Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

  Plug passed me a wet paper towel. “Let’s wash up,” he whispered. Other students returned supplies and washed their hands in the side basin. Before I stood, I gazed at the sketchbooks on the table. Nick had used his three colored pencils to create an abstract drawing. Kyla had created a windstorm of sand on her pages, and she now sprayed adhesive on a thin plastic sheet and pressed it over her art. Plug had drawn a portrait of a girl who looked a lot like me, using shadows and illuminations to play with the features. I leaned closer for a better view, but Plug closed the sketchbook and slipped it into his bag. He motioned me toward the side basin.

  After the students had returned to their seats, Rose said, “This method of creating art allows you to explore your innermost being. Sometimes the art you create will match what you envisioned in your mind. Other times, it will have no resemblance to anything you saw. Perhaps it more closely resembles your emotions. Research has shown that colors influence and reflect our deepest feelings. For example, cool colors like blues and greens can have a relaxing and nurturing effect. That’s why decorators use these colors in spas. It’s also why people in positions of authority will wear these colors—to have a comforting influence over the individuals they manage. Warm colors like yellow, orange, and red convey more fervent emotions, not only rage and anger but also happiness, passion, and courage. And interestingly enough these warm colors can trigger hunger, and that’s why you’ll see red tones in a lot of fast-food company logos.”

  Several students snickered and named the companies with red in their logos.

  Rose lifted a hand to quiet them. “Remember, art is not necessarily about finding hidden meaning, but if you explore it closely, your art can be a mirror reflecting your soul.”

  The bell rang.

  “Thank you, everyone, for participating,” Rose said. “If your sketchbooks are wet, set them on the counter to dry.” I carried mine to the back of the room and set it among the others.

  Plug and I walked together to our next class. “What’d you think of that?” he asked.

  “I’ve never done anything like it,” I said.

  “Neither have I.”

  “Really? Everyone’s art seemed as if they’d done this a million times before. Did you see Nick’s drawing?”

  Plug nodded.

  “Did you have your eyes closed the whole time?” I asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Your charcoal drawing was amazing,” I said. “You must’ve had your eyes open.”

  He quickened his pace toward statistics, but I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him to a stop in the hallway.

  “Why did you draw a picture of me?”

  Plug bit down on his lip ring.

  The bell rang, and he motioned me into the classroom. We didn’t have a chance to talk during class. So afterward, I asked him again.

  “It was only a sketch,” he said.

  “It was beyond incredible.”

  “Rose said to create our art and trust our instincts. You were in my thoughts. I drew a picture of you.”

  “Which means you stared at me when my eyes were closed.” That troubled me, even though I had stolen a glance at him during the exercise, too.

  “It’s a drawing, Hannah. Let it go. Especially if you still want me to drive you to your boyfriend’s house after school.” Plug turned away, and we headed in separate directions.

  • • •

  After my last class, I met up with Plug in the parking lot. It seemed wrong to bum a ride to Manny’s house from him, but Plug claimed to be my friend. So it shouldn’t matter. “Do you want to meet Manny when we get there?”

  “I already know who he is.” Plug got into the El Camino without opening my door for me.

  “You’re mad at me,” I said after we belted in.

  “I’ve been thinking about the conversation at lunch. Kyla told you to take back your life, and it made me curious. If you could choose who to eat lunch with tomorrow, would you still hang with us, the outcasts, or would you return to the uptight rich clique?”

  “They’re not uptight,” I said.

  Plug glared at me.

  “And I never called you an outcast,” I said.

  “That doesn’t mean you want to be with us either.” Plug started the engine, but then he draped his forearm over the steering wheel. “Why do you care so much about what other people think of you?”

  “Why do you care so much about your artwork?” I asked.

  “What do you want from our group? From me?” Plug asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Right.” Plug shifted into reverse. “Where are we going?”

  I explained how to get to Manny’s house.

