Between her secrecy and Henry’s unreasonable anger, I didn’t feel like I had a real friend in the world at that moment. I longed to tell someone the truth about myself. Father knew my secret, but he had no idea what I went through at school, or how I felt about never having a chance at love. No one really knew the true me, and I had never felt so alone.
4
The next day at lunch, I gave Aubrey the details about my ride home with Tate. I decided to leave the fact that he’d told me she’d asked him out for last.
She put a spoonful of chocolate pudding in her mouth and kept it there for a long time. She removed the spoon slowly. “As if you haven’t pissed Hadley and Mia off enough this week. You better watch your back, missy,” she said jokingly.
I shrugged and stirred my applesauce. “I’m not afraid of them.”
Aubrey raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
Trust me. Once you’ve dealt with a real-life witch, high school girls are a piece of cake.
“Not at all. So, when Tate dropped me off, he mentioned something about you asking him out—repeatedly.”
Aubrey placed her pudding cup on the table. “Um, yeah, I thought about mentioning it to you, but I figured there wasn’t much of a point, since he turned me down.”
“Why would you ask him out in the first place when you know how I feel about him?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t give me the girl-code lecture. That only applies to ex-boyfriends. You’ve said yourself you would never go after him, and your father would never let you date anyone. I don’t think it’s fair for a guy to be off limits when you were never going to make a move.”
“There are hundreds of guys in this school, Aubrey. I would like to think you could keep your claws out of the one I like.”
Her expression softened. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, and I’ll never ask him out again, even though I think he was on the verge of finally saying yes.”
I shook my head. I would never understand how a girl could keep asking out the same guy over and over despite being turned down every time. I was still mad at her, but I didn’t feel like holding a grudge. “Fine,” I muttered.
Aubrey changed the subject. “So, you’re actually going to Noelle Crawford’s house today? That sounds so weird.”
“It’s only because of this project. She’s mad serious about it. I hate to think what might happen if we don’t get an A.”
“I hate to think what might happen when Mia and Hadley discover you’re hanging out with their queen bee,” Aubrey added.
“We’re not hanging out. We’re working.” A part of me was a little worried. Mia and Hadley were very protective of Noelle and didn’t like her hanging out with anyone other than them. I remembered when Noelle and Rachel Brewster had started to get close at the beginning of the year. Out of the blue, someone started a rumor that Rachel’s father was a terrorist and her family was living under false identities. Of course, I had never believed that for a second, but people ran with it. Rachel’s popularity quickly plummeted, and Noelle was never seen with her again. That rumor had Mia and Hadley written all over it.
The bell rang, and I stuffed my trash into my empty lunch bag. “They’ll just have to deal with it. Like I said, I’m not afraid of them.”
***
“Want a lift?” Tate asked after school.
“No, she can ride with me,” Noelle said, walking up behind us. Thanks, Noelle.
I didn’t want to seem too eager to ride with Tate, so I didn’t argue and reluctantly followed Noelle to her car.
She had the perfect car for a seventeen-year-old girl—a cherry-red Lexus she’d been gifted at her legendary sweet-sixteen party. Of course, I hadn’t been invited, but I couldn’t help but hear every single detail about it. Sixteen cakes, a local celebrity performer, ice sculptures, entrance by helicopter—it was all anyone talked about for weeks after.
My stomach churned at the thought of birthday parties. Turning another year older was nothing to celebrate. Most girls looked forward to celebrating that one special sixteenth birthday, but not yours truly. I knew it would come around again and again and again. I often imagined what a birthday party would be like, but who would I invite besides Aubrey?
The entire way to her house, Noelle gabbed about the project. I was too focused on not looking in the side-view mirror for Tate’s car and too nervous about going to her house to pay her much attention.
I had to cut Noelle off as we pulled into her driveway. “You have mirrors in your room, right?”
She gave me the side-eye as she shut off her car. “Uh . . . yeah. Why?”
“I know this sounds really weird, but can you tell me where they are in your room so I can be prepared?”
Noelle shook her head, her beautiful face twisted in confusion. “I don’t understand . . .”
There was no way she could. “You don’t need to understand. Just tell me where your mirrors are.”
Tate had gotten out of his car. He stood by the passenger door, pointing to his watch.
Noelle looked at her steering wheel. “Um, there’s a big mirror over my dresser, and then there’s a full-length mirror next to my closet to the left of the door. There’s also a smaller mirror on my vanity.”
I gave her a small smile. “Thanks,” I said before exiting the car. Maybe if I acted normal for the rest of the afternoon, she would forget about my weird question.
“You guys weren’t talking about me, were you?” Tate asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Noelle replied, slamming her car door shut.
Tate and I followed her inside. Noelle’s parents were still at work so we had the house to ourselves. The Crawfords had a nice place. It was comfortably warm and smelled a bit like cinnamon. Although I kept my eyes glued to the Spanish tiles to avoid any surprise mirrors, I caught glimpses of expensive-looking vases filled with fresh wildflowers and dark modern furniture that was probably purchased recently.
