my hand only two permission slips for the trip to the Portland Art Museum, which has been rescheduled for this Friday. Now, really, people? Can Ms. Sullivan and Mr. Casey truly be the only art lovers in this classroom?”
My adrenaline spikes—first, at the sound of my name, and second, at the realization that I had never even asked my mom about it, which means … I look over at Ever, and he just smiles.
“Then these two will be the only ones with permission to leave after fourth period on Friday to visit the museum,” Mr. Gideon says.
When our teacher is treated to a chorus of groans, I turn to Ever.
“The permission slip?” I ask dryly. “How’d you manage that?”
“I gave it to your mother. She thought it would be a good educational opportunity.”
I smile.
“I can’t argue with that.”
During nutrition, all of us gather outside to worship the sun, which has broken through the cloud cover. Marcus and Josh are throwing a football back and forth while the rest of us are hanging out on the benches. Matt from my Art class is sitting across from me talking to a guy I don’t recognize. And for once, he doesn’t seem to be watching Ever with the same level of intensity as before. He glances over at me and nods, but I don’t pry. Instead, I hope this is a good thing for him. I lean back into Ever, and he brushes my hair behind my ear.
“Why is it so important to you that other people are happy?” he asks softly.
I shrug.
“Isn’t that human nature?”
“Not from my experience.”
I look down.
“Well, maybe I’m just selfish, then. Maybe I figure if other people have a chance at a happy ending, then I do, too.”
This reminds me of the person I wished an eternity of loneliness on. Scanning the perimeter of the school grounds, I finally spot Alex on the brick wall at the edge of the parking lot—in almost the exact same spot where I first saw Ever outdoors. My kidnapper is looking right at me.
“Heads up!”
I turn just in time to see a football flying straight for my face. Raising a hand to deflect it, I cringe. But when I open my eyes, Ever is holding the football in his hand, studying it. In a lightning fast movement, he throws it back to Marcus, who grunts when he intercepts the ball.
“Thanks, man.”
“Sorry! I thought it was a good throw,” Josh stammers.
“Just try not to kill my girlfriend next time,” Ever says good-naturedly.
“Is there a magnet in my head?” I mutter.
This makes Ever frown, which means: Yes. I do have a magnet in my head. For all kinds of bad things.
“Hey! Wren, Audra!”
I turn to Ashley.
“Dress shopping—part two—on Thursday?”
I nod, and Audra says, “Of course.”
“Seriously, though,” I say with a shiver. “I don’t know how you can even think about wearing dresses right now. It can’t be more than fifty degrees!”
Lindsay turns her face toward the sun and smiles.
“Balmy, isn’t it?”
“Right. Apparently you Oregonians don’t actually know what warm means. Let me fill you in. It means, I can take off my jacket for once!”
The truth is that I could take off my jacket right now—if I held myself to Ever for heat. As soon as I think this, Ever laces his fingers with mine, and I feel a burst of warmth. I smile.
“Thanks.”
When the bell rings, I try to identify what doesn’t feel right. It’s me. It’s the feeling that my entire life is balancing on the edge of the cliffs at the Oregon coast, about to splinter on the rocks below. And I can’t escape the feeling that if I truly let go, something is going creep up on me and steal everything I have. My mom said once that worrying is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hope she was wrong.
Ever walks with me to French. As he turns and leaves, I stay in the doorway and watch him. He looks back once, his uneasy expression mirroring mine. When I get to my seat, I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, only too
aware of Alex in my peripheral vision. It’s not so much that I’m angry with him; it’s more that I loathe him. I don’t believe Ever is faultless. I never have. But he has a conscience and some concern for others. Alex, from what I’ve seen, is willing to sell or trade anything and anyone for his own purposes. Yeah, I made a deal with him—but it doesn’t mean I trust him.
After school on Tuesday, I get ahead in my reading and make sure I’m keeping my head above water in Chemistry and Algebra. When my mom texts me to remind me she’s getting home early, I get up and put on my running shoes. I’m not planning on running—just walking to clear my head. When I get outside, Audra appears like she has every other time.