  “You two live in the same neighborhood?” Plug asked. I nodded. We listened to a rock station on the radio and drove into the foothills. Neither of us said a word until he pulled to the curb in front of Manny’s house.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” I said. “You’re my only friend. I’m sorry for the stupid things I said and did today.”

  “I know.” He tapped his rings against the steering wheel. Then he killed the engine, hopped out, and ran around to open my door.

  Before I stepped out of the car, I said, “Thanks, Plug.”

  I glanced across the street to Lily’s house. I didn’t even know if she had regained consciousness yet. I missed her.

  Plug walked with me across Manny’s lawn.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Walking you to the door.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  My heart beat faster at the thought of Manny opening the door and seeing me with Plug. He reached out and rang the doorbell.

  Zeus—the Santos family’s small half-breed beagle—howled inside. Mrs. Santos opened the door with Zeus cradled in her arm. She wore a cranberry blouse and a KISS THE COOK apron. She hugged me with her other arm, and Zeus sniffed my ear with his wet nose.

  “How are you feeling, child?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  She tilted her head to the side and said to Plug, “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Santos, this is . . .” I hesitated, because now that I’d gotten used to calling him Plug, the name Eugene felt strange on my lips.

  “Eugene,” Plug finished for me. Then he reached out and shook her hand.

  “Well, come on in you two.” She motioned us in, but Plug hesitated.

  “Actually, I can’t stay.” He stepped away but then turned back to me and said, “I’ll see you at seven tomorrow morning.”

  I nodded and followed Mrs. Santos inside.

  She closed the door, and Zeus squirmed. When she set him down, his tail wagged and he ran toward me. I squatted to scratch him behind the ears, but he tucked his tail between his legs, and he began to whimper.

  “What’s bothering you?” Mrs. Santos asked Zeus and picked him up.

  I set my backpack by the door and followed Mrs. Santos down the hall to the family room off the kitchen. To my right, fresh homemade bread lined the counter on cooling racks. To my left, Manny lay sprawled out on the couch. He pushed up to a sitting position when he saw me and carefully moved his feet from the couch to the floor. Joy flowed through me, and I relaxed. Mrs. Santos set Zeus down, and he ran out of the room. She went back to baking in the kitchen.

  I stooped in front of Manny. “How are you?”

  “I’m better now.” He twined his fingers with mine. I peeked toward the kitchen to see if his mom was watching. She mixed something in a lime-green ceramic bowl. Manny lowered the volume on the television with the remote.

  “Was someone at the door with you?” Manny asked.

  “Eugene dropped me off.”

  Manny’s jaw clenched. “I thought you weren’t hanging out with him anymore.”

  “I don’t have a car, and he offered me a ride. We’re friends—”

  “I don’t care,” Manny said. “I don’t trust him.”

  “There’s noth
ing to worry about with him.” I sidled up to Manny on the couch. “Do you still hurt?”

  “Yes, but at least I’ve been able to cut back on the pain pills. Soon I won’t need them at all.” He touched his torso. “It hurts to breathe because of the cracked ribs, but the doctors say it will take time to heal.”

  “Have you heard any news about Lily?” I asked.

  “Didn’t her mom call you?”

  “No. What’s happened?” My chest tightened with fear.

  Manny grabbed my hand. “She woke up this afternoon.”

  Tears of relief flooded down my face. “Can she talk? Can I call her?”

  “No, she’s still in ICU, but Mrs. Sloane told us they plan to move her to a regular room tomorrow. So you should be able to talk to her then.”

  I gazed downward.

  Manny lifted my chin. “She’ll get better. The accident was not your fault.”

  “Of course it was. And I can’t fix it. Our friends on the student council hate me. Chelsea’s convinced them I’m to blame. And I’m being stalked by evil spirits or something.”

  “Chelsea told me some weird stuff has happened at school, but she—”

  “When did you talk to Chelsea?”

  “She’s called to check on me.”

