Bad Juju

by Dina Rae

  “I do, but I’m also learning about Haiti and the Haitian culture,” Henry replied.

  “You leave…tomorrow, right?” Candy reiterated.

  “Well, very early tomorrow morning. Me, my family, and my church will have to wake up at 4:00 a.m. to catch our flight,” Henry answered.

  “What about you, Jake?” Going anywhere this summer?” Candy asked.

  “I don’t know yet. I’m trying to talk my aunt into taking me and my cousin to the Wisconsin Dells,” Jake answered.

  “How fun! Hope you go,” Candy said. She felt terrible for the boy after hearing his uncle abandoned him. “I’m going to miss you two. We had such a nice little lunch bunch this year.”

  “We’ll miss you, too. Do you teach Calculus?” asked Jake. “I’m taking that next year.”

  “Don’t know. I have in the past, but we don’t get our schedules until August. And if we all happen to have the same lunch period, you both have my personal invitation to eat in my room. But just you two. Now the bell is about to ring. Jake, have a great summer. Henry, put this up. It’s a reminder about the computer lab.” She handed him a homemade sign.

  “Okay. I’ll see you in the lab.” Henry taped up the sign on the door and left as the bell rang.

  Candy’s afternoon classes were uneventful. She allowed her students to play math video games in the computer lab in honor of the last day. She hoped they would keep their math skills sharp and play the online game at home over the summer. After the final bell rang, she went back up to her classroom to lockup. Technically staff’s last day was Monday and then their vacation would begin.

  Candy grabbed her purse and was about to lock up her room, but saw a black and gray backpack on the floor. She knew it was Henry’s and picked it up. It was heavy. Textbooks were turned in two days ago. She opened the backpack in case Henry forgot to turn in a book. She took out a large, leather bound scrapbook. She wondered if it was a project from another class like English or Family Consumer Science. She quickly thumbed through the pages. At first glimpse, it looked like a recipe book. But several pages were filled with odd drawings. Slowly turning the pages, she noticed the recipes had no titles, just symbols. And the ingredients were not edible: lavender, chicken’s feet, thistle, hair…Haitian culture…Voodoo!

  Candy continued to thumb through the book and paused at a recipe with hand drawn hearts all over the page. The handwriting was fancy and nothing like Henry’s or any of her students. Could this be a love spell? Candy took the book, backpack, and Rolodex filled with student information and dashed out of Freemont High.

  Chapter 34

  Brittany was only half listening to her mother as she lectured on about double standards and promiscuity after speaking with Henry’s father.

  “I thought you were dating Rio. And now Henry? His parents don’t want you around…They think you’re a whore. What the hell is the matter with you? They told me you’re the first girl he ever dated. Your reputation…” Blah, blah, blah.

  She didn’t understand. Her father had changed her mother into a bitter, rusted up sink hole. When her mother finished droning on about slutty behavior, she grounded Brittany for the rest of the week.

  Brittany happily retreated into her cave of Pepto-Bismol pink walls and mountains of clothes that littered the floor. She fished out her cell from her purse and called Henry. No answer. He was probably in trouble as well. His mother caught them naked, fooling around in his basement.

  Brittany kicked her clothes to the perimeter of the room, forming a pathway to her desk where her laptop was kept. She logged onto Facebook and then Gmail, leaving several messages for Henry. No reply. It was late, and she had school the next day. She finally gave up and went to bed. She’d see him the next day at school.

  ***

  Henry’s cold reception was not what she was expecting. He told her to stop leaving him messages because he no longer wanted to see her. Brittany’s heart felt like it had just gone down the garbage disposal. There were two weeks of school left before he would be off to Haiti. What if he forgot about her? She tried to convince him they were the perfect couple, but he walked away as if she didn’t matter.

  He avoided her by taking different routes through the hallways and stairwells and ducking into classes at the last minute. His rejection festered, leaving her isolated and increasingly depressed.

  Brittany couldn’t remember the last time she had her period. By the following weekend, a home pregnancy test confirmed her worst fear. She hibernated in her room, spending most of the time crying. An idea flickered. Maybe the pregnancy was a good thing. Maybe a baby would make Henry love her again once they were a family.

