"Those Brothers all bowing down to us," Jason said. "That's really strange."
"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess it's better that those guys we saw are trying to protect us and not kill us though."
Jason nodded. "Yeah, but it's really strange that everyone on campus is trying to be our best friend." He motioned me over to him. "Come sit down with me." I did. He put his arm around me and brushed a stray hair out of my face. "I don't like it, and I think it's creepy, but Moretti's not wrong. If we stay here, we have an army protecting us. Maybe it's not such a terrible idea."
"But school is going to be over soon, like you said."
"I don't think those Brothers are going anywhere. We don't have to either. We'll just stay. Until . . . I don't know, until this whole thing blows over."
"Blows over?" I didn't think that was going to happen.
Jason kissed me. "It could happen," he whispered.
"With people kneeling down to us? I don't think it's blowing over. I think it's getting worse."
"But we're safe," he said. "I think we're actually safe."
God. That sounded too good to be true. But I wanted to believe it so badly. I lay my head Jason's shoulder and clung to him as tightly as I could. Safe. It was such a nice word.
* * *
The prom was Saturday. I'd barely had a chance to think about what I was going to do with my hair and makeup. I'd told the girls at the party that I was just going to do it myself, and that was what I planned to do. But usually, for events like this, I liked to do a trial run day, where I tried a bunch of different hairstyles, took pictures of them, and decided which one I liked. That Friday night, I bounded up the steps to my dorm after classes, about to ask Palomino if she minded if I used her digital camera and possibly her laptop. When I got in the room, however, it wasn't just Mina in there.
My dorm room was crowded with the fifteen most popular girls in the school. They were sitting in chairs, on both of our beds, and on the floor. Mina was sitting in the middle, chatting with all of them. When they noticed me, all of their eyes lit up.
"Amy!" said Fairie Weem. She and her sister were both sitting on my bed, each hugging one of my pillows.
"Hi," I said. "Um, am I interrupting something, Mina?"
Palomino shook her head, beaming. "Absolutely not. We'll all here for you."
"Me?" I said. Great. More weird people worshipping the ground I walked on. Really, really great.
Faruza patted a square of bed next to her. "Sit down," she said. "Come on, sit down."
I put down my books and went to sit down next to Faruza. "So," I said. "What's up?"
"Well," said Fairie, "you remember how Faruza and I were talking about how you and Jason give all the time and you never get back, and we wanted to know what you wanted?"
"Yeah," I said. "And thanks for helping us get into the library." Not that it really mattered anyway, now, did it?
"Well," said Faruza, "I got to thinking that you might not tell us what you really wanted, so I went to your roommate, because I figured who would know better, right?"
Palomino grinned.
I was not feeling particularly good about all of this. "Mina," I said, "what did you tell them?" I could think of at least ten really embarrassing things I'd confided in to Palomino. Who knew what she'd said.
"Okay," she said, smiling. "Don't be mad, okay, because I know this is something you were worried about, because you were asking me about it. And I just thought that if we got a whole bunch of people here, we could really, like, talk about it. You know? Just girls."
"What did you tell them?" I repeated.
"Don't be embarrassed, Amy," said Faruza, "because honestly, you are totally normal."
"Oh my God," I groaned.
"We brought diagrams," spoke up one of the other girls, and she whipped out a poster board. Her name was Rita. She was German—very tall, and very blonde. I looked at the diagram, and I felt my face get really hot. I turned to Palomino. "You did not," I said. "You did not tell them about that."
"Look it's fine," said Fairie. "Like half of the girls here haven't ever had one either."
I looked around the room. A bunch of girls raised their hands. "Really," said one of them, "this is like a public service announcement or something. Because nobody ever talks about this stuff."
"Especially not to guys apparently," said another girl.
Faruza nodded. "George can never find anything on my body without my help."
"You guys are back together?" I asked.
"You said you liked him, right?" she asked, looking worried.
"No, he's fine. I like him fine," I said. I took a deep breath and looked out at the girls in the room. "Okay, well, you know this is sweet of you guys and all. But I don't think that we all need to gather in my room and talk about . . . this. Not really. I'm fine, really. And thank you so much, but—"
"No," said Mina. "You were asking me how they happened. And I don't know. So I figured, we'd get a bunch of together and pool our knowledge, and by the end of the conversation, we'll all be orgasm experts."
I buried my face in my hands.
"So," said Rita. "The first thing to talk about is the clitoris."
I looked up. She was gesturing at the diagram. "Whoa," I said. "Can we just not say that word? I mean, it sounds like the name of disease or something. Like, 'I can't go out. I caught clitoris.'"
Everyone giggled.
"What do you want to call it then?" asked Mina.
"I don't know," I said. "I think I'm comfortable with just not talking about it, actually. And put that diagram away."
