I hustled Nicholas downstairs and got him settled at the table with a mug of steaming hot chocolate and a plate of cookies. As I watched him eat an Oreo with studied intensity, Alma appeared. Taking in his tear-streaked face, she waved me away. Yesterday, I would’ve hesitated at leaving them alone when he was in such a state; but the glimpse of a kinder, gentler Alma was still fresh in my mind.
I hurried back upstairs.
When I came in, Daniel triumphantly held something up to the light. “Look what I found!”
It was Bessie, my ruined doll. I scowled. “Of course that survived.”
“So what do you want to do with her?” he asked.
The way he was holding her by the leg bothered me more than I liked to admit. Despite how she’d been damaged, I still associated her with some of my happiest childhood memories. Holding her high in the air as I went down a slide, making funny hats for her, clutching her to my chest as my mother tucked me in. Without any siblings to play with, Bessie had been an honored guest at every tea party I’d ever thrown. Now she was just another unwelcome reminder of how much my life had changed.
Decisively, I took Bessie from him and tossed her on top of the ruined pile.
“You’re sure?” he asked, examining my expression.
“Yes,” I said. “Now can I borrow your phone? I’ve got a call to make.”
Chapter XII
Jane, you are mistaken: probably not one in the school either despises or dislikes you: many, I am sure, pity you much.
I spent another night in Alma’s apartment. She didn’t sing me to sleep this time, but after dinner we sat together in companionable silence. Alma crocheted an afghan; I labored over my homework. A stack of replacement textbooks and a uniform had been left on the kitchen table. I wondered briefly if Georgina had been charged with bringing them back, then immediately decided that was unlikely. Bob had probably been ordered to collect them.
Included was a handwritten note from Ms. Temple:
Janie—
I was so sorry to hear about what happened! Thank God you’re okay. Obviously, I don’t expect you to hand in the Virginia Woolf paper on Friday; take as much time as you need with it. And please, let me know if there’s anything I can do!
Best,
Maria Temple
It was a sweet offer, but unless she could convince the battle-axes at Hamill to be as understanding, I was pretty much guaranteed to fail this semester. All of my homework had been in the bedroom, either in binders or on my laptop; and none of that was salvageable. Which meant that in a few classes, I’d have to start over from scratch.
Georgina’s voice echoed through my mind, dripping with disdain. Please, Janie. No one actually does the homework. Guess it was time to test that theory, I thought grimly.
Mr. Briggs, Esq., hadn’t been in the office when I’d called; his secretary informed me that he’d be out all week, attending to personal business. When she asked if it was urgent, I’d hesitated, then said no. Daniel had pressed me to call back for his cell number, but I’d refused. Even though I was dying to know if John had been telling the truth, what then? Confront the Rochesters about only taking me in for my money? Accuse them of trying to kill me?
I definitely wasn’t eager to have that conversation. It could wait a week.
I got through as much homework as I could, then put the books away.
“Bed?” Alma asked, looking up.
“Yup,” I said, stretching my arms above my head and yawning. It was only nine-thirty, but I was wiped out; it felt like I could sleep for days.
She set her knitting needles in her lap and tilted her head. “Good night.”
“Good night, Alma. And thanks again.” As if by mutual consent, dinner had been a haphazard affair that night: Richard and Marion went out; John, Nicholas, and I ate in the kitchen; and Georgina never showed up at all. I was kind of hoping this would be our new model, and I’d be able to avoid any more tense, multicourse family dramas.
“I’ll probably be out of your hair tomorrow,” I told her. “Richard said they’re working on getting a new room ready for me upstairs.”
The wrinkles in Alma’s forehead deepened, and she said firmly, “You stay here now. Not upstairs.”
“Um . . .” I hedged. I was pretty sure that Marion would have something to say about me sleeping in the maid’s quarters, whether she wanted me in her house or not. “Thanks so much, that’s really kind of you. But I think—”
“Here,” Alma barked. Then she set back to work with her needles, signaling the end of the discussion.
Up until last night, I’d have ranked Alma alongside Marion as the least likely to let me onto a lifeboat. Her abrupt turnaround was perplexing, but I was too tired to argue. I went into her spare room and changed into the pajamas, which I noticed she’d laundered for me. I climbed between the sheets and fluffed the pillows.
My fingers brushed against something tucked against the headboard. Frowning, I drew it out: another of Alma’s pouches, although this one smelled marginally less offensive. I regarded it for a minute, debating. Then I slipped it back under the pillow and shut off the light.
When I entered the kitchen the next morning, Richard was perched on a barstool shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“Janie!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “I was hoping we’d get the chance to have breakfast together.”
“Great,” I said cautiously, setting down my new backpack as I pulled out the barstool beside him. Grace, the cook—an obese woman with a halo of frizzy brown hair and a permanent frown—scraped eggs onto a plate and set it in front of me.
Eat out more, John’s voice warned.
Even though I was starving, I just pushed the eggs around. If I hurried, I could grab something in the cafeteria before class. And that would spare me from having to make awkward conversation with Richard, too.
On closer examination, his eyes were bloodshot, his skin riddled with burst capillaries: sure signs of an alcoholic. I wondered if there was more than juice in his glass.