  With only days of school left before Henry would leave for Haiti, she cornered him after school.

  “Henry, here. I want you to see this,” Brittany said, blocking him from the stairs. She handed him a white plastic stick.

  “What’s this?” Henry asked.

  “See the plus sign at the end? That means I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby,” she said.

  “No thanks. You need to leave me alone. I’m not allowed to be friends with you anymore. I’ve got to go. My mom is waiting for me,” Henry blandly said.

  His reaction was infuriating. Rage took hold of her tongue. “Listen you mother fucker, you did this to me and you’re gonna pay!” she shrieked. Her volume and vulgarity caused other students to stare, but she didn’t care. “Do you think you can fuck me and then walk away? You need to take responsibility for what you’ve done! Or else…Or else I’ll kill the baby! How would your Christian parents like that?”

  Henry dropped the white stick and pushed passed her. “I have to leave now.” He jumped down the stairwell, two or three steps at a time, and ran. She followed, but wasn’t fast enough to catch up. She raced to the exit door and watched him get into his mother’s SUV and drive off. Why isn’t he happy about this? Why doesn’t he love me?

  Brittany went home and cried. By 11:00 p.m., her mother came home. Brittany could hear her rustling in the kitchen. Part of her wanted to tell her mother everything-the pregnancy, Henry, her constant depression, but she didn’t. Her mother was a nurse and could have helped in many ways. Instead, she pretended to sleep.

  ***

  The next few days of school were no different. Henry refused to acknowledge her, running in the opposite direction whenever she was in his sight. What a coward.

  After the last day of school, Brittany still hoped he would come to his senses. Once home, she took her laptop from her bedroom and sat it on the kitchen counter while snacking on some Cheez-Its. She logged onto the Internet. Maybe Henry had written her about their problem. Nothing via Facebook. The only postings and messages she received were about the public porno Rio and Sierra performed in Madison’s swimming pool last Friday. A few friends claimed they uploaded it onto You-Tube, but Brittany wasn’t the least bit interested in watching. They both sickened her, so desperate for attention.

  She typed a comment under the posting. ‘Can’t believe I once lowered myself to that low class wife beater. That’s why he was suspended. I defriended him. Henry Novak would never knock a girl around or have sex in public. Does anyone know if he’s got a new girlfriend?’ Enter.

  She no longer cared about the gossip the posting would stir. All that mattered was her six hundred and seventy-five Facebook friends might have information for her. The question nagged her, believing it to be the only reason why he no longer loved her. She would find his new girlfriend and make her life miserable.

  She clicked on Henry’s Facebook wall. His postings were noble, all about the trials and tribulations of Haiti. He posted everything about the work being done after the earthquake and his own plans per his church’s mission. He’s too good for me.

  She again checked her assortment of technology: cell, home phone, email, Facebook. Lots of messages, but none from Henry. Reality loomed. He really didn’t care she was pregnant. She felt heavy yet hollow, without a soul or will of her ow
n. What if the baby is not Henry’s? She tried to remember the last time she had her period. Was it the beginning of May or April?

  The phone rang, startling her from her problems. She grabbed the cordless phone from the other side of the kitchen. “Hi Mom,” Brittany said.

  “Happy summer vacation, my junior in high school. You’re half way over with high school!” her mother cheerfully exclaimed. “I made a pan of Mostaccioli. Heat some up for dinner. Good news. In two weeks I switch shifts. Will have the graveyard 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift. Not the day one I wanted, but it’s better than the one I have now. At least I’ll be home during the day. Oh, and I got most of August off. We could drive somewhere, take a long vacation. Why don’t you pick the place? We could pack up for…” she rambled. Brittany stopped listening.

  “Yeah Mom. Sounds great,” Brittany replied, trying to end the conversation. Her mother got the hint she no longer felt like talking and said goodbye.

  A few more minutes had passed and she felt the need to check her messages. Maybe Henry changed his mind. Nothing from him, but twenty-five comments came up on her wall, all uncertain about Henry Novak’s love life. Some of her Facebook friends were not sure who he was.

