“I don’t know . . .” Bruno was grateful when Celia let it go.
Halloween was approaching, giving them less time to obsess about unsolved mysteries and moody girls. At least once a week there was a new story about someone at Suburban receiving a kiss note from Mariette and having to deal with the repercussions. It wasn’t always a betrayal, but it was always a surprise. But Regine had typed up a Halloween itinerary for the group. First there were the perversely bright outfits they would wear to school on Halloween, then dressing up as Elizabethan ghosts to give out candy to trick-or-treaters at Brenden’s house, and finally their costumes for the grand ball at Diaboliques the following night.
But the real occasion as far as Bruno could tell was that Ivo would be back from college this time, along with Liz and Brenden. For the first time since August, the entire Rosary would be reunited. And for Regine, the Halloween preparation was really to demonstrate to the other three—and to Ivo in particular—that she had been a faithful custodian of the Rosary’s legacy at Suburban since they’d gone, and to position Sylvio to prove himself worthy of acceptance into the Rosary.
ON THE MORNING BEFORE Halloween, Bruno stared at the test questions on his computer screen in Ms. Moreletii’s lab. He had come into this exam feeling well prepared, but the problems might as well have been in a foreign language. The ones he could decipher were asking him to design processes he was sure Ms. Moreletii never had discussed, much less taught. He started to panic, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he was that something was wrong.
Ms. Moreletii called to him, “Bruno, what’s the problem?” The rest of the class looked up from their computer screens.
Bruno left his seat and approached her desk. He said in a low voice, “I think I have the wrong test.”
“What do you mean? Of course you have the right test.”
“I don’t recognize any of the questions at all.”
“Did you study?” she asked him, and he wanted to throw something. Instead, he nodded vigorously. “Then why aren’t you prepared for the test?”
He turned to his classmates, who were watching with interest. “Don’t say any answers! I just want to know if any of your questions are about a proof of concept.” He scanned the room and saw only blank stares.
“Bruno,” Ms. Moreletii warned from behind him.
“No answers. Just raise your hand if the words proof of concept are anywhere on your test—any question.”
No one raised a hand. Bruno turned back to Ms. Moreletii. “I have a different test from everyone else.”
“That’s not possible.” She stood up and went to his computer. There was a long minute when she didn’t say anything. “This is the level two test. How did you wind up with this? Close out of that,” she said, and returned to her own computer. In another moment she called to him, “Try again.” He reopened the testing module.
This time the test that appeared on Bruno’s screen had questions that were familiar to him. He nodded at Ms. Moreletii and only wished she had apologized for the mistake. He’d lost almost ten minutes.
“CAN YOU TAKE CARE of these?” Lois handed Bruno a small stack of books.
“Sure.”
As he headed off to the stacks, Lois said, “Be careful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Two days ago one of my other aides couldn’t find something, and yesterday someone actually started yelling because he couldn’t find his way out of the stacks. It took me two minutes to get to him.” Lois shook her head in disbelief at what she was saying.
“The labyrinth—it’s getting worse,” Bruno said.
“I think so. You’ve gone much farther into the stacks than I have. What was it like back there?”
“Just dark, really. And the books get larger the farther back you go. There was one point when I thought someone else was back there, but I couldn’t see for sure. It might have been my imagination.”
“You don’t seem like the type to imagine things like that. But you weren’t disoriented?”
“No.”
“Well, keep an eye out, will you? I’m not the only one who’s disoriented anymore. Maybe there’s a gas leak or something.”
“Sure.” Bruno went off to the stacks.
Something was different. He couldn’t say for sure, but as he worked his way through the stacks returning books, there were several times he thought a corner came too soon, or not soon enough. But eventually he found the rightful home of every book.
As he shelved the last one, he heard muffled voices a few aisles over.
“Stop! Just stop for a minute!” a girl hissed. “How do we get out of here?”
“What do you mean? Around that corner,” a boy said.
“Are you sure? I could see the tables before. Where did they go?”
“They’re around that corner. I’m sure. Come back here.”
Bruno walked quickly back to the main aisle, down the next row, and around the corner to the section where he’d overheard the voices. Regine and Sylvio jumped apart.
“You guys all right?” Bruno asked.
“What do you mean?” Sylvio asked. “We’re fine.”
“Are you wearing lipstick?” Bruno leaned toward his brother, who rubbed at his mouth with his fingers.
“Don’t you have books to shelve?” Regine asked scornfully.
“I did. I heard you whispering about being lost.”
“Nobody’s lost,” Regine snapped. “You’re a library aide, not a lifeguard.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember that.” Bruno walked away. In another minute Regine and Sylvio returned to the table in the reading area where they had left their books. Neither of them looked at Bruno.
“GO AHEAD. I JUST NEED to ask Bruno something,” Celia said to the others on their way to the cars after school. “Van talked to me today,” she said as soon as the others were out of earshot.
“Really? About what?”
“He stopped me in the hall, and then he couldn’t come up with an actual question. He kept starting to say things like, ‘Is Bruno . . . I mean, does he . . .’ And then he asked me how I knew you.”
