Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

  Plug loosened his grip, and I pulled away.

  “You know Manny is my boyfriend,” I said.

  “And why is that exactly?”

  I stared at Plug, astonished by his boldness. My relationship with Manny was none of Plug’s business.

  “Why are you with Manny?” Plug asked calmly. “It shouldn’t be hard to answer.”

  “It’s personal.” I loved Manny because we were best friends. I loved him because he watched out for me. I loved him because he was sweet to me. I loved him because he had thick, messy chestnut hair and dark, piercing eyes. Manny reminded me of my father. Plug spoke again and interrupted my thoughts.

  “He’s an arrogant—”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” I said defensively.

  Plug started the car.

  “And he’s good to me. That’s all that should matter to you.”

  “Okay,” Plug said.

  I’d already lost so many friends this week. I refused to lose Plug, too. “Look,” I said, “can we be friends without discussing Manny?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Maybe you and I could work on smudging my home later tonight,” I said, but I was unsure how long I’d be at Manny’s house.

  “Maybe.” Plug cranked up the volume on the radio.

  • • •

  Plug and I walked together to first period, and Mr. Arnold stopped me at the studio door. “How are you today? Are you up to this?”

  Just beyond Mr. Arnold, Chelsea sat in my chair at the anchor desk. She winked at me, and my gut wrenched.

  “Up to what exactly?” I gritted my teeth.

  “Hannah, I know you’ve been through a lot, but we need this morning’s broadcast to go smoothly.” Mr. Arnold set his hand on my shoulder, and I jerked away, surprised by my own reaction. Mr. Arnold had always been one of my favorite teachers, but he’d let Chelsea sit in my chair again. The chair that I had earned.

  “She can work the booth equipment with me,” Plug said.

  I reached into my skirt pocket and gripped the tiger-eye. Even if it hadn’t protected me last night, the simple motion of stroking it calmed me now. I kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself.

  “That’s a great idea,” Mr. Arnold said to Plug. It was going to be another long day.

  Most people gave me a wide berth in the halls, but some still whispered as they passed. And Chelsea continued to lead my former friends in ignoring me.

  The bell for third period rang, and instead of running to the Commons to join the student council gang, I trudged off to my new psychology class. The room was quiet when I arrived, and I spotted Kyla and Nick. Maybe it wouldn’t be awful after all. I gave the teacher my revised schedule and then took the seat behind my surrogate friends.

  “Love the cerulean hair,” I said, marveling at her nonconformity.

  Kyla twisted in her seat and faced me. “Thank you.”

  “She’s beautiful in any color,” Nick, in his knit-cap-cameraman disguise, said.

  “I love your shirt, too,” I said to Kyla. The bright, bedazzled tangerine blouse made her eyes seem even bluer.

  “What about mine?” Nick asked with a wink. He motioned toward his brown T-shirt, which featured the heads of Chuck Norris and Waldo with the caption: CHUCK NORRIS IS THE REASON WALDO IS HIDING.

  I smirked. “Right.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, leaned toward me, and whispered, “Your mind would be blown if you knew some of the conspiracies Chuck—”

  The teacher cleared his throat and started class.

  Nick and Kyla turned in their seats and faced forward. I’d never given conspiracies a thought before meeting Nick. He seemed like the right guy to help uncover the reason behind Chelsea’s recent scheming.

  • • •

  The bell rang at the end of class. I picked up my backpack and headed for the hall.

  “Plans for lunch?” Nick asked.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Well, come on then.” He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and his other arm around Kyla, and we headed toward the parking lot.

  Plug heaved a cooler into the back of his El Camino, and then he climbed in. Nick and Kyla followed him and hoisted themselves up and over the side of the truck bed. I set my backpack on the asphalt and considered whether or not this was better than eating alone. I straightened my dress and wiggled my toes in my wedge sandals. I was clueless how to climb over the side.

  Plug motioned me to the back end, and he released the tailgate. He reached down for my hand and helped me up. I stepped into the bed, and a breeze blew my skirt. I dropped Plug’s hand and held my dress in place.

