by Katie French
The boys cut off their conversation. An expression of panic flitted over Tom’s face before he covered it up. “Lila, Mercedes, what are you doing here?”
“Um, we go to school here?” Mercedes said in her no-nonsense fashion. “Who are your friends?” Her eyes roved over each boy as a smile crept up her face.
“This is Ki Liang and Santiago Alcon. They’re… exchange students,” Tom said.
“Exchange students?” I asked. “Starting in May?”
“It’s a new program. They’re allowing students who want to try the exchange the following year to tour the school before committing.”
“Oh.” The explanation sounded strange, but I had no idea why he would lie. Besides, most of my concentration had been swept away by all the blood pumping through my veins since my heart was trying to extricate itself from my chest. I tried to calm down as I focused on Tom. “So about the party tonight… Do you want to pick me up, or—”
“I can’t go,” Tom blurted out.
It felt like a spike of ice pierced my chest. “What? You just asked me. Like literally an hour ago.”
His eyes flicked to the two boys before he answered. “Something came up. Homework. I just can’t.”
I stood there staring, unable to move. I should’ve walked away. Should’ve said something funny or aloof like, That’s fine. I’ll go with one of the other ten guys who asked me, or I just came over to tell you I couldn’t go with you. But I just froze. A girl-cicle enduring the terrible awkwardness that settled over the terrible moment.
He’d dumped me before we even had our first date.
Mercedes, as usual, saved me. “Dick move, Tom. Real dick move. Lila’s too good for your punk ass anyway.” She pulled me back down the hallway.
I couldn’t help myself. As Mercedes marched me away, I glanced back. All three boys were staring after me, Tom with a look of pure disappointment on his face.
“Don’t look back,” Mercedes said, taking me around a corner. “Never look back.”
Chapter Four
As I made my way across the parking lot to my car, I imagined a thousand little pixies, hammering tiny sheets of armor plates on my arms, legs, chest, and especially my face and heart. The flying helpers fluttered around me on iridescent wings, attaching each plate, forming a tight pattern reminiscent of… dragon skin.
I had been accused before of having a vivid imagination, but I was happy to have it. It had saved me countless times, even if it got me into trouble almost as many others. But at the moment, it helped me to put one foot in front of the other while keeping my eyes on the target—my beat-up Mustang.
It was ridiculous, but I felt as if the entire school knew Tom had dumped me before we even went on our first date. Sure, they would all eventually know, but they didn’t yet, so there was no reason to be so self-conscious. But as I hurried along, I felt watched. I didn’t glance around to confirm I was just being paranoid. I had to focus on my imaginary pixies and the calm and collected expression they were helping me forge on my face.
I made it to the car without losing it and forming a string of curse words for Tom Palmer’s hot-and-cold act. I was so proud of myself I almost patted my own back and gave the school a backward middle finger. Oh yeah, my pixies and I kicked ass and were capable of anything. So watch out, Tom Palmers of the world.
As I keyed the lock, my phone dinged with a text.
Dad: Vet called. Fernando is ready to be picked up. Nothing broken. Please get him on your way back. K?
Well, that was good news. At least I hadn’t risked my life in vain.
I answered Dad’s text and headed toward the vet’s office, hoping I didn’t run into Tom at his mother’s clinic. If I did, I would tell him I was there to pick up my date because I’d rather go to the bonfire with a garbage-eating seagull.
When I got there, I searched for Tom’s silver Hummer, but it wasn’t there. In fact, no other cars were in the front. Thank God.
Summers Animal Clinic was housed in a medium-sized brick building just outside of town. It was a nice place for a vet, right at the edge of a heavily wooded area, with a fenced-in backyard that gave the pets ample space to run around.
I pushed past the glass front door, eager to get Fernando and go home. A soft ding-dong announced my entrance. I scanned the reception desk and area, but no one was there.
“Hello,” I called out.
No answer.