I focused on the tan carpeted steps as Noelle led us to her bedroom. As she opened the door, I remembered what she’d told me about her mirrors. Briskly, I walked to an empty spot on the floor, with my back turned to both mirrors. I dumped the contents of my backpack so they would know that’s where I intended to stay.
“Um, Neva, we were going to sit on the bed. It’s more comfortable,” Noelle said.
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine right here.”
Neither of them said anything from behind me. I imagined them making faces at each other about my weird behavior.
“Okaaay,” Tate said. “The floor looks like a good spot to work. It’ll give us room to spread out.” Thanks, Tate. He sat beside me and flashed a smile.
“Fine,” Noelle said. “I’ll get the board.” I heard her rummaging through her closet. She sat in front of me and placed a white piece of cardboard folded into three sections between us. “I was thinking we could use blue for the lettering.”
“That’s good,” Tate and I said at the same time. I don’t think either of us really cared about the lettering.
We spent almost an hour making charts and placing things on the board. Noelle was adamant about not gluing anything down yet, just in case.
“I need to drain my rod,” Tate ceremoniously announced.
Noelle scowled at him. “Really, Tate? That’s disgusting. Make sure you wash your hands.” She sounded like his mother.
Once Tate left, and we heard the bathroom door close, Noelle leaned in close to me and whispered, “So what’s the deal with you and mirrors? I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I had to ask.”
Lying and telling her nothing would have been weirder than telling the truth. I also wanted this conversation to end before Tate came back, so I told her a part of the truth.
“I have a mirror phobia. Some people are afraid of heights or bugs or closed spaces. I’m afraid of mirrors.” I tried to make it sound as normal as possible, although I’d never met another living person who shared my condition. I’d
read about people who were afraid of mirrors, but their reasons were different from mine. Most people with the phobia had body image issues or were freaked out by Bloody Mary stories. My reasons were much worse.
Noelle’s eyes widened. “You’re afraid of mirrors? Like, looking into them?”
I nodded. “It’s called catoptrophobia.”
“Wow.” She pursed her lips. “So how do you get dressed and do your hair? How do you know if you look okay?”
The bathroom door creaked open. Tate was in the hallway speaking to someone on his phone.
“Easy. I keep a metal cookie sheet on my dresser when I want to see myself. I also keep a spoon in my purse.” I was sure she knew about my spoon. It was something Hadley and Mia loved to tease me about. I tried not to use it when other people were around, but one day in English class, I thought I had something in my teeth, and I had to check.
Noelle looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but Tate came back, scrolling through his phone.
“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go. My mom wants me home.”
Noelle groaned. “What? But we’re not done.”
“I know, but it’s an emergency. We can finish tomorrow. We still have plenty of time. Neva, you need a lift?”
“Sure,” I answered, grateful he had included me in his escape.
“Why?” Noelle demanded. “We could work some more, and then I could drive you home.”
I would have much rather ridden home with Tate than stay behind to work on our social studies project.
“Actually, I should get home, too,” I replied. “My father doesn’t know where I am.”
Tate and I gathered our things and left Noelle alone in her room frowning at our project board.
In Tate’s car, I plopped my backpack on my lap and unzipped it to find my bag of dried apples. I noticed a leopard-print notebook that didn’t belong to me. Noelle Madison Crawford was scribbled across it in gold, glittery letters. In my hurry to gather my things, I must have grabbed it by mistake.
“Tate, I know you have to hurry home, but can I run up and give Noelle her notebook? You know how she is. She’s going to have a stroke if she can’t find it.”
Tate grinned. “That wasn’t my mom on the phone. The guys want to go shoot some hoops, so I had to think of a way to get out of there. Go ahead.”
I grinned, shaking my head. I should have known. After letting myself in, I dashed back upstairs to Noelle’s room. She was now talking to someone on the phone.
“I don’t know,” she said. “She was cool and everything, but she’s afraid of mirrors . . . I know . . . I know . . . she wouldn’t even look at them. It was really weird. No . . . I just googled it. It’s actually a real thing. Yeah . . . well, at least it explains the spoon thing.”
My body tensed, and I scolded myself for telling Noelle anything about me. Never trust anyone. Father was always right. Quietly, I placed her notebook on the carpet just outside her door and hurried down the stairs. Back in the car, Tate watched me as he pulled out of the driveway.
“You okay?”
I was probably a few shades whiter than usual. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered quickly. I wasn’t sure how to feel. Noelle hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true: I was afraid of mirrors, and it was weird. Furthermore, I had never told her to keep it secret. Still, her talking about me made me feel like she had done something mean. She must have been speaking to Hadley or Mia. Those barracudas would never let me hear the end of it.
***
That evening, I found Henry in better spirits. He was somewhat annoyed he had waited all afternoon for me to come home, but he seemed to understand once I explained I’d had to work on a project.
“You know,” I told him, “if you would just get a cell phone like everyone else, I could text you when I’m going to be late.”
Henry snorted. “Those things will lead to the downfall of civilization, and the last thing I need is a brain tumor or the government tracking my every move.”