Rita put the diagram down. "Maybe the diagram's a little advanced," she admitted. "We also have copies of Cosmo. Who's got the magazines?"
Several people pulled out magazines. Within a few seconds, they were spread open in front of me. I looked at the pages, cocking my head in confusion. I pointed at a picture. "What are they doing?"
"Oh," said Faruza. "That's the kama sutra issue. I think that's a little off-topic for now." She picked up the magazine and closed it.
"Look," said Rita, "according to Cosmo, the most important thing to remember is that, unless the guy you're with is a total jackass—in which case you shouldn't have sex with him anyway—he really wants to make you happy."
"Yeah," said another girl. "But all guys are really, really stupid about this."
"And embarrassed," said Fairie. "Because it makes them look like they're bad in bed or something."
"So," said Rita. "We have to help them."
"Because," said Faruza, "let's face it. We have to help guys with everything."
Everyone laughed again. I couldn't help it. I smiled a little. "Okay," I said. "So we have to help them." Maybe this wasn't a totally terrible idea. Maybe. I could listen for a little while anyway.
"There are two kinds of orgasms," said Rita, holding up an issue of Cosmo. To avoid saying the word that Amy doesn't like, we'll call them . . . internal and external."
"Oh God," I said. "That's even worse."
Rita just grinned. "For most girls, the internal ones are harder."
"Not for me," said Palomino. "That's the only kind I have."
Fairie glared at her. "Lucky you."
Mina beamed.
"Don't worry about the internal ones," said Rita. "Start with the external ones and go from there."
The talk seemed to go on forever, and I was extremely embarrassed the entire time. Maybe everyone else was too, considering we all kept erupting in giggles every five minutes. More than once, I just wanted it all to stop, but another part of me was too curious, so I kept talking and kept listening. I even looked at Rita's diagram. Which kind of made sense.
Finally, I'd been read about five different magazine articles and listened to several girls tell me that, like me, they hadn't been able to figure out how to have orgasms either, and they sometimes thought it bothered their boyfriends more than it bothered them.
"I just don't get it," a girl named Lissa wa
s saying. "I'm the one who's not getting off, and he gets all pissed off about it. And that really doesn't turn me on."
I knew what she meant.
"But this should help, right?" said Rita, waving the diagram around.
"Put that away!" I said. "I don't want to look at the diagram anymore."
We all laughed, but Rita did put it away.
"It helps," I said. "I mean, yeah. I feel like I kind of understand the whole thing more now, but I still just don't know how to even like bring it up." I looked around at the other girls. "Like, if I tried to talk to my boyfriend about this, I would get really, really embarrassed. And besides that, how am I supposed to explain to him what to do without using really technical words that sound like diseases and making everything like robotic or some-thing."
"Yeah, I get that," said Lissa. "Like if I'm telling him, 'Do this. Do that.' That’s not going to be very sexy."
"Don't tell him anything," said Fairie, giggling. "Just take his hand and move it where you want it and show him what to do."
I considered. Maybe that would work. Assuming I even had one of these external buttons or clitorises or whatever we were calling them. Assuming I could even figure out where it was. That diagram was totally strange looking.
"Well," said Rita. "Prom's tomorrow, girls. I hope all of your after prom experiences are, well, memorable."
Everyone laughed again.
"Are you and Jeremy getting a hotel room in town?" Faruza asked me.
"Um . . ." I shook my head. "No, you know, we can't really afford stuff like that."
"We're switching dorm rooms," said Palomino. "And I'm letting you guys stay here. I'm going to the guy's room. And I'm making this sacrifice because I love you. Chance promises he's going to clean, but I don't believe he knows how."
More laughter.
"How do you sneak in and out of each other's dorm rooms?" asked one of the girls.
"Magic," I said. "And fire escapes."
* * *
That night I had a dream. It wasn't a nightmare, but it was vivid. I wasn't in the dream. I could see everything that was happening, but it was like I was a ghost or a being with no body. In my incorporeal form, I hovered inside the parlor of Michaela Weem's house. It looked different than I remembered. It wasn't covered in dust. There weren't cobwebs clinging to the corners. The furniture was different. Several overstuffed couches slouched against the wall. They were patterned in some kind of delicate floral pattern. Michaela Weem was sitting on one of the couches. A man sat next to her, older, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. His hairline was starting to recede, but his face was still quite attractive. He looked like Jason.
He was holding a leather-bound book. He looked disappointed and discouraged. "You wrote it all down?" he asked.
"It was my diary," said Michaela Weem. "I was a teenager. I wrote things down."
"This has to be destroyed," said the man.
Michaela rolled her eyes. "Give it back to me."
"It's evidence of what we did. If the Sons got hold of this, everything I've worked for could be destroyed immediately."
