5
Ten years, one month, and three days ago, my first day of kindergarten never really happened.
Instead, Jessica’s cool small hand on my back woke me in the darkness. I wish you’d get up now, Joy.
“Already?” I rolled my head to one side. Two stars twinkled outside my window. “Is this a dream?” I said hopefully.
“Nope,” Jess said, whispering out loud this time. “It’s time for me to walk you to the school bus. Now hurry.” She tossed me the hot pink overalls and short-sleeved white T-shirt Mom had gently laid over my desk chair the night before.
I must have dozed off again, because next thing I knew Jess was shoving one of my arms through an armhole of the T-shirt, then the other. The shirt had a ribbon at the neckline. Even my sneakers, socks, and underwear were all brand-new and had lain in tissue paper for weeks, sacred, waiting for The Day.
I frowned as she snapped on my overalls. “Mom’s s’posed to walk me.”
“She was going to,” Jess agreed, “but then she found out today’s a special early day for kindergarteners and third graders, so she asked me to do it.”
I took this in. Mom hadn’t mentioned a special early day, but Jess was eight. She knew everything. “What about breakfast?”
“I’m bringing it with us,” Jess said in my ear. “We have to be really quiet till we get to the bus stop, okay? Let’s go.” I wanted to ask why we had to be quiet, and what about brushing my teeth, but she didn’t give me time, she just pushed me out the door. I had to keep moving forward or I’d stumble.
In the kitchen, Jess swooped down and grabbed the pink tote bag she had waiting behind the back door. As soon as the latch snapped shut behind us, she grabbed my hand and Whispered, I want you to run! and together we ran in the cherry-and-peach-colored dawn up the street, and down another one. When we were several blocks from home and my heart was racing, Jess breathed a huge sigh. “We made it!” She consulted her Hello Kitty digital watch. “Twelve seconds before the bus.”
I felt a funny feeling in my stomach. “Jess? I thought the bus was yellow.”
“Not the third-grade bus,” she said, and she was a third grader so she’d know.
She took my hand, and as I followed her up the steep steps I Heard her frantically praying I wouldn’t say anything in front of the driver. I didn’t know why, but I stayed perfectly silent. She plunked down four whole dollars, and the driver, a lady, narrowed her eyes and asked, “Shouldn’t you kids be headed for school this morning?”
“We’re homeschooled, ma’am,” Jess lied smoothly. “We’re going to Canon Beach to meet our aunt.” I tried not to show how startled I was. Why did Jess lie to the driver? I kept quiet while she led me to the back row. As soon as we sat down, Jess pulled away from me so we weren’t touching.
“Why’d you tell that driver lady we were going to the beach?” I said quietly.
“Oh, that,” she said, “that’s just the password code to get on this school bus. It’s a pretty long ride,” she added. “Why don’t we play I Spy?”
I knew she was trying to distract me, so I just folded my arms.
“I Spy with my little eye, something that is pink.”
“My overalls!” I blurted out, engrossed despite myself. We played until the bus driver said, “End of the line!”
It was a weekday in September, so when the bus dropped us off right across from the beach, the sand was deserted. Haystack Rock rose up ahead of us like a small mountain, reaching for the sky.
I remembered this place. Earlier that summer, Mom and Jess and I had come here at dawn to meet Aunt Jane, who was taking a one-day break from being a hermit to sell some mushrooms she’d foraged. But Aunt Jane never showed, and pretty soon the beach filled up with strangers. The drone of Whispers I couldn’t understand surrounded me, and I curled into Mom’s lap, covering my ears as if that would help drown out the noise. When Mom said we had to go home, Jess protested, and Mom had snapped at her to be more considerate, not so selfish. Which was what Mom said a lot to my sister back then.
At the beach Jess let out a whoop, dropped her tote bag, and ran across the sand shrieking. Then she ran back and lay down with her head resting on a perfectly round boulder. Had she lost her mind? “We did it!” she crowed. “We did it.”
Worried, I peered over her. “Why are we here? Where’s the school? Why’d you say we were meeting Aunt Jane?”