I chuckled at the thought, since his every move included being in his house or sitting against his fence talking to me.
Picking the seeds from the core of the apple I had just devoured, I contemplated telling Henry about my mistake. “The girl who I’m working on the project with—I told her something about me. Something I shouldn’t have.”
I heard Henry turn a page of his book. He was good at reading and listening at the same time. Maybe because he read the same books over and over. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her about my mirror thing.” That was one thing I had told Henry about. Over the year I’d known him, I’d given him bits and pieces of my story.
“Why’d you do that?”
“I had to. I was going into her bedroom. There’s not a teenage girl around who doesn’t have mirrors in her bedroom. I needed to know where they were so I could be prepared.”
Henry snapped his book shut.
“It sounds like you had to tell her in order to be on the safe side. I mean, mirrors really screw you up.”
Yes, they did, tremendously. If I were to look into a mirror, my eyes would fill with a blinding light, my skin would feel as if I were on fire, and my head would pound with the worst headache imaginable. If it went on for too long, I would pass out and maybe even die.
“Be careful,” Henry said. “You know how people are. They’re not really your friends—they only pretend to be. Even that Aubrey girl.”
I had spoken to Henry a little about Aubrey. He had never met her, but he didn’t like her at all, mostly because he wanted to be my only friend.
I tried to push the vision of Aubrey and Tate from my mind. I hadn’t told Henry about that, because he’d only say, “I told you so.”
“Aubrey’s cool,” I muttered.
“Whatever. I saw that boy bring you home again today.”
“So what?” I didn’t feel like having this argument again.
“So you told me it was only a one-time thing,” Henry said.
“I never said that, and it’s none of your business who brings me home.” I was growing annoyed that he watched my every move, yet I had never even seen him.
“Anyway,” Henry continued, “Dot was knocking on your door a few minutes before you got home.”
“What for? She knows when my father gets home.”
Henry paused because of a coughing fit. “Maybe she wanted to talk to you.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, right. Are you going to her barbeque on Saturday?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions. My parents might go, but of course I’m not. Are you?”
“No.”
“You should really get to know your neighbors,” Henry joked.
I laughed. “You’re one to talk.”
I jumped when the back door flung open. Father was home early. He frowned when he saw what I was doing. He hated that I spent so much time with Henry. At first, before I’d told him about Henry, he’d thought I was carrying on a conversation with the fence.
“Neva, come inside please.”
I rose to my feet. “Later, Henry.”
“Later,” he called.
Inside, I washed my hands to help Father prepare dinner.
“How many hours do you waste talking to that boy?” Father asked as he seasoned the fish. “Don’t you think it’s strange we’ve never seen him and that he never leaves his house?”
“There’s a good reason for that. I told you he has a skin condition. And what do want me to do, Father? It’s not like I can have friends over, and you don’t want me to go to other people’s houses.”
He put down the canister of lemon pepper. “For your protection. You know that.”
“I know, but don’t you get tired of this, Father?”
He went back to seasoning. “Of course I do, but what choice do we have? You refuse to do what you have to for the curse to be broken.”
“You act like it’s so easy—” The doorbell rang, cutting me off. Father and I locked eyes. Visit
ors were a rare occurrence for us.
“I’ll get it,” I offered.
Father held up his hands. “No. Stay here.”
Curious to see who it was, I followed him anyway.
He looked through the peephole and sighed. The look on his face told me one thing—it was Dot.
Father opened the door halfway, just enough to stick his head out, but not enough for Dot to see inside. I stood on my tiptoes to get a look over his shoulder and was almost blinded by Dot’s loud fuchsia jumpsuit.
Dot pulled the door open wider, but Father yanked it back.
Dot furrowed her brow. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Father said quickly. “Let’s step onto the porch.”
I stepped outside with him.
“Trent, I seem to have a little problem. Boopsie is missing.”
Boopsie was Dot’s little brown cocker spaniel, whom she had named after Betty Boop, her self-proclaimed idol. I wasn’t the least bit surprised she idolized a cartoon character.
Father folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll keep an eye out for him.” He reached for the doorknob, but Dot’s arm shot between us as she grabbed it. The woman had nerve. She removed her hand and backed up.
“Boopsie is a she.” Dot glared at me. “What about you? Have you seen her, Nay-vuh?”
I couldn’t stand Dot, and I wished she’d go away. “No, I haven’t. Maybe she ran away.”
She narrowed her heavily lined eyes at me. “My Boopsie would never run away.”
“I would if my owner dressed me in pink tutus and bunny outfits,” I replied. Most of the time poor Boopsie looked absolutely ridiculous.
Dot gasped.
“I mean, do you think she really likes that?”
“Neva,” Father scolded. “Go inside.” But I didn’t.
Dot’s gaze shifted from me to my father. “Anyway, I ask because someone said they saw Boopsie in your flowerbed yesterday evening.”
Father folded his arms over his chest again. “What was your dog doing in our flowerbed?”
Forever Snow (The Everly Girls Book 1) Page 4