  “Chelsea is up to something. And I’m serious about the evil spirits. I know it’s hard to believe, but remember that pink elephant you won at the fair? It burned in the fire. I know it did. But now it keeps reappearing in my room. I threw it out with the garbage this morning.”

  Manny’s face paled. “That sounds really crazy,” he said. “Have you been home to see if the trash men took it away?”

  “No. I came here right after school. I don’t want to go home and see it again. But Manny, I’m telling you the truth. I’ve seen the Angel of Death or some sort of evil spirit.”

  Mrs. Santos dropped a pan in the sink. We jerked our heads in her direction. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.

  “Mom?” Manny perched on the edge of the couch to get up, but he clutched his ribs.

  “Mrs. Santos?” I approached the counter.

  “Amen,” she whispered and opened her eyes. She wiped her hands on her apron and moved around the edge of the counter.

  “Do not play with evil spirits, child. When you spoke of them just now, I felt a darkness lurking.”

  “You believe in evil spirits?” I asked.

  “Of course I do. Not only is God real, but Satan too. Angels and demons battle each other.”

  “Does saying a prayer protect you?”

  “It helps if you have faith. We’ve also blessed our home. No malevolent spirits can enter here unless they are invited inside. The prayer I said reinforced that blessing. You are protected in our home. But, please”—she clutched my hands—“never tempt these spirits. Once you invite them into your life, your house, your mind, they are hard to get rid of.”

  “I haven’t invited them in,” I said.

  “You took part in a hypnotist’s show,” Mrs. Santos said.

  “Yes, but I wasn’t actually hypnotized.”

  “How can you be certain?” A bead of perspiration rolled down Mrs. Santos’s forehead. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and wiped the sweat away.

  “I guess I can’t.”

  She led me back over to the couch where Manny waited.

  “If you gave up your free will during hypnosis,” Mrs. Santos said, “evil spirits may have connected with you and then with your house. If you want, we can have your house blessed, but only if your mother agrees to it.”

  “Why does my mom need to know?”

  “Because you’re her daughter, and it’s her house. If you have faith, God will bring good things to you, but you have to invite him in, because God will not violate your will.”

  “But evil spirits can? Are they more powerful than God?” I asked.

  “No, that’s not what I said. Satan can cause havoc, but he cannot extinguish true faith. He has no real power here. You can tell him to depart, but you must decide to either act or be acted upon.” She rubbed my shoulder before returning to the kitchen.

  Sometimes Mrs. Santos’s words spun like riddles in my mind, and the meanings escaped me. Was her faith strong enough to overcome my doubts?

  I slipped off my sandals and scooted next to Manny. I wanted to enjoy my time with him and forget about seeing strange things. I wrapped my hands around his, and we watched television. I wished I could move in here with Manny and be with him forever.

  Mrs. Santos walked down the hall, and I snuggled into Manny.

  “My mom will be back any second,” he said.

  I groaned. I needed to cuddle closer. That was all. But I scooted away. Manny’s mom returned a few seconds later with her purse dangling from the crook of her arm.

  “I need to run errands,” she said. “Your dad will be home from work in a few minutes, and your brothers will be home from soccer soon. Is there anything you need before I leave?”

  “Nope.” Manny changed the channel.

  The front door clicked when Mrs. Santos left, and I grinned at Manny. I reached across him, grabbed the remote, and clicked off the television.

  “What are you doing?” he asked and fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

  “Why are you nervous?” I pushed his hair away from his face. Then I traced his features, starting with his eyebrows and working down the bridge of his nose to his lips. I leaned in to kiss him, and he lifted a hand between us.

  “Wait,” he whispered.

  “You don’t want to kiss me?” I asked.

  “Of course I do.” He rubbed his face. “But someone could barge in on us at any second.”

  “It’s only kissing. Besides, we’ll hear the front door long before anyone gets back here.” I kissed his palm and then his wrist. He sighed. I leaned in and pressed my lips against his.