  We perched on the walls of the truck bed, and the cooler served as a table between us. I reached down and stroked the AstroTurf.

  “What’s with the grass?” I asked.

  “Makes it more like the classic vehicle it truly is,” Plug said.

  Nick lifted the cooler’s lid and opened a plastic container full of pepperoni pizza.

  “Leftovers from a cooler in the back of an El Camino with green AstroTurf.”

  Everyone’s eyes lifted to meet mine.

  “Did I just say that out loud?” I asked.

  “You don’t have to eat with us,” Nick said.

  “Cut her some slack. She had a bad night.” Plug passed me a cold Dr. Pepper. I turned it over in my fingers and wondered if he’d brought it because it was my favorite or if it was a coincidence.

  Nick closed the cooler and set the pizza on top. “To apologize, you can bring lunch tomorrow.”

  “We take turns,” Kyla said. “And if you’ll give it a chance, you will discover it’s quite fun to eat out here away from everyone else. It’s like our own little oasis in a sea of chaos.”

  “I am really sorry. Sometimes I speak without thinking.” I popped the top on the Dr. Pepper and took a swig.

  “There’s enough for everyone,” Plug said and pointed at the pizza.

  “What happened last night that upset you?” Kyla asked.

  I told them about the pink elephant, but before I finished, Kyla interrupted.

  “Before second period, I heard Chelsea bragging about a pink elephant.”

  We all stared at Kyla.

  “And?” Nick prodded her.

  “What did she say?” I asked. “Did she use my name?” I leaned forward and spilled soda on the AstroTurf.

  Plug pressed a napkin against the fake grass and mopped up the puddle.

  “Chelsea’s voice is so piercing,” Kyla said, “it was hard to avoid. She said she found just the right kind of pink elephant. I walked past her in the hall so I missed a lot of what she said, but I never heard her use your name. If I’d known it mattered, I would’ve listened better.”

  “Hannah, you heard Chelsea’s laugh at the tat shop,” Plug said. “Any chance she’s causing these weird things?”

  “She’s been acting differently toward me since the accident, but I don’t know why. She has nothing to gain from taunting me,” I said.

  “Trust me,” Nick said, “she’d do anything to connive her way into the rich bit—”

  “Nick!” Kyla cut him short.

  “No offense,” Nick said to me, “but I’m sure she’s conspired for a while to fit in with your group.”

  “She doesn’t have to fit in,” I said. “She’s already in.”

  Nick raised his eyebrows. “She pretends to have money. She’s dirt poor.”

  “How do you—”

  “She lives in the same low-income apartment building I do. I see her every day,” Nick said.

  “But you drive a brand-new Mini Cooper,” I said.

  He jerked his thumb toward Kyla. “Her Mini.”

  Kyla nodded.

  “The way I see it,” Nick said, “if Tall-Tree-Chelsea got revenge for Jordan’s death, that would earn her points with his group. Or even if she turns them against you, then she gets your spot, your friends, and your anchor chair in broadcasting. She wins.”

 
My mind lingered on the idea of Chelsea being poor. We usually hung out at the mall, and when we weren’t there, we were either at my house or Lily’s house, never Chelsea’s. I flashed back to the day Lily, Chelsea, and I went shopping and bought the coordinating outfits, the rhinestone jeans and cute tops—she had forgotten her wallet that day. Lily paid for her things. And Chelsea constantly borrowed my clothes, shoes, and accessories. Some things she still had. But it was easier to believe Plug broke into my house than Chelsea.

  I took another sip of the Dr. Pepper, and a small burp escaped. “Sorry,” I said. “Pop does that—”

  Nick released a monster belch and stared at me. “You got nothing on us. I am the champion wind breaker in this group.”

  “Yes,” Kyla said and patted his back. “Certainly something to be proud of.”

  I laughed at Nick, and he let out another burp, smaller than the first one. Lily would have been appalled. I missed her terribly. I wanted to call, but I knew the nurses wouldn’t give me any information, and after the incident in the waiting room, Mrs. Sloane probably never wanted to talk to me again.