She turned to me. “Because we are. She’s going to come and get us and take us to her forest to live with her and her pet wolf.” My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a stone. “And then neither of us will ever have to go to school again.”
I sank down onto the sand and started to cry. “But I want to go to school.” Up until that moment I hadn’t been so sure of this—I knew I was supposed to go, and I wanted to be good and do what Mom said, but I was also scared of school. Part of me had been wishing I wouldn’t have to go after all. Now, on this white, deserted beach alone with Jess, I felt a sudden longing for all the things Mom and I had talked about: cubbies and backpacks. Sitting in a circle and raising your hand to talk. Juice in a plastic cup. “I miss Mom,” I whimpered. I’d never been away from home without her. “I want Mom to come take me to school.”
“Joy.” She knelt down to squeeze my hand, and what I Heard confused me, a mixture of hopes and regrets bouncing off one another. “Trust me, you don’t want to go to school. I couldn’t stand to see you go there and be…be like I am. That’s why we’re going to go live with Aunt Jane.”
Weird, how until she’d mentioned it again I’d sort of tricked myself into forgetting her scary plan. “Mom’s going to worry about us.”
“I doubt it. She doesn’t worry about Aunt Jane being so far away.” Her voice had taken on that icy shell it got when she was arguing. “You just go play. I’m going to concentrate on Whispering to Aunt Jane that I want her to come find us. Jane has the most powerful Hearing of anyone in the world!” She closed her eyes and mouthed wishes I couldn’t Hear. Each time she opened them, her eyebrows drooped with disappointment that Aunt Jane had not yet appeared.
My new white school sneakers were gray with sand dust. Slowly I pulled the Velcro tab off one, then the other, took them off, and shook them out, concentrating on removing every pebble and grain of sand. I could have cried. But I wanted to be brave because I was a big kid now, ready for school. So instead I decided to pretend we were on vacation. While Jess Whispered to Aunt Jane, I played quietly in the waves.
A few minutes later, Jess dug into her tote and unwrapped peanut butter and honey sandwiches with the crusts cut off. She’d prepared them exactly the way I liked, and when I took a single bite I realized I was starving. I bolted the whole thing and promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, Jess was concentrating on my face, squinting the way she did when she was trying to memorize something so she could draw it later.
“Your eyes and your lips look just like mine,” she informed me.
“They do?” I felt a swell of pride. “Maybe it’s because we’re sisters.”
“Duh.” Her eyes got that irritated, impatient look, and I knew she was done talking. She jumped to her feet. “Let’s play that we’re mermaids. No, twin mermaids!”
We were engrossed in a complex mer-family saga, standing in the shade of the rocks, when it happened.
Two motorcycles roared up from each side of Haystack Rock. The riders wore shiny helmets that made them appear inhuman. Identical blue uniforms. Then a squad car with the lights going and a megaphone on top. I was so startled and so scared that my heart suddenly felt huge and sore in my chest. Later we found out the bus driver had tipped them off. They said a bunch of words, probably—in retrospect—something meant to be gentle and calming to a couple of little kids; but all I heard was my own heartbeat, the jumbled buzzing noise of their Whispers, and Jess’s scream.
She grabbed my hand and started to run. My shorter legs could barely keep up, but her grip was so tight I thought my hand would break off if I fel
l behind. One of the cops spoke through a megaphone, going on about how no one was going to hurt us and we weren’t in trouble and that our parents were very worried. There was nowhere to go. We were surrounded. But we ran through the sand anyway, tripping on rocks and glass and garbage, running toward the waves and into the freezing ocean, soaking Jess’s jeans and my pink overalls to the waist, and all the while her grip on me never loosened, her frantic Whisper never changed: I wish I could save you, I have to save you. I need to save you.
6
At first after Icka left, I stood alone by the old dry creek bed, trembling. I didn’t know why I felt so cold, or even how long I stood there. It could have been one minute, or twenty. I just couldn’t stop shaking, teeth chattering, head down, hugging myself. Then, without my consciously planning it, my platform-stilted legs started moving me back toward school.
