by Ariella Moon
I scowled.
He held out his arms. “At least give me a farewell hug.”
I relented and hugged him, breathing in his peppermint soap scent. He gave me a final squeeze, then swept his lucky hat off his head and put it on mine.
“Statistically speaking, Kitten, I’ll be much safer in Afghanistan than I was in Iraq.”
I glared at him from beneath the camouflage cap. “Whatever.” My voice dripped sarcasm.
Dad frowned. “Evie…”
I banged the front door behind me.
Baby’s nails dug into my leg, returning me to the present. I stared at the flames. I’d taken his hat, but not his picture. Why? Why? I want a do-over.
Guilt and regret consumed me. Chewed raw, I searched for a way to punish myself. Baby followed me into my room, then collapsed on the rag rug with a loud sigh. I pulled Algebra for Dummies out of my backpack. Not its real title, but it should have been.
Twenty problems. My misery index spiked.
I was on number sixteen, and pretty sure I had only gotten four correct, when the doorbell rang. Baby barked. My heart leapt out my chest and thudded into my beanbag chair. It couldn’t be Parvani. She had piano today.
Mom never answers the door while she’s working, so I trudged down the hall to investigate. “Salem?”
She rolled her heavily lined eyes. “Sarah,” she corrected.
“Sorry. Come in.”
She stepped into the entry and chewed her lipstick-covered lip. I recognized the color, Black Raspberry Glimmer, from an ad in Kiss and fought a twinge of envy.
“I have something for you.” She swung around so I could see her backpack.
“Homework assignments?”
She sneered. “Hardly. Can we go to your room?”
The word “sure” left my mouth before I could stop it. I gestured toward the hall. “This way.”
The hall is a gallery of sorts. The black and white, first-place winning shot I’d taken just before Dad died held a place of honor on the left wall. It showed a homeless woman I’d seen sitting on a bench near Well-Read Books. She had wrapped elastic bandages around her legs to ward off the cold, and wore a black garbage bag across her shoulders like a mink stole. She’d snuggled her dog, a moist-eyed Chihuahua, against her toothless, lined face.
I should have been proud of it, but looking at the photo set off a bad case of guilt and churned up painful memories. Mom had entered it in a photo contest. She’d been hoping if I won, I would get so stoked about photography that I’d start taking pictures again. Miss Roberts had seen the photo in the Times. When my predecessor had moved out of state, she’d remembered the photo and promoted me to editor for the yearbook.
I’m such a fraud.
But Jordan was worse than a fraud. After Dad’s funeral, Jordan had tried to renew our friendship. So, like an idiot, I had invited him to go to the photo contest’s award ceremony with me. I’d waited and waited. He hadn’t showed. He hadn’t even called.
“Evie,” he’d told me the next day. “Man, I’m like, so sorry. I totally forgot about your gig. Bucky Lasek was at the Skate Shed signing autographs. Grandpa took me.”
Like some skateboarding medalist was more important than my winning a national photo contest. Loser.
Fortunately, Dad’s photographs from his stringer days in Asia and the Middle East had Salem engrossed. Parvani hated the one of the Taliban planting explosives in the Bamiyan Buddhas. Salem paused in front of it and frowned, but said nothing.
“Here’s my room,” I said, opening the door.
Salem lips curved into an amused smile when she spotted the Shay Stewart collage. “Nice shrine.”
“Thanks.”
Her gaze flickered over my math homework, then darted to the poop bag with the Quarter Guardians. The willow branch and Parvani’s bag from Sage Mage were heaped beside it. Even more incriminating, the corner of Teen Wytche peeked out from beneath some soiled clothes.
“Hunter told me what happened today.”
“Hunter?”
“The goth in French class.”
I sank onto my bed. “The ‘Dude, take the picture’ guy?”
Salem nodded and perched on the edge of my bed. “So I brought you some things.” She pulled a blue plastic toiletry kit out of her backpack. “Close the door,” she whispered.