I peeked behind the counter to make sure the receptionist hadn’t fainted or wasn’t taking a nap. No one. To the left there was a door that read “Cats” and to the right one that read “Dogs.” This last one was slightly open, so I figured the person in charge would be right back.
The phone rang several times, then stopped. I played with the business cards on the counter, noting the info on them. Summers Animal Clinic. Dr. Tara Palmer, DVM. Nice stock. Very thick.
A large poster to the side caught my eye. It was about rabies. It had a detailed illustration of a German Shepherd foaming at the mouth and looking positively evil. Facts on how to spot the symptoms and what to do if bitten were printed in red letters. I shivered. Nightmarish.
I’d started reading another poster when I noticed the heavy silence in the air. I’d only been here a few times before, normally to deliver injured animals we found by the beach near the lighthouse. It’d always been loud with dogs barking, yipping, and generally going crazy.
Feeling uneasy, I stepped toward the slightly open “dog” door.
“Hello?” I called again, though my voice had gone low as if I didn’t want anyone to actually know I was there.
I cleared my throat, pushing the door with two fingers. It swung open, revealing a long, empty corridor. A shiver traveled across my shoulders, and I couldn’t explain why. I didn’t scare easily. Since I was eight, I’d faced storms and eerie nights in a one-hundred-and-seventy-five-year-old lighthouse that had more ghost stories than a boy scout camping trip.
Hesitating by the threshold, l peeked over my shoulder toward the entrance. Beyond the glass door and on the other side of the parking lot, the trees swayed against the backdrop of a gray sky. Another storm tonight? Good. That would get me out of going to the bonfire with Mercedes.
I faced the corridor again, wondering where everyone was. The place appeared deserted. Maybe I could find Fernando and get out of here before some random Cujo broke out of his cage to eat me. I could leave a note, saying I was holding the bird for ransom.
Casually, as if I was meant to be there, I took a few steps forward. Several doors lined the corridor to either side, all closed. They were labeled “Exam Room” plus a number. Clearly, there was some sort of discrimination going on since they didn’t have a door labeled “Birds.”
I moved further in.
A soft, mournful sound from exam room three made me stop. I leaned in that direction. Silence. Carefully, I approached the door and pressed my ear to it. A loud hacking sound made me jump back.
Was someone choking?
Darting a glance right and left, I waited for the vet or an assistant to come running, but no one did—even as the hacking continued and was then followed by a low keening that made my heart squeeze with pity.
What was wrong with the poor animal? What was wrong with this place that allowed it to suffer?
Beyond caring about trespassing, I turned the knob and pushed the door open, determined to help the suffering creature. My heart froze as I caught an eyeful of what lay inside.
Like lightning in a thunderstorm, the horrific image flashed inside my head and became imprinted in my memory. Then, just as abruptly, the image disappeared and was replaced by a middle-aged woman in a white coat as she blocked my view. It was Tom’s mother.
Tara Palmer’s eyes narrowed as she took me in. “What’re you doing back here?” she demanded.
My heart pounded out of control as I tried to process what I’d seen inside the room, but Dr. Palmer’s piercing eyes made it impossible for me to think.
A
hand wrapped around my arm. Before I knew it, I found myself back in the reception area, stuttering as I tried to explain.
“I… I waited for, like, thirty minutes,” I exaggerated. “I was just looking for Fernando.”
“Fernando?” Dr. Palmer asked, making no effort to conceal her irritation.
“My seagull. My dad brought it this morning. He said you called and said he could be picked up.” God, I sounded like an airhead.
Her eyes darted from side to side, then widened in understanding. “The gull. If you can wait right here, I’ll go get it.”
“Thank you, Dr. Palmer.”
She disappeared through the “cat” door, but not without giving me a warning glance first. As soon as she left, my legs turned to rubber. I put a hand on the counter to brace myself. A hollow feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I pressed stiff fingers against my temple, willing away the terrible images that still flashed inside my head.