  Brittany again called his cell and dumped another message in voicemail that would probably get deleted. She was desperate. There was only one card left to play.

  First, she raided the booze cabinet in the corner of the kitchen. Her mother thought she had camouflaged the bottles by placing boxes of stale crackers in front, but Brittany had been siphoning her mother’s liquor since she was in junior high. So far, she had never gotten caught. There was a small selection of six or seven bottles. Brittany chose the unopened ones of Jose Cuervo and margarita mix. Opening the bottles was an obvious bust, but what her mother thought of her took a distant back burner to her current problems.

  She took a large glass pitcher from another cabinet and filled it half way up with tequila and half way up with mix, leaving enough room for ice. Not that a garnish mattered, but there were limes in the fridge. She took out a cutting board and sliced them up and squeezed them into the pitcher. She got herself a straw and sucked down several ounces.

  A few minutes later, she had enough courage to call Henry’s mother. The ‘holier than thou’ queen was going to hear what she had to say. Brittany dialed the number and heard the phone ring three times before a female she assumed to be Mrs. Novak answered. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Uhhh…” Brittany stammered.

  “Brittany? Is it you? Different number on the caller ID than your cell. You’re not supposed to call here anymore. Please quit leaving messages and switching phones to call,” said the woman.

  “I know. But I don’t want to talk with Henry, I want to talk with you, Mrs. Novak. I told your son I am pregnant and he doesn’t care,” Brittany exclaimed. She half-hoped Mrs. Novak would welcome her into their family.

  “This isn’t Mrs. Novak, it’s Natalie. And if you are pregnant which is really a big if, then I doubt my brother’s the father. He’s in so much trouble because of you. And now, just as we are about to leave for Haiti, the only vacation that I can remember, you want to create some drama? Everyone knows you’re a slut! What are you doing with him anyway? He’s got Asperger’s, you sick bitch! Stay away from him!” Natalie screeched.

  “I’ll take a test,” Brittany bluffed.

  “Go screw some other boy and bother his family with your fake baby! My mother is right! You’re nothing but a whore!”

  “Natalie, wait…” Click. The dial tone was all Brittany heard from the phone’s receiver. But they have to know the truth. She slammed more of her margarita. The pitcher was less than halfway empty. The truth. What was the truth? Four boys could be the father? She could ask Jerry Springer to guest star on his show.

  The effects of the alcohol kicked in. With a new gust of determination, she called Henry’s home phone number again. A recording flipped on. “This call has been blocked per the customer’s request…” Damn!

  A few minutes later she called Henry’s cell phone. The same recording clicked on. Shit, shit, shit! She drank more from the pitcher, almost draining it. Her mood turned melancholy.

  Brittany walked over to the bookcase in the adjoining family room and grabbed the new yearbook of Freemont High. She flipped through the pages until landing on Henry’s picture. She took her finger and traced the outline of his face, crying sheets of tears. Grabbing a pen from the coffee table, she traced his face with firm strokes until the paper ripped. She crossed his face out and wrote profane names next to it. It was truly over and the pain was unbearable.

  If Henry didn’t want their baby, than neither did she.

  Maybe an abortion…maybe I was put on this earth for the sole purpose of giving men a hole for them to spill their insecurity into to. Henry and his perfect family are right about me. I’m sixteen, pregnant, and clueless to whom the father is. What am I going to be like in five years? Ten years? Maybe it’s best for everyone if I…

  She slammed the remainder of the margarita and staggered into her mother’s master bath. She rummaged through the medicine cabinet. There were Tylenol, Advil, Claritin, Correctol, Vick’s Cough…nothing fatal. And then she saw a brand new lady’s razor. She popped it out of the thick casing and ran it against her forearms. Nothing. She needed to break the blade out of the plastic frame. Using tweezers, scissors, and leverage, she maneuvered the blade free. Her fingers were nicked up. Blood dripped all over the granite counter.