I drifted into the caf, where I bought a hot chocolate I knew I wouldn’t drink. Something warm to hold on to. My stiff fingers fumbled, and I dropped all my coins and had to apologize to Esperanza, the grouchy lunch lady.
Slouching on a splintery quad bench, I clutched my Dixie cup and watched as chocolate-scented steam vanished into the air. A trio of geeky boys passed by and ogled my outfit. I tried to smile winningly, but my smile flickered and backfired, refusing to stay up at the corners.
Relax, I thought, willing my shoulders to drop. It’s going to be okay now. Look for the silver lining, right? At least I finally got through to her.
But was that true? Or did I only believe it because I wanted to? I shook my head and sighed. I was so tired of Icka playing games with the truth, confusing me about what was real and who was right. My cell phone bulged in its special pocket on my bag’s strap. I could reach for it, dial Mom’s work extension, blurt out the story to her. She’d know just what to say, she’d dole out advice and help me feel better….
Then, with a flash of humiliation, I remembered Icka calling me Mom’s clone, her Mini Me.
Maybe I didn’t need to call Mom. Icka, much as I hated to admit it, just might have a point that I relied on Mom an awful lot for a fifteen-year-old. In my defense, my Hearing brought up issues normal teens simply didn’t have to worry about, and Mom was the only one who understood. Not to mention I slept down the hall from Daughter Number One, the cautionary tale of what happens when kids don’t keep their parents in the loop. Still, I was reaching an age where it was embarrassing to have your mother as the first number on your speed dial. Maybe this was the silver lining, an opportunity to not go running to Mom for once and start relying on myself. Start trusting myself. If I was strong enough to stand up to Icka, I was strong enough to stand this pain, to comfort myself and move on.
The bell rang, and students mobbed the quad, filling it with sunny laughter, hoots and hollers, bustling movement. Voices, talking and Whispering voices, enveloped me. I leaned toward the sounds and took a tiny sip of cocoa.
The rest of the day zoomed by in a blur of cellophane-wrapped roses, hugs, and Hallmark cards.
In algebra, my study group had pitched in to get me a Starbucks gift card, and the girl I sat next to presented me with a giant kitten-shaped card.
In chem, my lab partner Quint handed me a shiny bronze box: Godiva truffles!
Our other lab partner, renn faire dork Pauline, put her head on the desk and sighed. Wish I had my own personal Valentine’s Day.
A pang of guilt hit me as I glanced down at my growing embarrassment of birthday riches. Cards, candies, half a dozen hot pink or red single roses with baby’s breath. It felt good to have people give me presents, but I hadn’t stopped to think it might make someone else feel bad. I tore open the Godiva box and thrust a big milk chocolate truffle at Pauline.
“My chocolate, your chocolate.”
“Seriously?” Her eyes got round. “You rock the galaxy, Joy.”
“Okay, people.” Dr. Kendricks loomed over us, his scowl cutting into my warm glow. “Let’s pretend we actually care about science here!”
As I whipped open my lab notebook, my mind flashed once again on Icka. What she’d said about Dr. K wishing he was a “real” scientist. It occurred to me that Icka wouldn’t have had to Hear anything to guess that teaching didn’t satisfy him. That was obvious to anyone. How like her to figure something out through common sense, then lie to make it seem like she could Hear things I couldn’t! I shook my head, smiled to myself, and flipped to the first blank page. But a tiny part of my brain still worried: What if she really could Hear better?
Near the end of study hall, my phone vibed. I swallowed tightly when I saw it was a text from Parker: omg mr J is insane…pop quiz 2day!!! Btw hope ur having a good b-day!: )
My jaw muscles relaxed. She didn’t even mention the Ben thing—just moved right past it.
In the lunch line, tons of guys made fun of my outfit, but in a funny or flirty way. Girls wanted to know every detail of my kidnapping. Did they blindfold me? Did I scream and fight back?
When I finally joined my friends at our usual bench, they wouldn’t let me apologize for Icka.
“Oh, it’s not your fault,” Helena said, sighing, though I noticed she’d applied a thick coat of concealer and foundation since this morning.