I hesitated. Hadn’t she heard of Red Ribbon Week and the whole “Do Not Do Drugs” speech? “Sarah, I don’t…”
“They aren’t drugs, moron.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I tiptoed to the door and closed it. The scratchy rip of the metal zipper and my own morbid curiosity lured me back to the bed.
Salem slid her hand under the lid and withdrew a large, silver pentacle. “It’s an extra.” She dropped it into my hand. “So you can have it.”
The weight over my heart lifted a little. One more object I could check off the list. “Thanks, Sarah. I so appreciate it.”
Her brow twitched. “There’s more. You remember Amy?”
“Your perfect sister?”
“Well, she has a weakness for those free gifts you get sometimes when you buy makeup.”
Who wouldn’t?
Salem’s features settled into a mask of mock pity. “Not all the shades of lipstick and eye shadow worked with her coloring. So Amy would dump the rejects into her bottom drawer.” Salem pushed back the toiletry kit lid and revealed about ten tubes of lipstick and four eye shadow cases. “None of them have ever been used, so you don’t have to worry about catching any dread diseases.”
“Wow.” My fingers flew to the forbidden tubes. Sparkle Dream. Nearly Nude. Dark Flame. Mother lode.
“I don’t want to upset your mom. She looks like she’s having a rough time. So you have to promise me something.”
“Anything. What?”
“Promise you’ll only use these when you need to throw a glamour.”
“A what?”
“A glamour. An illusion.” She glanced at the posters above my bed. “Like when Shay Stewart wore eyeliner and gold teeth in his pirate movie. He used makeup and costumes to create the illusion. They helped him become a pirate.”
“So these are for Halloween?”
Salem shook her head. “Why do you think people call me Salem?”
“Because…” I bit off my words and took a long look at the black eyeliner spiraled toward her temples, her layers of medieval-inspired black clothing, and her skull and pentacle jewelry. “Because you’re throwing a glamour?”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“Because I was sick of every teacher telling me, ‘You’re Amy’s little sister. I expect big things out of you.’”
“Now they don’t make the connection?”
“Yep, and the pressure is off.”
“Wow.” I twirled a tube of Mad For Mauve lipstick between my fingers. “But I don’t get it. What does any of this have to do with me?”
Salem released a long breath, then withdrew a plastic grocery sack from her backpack. “You’ve lost your mojo.” She laid wire-framed eyeglasses, a white crystal, and a plastic film canister on the bed. “To get it back, you need a talisman. Some item to make you feel like a photographer again.”
I tried on the glasses. My vision blurred. “I don’t know.”
“I’m not asking you to dress like Annie Leibovitz or Imogene Cunningham. Just find a secret object. What would give you courage?”
“I’m not sure courage can be found in a tube of Positively Pink lip gloss.”
“Maybe not.” Salem rose and shrugged into her empty backpack. “But you’ll know the right thing when you see it.” She slipped off the bed. “I better go. Einstein shreds tissue boxes if he isn’t fed by four.”
I walked her to the front door. “Thanks, Sarah.”
“You’re welcome. Good luck.” She clutched her black spider web poncho closer to her wraith-like body and headed into the swirl of leaves and wind.
I closed the door behind her. Firs
t a spell, and now a glamour and a talisman? This was more confusing than algebra.
But what if I could carry it off?
Chapter Nine
“Why are you wearing a film canister around your neck?” Parvani asked during carpool the next morning.
Her twin brothers started arguing over whose turn it was to use the latest, must-have electronic device, saving me from answering. As chaos shook the back seat, I hunched in the front and tucked the makeshift necklace under my Cal sweatshirt. It made an awkward bulge, like I wore an inhaler or something. While Dr. Hyde-Smith threatened to pull over if the Terrors didn’t knock it off, I slipped the canister into my backpack next to one of the forbidden tubes of lipstick.
Some talisman. I didn’t feel empowered. I felt like an idiot.
Dr. Hyde-Smith glided the Lexus up to the school’s back entrance. Parvani and I jumped out and shut the door on the twins’ battle. A fine mist settled over us as we slipped through the cyclone gate.
Parvani nudged me. “Look.”