Dr. Palmer came back with Fernando’s cage almost immediately. I took it and thanked her for taking care of the bird. I might have gushed a bit too much, but my nerves were still on edge, zinging like a well-sharpened knife. She just gave me a raised eyebrow, face conveying she thought I was a complete idiot.
I started to leave, happy to get away from her sharp gaze, but some suicidal force must have taken over my body because I turned around, a question spewing from my lips.
“Will that dog be okay?”
Dr. Palmer looked up from a piece of paper she’d picked up from the counter. Her upper lip twitched. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer. To my surprise, she smiled sweetly.
“He’s in good hands, dear,” she said. “Don’t you worry about him.”
Once more, the interior of the exam room flashed before my eyes. The large Rottweiler strapped to a metal table, lying on its back with its head slack, such an unnatural position for a dog, tubes springing from its thick neck. Its dark eyes wide and full of fear.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, sweetie,” Dr. Palmer said in a soft tone. “Being a vet isn’t always easy. Like children, animals don’t understand when we do something for their good.”
The way she sounded reminded me of Mrs. Hovanik when she lectured us about what was good for us. I guessed Dr. Palmer was right—it wasn’t exactly possible to explain to a dog that sometimes things would feel worse before they felt better.
I gave the doctor a forced smile, pretending her words had reassured me. They’d actually left me feeling queasy instead, even if there was a ring of truth to what she’d said. What could be wrong with the dog that it was necessary to strap it in that barbaric way? Wasn’t there a nicer way to do whatever it was she was doing? And what about all the tubes going into the dog’s neck? What the heck was that? I was no expert, but it didn’t look like any treatment I’d ever heard of.
Throwing furtive glances over my shoulder, I hurried toward my car. “Let’s get out of here, Fernando.” He let out a short chirp in response. “For sure, man. Creep city.”
I buckled the bird cage into the passenger seat and cranked the Mustang. “I knew it was a good thing Tom dumped me. That could have ended up my mother-in-law.” I shivered. “Can you imagine Thanksgiving? ‘Please pass the salt, Mrs. Palmer. And also, please stop happily mutilating that turkey.’”
Dad wouldn’t have approved of my speed, but I couldn’t wait to get home and hug Pickles. No other pet of mine would ever go back to that place.
Chapter Five
I couldn’t get the image of that poor dog out of my mind for hours. Tubes, wires. Pleading brown eyes. It was like something out of the Twilight Zone.
On the way home, I cranked whatever radio station I could find on the Mustang’s old radio just to drown out the noise in my head. But even Elton John’s upbeat pounding piano couldn’t banish the darkness that seemed to follow me like my own personal storm cloud.
I even tried belting out Benny and the Jets at the top of my lungs. Fernando, his cage strapped in the passenger seat, was clearly not impressed.
Once home, I set him in a corner in the kitchen. He fluffed his feathers at me, squawking, though I couldn’t tell if it was from being caged or my terrible singing.
“One more day, buddy, and you’ll be free of my torture.”
In less than ten seconds, both Dad and Pickles were in the room demanding attention. Pickles pounced on Fernando’s cage, yowling and poking at him with his paw, while Dad hobbled into the room, eying me and the bird.
“What’d the vet say?” he asked, leaning heavily on his cane.
I walked over and picked up my agitated kitty. Pickles meowed anxiously, wanting to go back to batting the bird, but I held him tight. “He’s fine. A few more days and I’ll have to say adios.”
Dad sat down, sighing heavily. “Don’t get any ideas, Li. We were only supposed to keep Pickles for a few days, too.”
I leaned down, running my fingers down Pickles’ back. “Pickles needed us, Dad. He would’ve died in that shelter.” I pressed my nose into his orange and yellow fur.
That poor dog.
“Pickles is one thing, but a wild bird in the house…”
“I won’t keep the bird,” I said, putting the cat down. He ran and sprang back on top of the cage. Fernando flapped his wings, his beak open in protest.
“Dad, do you think Dr. Palmer is a good vet?”
Brow furrowed, he turned from the commotion at the cage over to me. “I think so. Why?”
