Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

  I ran out the front doors of the school, sank to the curb, and bawled. I replayed the incidents in my mind. Less than thirty minutes ago, I had believed things could return to normal, but Manny made it sound as if I wasn’t even myself anymore.

  A shadow moved across the asphalt, and I glanced skyward. Storm clouds formed and drifted in front of the sun. A breeze kicked up the dirt next to the curb where I waited, and the temperature dropped. Hopefully, Mom would get here before the clouds burst open. Ants scurried over the leaves and debris, searching for shelter. Several darted up the side of my boot. I let them explore. They could bite me, but even if they did, it wouldn’t be real. I set my fingers in their path and let them crawl across my skin.

  Mom drove up to the curb. I stood and dusted myself off.

  I opened the door of the Prius and slid into the passenger seat. “Glad you got here before the rain dumped on me,” I said and buckled in.

  Mom leaned forward and scrutinized the sky through the windshield. Then she reached over and clutched my hand.

  “I need to go into the office and sign you out,” she said.

  “Can we please just leave?” I asked.

  “The school said there’d been a fight. Are you hurt?” She eyed me up and down.

  “Manny attacked Plug,” I said.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Plug?”

  “I mean Eugene.”

  Mom shifted into drive. “The boy who was at the house last night?” Mom asked and drove away.

  “Yes.”

  “What provoked the fight?”

  “Manny saw Eugene kiss me.”

  “I thought you and Manny were together.”

  “I thought we were, too.” More tears spilled down my cheeks. “But Manny just broke up with me.” I wiped my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

  “Are you sleeping with Eugene?” Mom asked.

  “No! How could you even ask that?”

  “Because Eugene was at the house late last night, and Manny’s a nice boy. I can’t imagine him punching a guy unless he deserved it.”

  “You’re taking Manny’s side?”

  “No, I’m on your side.” She parked in the driveway of our house. “Run inside and change your clothes.”

  “Why?”

  “I refuse to take you to the hotel like that. Brush your hair, too.”

  “Let me stay home.” I said.

  “We’ve got the doctor’s appointment in a few hours, and I’m missing auditions as we—”

  “What auditions?” I asked.

  “For the hotel’s new lounge. I told you about it the other night. Don’t you remember?” Mom tilted her head toward me, but she didn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re coming with me where I can keep an eye on you. Then we’ll go see Dr. James.” She pointed to the house. “Go. I’ll wait here and make some phone calls.” She lifted her phone from her purse.

  I walked to the front door and let myself in. The fragrance of sage filled the house, and I pulled in a lungful. I felt peaceful, as if I’d left my problems outside. I ran up the stairs and paused in front of the bathroom door.

  I didn’t remember Plug smudging the bathroom—he said he’d done the rest of the house while I was in the bathroom. I moved away from the door and went to my bedroom. I stood in front of my full-length mirror and pulled my sweatshirt over my head. My white bra looked absurd on the outside of my pink shirt, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I kicked off my boots and stepped out of my jeans.

  My cell phone fell to the floor, and I snatched it up. I had missed a message from Manny. I clicked on it. He had replied to this morning’s message. I’d ignored it when I opened the wrapped art book.

  He’d written: I’m in broadcasting. Where RU? I can’t wait to spend the day with you.

  If I had checked my phone before we ran to broadcasting, things would have turned out differently today, but there was no going back now. Manny had been my anchor, and the weight of losing him tugged me down. I was drowning. I needed Plug to keep me afloat. I sent a text to Plug and asked if he got stitches.

  My phone vibrated with a new message. It was from Lily: What in the world happened at school today? Call me ASAP!

  How could I answer when I was still uncertain myself about what had happened?