Jordan walked several yards ahead, his shoulders back, as if his backpack weighed little more than a dragonfly. With each step his sneakers sunk a little into the saturated turf and made a small sucking sound. I wondered if a camera could capture the mist sparkling on his hair.
“I love the way everything is so effortless with him,” Parvani said in a dreamy voice. “Let’s go ahead with the spell.”
Arrow to the heart. I forced myself to look away from Jordan. “I don’t think so…”
“Come on. You promised.”
“No, I didn’t. But I did find the Quarter Guardians and Salem gave me a pentacle.”
Parvani seized my arm. “She did?”
“Ow. Yes. And Baby may have found a wand. Now all you need are Goddess and God figures.”
The bell rang. Dr. Hyde-Smith had made us late again. At least when Mom drove, we got to school on time. Parvani and I broke into a run, which wasn’t easy carrying thirty pounds of books on my back. Fixing my gaze on Jordan, I wondered how he made sprinting look so easy.
I arrived at English sweaty and, no doubt, red-faced. Salem threw me a searching look. I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if my makeshift talisman would work, even with the milky crystal rattling inside it.
Five short periods separated me from Yearbook. I’d find out then.
Mrs. Knapp handed back our vocabulary tests. Salem’s had a scarlet C- scrawled across the top. She flipped it upside down, then flicked her head as if to prove she didn’t care.
I received an A with a smiley face drawn beside it. A warm, happy feeling curled around me, like one of Parvani’s cashmere scarves. The happiness lasted fifty minutes—until Gym.
Coach Willis divided us into two teams for Capture the Flag. Parvani got stuck with Evan and Tommy. At least she didn’t have to worry about them holding her prisoner. I slipped my hand into my jeans pocket and clutched the topaz. Please don’t let me run the wrong way or be captured by the Smash Heads.
Someone nudged my shoulder, and I inhaled the improbable yet wonderful dry-weed scent of an Indian summer. “Hey, Evie.”
I pulled my hand out of my pocket. “Hey, Jordan.”
“About yesterday—
A couple of boys jostled us from behind. Jordan flashed them a look. When he glanced back at me, his expression softened. “We’re on the same team.” He said it as though he meant something deeper, something more than just this game.
My mind flashed back to a photo Dad had taken the summer Jordan and I had been four. Our families had gone to Disneyland together. Jordan and I had both wanted to pull Excalibur, King Arthur’s sword, from the stone. Jordan had reached the top of the rock first, but had been unable to budge the gilded weapon.
“Come on, Evie, you try.”
So I had climbed up in my pink flowered dress, my strawberry hair sticking out from my pink striped baseball cap, and pulled.
Nothing.
Jordan had wiped his hands on his rugby shirt, then held up three fingers. “On the count of three.” We’d sat on either side of the sword, and at the moment we’d grasped the gold hilt, Dad had snapped the picture.
Coach’s shrill whistle jolted me back to the present. Jordan nodded toward the Smash Heads. “Let’s get ‘em.”
The game was in play.
A few students were shoved like human sacrifices across the dividing border. Jordan paced the front line. Since I didn’t want to be abandoned to the pack, I shadowed him. A mischievous expression lit his face. “Suicide mission?”
“Sure.” No! Are you crazy? Why tempt fate? Gym is already close enough to death.
An image of Dad flashed into my mind. How could I joke about death? Guilt knotted my stomach like three-day-old fish. I wondered if Jordan would catch me if I fainted. Probably, but then Parvani would kill me.
I took a deep breath. If—okay, when I got captured—at least Parvani would visit me in jail. Unless the Smash Heads got to me first.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Jordan said.
I glanced at Tommy and Evan, who were disobeying the code of conduct by pummeling rather than tagging. Where the heck was Coach?
Jordan whispered, “On the count of three, okay? One…”
My heart beat too fast.
“Two…”
I couldn’t draw oxygen into my lungs.
“Three!”
We bolted like twin roller coasters. I ran faster than I ever thought possible. Smoke probably hissed from my sneakers. The Smash Heads, sensing fresh blood, pivoted toward me. Even though Parvani was on their team, she chased after them. Tommy, a towering year older because he had been held back in the third grade, barreled toward me.