"Well, that would be terrible, wouldn't it?" Michaela's voice dripped with sarcasm. She snatched at the book, but the man pulled it out of her reach.
"You can't keep this," he said.
"Give it back to me!" she said, and she lunged for him, her fingers scrabbling against his, trying to pry his fingers off the book.
The man shoved her. She fell back against the couch and cracked her head against the wall. The man stood up. "It has to be destroyed," he said.
Michaela touched the back of her head gingerly, tears springing to her eyes. Then she vaulted off the couch, grabbing at the book again.
The man captured her wrist with one hand and squeezed. "Stop," he said. "I'm going to destroy it."
"But it's my diary!" said Michaela. "It's my own personal thoughts and feelings, and I want it." She grabbed for it again.
The man slapped her face. She stumbled back, her hand on her cheek, her eyes full of hatred and anger. "Don't," she whispered. "You'll wake Jude."
The man strode across the room and put the leather book inside his briefcase, which was sitting next to the doorway. Turning, he said, "And what's this I hear about you and Arabella's daughter? You've got some group of backwoods crazies worshipping your ridiculous rabbit god?"
Michaela seethed. "I had my hand in bringing the abomination into this world. I will do my part to rid the world of his evil."
The man threw his hands up in the air. "This is why I can't come back here anymore. That abomination you talk about is our son. And frankly, it's just sick that you want to hurt him."
"You know what we did!" Michaela cried. "It's all there in my diary. You know what we did. How could anything that came from that be anything but an abomination?"
I floated into the hallway outside the parlor. A small boy with dark hair was creeping across the floor in the darkness. His hand darted into the briefcase and retrieved the leather diary. Then he snuck back up the stairs.
"I won't be back here, Michaela," the man was saying. "I took vows. I break them every time I see you."
"Vows?" she spit out. "What about the vows you made to me? In sickness and in health?"
"Your sickness is too much," said the man.
"Where is he?" said Michaela. "Where is the abomin-ation?"
"You'll never find him," said the man. He walked into the hallway and picked up his briefcase. "Besides, he has a lot he needs to learn if he's to fulfill his destiny. His upbringing has to be perfect."
I awoke with a jolt because Palomino's alarm was going off. I threw a pillow at her. "It's Saturday!" I said to her.
It was Saturday. It was the day of the prom. And I wasn't sure, but I thought I'd just had a dream about Michaela and Edgar Weem. And Jude, as a little boy. And that leather book he'd had. Where was it? I needed to find it. I'd put it in my pocket. Had I thrown those pants in with my dirty laundry?
"Mina!" I said. Her alarm was still going off.
Palomino turned off the alarm. "Sorry," she mumbled sleepily.
I rolled over, enjoying the silence. And slipped back into sleep almost immediately.
* * *
There were about five people pulling my hair in completely different directions. We were standing in front of the mirror in Faruza's and Fairie's gorgeous suite, where they had a bathroom the size of a small country. The mirror was enormous, and everyone was trying to help me get ready. Since I'd told everyone I planned on doing my hair and makeup myself, everyone had jumped on the bandwagon, and we were all getting ready together. It was a madhouse.
"I was really going to do this myself," I protested, trying to swat people away from my hair.
"Don't be silly," said Faruza. "We're all here."
Rita tapped a picture in an open magazine, which the girls were trying to copy. It was a complicated updo with tendrils of curls falling out of it in a tousled look. It was very pretty.
"Jason likes my hair down," I said.
"Boys always say that," said Fairie. "They say they want everything simple, but they're just saying that because they don't understand what they want."
Or maybe they really did like things simple—girls with no makeup who wore their hair down. And maybe we just did all this fussy dressing up stuff for other girls, not actually for boys.
Faruza yanked my head sideways and began rolling up a section of my hair with a curling iron. I guessed I was just going to have to sit tight.
Within twenty minutes, my hair was completely and totally curled. I surveyed my face in the mirror, surrounded by corkscrew curls. They were pretty. Rita put her hands on my head and began running her fingers through them.
"What are you doing?" I asked her. I'd really liked my corkscrew curls.
"Achieving tousled perfection," she informed me. "Trust me."
While Rita and the Weem twins were using an entire box of bobby pins on my head, pinning up my tousled curl
s, the phone in the dorm room rang. Palomino ran to answer it. We could hear her in the bedroom.
"What?" she was saying. "Why?" She was quiet for a few seconds. "Okay," she said finally and hung up.
Palomino came into the bathroom. "You guys aren't going to be happy," she said.
"What?" said Fairie.
"That was the dorm mother," she said. "Campus is on lockdown. Apparently, there's some kind of external threat. They didn't say what, but she said it sometimes happens if one of the kids is in danger of being kidnapped or something."
Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy Page 13