Bree downed a slug of Metro mint water and nodded. “Your sister’s…how to put this? The spawn of Satan.”
Helena grinned, her teeth tinted purple from her açai smoothie. “Wait, does that make Joy’s mom Satan?”
“No, Icka was adopted,” said Parker, “from a demonic orphanage.”
Everyone laughed, and I unwrapped my chicken burrito. We were back to normal.
One weird thing did happen that afternoon. Bree saved my usual seat for me in government, but someone had left a single white calla lily on my desk. I raised my eyebrows at Bree. She leaned halfway out of her chair and murmured, “It was that stoner idiot in back. James, or Jamie…whatever his name is.”
“Good afternoon, citizens!” Mr. Jensen marched to the podium, and Bree snapped back to her seat. I pretended to drop my pencil so I could sneak a peek at the last row. There he was, the boy from this morning. Lanky body hunched over, eyes downcast so his brown emo bangs brushed his desk. I frowned. He hadn’t even wanted me to speak to him in front of his friends at the Path, and now he was giving me a gift?
As Mr. J kicked off his daily rant about the evils of the electoral college, I Listened for Wishes. All I caught at first was Mr. J’s political angst, surrounded by a torrent of psychic Prayers that there would not be a quiz. Then, from the back of the room, I Heard a soft, low voice:
I hope it makes her happy. I want her to be happy.
I blinked, stunned.
It wasn’t the first time I’d Heard someone Whisper unselfishly. Though it wasn’t as common as wanting, say, an iPod, some people really did want to make others happy. Others like their wives, their kids, their best friends. But this Whisper had come from a class-cutting stoner boy I hardly even knew. Weird.
Did he have a burning crush on me? Or was he just a super-kind person?
Either way, it troubled me that I hadn’t noticed.
I twisted around, just in time to see his black backpack disappearing out the classroom door. No one else had even looked up to see him leaving. Mr. J was still talking about the electoral college, his bald dome shining with sweat. I ran my finger down the lily’s waxy, bell-shaped petal. Was this—was I—the only reason he’d come to class today?
A folded note landed on my desk. Bree tugged on a strawberry blond curl and looked away. Ew, her note said. Don’t touch that thing. He probably stole it from the cemetery!! XO—B
I shot her a quizzical smile as if to say, “You’re kidding, right?” but she just stared back at me meaningfully.
Slowly I pulled back and studied the bloom. Then I poked at it with my pencil tip. On close examination, it did look slightly weathered. And Shadelawn Memorial Park was only a block away from campus…. So where would a carless underclassman pick up an unwrapped, not-
quite-fresh lily?
He stole it.
From a dead person.
Bree caught my eye, and both of us burst into giggles.
Joy has to get that creepy thing off her desk! her mind Whispered.
I hesitated. As uncomfortable as I was holding a dead person’s stolen flower—shudder—it was still a gift. His intentions had been good. But it was always hard to resist a direct plea.
I hope there’s no such thing as angry ghosts, Bree Whispered. And I hope Joy isn’t keeping the death flower on her desk because she’s into that guy. I wish she’d throw it away before it contaminates her with gross graveyard germs.
Then again, I thought, the boy wasn’t here to see me. Using a notebook page as tongs, I swept up the lily as if it were a huge bug and carried it to the wastebasket. As I dunked it in, I felt the familiar warm high from giving someone exactly what they yearned for, and grinned. But as I looked up, I saw the stoner boy loping past our classroom window outside. Crap. He’d definitely seen me toss his gift.
Then, to my surprise, he smiled.
I just want her to be happy.
Double crap. I averted my eyes, but I couldn’t ignore the guilt building up in my chest. I’d only thrown away the flower to make Bree happy, but in making her happy I’d been cruel to the boy who gave it to me. And now I had been mean to two people—him and Icka—in one day. Was it possible I was on some kind of roll I couldn’t stop?
A strange thought popped into my head. Could it be the costume, the goth hooker mime getup, bleeding into my personality somehow? Maybe I should go home, I thought. Scrub off this makeup mask, put on jeans, be my normal self again. But I shook my head. That was crazy, and besides there were only two and a half class periods left.
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