  With the blade in hand, Brittany lifted her shirt and dug a deep line through her stomach. Blood trickled out. She gauged another one. More blood spewed over her hands and shorts. She had an idea.

  Brittany rushed back to the kitchen and took the larger knife she used for cutting up the limes. She drank directly from the tequila bottle for additional courage and numbing medicine.

  Thump, thump, thump. Ring, ring, ring. Brittany!

  Henry? Has he come to make up with me? She rushed to the door and looked through the sidelight windows. No fucking way!

  Chapter 35

  Candy packed up her puzzle books, rolled up her posters, and cleaned out her desk. There was still plenty to do before getting the principal to sign off for the summer, but she’d wait until Monday to finish. It was a mandatory half-day.

  She pulled out Henry’s and Brittany’s home addresses from her Rolodex and slid them into the side pocket of her tote. She grabbed Henry’s Nike backpack and headed out.

  It was almost dinner time, a good time to catch both of their parents. Candy formed a theory based on Henry’s creepy Voodoo book she needed to share in person. Plus, a phone call could be screened and a message could be erased.

  Candy was an open-minded spiritual woman, but Voodoo was too farfetched to believe in. She supposed all religions bordered on the incredulous; they would have to. If they were filled with logic, faith wouldn’t be required. Even though she doubted Voodoo spells worked, the power of suggestion could be magical. She believed someone much older and more sophisticated put the book together for Henry. His parents needed to know what he was reading.

  Candy drove around Lake Hayward and easily found Henry’s lake house. It was the smallest of the manses that she had passed, but, to her, it was the most tranquil, the perfect subject for a Thomas Kinkade painting.

  A beautiful stained glass cross hung in the bay window. Candy was reminded of how religious Henry’s family was. They weren’t going to like their son’s interest in Voodoo.

  Candy held the backpack and rang the bell. Through the sidelights she saw Natalie and Henry racing to the door.

  “It’s my teacher,” Henry said.

  “You in trouble?” Natalie asked.

  “No. She’s got my backpack. I must have left it at school. Now go. Let me open the door,” Henry said. Both were unaware the windows were open and Candy could hear them.

  “Hi Miss Fontana,” Henry said. “I see you got my backpack.” He looked at the black and gray sack in her
hand.

  “Yes. It might have something of importance inside, like a book?” she asked, nudging for a reaction. As usual, he remained stoned-faced.

  “Thanks,” he said and grabbed it from her.

  “Could I speak to your mom or dad?” Candy asked pleasantly. She didn’t want Henry to think he was in trouble, and to her knowledge he wasn’t. However, intuition told her that this creepy book might raise some questions.

  “They’re both running errands for our trip tomorrow. Should be home soon, like an hour or so. You can eat dinner with us if you want,” Henry invited.

  Almost feeling guilty for stirring the pot, Candy replied, “No. I just wanted to wish you all a great trip. You know, I’ve got another errand. I’ll come by later.”

  Candy had every intention of keeping that promise, but first she headed downtown to Brittany’s house. Maybe Brittany’s mother was the most logical place to begin spouting her theory. Ms. Bonaducci, I believe your daughter has been the victim of a Voodoo love curse. There can be no other excuse for her obsession with Henry Novak. Ms. Bonaducci, in my fourteen years of experience never has a girl as beautiful and popular as your daughter taken an interest in someone who has special needs… Ridiculous! Yes it was crazy, but Candy was compelled to disclose her thoughts to Brittany’s mother.

  The navigation in her cream colored Edge took her straight to Brittany’s house. It was a small, well-kept, brick ranch on a nice street, one block away from the downtown area. She pulled in the driveway, relieved to see another car already there. It had to be her mom’s car. It was too nice to be Brittany’s.

  Candy approached the door and was about to knock, but heard yelling and then it stopped. The door was ajar. Worry and curiosity took over. She took her phone out of her purse in case she needed to call 911.

  “Hello? Brittany? Ms. Bonaducci? It’s Candy Fontana,” she announced as she crept through the hallway. She heard movement coming from the back of the house. Within a few steps, she was by the kitchen. She rounded the corner and saw trails of blood on the ceramic floor.