Should I tell him about what I saw? “I just heard some things. Plus, her son’s a jerk.” The words slipped out before I thought better. Wincing, I peered at Dad to see if he’d noticed.
His eyebrows went up. “Tom?”
Crap. I sat heavily in the kitchen chair. “Yeah, Tom. He invited Mercedes to the beach and then canceled a few hours later.”
“That’s awful,” Dad said, laying his hand flat on the chipped table. I watched it tremor for a second before he fisted it and pulled it out of sight. “Tom is a good-looking fellow.”
“Good-looking fellow? Geez, Dad. Is he a dapper dandy, too? Maybe he goes to the soda shoppe for a malt beverage and a sock hop?”
“You know what I mean.”
I focused on cleaning a glob of something off the tabletop. “Yeah.”
“Didn’t you have a crush on Tom Palmer when you were younger?”
“Noooo.”
He frowned at me.
“That was in, like, sixth grade. Ages ago. A millennia.”
“Right. Ages.” His foot tapped on the floor as our silence extended. “You know, I’m not good at this.”
“Not good at what?”
He took a deep breath. “Talking to you about boys, important stuff. That was always your mother’s area of expertise.”
I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. It isn’t fair she’s not here to help you through this stuff. I thought about dating again, finding you a stepmom, but then this…” He gestured to his cane.
My throat was constricting, and I could feel tears beginning to well. I stood up so fast the chair scraped against the old hardwood. “I gotta study, Dad.”
“Right. Study.” His eyes were damp, too. He gave me a sad smile.
Leaning over, I kissed the top of his head. When had his hair become so thin?
Almost losing control of the lump in my throat, I high-tailed it up the stairs.
My bed waited under the window that overlooked the lake. I knelt on the unmade bed, gazing out over the water. The ominous clouds I’d seen back at the vet clinic had dissipated, leaving the sky clear and perfect for a bonfire.
Oh Lord, the bonfire. Why couldn’t I say no to Mercedes? It would be a total embarrassment to show up without Tom since I’d bragged to the other girls that I was going with him. And what if he showed up with someone else? I might as well murder my social life with my own bare hands.
But Mercedes had already texted me seven times, insist
ing I go on penalty of death. And as much as it pained me to do it, I promised her I’d let her pick me up at seven-thirty.
There were only so many days before I went away to Western Michigan University and Mercedes to Ohio State. I needed to make the most of our time together.
I eyed the college information on my dresser. Weeks ago, I was supposed to submit my roommate-interest questionnaire, but I hadn’t. The down payment check was late. If I waited long enough, they would have to reject my admission.
Was that what I wanted? I’d been longing to escape this little town since Mom died.
But if I left, what would happen to Dad? What would happen to our home?
I knew the answer as ugly as it was. We’d lose the house. We’d be forced to move in with mom’s older sister Aunt Scarlett, something he dreaded. We barely knew her and she lived in Alaska.
How could I do that to him?
Yet, how could I stay in this little town with Dad? Stuck like a mosquito in amber. Forever frozen.
My eyes swept over the nightstand beside the bed, same as this morning.
This time, however, I reached out for Mom’s jewelry box, pulled it from under the clutter, and held it in my lap.
When was the last time I’d looked inside? A year ago? More like two.
Pain awaited inside the dark interior. And like Pandora’s box, once I opened it, the effects would linger.
My fingers skimmed over the carved image on the lid, a dragon curled in an S-shape breathing fire.
Not caring if I disappointed Dad, I took a deep breath and flipped it open.
Mom’s ring lay nestled between two folds of velvet. I longed to slip it on. It probably wouldn’t dance around my ring finger anymore. The old, clunky sterling-silver band was a dragon’s body with a head at either end. On top, the heads intertwined, each set with small rubies for the eyes. They blazed like drops of blood in the light, bringing to the front distinct memories of Mom: the dragons hugging her middle finger as she bathed me or brushed my hair before bed. When I was old enough, I’d slipped it on in secret, always thinking it was magical.