  I drew back and studied his dark eyes. Then I carefully maneuvered onto his lap and kissed his neck. He gave in to me this time. Soft as a feather, I traced the tip of my tongue along his full lips. They parted, and our tongues touched tentatively at first, but then we sank into a deep, long kiss. Manny moaned. His hand found the hem of my dress. He stroked the bare skin of my knees, and then he pushed me away.

  “What has gotten into you?” Manny asked, breathless. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “It was only a kiss,” I said. “Manny, we almost died.” I moved away from him and stroked the plush carpet with my toes. “Everything we have could be gone in a blink. Just gone.” Student Council. Lily. Jordan.

  “Are you going to the funeral?” I asked.

  “Yes. Are you?”

  I locked eyes with him. “His family doesn’t want me to.” I told him how Jordan’s mom slapped me at the hospital and what his aunt said after creative writing class.

  Manny pulled me closer.

  “I don’t want to lose you, too,” I said.

  “You won’t.”

  I nestled my head against his neck, and he wrapped his arms around me.

  “Where did you learn to kiss like that anyway?” he whispered.

  I pulled back from him to see his face. He was serious. “You are the only guy I have ever kissed. The Ferris wheel was my first time. Ever. I waited years for you to be interested in me.”

  “But now you’re hanging out with Eugene, seeing evil spirits, and climbing all over me.”

  There was a click at the front door.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” Manny’s dad bellowed. He walked into the kitchen area. “Oh, hello, Hannah. How are you?”

  “I was just leaving.” I slipped on my sandals and stared at Manny for a moment. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for one short, little second . . . just to see what would happen. Would it freak Manny out? Would it scare Mr. Santos? Was it possible to behave erratically for one lousy minute and still be normal? Acceptable? Lovable?

  I turned away and hustled down the hall before either of them s
aid anything else. And before I said or did something I’d regret. I loved Manny, but I’d never seen this critical side of him before, and I was unsure what to do about it. I wanted to be one with him so badly my stomach ached, but he’d asked, What has gotten into you? I’d been propelled by instinct and desire, but it wasn’t as if I’d stripped him naked. I’d only kissed him. He almost died in the accident. I nearly killed him. My best friend. My true love. Would Manny and I survive this? Would he still want to be with me when he returned to Peregrine?

  I checked the time on my cell and slipped it into my dress pocket. Then I grabbed my backpack and stepped outside. The sunlight blinded me momentarily, and as I walked across the grass, an uncomfortable heaviness settled on me. I stopped on the sidewalk and faced Manny’s house. Mrs. Santos had said no evil spirits could enter their home without invitation, but I was outside now. I pulled the tiger-eye stone out of my pocket and stroked it with my thumb. I felt alone and unprotected.

  My legs began to itch.

  I glanced down and shrieked.

  The sidewalk swelled; legions of ants swarmed over the concrete in waves. They blanketed my sandals, my toes, and my ankles. Several scampered past my knees and beneath my dress. I stomped and screamed and swatted at the evil pests. They bit into my flesh. I darted out into the road to get away from the mega-colony, and I shook my skirt, lifting it up and down. I needed to get the insects off me. Red welts spotted my legs.

  A minivan pulled into Manny’s driveway, and I continued flipping my skirt and brushing my legs. Manny’s younger brothers, Miguel and Michael, hopped out of the van.

  “What’s going on?” Miguel asked.

  My cheeks heated up with embarrassment. “Ants.” I pointed at the sidewalk.

  The minivan backed out and drove away. Manny’s brothers moved over to where I’d pointed.

  “What ants?” Miguel asked.

  I inched over to them. No bugs. Not a single one remained on the sidewalk, but welts covered my legs. I pointed at the red bumps. “They bit me.”

  “Ants don’t bite,” Miguel said.

  “Carpenter ones do,” I said.

  Miguel scrunched up his face in disbelief.

  “Never mind.” I walked away. I brushed off my dress to make sure no more bugs remained. The welts on my legs were evidence bugs had bitten me. It was not a delusion. I was not crazy.