She shakes her head, her white hair swaying. Yeah, white. “The air feels nice out there.”
She leads us out back where her eleven sisters are lined up beside a pool that glows an eerie blue. The moon penetrates the fog, but the stars are too weak to do the same. Calla tells us to each take a partner. I step in front of the last girl, since I was in the back of the guys. Her dark hair—I can barely make out that it’s red—blows lightly from the wind.
“I’m Rose.” She’s the third sister I’ve been introduced to and the third with the name of a flower.
“Cal.” My arms feel awkward hanging out at my sides. She holds out her hands. “What are we doing?” I ask.
“Dancing. The reason you’re here.”
“I didn’t realize ballet involved hand-holding.”
She laughs. “Haven’t you ever been to a ballet?”
I grimace. “No.”
“Well.” She takes my hands in hers and holds them up. My black hands contrast with her white ones like yin and yang, like the moon and the sky . . . now I’m just sounding sappy. “In partnering, these”—she squeezes my hands—“are your barre.” Slowly a smile spreads across her face, appearing almost sinister. Her chest rises, and she lets out a low hum.
So do her sisters.
Rose pulls me closer and transitions her hand to my shoulder.
“The song came in that night with the tide.” Their song is carried by the wind as they sing. “No one heard it except for two drifting ships whose sailors were still sinking to the depths.”
Her and her sisters’ voices are angelic.
My hand slides to her waist.
“They never cried.” They step back from us. “They gladly went under that saffron-colored moon.”
I step forward and follow her when she steps to the side.
“The song came like waves”—they all sing every line—“rolling back and forth. One moment faint; the next crashing and powerful. The song was hypnotizing.”
Her fingers entwine with mine, and she sends our hands up to the level of our eyes, and we spin.
“Music such as this had not been heard for centuries—not since pirates ruled the seas.”
Every move is natural. Their song draws me closer. Her blue eyes glow; the only thing I see. I spin her. I’m not sure how I knew to do that. I just did.
“But no one saw the source . . .” Her hand brushes my face, and I let her guide my footsteps. “. . . for a saffron-colored moon is rumored to do such things.”
My shoes crunch the grass.
“Hiding behind clouds . . .”
Her eyes are what guide me.
“Shielding the thieves. No one shall remember the lost souls. They will be forgotten. Erased from every memory.”
Screaming.
And more screaming. Of agony.
Of fear.
I jerk away from her and look toward where the screams come from—the water.
Splashing and shouts emerge from the murky blackness. The moon sheds enough light to see the water churning and tossing. I glance at my team members and immediately know a third of us are missing. Instead of rushing toward the water, we back away—cowards.
Rose tries to grab my hands, but I keep them close to me. She looks panicked as she turns to her sister next to her and says, “It’s not strong enough.”
Four of the sisters surface from the water, their eyes fixated on us.
“What happened?” one of them snaps, wiping the back of her hand along her mouth.
A sister near me tries reaching toward Reed, her partner. “The bond didn’t work.”
Did they drown my teammates? What are these girls? Members of some cult?
The sister next to Rose looks up at the moon. “There’s no more time.”
I’ve put twenty feet or so in between me and Rose. I don’t turn my back to her as I try searching for an escape route. A fence too tall to jump over surrounds the property on three sides, the water being the only side without a fence. I know none of us want to venture into the water, but what if our boys are still alive? Why would these girls kill them?
One of the four from the water licks her lips and goose bumps run up my arms. “Do it,” she says.
They’re going to kill us. We’re eight high school football players up against twelve girls who seem more like witches than humans. The question it comes down to: is the supernatural—not sure what word to use—stronger than brute strength? I don’t particularly want to find out. At least not while that experiment involves me. I dart toward the door, my shoes thudding against the pavement. They start to sing again. I stop . . . my body feeling like a marionette. Strings seem to take hold of my limbs and root into the ground.
MY EYES OPEN to a white popcorn ceiling. My head is experiencing an awe-inspiring hangover. I haven’t had a hangover in a year—not since I stopped drinking. I squint. I don’t remember getting in bed last night. I don’t even remember leaving that mansion. The last thing I recall is pulling up to it last night.
After dressing and showering for school, I enter the kitchen and plop down on the nearest seat at the table.
“Morning, sunshine.” Tongs in hand, Mom pulls a waffle from the toaster. She drops it down onto a plate with two others.
I mumble something unintelligible in response while massaging my head.
“How was the class?” She adds syrup to the side of the plate and sets it in front of me. Some of it runs off the edge, dripping onto the table.
“Good.” I bite off a piece of waffle. I don’t want to tell her I can’t remember, or she’ll think I actually do have a hangover. That or think I was drugged. She for sure couldn’t stand the thought of me drinking—not after Dad was killed by a drunk driver, the reason I quit drinking. “Do you remember what time it was when I got home?”
Mom pulls down a blue-and-pink-tinted glass and fills it with orange juice. She wrinkles up her face. “I stayed up waiting for you, but I can’t remember. You didn’t go out with your friends after class, right?”
“No, of course not.”
She takes a long sip of her juice, staring me down. “Good.”