“Mmm, yummy,” I said unconvincingly. “But I better get going. I’m really behind after missing school yesterday.”
Richard frowned. “You’ve barely touched your eggs.”
“That’s okay. I’m not really hungry.”
He sipped from his glass, smacked his lips, then said, “We should take a minute to discuss your sleeping arrangements.”
“Oh, yeah. Actually, Alma invited me to use her spare bedroom,” I said. “I think it’s perfect.” And far away from the attic, I added silently.
“You want to stay with Alma?” he said quizzically, as if he’d forgotten I’d been sleeping there.
“Sure. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”
Richard squinted at me, as if trying to determine whether or not I was serious. “You really don’t mind?”
“No,” I said truthfully. “It’s perfect.”
“All right, then,” he said. “I guess that’s settled.”
“Great.”
“Oh, and this is for you.” He pulled something out of his pocket and slid it across the counter toward me: a black credit card, identical to the one Georgina used. It had my name printed on it, directly above “The Rochester Family Trust.”
“Wow,” I said without picking it up. “That’s really nice of you.”
“Of course,” Richard said expansively. “I meant to get it for you before, but it slipped my mind. Now you’ll need it, to replace your clothing and such.” He covered my hand with his and continued, “And Janie, don’t feel obligated to stay within a budget. You buy whatever you want. I insist.”
“That’s awesome,” I said without conviction. “Really, really great. Thanks again.”
Richard nodded, but there was uncertainty in his eyes. He’d probably expected more enthusiasm; Georgina would be gushing and
simpering. My lackluster response was clearly off-putting.
As I tucked the card in the outer pocket of my backpack, all I could think was, Thanks for giving me access to my own money. Big of you. I slung the pack over my shoulder and started to leave, but a sudden swell of rage stopped me. I hesitated on the threshold, then said with forced casualness, “This is from my trust, right?”
Richard stiffened. He drew himself up and asked, “What trust would that be?”
“The one my grandparents left me,” I said, meeting his gaze.
He regarded me intently for a minute, and then said, “I suppose your lawyer discussed that with you.”
I didn’t respond; no need to sell out John unless I had to. And Briggs probably had said something; it just hadn’t penetrated my veil of grief at the time.
“Well,” Richard finally continued. “Yes, I believe your card is linked to that account.”
“Good to know,” I said breezily. “Hopefully it’s the only one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richard asked, looking taken aback.
“Nothing. I was just thinking, it’s kind of weird that I haven’t seen any statements yet. Maybe I’ll call the bank after school to make sure everything is cool. Anyway, have a great day!”
As I climbed into the Town Car, Richard’s expression still hovered in the air before me: a mix of surprise, rage, and fear.
I might have just made another enemy, I thought, biting my lip. Maybe it had been stupid, confronting him like that. After all, despite the way he treated the rest of his family, Richard was always nice to me.
Well, it’s not like it could get any worse, I decided, settling back against the seats.
Had I only known then how wrong I was.
I chewed on a bagel as I hurried down the hall toward chemistry class. Miss Scatcherd had threatened to give me detention if I showed up late again, and I wasn’t about to spend a minute longer than necessary at Hamill. I skidded to a stop inside the lab with a minute to spare. Miss Scatcherd frowned at my stuffed cheeks, but she didn’t say anything. I hustled to my desk at the back of the room.
Diana Reed, my lab partner, was already sitting at the table we shared.
“Phew,” I whispered as I sat down. “Barely made it. Hope we don’t have anything tough today.”
Diana didn’t answer. In fact, she made a big show of getting up and sliding her stool away.
I eyed her, puzzled. We weren’t exactly besties, but we’d always gotten along well enough. But Diana studiously avoided my gaze, as if I’d offended her somehow. I shrugged it off. Thankfully, we didn’t have any experiments in class that day; Miss Scatcherd spent the entire period scratching out formulas on the whiteboard while droning on about catalysts.
Diana practically ran from the room as soon as the bell rang. I followed slowly, clutching my books to my chest. Was it my imagination, or was everyone staring at me as I made my way down the hall? Frankly, I much preferred them acting like I was invisible.
“Janie!” Helen appeared at my elbow and tugged on my sleeve. “We need to talk.”
“I’m late for class,” I said.
“It can’t wait,” Helen insisted, dragging me into a corner. The crowd around us dispersed as the bell rang; lockers slammed shut, and loafers squeaked against tile.
“What is it?” I asked. My math teacher wasn’t quite as horrible as Miss Scatcherd, but close.
“Listen,” she said, speaking quickly. “Georgina is spreading all sorts of terrible rumors about you.”
I snorted. “Shocking. That’s not exactly a surprise, right?”
Helen hesitated, biting her lip. “They’re like really, really terrible though.”
My stomach started churning, making me regret eating the bagel. “You might as well tell me. It can’t be worse than what I’m imagining, right?”
“That depends on your imagination.”
The last bell rang; I was officially late. “Let me guess, she’s claiming I started the fire.”
“Worse than that,” Helen said in an anxious whisper. “She’s saying that you tried to kill yourself.”