  “What other unusual things have happened?” Kyla folded her slice of pizza in half and bit into it.

  I wiggled my toes and studied the AstroTurf. Then I told them everything from the shadows and black mist to the spider and the Angel of Death pricking my finger.

  “Wait,” Kyla said.

  I scrunched my toes and glanced up.

  “When did these creepy things start happening to you?”

  “After the hypnotist show.”

  “You’re certain?” Kyla asked.

  “Maybe during.”

  “Do you remember the hypnotist’s name?” she asked.

  “Geero. Gyro. Something like that.”

  “I’ll research him,” Kyla said.

  “If anyone can find the truth, it’s Kyla,” Plug said.

  “Have you documented any of this?” Nick asked. “Pictures, video, journaling?”

  “No, I’ve been too freaked to stop and snap a picture.”

  “Do you have a computer in your room?” he asked.

  “I have a laptop.”

  “Turn on the webcam before you go to bed.”

  “I don’t want people watching me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Nick tore his remaining crust into bite-sized pieces and tossed them into his mouth, one at a time. “I’ll e-mail you a program that you can download onto your computer. When you turn on the camera, it will record everything that happens in your room and save it on your hard drive. It doesn’t even have to be only at night. We’ll set it up to record twenty-four-seven, and if someone like Tall-Tree sneaks into your room, we’ll catch her, and have evidence.”

  “What if it’s not Chelsea? What if it’s not even a real person? Or worse, what if it’s me?”

  “Then we’ll catch it on video. Knowing is better. Do you want me to come over and set it up for you?”

  “No. E-mail it. I can figure it out.”

  “Be pretty sweet to catch demons on video,” Plug said.

  “Sweet for who?” I asked. “I would hate to see a recording of evil spirits haunting me while I’m asleep.”

  “Hannah, you need to reclaim your life,” Kyla said.

  “I never gave it up.” I gnawed off a tough piece of cold pizza and imagined my student council friends eating fresh hot pizza, made to order, at Flying Pie Pizzeria. I hungered to have my old life back. I never chose to give it up in the first place.

  “I’m not referring to your social status,” Kyla said. “I mean you need to take back control of your own choices.”

  “I am in control.” Another breeze blew my skirt. I caught the fabric in time and tucked it between my thighs.

  “You sure?” Nick asked.

  • • •

  We stepped into the art room, and Rose told us to select our preferred medium and sit without talking. I had no idea what “preferred medium” meant, so I followed Plug. He selected two long, slender pieces of charcoal from a side counter. He motioned for me to pick from the array of supplies: colored pencils, paints, brushes, markers, chalks, crayons, and even sand. I picked a bottle of red paint, and we joined Nick and Kyla at a table. Nick had three different shades of blue pencils in front of him. Kyla had two vials of tinted sand and a can of spray adhesive.

  “What are we doing?” I whispered.

  Kyla brought a finger to her lips.

  I bounced my knee and peered around the room. A small string of smoke drifted upward from an engraved silver dish on Rose’s desk, and I recognized the aroma of burning sage. Soft harp music played in the background.

  Rose finished giving instructions at the door. Then, when everyone had taken their supplies and their seats, she moved to the front of the room.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “There will be no talking today while I introduce you to a different way of creating art. Get out your sketchbooks.” Everyone at my table pulled out thick spiral-bound books and opened to a blank page. I was about to raise my hand when Rose set a brand-new sketchbook in front of me and smiled. I mouthed the words “thank you” and she nodded.

  “Consider the medium you selected. I’m going to take you on a journey, and as I do, you can follow along with me, or you can walk your own path. Visualize and experience the journey in your mind. Use your chosen medium and create art while your eyes remain closed.”

  Before Kyla closed her eyes, she sprayed adhesive on two opposing pages in her sketchbook. I opened the lid to my bottle of paint, but I had no brushes. I still knew nothing about art. And this felt a lot like hypnotism. I peeked at Plug. He opened his eyes and looked right back at me. He reached over and squeezed my hand. I valued Plug’s friendship, and so I squeezed back. I also wanted to be loyal to Manny, and so I eased my hand away.