  I set my phone on my bed and wiped my face. Then I examined my reflection in the mirror. Athletic socks, yoga pants, and my bra on the outside of my shirt. No makeup. My hair looked as if I’d been through a hurricane. I brushed it and braided it down the back. In my closet, I found my thin white hoodie—better than a sweatshirt in August—and pulled it on. I zipped it high enough to conceal my bra. I removed my socks and slipped my feet into a pair of matching flip-flops. I re-evaluated myself in the mirror. Almost good enough. I leaned into the mirror and swiped on some mascara. Green eyes. I blinked. Brown eyes. I closed my eyes and willed them to change back. I peered into the mirror. Brown eyes still. I dropped the mascara to the floor.

  Plug smudged the house, but he didn’t smudge me. An evil spirit could be inside of me. My heart raced, and my hands began to itch.

  I grabbed my phone off the bed and bolted out of the house.

  Mom was still talking on her cell when I plopped into the seat next to her. She ended her call and turned to me.

  “Are those the only clothes you could find?” she asked.

  “What color are my eyes?” I leaned toward her and opened wide.

  “Green,” she said. I flipped down the visor and opened the embedded mirror. Mom was right. Green, again.

  “My clothes are fine.” I wished I was too. “My shirt is Nike, my hoodie is Aéropostale, my yoga pants are New Balance, and my flip-flops . . . well, they might be from Walmart. Want me to change?” I wiggled my toes.

  Mom started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

  “Could we visit Lily before we go to the hotel?”

  “I’m missing auditions, Hannah.”

  “I’ll be quick,” I said. “I just need to see her in person, to know for myself that she’s okay.”

  Mom glanced at me and then to the road. “Okay, but it has to be a fast visit today.”

  “I promise.”

  “And I spoke with your principal,” Mom said. “He’s agreed to let you come back to school tomorrow and try again, but you’ll spend first period in the library from now on. Do not try to speak to Mr. Arnold, or Chelsea, or Manny. Those are the conditions. Can you do that?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  • • •

  Lily’s new room was dreary. Slatted vertical blinds covered the window, and shadows shifted in the corners. I hurried to the window and yanked open the blinds, flooding the room with sunlight.

  “No, too bright.” Lily shaded her swollen eyes.

  I tugged the blinds back across the window until Lily’s face was cast into the darkness. Then I stopped and allowed a bit of light into the remainder of the room.

  “Where’s your mother?” my mom asked Lily.

  “Cafeteria.” Lily’s lips were engorged and covered with an ointment. A gloomy pallor still masked her formerly tan and vibrant face.

  Mom moved to Lily’s bedside and set her hand on the railing. “We can’t stay long today, but we’re so glad to see that you’re doing better.”

  I clutched Lily’s fingers, and she jerked away. She covered her nose and mouth with both hands.

  “What?” I asked.

  She slowly removed her hands from her face. An oxygen tube dangled beneath her nose and snaked back to an outlet in the wall.

  “What is that awful smell?” Lily asked.

  I sniffed the cuff of my hoodie. “Burned sage.”

  Out of habit, Lily lifted a finger to twist a strand of her hair, but it was all gone. She plucked at the gauze wrapped around her head instead.

  “Hannah, what’s happened to you?” Lily asked.

  Nothing. Everything. I didn’t really know for sure.

  Mom answered for me. “S
he’s had some bumps and bruises of her own, but we’re working through it.”

  “I’m still the same person I was last week,” I said.

  “I know,” Mom said.

  “Chelsea called me,” Lily said.

  “Don’t believe her lies.”

  “She said you ripped the blouse right off of her.”

  Mom pursed her lips.

  “She’s been horrible to me,” I said. “And technically it was my freaking shirt.”

  “At least ten other people have texted me about it,” Lily said.

  “And?” I asked.

  Lily tilted her head toward my mom, signaling that she couldn’t say in front of her.

  “Go ahead and say it,” I said. “The principal already told her his version of the events.”

  “Did you . . .” Lily gripped my fingers, lowered her voice, and spoke quickly. “Did you really make out with Eugene Polaski in front of everyone?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Hannah, I’m worried about you.”

  “So am I,” my mom whispered.

  I scratched at my neck. “Come on, let’s not waste our time talking about the idiots at school. Let’s talk about you,” I said to Lily. “Are you feeling any better?”