Great. I’ve unleashed the one thing no one should ever set free—a mom’s suspicions.
I MISS THE FOOTBALL for the fifth time. As I jog across the field to retrieve it, Reed runs to catch up with me.
“What’s up with you today?” he asks, and shakes his head, sweat flying off his hair. Some of the drops land on me. I flick them off.
“I don’t know. It’s just . . . Forget it. You don’t feel weird? Nothing feels off?”
He snorts. “Yeah, but I always feel weird.”
Coach Matson blows his whistle. “Five-minute water break.”
Chugging back my water bottle, I spot Rose at the top of the bleachers. She lifts her hand to say hi. She can explain how I got home last night, at least what time I left. I climb up the steps and take a seat two rows below her.
She runs a hand through her hair. “You did good last night.”
I open and close the stopper on my bottle. “I can’t remember.”
Her smile seems almost forced. “That’s probably because you were half-asleep. My sisters and I had to drive you boys home. Apparently we worked you too hard. I hope you don’t mind us using your cars.”
“No, thank you actually. I’m sure that was an inconvenience, huh?”
Shaking her head, she scratches her cheek. “Not at all. You are coming tonight, though?”
“Yeah. Coach said he’d make us do two hundred burpees every night for the rest of the season if we don’t go. Not that we didn’t enjoy the class.”
I can’t even remember if I enjoyed it.
She looks at me curiously. “You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not.”
She tilts her head to the side, her bright red hair dislodging from behind her ear. She must dye it that unnatural color. Though I have to confess it looks good on her. “You told me two minutes ago that you can’
t remember doing a good job last night.”
“Right . . .”
She stands. “I’ve got to meet my sisters. I’ll see you tonight, Cal.”
WHEN THE EIGHT OF US show up at their front door, we smell pizza. The sister at the door grins. “Come on into the kitchen.”
My little sis would die for this kitchen. I don’t know what the contraptions that line the granite countertops do, or what they’re called. I do know those are two ovens and two microwaves.
Their coffee machine doesn’t look like a coffee machine. Buttons and levers cover it and it looks more like a robot from a sci-fi movie on TV. What happened to having a pot and filter?
On the island are three boxes of pepperoni pizza. Four of the sisters stand around the edges of the kitchen, staring at us. A better word may be glaring. I eat one piece, but it takes me a while to consume it. Having four girls seeming to judge the way we eat is a little bit intimidating.
Pulling out my phone to pretend I’m making a call, I step out into the foyer and head upstairs, wondering if I can find Rose.
“You better do better.”
I freeze, thinking it’s one of the sisters addressing me.
“We only have two more nights after this.”
I realize the voices are coming from behind a door.
“I didn’t know how hard it would be, so I didn’t put enough effort into the song. Don’t worry. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Cal?” Rose asks from behind me.
I turn, feeling like a burglar with a stolen laptop. “I was looking for the bathroom.”
“There are plenty downstairs.”
I scratch the back of my head. “I got caught up in admiring your home.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Thanks.” She points behind her. “There’s a bathroom in my room.”
The best way to describe her room is that it’s dull. Sure, it looks expensive, but there’s nothing to suggest it isn’t a guest bedroom. Even the bathroom isn’t personal. I guess I was expecting pink or purple or even light blue.
She’s your age, idiot. Not two. But there are no photos taped to the walls. No backpack tossed onto a wrinkled bed. Everything is tidy and cold.
Curious, I open up the sink’s cabinet, half expecting it to be a mess, half expecting it to be as clean as her room. I’ve seen Mom’s. Hers is filled with lotion and . . . other stuff. But Rose’s is empty except for a few dark green towels and on the other end a small tower of toilet paper.
Poking out from underneath the bottom towel is a black frame. I pull it out, careful not to disturb the towels. Inside the frame an Asian family of four smiles at me. Definitely not Rose’s family. In all likelihood it’s the generic photo that always comes in frames. Though there are no labels on the photo . . . I unlatch the back and find the image is an actual photograph, not just a thin piece of paper inserted inside. The date on the back indicates it was taken five months ago. The photo could be of the last family who lived here, and they simply forgot to pack it.
I hurry up and finish in here. Walking out, I find Rose seated on her bed, her legs curled underneath her. She pats the spot beside her.
As I’m sitting down I say, “Sorry, I was looking for toilet paper.”
“I didn’t realize—”
“I was taking a dump.” What on this sad earth did I just say to a pretty girl?
Her mouth falls open and her face reddens. That should be how I look and most definitely is.
Technically, what I told her is a lie, and it just came out. I didn’t want her to think I was taking so much time because I was snooping, but couldn’t I have gone with something else other than pooping? I rub the back of my head.
“I will never understand you boys.” She reaches her hand out toward me, her fingers brushing my collarbone as she lifts the metal cross around my neck. “What’s this?”
“My mom gave it to me when I was baptized.”
She smiles, letting the necklace fall back against me softly. “Ahh . . . the Waters of Life. That’s always sounded appealing to me. Tell me, have you heard of the Waters of Death?”
“You mean like the devil?”