  “Get comfortable in your chair,” Rose said. “Uncross your legs and plant your feet on the floor. On your thighs, set your palms up.”

  Plug and I followed Rose’s instructions. He closed his eyes again and so did I. He was right next to me. I recalled how calm he’d remained in the warehouse when the lights went out, and I knew everything would be fine.

  “Focus on the sound of my voice. Inhale deeply and hold it for five seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Release it through your mouth. Take in another breath and feel your lungs expand. Relax. Let the breath out through your mouth. Keep your breathing steady. When you decide the time is right for you, create your art, but remember to keep your eyes closed and trust your instincts.

  “Now, imagine you are in a chaotic hotel lobby. People are rushing with their luggage and talking loudly, but you are peaceful. You slowly inhale, and you refuse to let their chaos influence you. You move through the crowd with a purpose. You find the elevators and press the down button. The crowded lobby is behind you and has no influence over you. The elevator opens, and you step inside. Alone. Press the button for the basement level, because you want to descend deeper—”

  “Into the depths of the underworld,” a man interrupted.

  I opened my eyes wide, but there was no man in the room, and Rose continued speaking. Everyone else created their art with their eyes closed. No one else reacted to the deep, husky voice. Only I had heard it.

  Kyla began to sprinkle sand over the page in her book. Plug lightly sketched a large oval that extended off the top of the page. Nick sat still, with his pencils untouched.

  I pulled in a long breath and focused on Rose’s voice. I’d be fine. I squirted a blob of paint onto my right index finger and then swiped some of it onto my left one. I rested my forearms against the edge of the table and closed my eyes.

  “The walls of the elevator are mirrors,” Rose said. “Study your reflection. You’re tired, and your shoulders sag. A soft bell dings, and the doors open. The elevator has brought you to a safe level. You step into the comfort of this place and relax even more. The sense of happiness floods over you. The lush grass beneath your feet com
forts you.

  “Under a large shade tree you see an ornate box. Touch it, and trace the intricate design. When you lift the lid, you find a paper and a pencil. Write your concerns and your worries. Only you will see the list. Once you have finished, set the list back inside the box and close it. Your troubles are secure inside. They will be there when you return, but you do not need to carry them with you now. When you move away, you feel lighter than ever before. Float if you want. Fly if you want. Enjoy the sensation of being free.

  “Beyond the rise of grass is your ideal place. Possibly a bed next to a river, or a couch near a rose garden, or a cloud in the sky, whatever it is, create tranquility and joy in your safe place. Once you’ve created it, you can revisit it whenever you want and build upon it, add details, and smooth the edges. Today is the basic creation. We’re staying a short time today, but you can come back whenever you please. Commit your details to memory. The colors. The textures. Travel toward the tree where you left the box. Continue to breathe deeply. Kneel in front of the box, but before you open the lid, know that you have the power within you to overcome the items on your list. No problem is too great for you to handle.

  “Return to the elevator and step inside. Face yourself in the mirror. You stand taller. Your eyes shine brighter. Your smile is larger. You are confident, strong, and sure. The elevator rises, and you inhale deliberately. The bell dings, and the doors open. The lobby isn’t as chaotic as it was before. People move slower, talk softer, and carry lighter loads. You greet people with kindness, and they are happy to see you. As you move toward the hotel exit, you feel refreshed and energized. Ready to conquer the day. When I count to five you will open your eyes and be fully alert. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Open your eyes.”

  All my fingertips were covered in paint now, and in my sketchbook I had drawn a sloppy outline of a small square cabin that I’d pictured in my safe place. It sat near the rise of a hill. My clumsy artwork was worse than the stick drawings of a five-year-old, the roof disjointed from the body of the cabin. Smoke swirls extended and flourished across the remainder of the page and carried over onto the opposing page. In the lower corner was a crude box—my representation of the ornate one Rose had described. Red pooled beneath it. I laughed at my ridiculous effort.