  Lily shook her head. “I hurt worse today, but the doctors keep saying I’ll make a full recovery.” Tears streamed out of the corners of her swollen eyes. “They’re changing my medication to see if it’ll make a difference, but I’d give anything for this pain to go away. I’d give anything to be with Jordan again.”

  I wiped a tear from my own face. “I wish I could fix it for you.” Lily’s busted and bruised face made me realize just how broken her spirit was too, and knowing I’d caused that was more than I could handle on top of everything else that had happened today.

  A nurse came in to check on Lily.

  “We should be going,” Mom said and checked her wristwatch.

  “Hang in there,” I said to Lily and squeezed her hand.

  “You, too,” she whispered back.

  • • •

  Mom drove to the far corner of the hotel’s underground garage and parked. We rode the freight elevator to the fourth floor, walked through the back halls, and entered the new lounge through an employee entrance. A locker room led to a small kitchen, which opened to the main part of the lounge. On the stage, a pianist played a jazz piece.

  We wandered over to a table where two men sat. I recognized Mom’s assistant manager, Mr. Holloday, but not the other guy. Mom joined them, and I took a seat at the table right behind them. When the audition ended and the pianist left the lounge, Mom apologized.

  “How many did I miss?” she asked.

  “Five auditions, but trust me, you didn’t miss any talent,” the guy said. He reviewed some of the various details with her. When he finished, Mom waved me over to them.

  “Hannah, you remember Mr. Holloday,” she said.

  He rose and extended his hand to me. I shook it. Mr. Holloday wore a business suit similar to Mom’s and was somewhere near her age.

  “Nice to see you, Hannah,” he said.

  “And this is Kevin, the new lounge manager,” Mom said.

  He also shook my hand, but he was younger, and he dressed in slacks and a pinstriped oxford shirt.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, as if it was just another take-your-daughter-to-work day.

  “Who do we have up next?” Mom asked.

  “Several more singers, a comedienne, and a hypnotist,” Kevin read off a list.

  “A hypnotist?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Kevin said, “his description says he can hypnotize anyone, anywhere, in less than fifteen seconds through a method called rapid induction. Sounds cool, right?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood.

  “What’s his name?” I asked, but before Kevin answered, Mom rose and touched my arm.

  “I need you to wait quietly while we finish these auditions. Do you have a book to read or something?” She guided me to a table farther away from the stage and back in the shadows. I dreaded sitting in the darkness by myself.

  “Hannah?” Mom said.

  “What?”

  “Do you have a book to read?”

  “Why would you want a hypnotist in your lounge? Shouldn’t you hire a band or something?” I rubbed my neck and tried to relax my nerves. I wanted to stay far away from any hypnotists.

  “Just sit.” Mom stepped away but turned back to me. “And stay put.”

  I slid down in the seat and pulled out my cell. I texted Plug: You okay?

  I slid the phone onto the table and watched the auditions.

  The first guy walked onto the stage and shaded his eyes from the spotlights. “Does it have to be so bright?” he asked. “I can hardly see you three.”

  “Sorry,” Kevin said, “the lights are preset for the auditions. Do the best you can.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes while the singers performed. They took forever. I checked my phone to see if Plug had replied yet. Nothing.

  The comedienne started out kind of funny, but then her language became vulgar and her jokes nasty.

  Mom interrupted her. “No, thank you. Your act isn’t right for our lounge.”

  The lady stared forward with her hands on her hips.

  “You can go,” Mom said and pointed to the doors. The comedienne capitulated and left.

  A few moments later an older man stepped onto the stage. He wore black shiny shoes, a black suit, a white shirt, and a black glittered bowtie. His face, too tan. His hair, too black. He clapped his huge hands together, and his bleached teeth glowed under the glare of the spotlights.

  I gasped.

  He squinted in my direction. I shrank down in my seat before he shaded his eyes from the bright lights.

  “Are there other people in here?” he asked.

  “What is your name?” Mom asked him.