I froze.
“Evie, keep moving!” Jordan yelled.
Before I could take a step, Parvani overtook the Smash Heads and cut in front of them. Tommy pushed her out of the way. Judging from the determined expression on his face, I was next.
Jordan threw himself at the Smash Heads. The three tackled each other with an awful crunching sound.
Behind me, my team screamed, “Evie, run!”
I sprinted as though the demons of the underworld were at my heels. Ahead, the orange team’s flag rippled in the breeze from atop its four-foot pole. To my right, five of my team members yelled from the jail zone. Knowing I’d need their help, I zigzagged.
“Jail break!” I stormed the jail, affecting their release. Joyous screams filled the autumn air.
The whistle shrilled. Coach Willis strode onto the field, where Tommy and Evan hung on Jordan like vile leeches.
“Jordan! Tommy! Evan! Unnecessary roughness. Everyone in the class, run a lap.”
Several students booed. I could have sworn Jordan winked at me. My stomach fluttered. I leaned over, hands clutching my thighs, and dragged air into my lungs.
Parvani caught up with me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. The pack swept us up into a slow jog.
“Can you believe he defended my honor?” Parvani knocked a clump of muddy grass from her jeans.
“Who? Jordan?”
She scrunched up her face. “Of course Jordan.”
Funny, I could have sworn he’d taken down the Smash Heads to protect me. Not wanting to argue, I changed the subject. “You were awesome. I can’t believe you cut in front of Tommy.”
“I’m glad my team didn’t boo me. And you! I couldn’t believe your suicide run. What possessed you?”
Jordan.
I shrugged and acted like I was too out of breath to talk. When Parvani wasn’t looking, I searched the ragtag runners for a head of highlighted wavy brown hair. I spotted him just as he glanced back. Our gaze collided and his smile made me falter and almost fall.
I had entered Jordanland, and I didn’t know how to turn back.
Chapter Ten
“Evie, may I see you?” Señora Allende said as the bell rang and students hurried off to lunch.
If my math teacher had uttered those word
s, I’d be dry heaving. But since Spanish is one of my best subjects, I said, “Sure.” I shouldered my backpack and waited for the room to clear before approaching Señora’s cluttered desk.
“A unique situation has arisen.” She pronounced it seet-u-a-she-on. It was so Antonio Banderas, I had to press my lips together to keep from smiling.
Señora brushed back her salt and pepper hair. It was cut along her jawline, framing her high cheekbones. “I have an excellent student,” she continued, “who anticipates missing class a lot over the next month.”
“Is she sick?” My mind flashed back to a girl who had become anorexic last year and had to be hospitalized for six weeks.
“No, he isn’t sick. But he does want the nature of his absences to be kept secret. He’s an A student, and doesn’t want to fall behind. He’s only available for tutoring on Saturdays at four o’clock.”
I shifted my weight, putting two and two together and actually reaching four. “So he can’t go to the Tutoring Center.”
“No, and I’m unavailable on Saturdays due to a family commitment.” Señora jabbed a well-chewed pencil into the crowded mesh cup on her desk. “Which is where you come in. The boy is a fellow freshman. He wants someone trustworthy to help him keep up. You’d earn seven bucks an hour.”
Dollar signs leapfrogged in my mind. There were two boys in the school I would refuse to help, and one of them took French. I prayed the other took German. “It isn’t Tommy Deitch, is it?”
Señora snorted. Tommy’s name must have come up a few times in the teacher’s lounge. “No, it’s not Tommy.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
“¡Bueno! He can meet you at your house or the library, whichever is more convenient for you.”
A pang of worry knotted my stomach. I didn’t want some mansion muchacho making fun of our cracked tile and running toilet. The library would be a better meeting place, but then my mom would have to drive me.
Señora pulled her purse out of her desk drawer then stood. “He’ll need to start this weekend.”
I decided to risk it. “Okay, tell him my house.”
Señora beamed. “Muchas gracias, Evie. I’ll give Zhù your address.”