“You know, I appreciate you guys trying to keep me not dead and not possessed, but I could really use some alone time,” I wince.
Audra shrugs, unfazed, and then vaporizes. As I skip down the steps, I’m sure she’s not far. But at least I can enjoy the façade of solitude. Then the thought of having so many beings focused on my survival reminds me of something.
“Wait! Audra! I take it back,” I whisper self-consciously.
“Indecisive, aren’t we?” she says from behind me.
“Sorry, but I have a question.”
She nods and starts walking. When I catch up to her, I try to think of how to phrase my query.
“Is there something I can do to improve my chances of not getting possessed?”
“Stay alive,” she suggests.
“Um, I was thinking a little more specific than that.”
“You could take Ever up on his offer …”
“To become more like you,” I finish. “Then … that’s it? Those are my options?”
She considers this for a moment.
“I’ve never seen a human resist possession once they’ve been taken. Not for long. But Ever said you can block him out when you want to?”
I nod cautiously.
“Yeah, if I focus really hard.”
“Use that. If you think you’re in danger, you may be able to draw more power than you know you have. It could save your life.”
I look up. I guess the sunny weather wasn’t meant to last. It’s not raining, but the sky appears to be in a holding pattern. The smooth gray backdrop is peppered with puffy dark clouds that haven’t produced anything, and I assume that at any moment it could start pouring. Or it could just stay like this indefinitely. Forever gray.
Later, while I’m sitting alone at the kitchen table, I try to envision myself as the fearless heroine from a TV show or comic book. Wren Sullivan, inter-dimensional demon hunter. Going over to the counter, I pick up the notepad my mom keeps for the grocery list. With a pencil, I sketch out what my superhero costume might look like—only with me being about five inches taller. I never would have tried this before taking Mr. Gideon’s Art class, and it’s still a childish depiction. But the tight bodice, tall boots, short skirt, and facemask make me laugh. The “W” on the chest is the clincher, though.
“I like it,” a voice says from behind me.
Screaming, I jump out of the chair, and Ever steadies me when I stumble backward.
“Ever!” I gasp, trying to slow my heart rate. I smack him on the chest and then rub my knuckles. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that! Or you’re going to have to explain to my mom why I had a freaking heart attack in the kitchen. Remember the shapeless demons hunting me? For all I knew, that could have been my last moment on Earth.”
Ever’s expression turns serious in a heartbeat.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I should have known better.” His smile returns, and he reaches over and taps the pad of paper. “I do like it, though.”
I laugh shakily.
“Good. It’s going to be my superhero costume,” I joke before looking at the clock on the microwave. “Hey. … My mom’s getting home soon.”
He kisses me lightly and then vanishes. Turning, I muddle around until I’ve scrounged up the ingredients for burritos. My effort is minimal; dinner only requires heating up beans and tortillas and then throwing cheese and diced chilies into the mix. Hearing the front door open, I call out to my mom. She says hi back as she turns on some music before coming into the kitchen. I turn as she throws her purse onto one of the chairs.
“What a day!” she exclaims. “Drama, drama, drama.”
“And you love it,” I tease.
“Okay, you’re right! I totally do.”
“Dinner isn’t exciting. Sorry.”
“If I don’t have to cook it, I’m happy,” my mom says cheerfully.
I look up from stirring the bean mixture.
“You love to cook.”
“When I have time—and when I’m not absolutely exhausted. So, what’s going on with you?”
“Not much. Oh! Before I forget … I’m going dress shopping on Thursday—”
My mom frowns.
“I thought you guys already did that?”
“Yeah, my friends did,” I say slowly. “Now it’s my turn.”
I smile crookedly as my mom’s eyes widen.
“Does this mean … ?”
“Yep. Pigs are flying around outside as we speak, and I’m going to dance in public.”
“Honey! I’m so proud of you!”
My cheeks redden.