“What!” I gasped. A storm started to build in my chest.
“She’s telling everyone that you’re trailer trash, that you were basically a crack baby and her parents took you on as a charity case. But you’ve been suicidal, because . . .” She swallowed, seeing my expression. “You’re sure you want to know?”
“Tell me,” I said. “All of it.”
In a rush, Helen continued, “She’s saying that your addict parents blew up in a meth lab explosion.”
I leaned against the wall, breathing hard. A tide of red rose before my eyes. It was one thing for Georgina to spread rumors about me; that I’d been prepared for. But maligning my wonderful, sweet, hardworking parents?
I was barely aware that my feet were moving. Helen said something, but the words sounded far away, and I couldn’t make sense of them. The backpack slid from my shoulders and landed on the ground; I left it.
I didn’t get angry often. I was like my dad that way; most things slid off me like water. But when something incited my rage, I went to a whole other place.
Helen caught up and trotted alongside me, but the roar in my ears continued to drown her out.
I found Georgina sitting on a bench in the courtyard, surrounded by three other girls. She looked up, her eyes narrowing at the sight of me.
“Janie, I really think—” Helen pleaded with me.
I brushed off her arm and kept marching forward. When I was a foot away, Georgina sneered, “Well, if it isn’t crazy Janie.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. Fiercely, I said, “You’re going to tell everyone it’s not true.”
Georgina casually sipped her diet soda. “Why, Janie, you can’t expect me to keep lying to protect you.”
“Say whatever you want about me,” I spat. “But don’t you dare talk about my parents.”
“It’s a shame, really,” Georgina said to her friends, as if I weren’t there. “I heard her dad was pretty hot. Can’t believe he threw his life away on that whore. Guess he was too high to care.”
From far away, I heard her friends laughing. Helen still beseeching me. But the whole world had narrowed to a pinpoint, just Georgina and me. More than anything, I wanted to wipe the smirk off her face.
So I slapped her, hard.
The sound of it rang out like a gunshot. The imprint of my hand on her cheek was bright red. Georgina’s eyes went wide, and she reached up to touch her face.
I’d never been in a fight before, had never hit anyone. The shock of slapping her had quelled my rage, and I reeled back, stunned by what I’d done.
But it was too late. Georgina’s features twisted and she lunged to her feet. She shoved me hard with both hands, sending me flying into the wall. Then she grabbed a clump of my hair, making me howl in pain. As I tried to bat her away, her nails raked my cheek.
Desperately, I fought back, but she was stronger than I would ever have imagined. Screeching like a creature possessed, she slammed my head against the wall so hard it rang from the impact.
From across a great void, I could hear the other girls’ voices, shrill with panic. She grabbed my head again, and I frantically reached out, trying to block her. My hands locked around her throat. Georgina tried to shake me off, but I tightened my grip. I was consumed by one thought: I needed to make her stop hurting me.
“You’re . . . choking . . . me . . .” she gasped.
The tide in my ears receded, and I became aware of the clamor of people around us. Just as I was releasing my grip, someone yanked me from behind. I flew backwards and landed hard.
“Off!” a voice below me growled.
I rolled to my side and discovered Miss Scatcherd beneath me, her face tight with pain and anger. I scramb
led to my feet.
“I told you she was crazy!” Georgina screamed. Two girls stood on either side supporting her. She was bent double, clutching her throat with one hand and pointing at me with the other, tears streaming down her face. “She tried to kill me!”
I turned in a slow circle. A half dozen girls stood around us in shocked silence. Helen was among them, looking stunned.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “But she—”
“You’ll be even sorrier, young lady,” Miss Scatcherd interrupted, lumbering to her feet. Stray hairs exploded from her bun, and her skirt was crooked. She straightened it, glowering. “That is not how a Hamill girl behaves.”
“Janie? What’s going on?” Ms. Temple appeared on the periphery of the group. Two girls parted to let her through. Her brow knit as she took in the scene. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is most certainly not all right.” Miss Scatcherd snapped. “She attacked Georgina! If I hadn’t shown up when I did, who knows what would have happened?”
Ms. Temple searched my eyes.
“It was her, too!” I protested. “I didn’t—”
“She should be arrested!” Georgina sobbed, cutting me off. “I want her arrested!”
“We need to inform Mr. Brocklehurst,” Miss Scatcherd said. “Young lady, go to his office immediately.”
“I’ll take her in a few minutes, after she calms down,” Ms. Temple said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Come with me, Janie.”
“That is not acceptable,” Miss Scatcherd protested. “Maria, this girl is dangerous.”
Ms. Temple drew herself up and said, “I very much doubt that. Tell Mr. Brocklehurst that we’ll be in my office.”
She led me away. Everyone studiously avoided my eyes as I walked past, including Helen. I stumbled slightly, and Ms. Temple’s hand tightened on my shoulder, steadying me. Now that the storm had dissipated, a sense of calm settled over me. I probably would be expelled over this; Georgina would see to that. She might be able to have me arrested, too; after all, I’d started it.
“Easy, Janie,” Ms. Temple said in a low voice. “We’re almost there.”
Unearthly Things Page 17