“You think he was trying to get up the nerve to ask you if I’m Kind, or something?”
“Maybe. But it gets weirder. The whole time, he was looking at me so strangely.”
“Like he was angry?”
“No. He acted like he was shy, or nervous about being close to me. But the look in his eyes . . . I’ve seen it before, but I don’t know what it means.”
“You’ve seen it before with Van?”
“No. With Tomasi, actually. And with you, too. I think Van definitely is Kind or Unkind.”
“What kind of look do I have in my eyes?”
“It’s usually after we haven’t seen each other for a while. With Tomasi I used to think it was love. But I’m starting to think it has something to do with being Kind. Come to think of it, Mariette used to look at me that way, too.”
“Strange,” Bruno said. He felt bruised, somehow, but he couldn’t figure out why.
AT SCHOOL HALLOWEEN MORNING, Bruno and Marco were dressed in matching blue seersucker suits. One of his classmates asked, “Are you guys dating?” hoping to embarrass Bruno.
“Would it bother you if we were?” Bruno replied, and the guy looked disappointed that his barb had missed its mark.
Bruno got plenty of attention for his costume. Even Gwendolyn, who had perfected the art of always being headed in the opposite direction from him, stopped short.
“What are you? You always wear black.” It was the first time she had spoken to him in days. “Did you change your style?”
“It’s Halloween!” he protested. “Have you talked to your parents?”
“Kind of,” she said, and fled.
“I don’t believe you!” he called after her.
He seemed to have caught Mariette’s attention, too. All day he saw her at the end of hallways, her strawberry-blond hair flowing as t
hough a breeze danced around her. He thought she was smiling at him, but she was always so far away, it was hard to tell.
After school, the five of them drove to Brenden’s house to prepare for the trick-or-treaters. Ivo and Liz arrived soon after, and Bruno enjoyed watching the reunion of the Rosary. When the trick-or-treating started and they were all costumed and masked in the front yard, Bruno retreated to the far reaches of the fog machine’s coverage to escape Sylvio’s desperation. Marco and Brenden came to find him.
“Have you found any children to spook over here?” Brenden asked.
“Not really,” Bruno said.
“So what’s the deal with Silver? He’s been trying to impress me with his music knowledge all night. Which is fine, but really, we’re supposed to be having fun, you know?” Brenden said.
“He really wants to be a part of the Rosary,” Bruno said. “That’s all I know.”
“It’s pretty obvious. And it’s pretty obvious Regine wants him to be, too.”
“You don’t seem as concerned about it,” Marco said. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand why it’s so important to be a part of a club. I mean, is it a club?”
Brenden shook his head. “It’s just a name.”
“Would we be better friends if I joined—whatever it is?”
“No,” Marco said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“So I don’t see why it’s important.”
“Do you think you could convince Silver of that?” Brenden asked.
“I doubt it.” The three of them smiled knowingly, then waded back into the fog.
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, THERE were four black cars on the drive to Diaboliques instead of three: Sylvio and Bruno in front, followed by Regine and Celia, then Brenden and Marco, and finally Ivo and Liz. For their costumes, Marco had taken his inspiration from Edward Gorey’s illustrations, so their eyes were lined with kohl, and each played a part in a forties murder: Ivo was the patriarch and Celia the matriarch; Liz was the starched maid. Brenden and Marco were detectives. Regine was the ingénue and Sylvio was the playboy. Bruno was the butler.
“How did we wind up being the help?” Liz smiled at him.
Everyone at Diaboliques had gone all out for Halloween, which didn’t surprise Bruno. He took his place with his friends on the edge of the dance floor in Patrick’s room. They barely had settled in when the boys from St. Dymphna’s made their entrance. Each of them had dressed as a cross between a clergyman and a rock star: A priest in a black shirt and white collar with black leather pants. A cleric with a white stole and biker boots. An altar boy with aviator glasses.
“I like this place so much better than the club by Metropolitan,” Brenden told Bruno, just as Patrick put on a new song. “‘Wasteland’ by the Mission UK—God, I love that man!” Everyone headed out to dance.
Later, Bruno went down to the mezzanine and found Cassandra on a couch by herself. She looked up at him expectantly. “Hello there!” She casually took his hand in hers, and immediately Bruno was aroused. Again he blushed, and again she gave him an amused look. “We Ambassadors make it . . . difficult for you, don’t we?” she said, dipping her fingernails into his palm.
“I’m sorry to keep coming to you. I know I’m supposed to rely on Celia, but I found the girl who carries the stranger, and she lives in a house where no one’s home.”
“Good! It’s okay if you come see me. I’m not in the habit of turning away handsome young men.” Cassandra gave him a brilliant smile. “Just keep in mind, I may not give you the answers you seek.”
“I’m supposed to replant her family tree,” he said, trying not to make it sound like a question.
“And so you will,” she said.
He gave up. “How do I do that?”
“You know. You know exactly, and you’re hoping I’ll tell you something different, because you’d rather not do it.”
“You’re right.”