Her hand brushes the comforter between us, smoothing it out. “Not exactly. Some say it’s the Bermuda Triangle. I say it’s anywhere there’s an open body of water.”
“I’m not following.”
Her smile appears and vanishes within a second. “You aren’t supposed to.” She glances out her window that has the curtains pulled back. “We should head down. We’ll start class soon.”
I stand, the mattress creaking. “I honestly can’t remember anything.”
She laughs, walking to her dresser. “Do you need me to show you?” Using the dresser for balance, she turns out her feet and bends her knees, her hand and arm following her down. “Plié, remember?” She rises and bends her back so she touches her toes, her knees remaining stiff as a barre. “Port de bras. Any of this ring a bell?”
The moves definitely look familiar, and I know I’ve heard “plié” before but not “pour the bras.”
“Right, I remember now. Long day,” I say.
She nods, raising her eyebrows. “Let’s go then.”
I follow her outside, where her sisters and my team already await. Each of the boys stands in front of one of the girls. Four of the sisters stand off to the side. Did they not join us last night?
A hand grasps mine, and I look down at Rose holding my hand. “I guess we’re late,” she says as she pulls me into line and takes my other hand.
The girls begin to hum. I guess they don’t have a sound system out here. Rose steps forward and steps back.
I don’t budge. “This isn’t ballet.”
She smiles. “Isn’t it?”
She and her sisters begin singing, their voices so . . . so calming. “Maybe a deal was struck long ago between the song fish and the celestial body. A deal that allowed the moon to listen without endangerment.”
She runs her hand up my arm, her fingernails grazing my skin.
“Has not the moon controlled the sea and its creatures since that long-ago time when they both were born? Perhaps the moon turns saffron when it’s weak.”
Her eyes shine blue in the darkness, drawing in my attention.
“Maybe the song gives life to the moon. Maybe the moon needs life to go on.”
I faintly hear grass crunching. I step toward her as she steps toward me. I twirl her.
“Singing blew on the wind that night, sweeping into the town and into homes. The people came and the people left. Not a tear was shed that night. Not a tear raised the ocean by a drop.”
Screaming.
I jerk away from Rose, my eyes darting about. She reaches for me, but I avoid her touch. I count three of my team members. Four are missing. In the ocean, water splashes. An arm shoots out of the water before disappearing.
“Rose?” I look at her, my heart pounding.
She tries to grasp my hands, but I yank them away, backing toward the fence. The sisters off to the side yell at the four who are still with us.
“Why can’t we just kill them now?” the sister next to Rose shouts back to the ones off to the side.
Rose takes a single step toward me. “It won’t count. We have to fix the mistake we made.” Her eyes lock with mine and her mouth opens.
MY HEADACHE’S BACK, and staring at the ceiling of my room doesn’t do much to relieve it. My stomach churns, the feeling of disorientation overwhelming me. I try to think of what I last remember. There was pizza and an awkward conversation with Rose about poop.
I groan. Right, Rose and I talked and then went outside. After that, it’s just a big black hole in my head.
I rub my forehead. I’m never going to forget that, am I? I forget everything else but that. Once I’m finished getting ready, I head into the kitchen. Taija, my twelve-year-old sister, is at the table reading and eating a breakfast sandwich.
I grab the carton of orange juice from the frid
ge. Shaking the carton, I feel it’s almost empty, so I chug it back, which I know she hates. She doesn’t notice, too engrossed in her book. I toss the carton into the trash and grab a bagel, then twist the two halves apart and drop them into the toaster.
“What are you reading?” I ask her.
“The Twelve Dancing Princesses. I’m supposed to finish it for book club today but forgot about it until last night.”
I twist the orange tie from the bagel package around my finger. “What’s happening in it?”
“Right now the guy is on his last chance to prove where the princesses go dancing at night.”
“What happens if he can’t prove it?”
She shrugs, flipping the page. “He’s killed.” She bites into her breakfast, crumbs falling on the table and her lap. “Oh, how’s dance going?” she asks, her mouth full of food.
“I can’t remember anything I learned.”
“You’re that bad? I’m not coming to your recital then.”
I roll my eyes, pulling my bagel out of the toaster with tongs. “There’s not going to be a recital.”
“Maybe that’s what they’re telling you so they don’t hurt your feelings.”
Mom walks into the kitchen and sets her purse on the island. “Morning.” She grabs the other half of the bagel out of my hand and kisses me on the cheek. “I have a meeting that’s going to keep me late, so I won’t be able to pick you up after football.”
I stare at my bagel in her hand. “No problem. I’ll just go home with Reed and then go to the practice tonight.”
“You mean ballet?” my sister sings.
I grab my backpack from the front door and head outside, Mom and Taija following. I hop in the car and buckle up while Taija slides in next to me and pops in her earbuds, returning to her book.
When Mom stops at a stop sign, she adjusts her mirror, her eyes landing on me. I shift in my seat. I’m about to get a talk.
“Have you met these girls’ parents?”
Oh boy. I can tell she’s going to freak any second now.
“No.”
“You’ve been over there twice. Is there no adult supervision?”
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