“For going to a dance? It’s not exactly a monumental feat.”
“Well, I say it is.”
She grabs her purse from the table and takes out her credit card.
“Let’s make it an early birthday present,” she says.
“Mom!”
“Just don’t go too crazy. Okay?”
“Thanks.”
I hug her.
“You’re going to have so much fun!”
“Yeah, as long as my date wears steel-toed shoes.”
I smile at how wildly inaccurate my joke is. Ever is impervious. I could step on his toes all night, and I’d probably just snap a high heel.
“You’ll be fine, honey. I’m so happy for you!”
I smile again. If I can get past being hunted by shadowy inter-dimensional things, then I guess I can get over my fear of dancing. After dinner, I head upstairs, and before getting ready for bed, I tack my drawing to the corkboard on my desk.
By the end of the day on Thursday, I’m genuinely excited about our shopping trip. Audra insists on driving, and I resist making a crack about fitting all five of us into her tiny silver sports car. When the rest of us gather curbside to wait for her, I point to the garment bags the others are carrying.
“In case we change our minds!” Ashley says.
“Oh,” I laugh.
Audra pulls up seconds later in Chasen’s monstrous black SUV.
“Let’s rock and roll!” Lindsay says with a laugh.
I let her take shotgun and climb into the back with Ashley and Taylor. When Audra pulls slowly away from the curb, I smile at her in the rearview mirror, amused that the first time I feel somewhat normal is when a group of immortals enters my life.
Less than an hour later, I’m standing in a dressing room, staring at the mirror and shifting back and forth as I study my reflection. This is the third dress I’ve tried on. It’s short, but not too short, falling just above my knees. The sweetheart top, which is held up by shiny satin ribbons is the part I’m a little worried about. I don’t have that much up top to hold it up. Plus, I can’t reach to get the back zipped all the way. When someone bangs on the door—Lindsay probably—I jump.
“Come out—or we’re huffing and puffing and blowing the door down,” she demands.
“All right!”
Breathing in, I unlock the door and step out. Audra is standing in her latest selection—a short, shimmering silver halter dress.
“You look—” I start.
“Like a freaking goddess, doesn’t she?” Lindsay says, cutting me off. “It’s sick! I’m trying on another dress.”
“Wren, that looks really great,” Taylor says. “I think you should get it. The color is
perfect.”
I turn around, and she zips the back for me. When I turn to face them again, Ashley nods in agreement, and I look down at the berry-colored chiffon. It makes me look even paler, but I really like the black bow at the waist.
“What about the top?” I frown.
“Don’t worry! There are straps, which means it can’t fall off!” Ashley laughs. “Get it.”
She disappears and returns with some black peep-toe heels.
“You have the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen! You’re like a six, right?”
My eyes widen when I realize the shoes are meant for me, not Audra.
“No way! I’ll kill myself in those. What’s wrong with flats?”
Ashley gives me a withering look and hands me the shoes.
“Practice,” she assures me.
“Yeah, and break an ankle!” I shoot back.
Holding onto Taylor for support, I slip on the heels. They add a good two inches onto my very average five-foot-four stature. I take a few wobbly steps.
“Definitely. I’m definitely going to break something in these.”
Lindsay comes out of one of the dressing rooms in an extremely short black dress with almost no back.
“Linds, come on. Mr. Chernoff will kick you out of the dance in a heartbeat if you wear that!” Ashley laughs.
“Fine, then!” Lindsay huffs. “I’ll just stick with boring!”
She sticks out her tongue and storms back into the dressing room. Ashley rolls her eyes, and she and Taylor urge me to go get the dress and shoes. I duck back into the dressing room to change into my jeans and sweater. When I’m done, I walk to the register and hand the items to the woman behind the counter, hoping that my mom doesn’t mind the additional purchase. I figure I can always pay her back from my dwindling savings account—money I still need to buy a car, if I ever get around to it.
“Are you Wren?” the woman asks after she’s finished ringing up the shoes and dress.