“Forget the admonition for a moment. If you had discovered that Wendy was a Lost Girl some other way—say, by accident—would you stand by without doing anything, allowing her to continue with her deception, knowing she’s putting herself in danger?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Bruno admitted.
“So how is this any different?” Cassandra closed his hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “It was good to see you.”
“It was good to see you.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it, and she laughed. “Go, you sweet boy, or I’ll put you in my pocket and carry you around like a pet.”
As the end of the night approached, Marco returned from the bathroom with a strange expression. Brenden was dancing, and Marco pulled Bruno aside. “One of those St. Dymphna guys just tried to talk to me. Or hit on me, actually.”
“Really? Was it Turlington?”
“Turlington? No, he said his name was Evan. Turlington? Wait, did you talk to one of them, too?”
“A few weeks ago. I think he was trying to pick me up.”
“Well, Evan was definitely trying to pick me up,” Marco said.
They looked across the floor and caught a cupped hand salute from one of the St. Dymphna boys. “Is that Evan?”
“Yup. Which one’s Turlington?”
“In the cassock with the neon-pink crucifix. What did you tell him?”
“That my boyfriend is hotter than the six of them put together,” Marco said. “C’mon, let’s dance.”
11
fade to grey
BRUNO CORNERED GWENDOLYN at her locker on Monday morning. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“What?” She tried to finish collecting her books for morning classes. “Are you being mean?”
“No! So you haven’t talked to your parents. Don’t they want to see you for the holidays?”
“I hope not,” she said scornfully.
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes.” She looked straight at him, and her voice was firm but he saw doubt in her eyes.
“Well, you shouldn’t spend it alone. Will you come to dinner with my family?”
“That’s very nice. But I couldn’t, I mean—”
“You won’t be the only guest. My father’s a minister, and every year he winds up inviting half a dozen people who have nowhere else to go for Thanksgiving. Think of it this way: At least I’ll know you.”
That got her to smile a little. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure. I’ll tell my mom you’re coming.” This time he was the one to dash off before she could protest.
“MARIETTE GAVE LACIE A NOTE,” Regine said at the lunch table.
“Omigod, who cares?” Marco said. “Maybe the truth will set you free, or whatever, but it all seems so mean-spirited.”
“So you wouldn’t want someone to tell you if Brenden was cheating on you?” Regine asked.
“Excuse me?” Marco looked at her sharply. “Why would you say something like that?”
Regine was only slightly cowed. “It’s just a thought experiment. Would you rather not know, or would you rather suffer through someone being mean-spirited enough to tell you?”
“First, I don’t think telling someone is what makes it mean-spirited—it’s having some kind of ghostly access to all this information and making a hobby out of it. Next, what kind of relationship would I have if I didn’t trust Brenden? So how am I supposed to do a thought experiment that is all about not trusting him?”
“Wow, touchy.” Regine rolled her eyes.
“Would you want to know?” Celia asked Regine.
“Yes. If I’m going to have my heart broken, I’d rather get it over with than be the chump in a relationship that should have ended.” She looked at Sylvio. “But I’m not suspicious or anything, okay? It’s just a hypothetical.”
“Sure.” Sylvio nodded.
“How about you, Bruno?” Celia asked. “You’ve been quiet.”
“Bruno doesn’t have anyone to cheat on him,” Sylvio said before Bruno could respond.
>
“Would you want to know if Gwendolyn was kissing someone else?” Regine asked.
“This is when I remember why I never liked having friends before,” Bruno said.
“Ouch.” Regine exchanged glances with Sylvio.
Bruno snapped, “Can’t you just talk about music, or the books you’re reading? At least that’s interesting.”
“You have a good point,” Marco said. “I don’t think anyone meant any harm, though.”
“I’m sorry.” Bruno sat back in his chair, aware that he had crashed the conversation. He looked around the cafeteria and caught Van staring at him. Van looked away quickly.
“The instruments of darkness tell us truths,” Celia said quietly.
“What’s that?” Regine asked.
“We’re reading Macbeth in English, and I wrote down a quote: ‘And oftentimes, to win us to our harms, / The instruments of darkness tell us truths; / Win us with honest trifles, to betray us / In deepest consequence.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I think it means we’re more liable to believe a lie if there’s some truth mixed in,” Celia said.
“That’s a lovely thought,” Regine muttered.
“Yeah, but it’s probably true,” Marco said. “It’s just hard to believe Mariette is an instrument of darkness.” Celia gave him a grateful look.
WITH MR. WILLIAMS’S HELP, Bruno had nearly completed a new drawing of the plan of Suburban High School on a larger piece of paper, making better use of the scale. This time he had used a measuring tape in the halls and classrooms, quietly enjoying the intrigued looks from people around him. His lines were surer, and it was an even more satisfying project the second time around.
The missing back wall of the library challenged him every time he looked at his plan, though. He could have taken the path of least resistance and penciled it in where it logically should have been, stopping in the same plane as the wall of the lobby below. But there was no doubt in Bruno’s mind that he had walked much farther in that direction than he could have on the first floor. And the You Are Here drawing he had seen had left the wall out, too.
Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange) Page 15