  The hypnotist smiled at the managers. “Harry Hurricane—Hypnotist in a Hurry and Master of the Rapid Induction.”

  “It says on your application,” Kevin said, “that you can hypnotize anyone, anywhere, in less than fifteen seconds. Is that—”

  “Not your stage name,” Mom interrupted. “What is your actual name?” My mom, ever impatient, did not wait for him to respond. “Do I know you?”

  The hypnotist ignored her. “Yes, fifteen seconds, but I’ll need a volunteer for my demonstration.”

  Mom kicked back her chair and stood. “John Harrison?”

  The hypnotist’s smile faded.

  “More than five years later and you’re still a street peddler.”

  “Hey, don’t insult—”

  “No, don’t insult me. You’re a fool if you think you can barge into my life. Get out of my hotel,” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes at her and raised a hand. “Wait a minute—”

  “Not open for discussion. Leave, or I will call security,” she said.

  Mr. Holloday rose from his chair and blocked my view of the hypnotist. Mr. Holloday stepped toward the stage.

  “I’ll go,” the hypnotist said, “but don’t think this is the end, Beth.”

  Mr. Holloday escorted the man out of the lounge.

  Kevin muttered something to Mom that I couldn’t hear from where I sat.

  “No,” Mom said to him. “You need to think about what type of clientele you want coming to the lounge. The act we select will determine the mood. There’s a huge difference between a jazz pianist and a—”

  “I think—”

  “We’re done for today,” Mom said. “I have to take my daughter to a doctor’s appointment. You narrow it down to three options, and we’ll revisit this in the morning.” She gathered her papers and stepped away from the table.

  “Hannah!” She barked at me. I stuck my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and hustled down to meet her. She clutched my elbow and herded me out the rear door of the lounge.

  “I think that was the same guy from the fair,”
I said and marched down the back hallway of the hotel next to Mom.

  “What guy?” Mom asked.

  “The hypnotist.”

  She stopped walking and faced me. She opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something, but then she closed it. She frowned and then finally said, “Let me get this straight, you’re telling me John Harrison, the man who was just in the lounge, was the hypnotist at the fair?”

  “I think so.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “The guy at the fair had white hair and wore jeans and sneakers, but they both had these big—”

  “Hannah, what was the name of the guy at the fair?”

  “Gyro, Jeero, I’m not sure, but he was really tan like this guy—”

  “Hannah, they’re all tan. It’s stage makeup.”

  “But the voice—”

  “A deep voice is necessary for their performance, but . . .” Without finishing, Mom turned and moved down the hall. I hustled to keep up.

  “You acted as if you knew this guy,” I said.

  “We met at Princeton,” she said.

  “How?”

  “A department barbecue for your dad’s graduate program.”

  “And you still hate him?” I asked.

  She stopped walking again. “Yes, Hannah, I still hate him. And I’ll check into it to see if he was the hypnotist at the fair. But right now we have to hurry up or we’ll be late to your appointment.”

  • • •

  Everyone in the reception area sat in pairs: one crazy person for each companion. The patients had nervous twitches and darting eyes. The companions read magazines or novels. At least we were different, but then I glanced at Mom. She read a magazine, and my knee bounced up and down. I held my breath and stilled my knee. I grabbed a magazine from the side table and flipped through the pages, but nothing interested me. I tossed it back onto the pile and rubbed my palms against my yoga pants.

  Was crazy contagious?

  I needed to remember to wash my hands after we left.

  The doctors probably made patients wait out here forever to weaken their resolves, lower their defenses. Sunlight glinted off the windows, and higher up in the panes near the ceiling, scratches in familiar patterns marred the glass. I stepped closer for a better angle and tilted my head to the side to study them. Six sets of five. Like claw marks in the dirt. Or fingernails on a chalkboard. Or like talons from a demon trying to scratch its way out of the room. I stepped up onto a nearby chair and reached up toward the marks. I stretched on my tiptoes to reach them. The streaks were unmarred by my touch. They were etched into the glass.