Sunblind

by Michael Griffo

  “And I’m sorry,” I add, because I am.

  I was wrong. My family members aren’t the only ones who have abandoned me. My boyfriend is planning to do the same thing.

  Chapter 5

  Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.

  I love that poem. It’s filled with childhood memories of my father and me sitting together in the backyard swing, looking up at the night sky. It’s filled with hope that the magic of the stars can be all yours just by wishing really, really hard. The only problem is it isn’t nighttime and there are no stars hovering on the ceiling of my Algebra II classroom. Which, if you ask me, is one algebra too many.

  But I am reminded of a constellation because speckled against his navy Two W polo shirt—a new alternative to the standard white version—Danny Klausman’s dandruff looks like a galaxy. Let’s call it Galaxy DK for short. If you look at it and accept it for what it is, it’s hygienically disgusting. Honestly, I cannot believe that after all these years someone hasn’t shoved a bottle of Head & Shoulders shampoo in Danny’s locker, but on second thought it’s really a good thing that no one has. Sure, it would result in Danny’s having dandruff-free hair, but it would also mean we would have one less thing to mock.

  When I squint my eyes, the unhealthy collection of flakes turns into something quite beautiful. Each speck is unique and geometrically interesting, like stars look in the sky. Much more fascinating than listening to Mr. Takamoto describe the principle of inequalities. I learned about this mathematical bore-fest in Algebra I. I hated it then, and I hate it now, but the rest of my class is inexplicably interested in what Mr. Takamoto has to say.

  “Excuse me, Dice,” Gwen says, after Mr. Takamoto acknowledges her raised hand. “If ‘a’ is greater than ‘b’ and ‘c’ is negative, then ‘ac’ will be less than ‘bc,’ is that right?”

  “Last I checked it was,” he replies, tossing a piece of chalk into the air from one palm to the other.

  Mr. Takamoto is part of a new team of teachers who have invaded Two W this year. Due to the drastic financial cuts to the federal and state educational systems, blah, blah, blaaah, blah, blah, we witnessed an exodus of teachers last year who either retired or decided to give a job in corporate America a try. As a result, we not only have to learn new information this year, but new personalities as well. So far, Mr. Takamoto’s got a good one. He even allows students to call him Mr. Dice or sometimes just Dice without the “mister,” because Dice is short for his real name, Daisuke. His relaxed nature is one of the reasons he commands attention from his students.

  But can he compete with a supernova?

  As the fireball descends into class from out of nowhere, I’m about to scream, but quickly realize I’m the only one seeing this spectacle. And when the room is suddenly filled with a blinding yellow light, I know why. A supernova hasn’t landed, only Jess.

  “Je . . . !”

  Luckily, I catch myself and turn the first part of Jess’s name that I shouted out loud into a sneeze. Based upon the number of “bless you”s and “gesundheit”s that my sound receives, it was obviously a success. I mumble a “thank you,” ignore Danny Klausman’s dirty look because he thinks I sneezed on his back—as if my germs and snot are going to make the bacterial mess on his back any worse?!—and watch Jess materialize.

  “How ya doin’, Dom?” Jess asks.

  She’s hovering in the air with her legs crossed in some kind of awkward yoga pose, in the middle of the aisle between Gwen and me. By now I know that no one else can see her, but I still get nervous when she pays a visit in public.

  “Don’t worry,” Jess replies, reading my mind. “I’ve experimented before in crowded places like the supermarket and the boys’ locker room, and like I said no human being can see me.”

  I’m utterly shocked. “Jessalynn Rosalie Wyatt!”

  And totally curious.

  “Did you see Caleb naked?” I silently ask.

  As she raises her right hand, specks of sunshine shoot into the air like golden raindrops. “I turned my head the second he took his shorts off,” Jess answers.

  I so don’t believe her, but what’s done is done, and what does it matter anyway? Even if she did see my boyfriend’s full monty, it’s not like she can act upon it. Could she? Can she have goddessex? Why am I thinking about Jess and Caleb having sex when he and I haven’t even had sex yet? Why am I thinking about sex at all when I should be focusing on trying to find out what Jess is doing here so I can get her to leave?

  “You don’t want me hanging around?” she asks, definitely insulted.

  Trying to appear as if I’m paying attention to the algebraic formula Edgar Sullivan is writing on the chalkboard under Dice’s microscopic scrutiny, I mentally convey my concerns to my best friend.

  “I love when you’re around, you know that,” I say. “But I have to pay attention.”

  “Since when do you like math?”

  “I don’t like math,” I rebut. “That’s why I have to pay attention.”

  “Life is too short, Dom, to pay attention to stuff you don’t like,” Jess sermonizes. “How happy and proud am I that I daydreamed through most of biology? I mean, really, corporeal substances and functions don’t matter to me anymore.”

  I sigh so loudly Gwen looks in my direction, thinking I’m trying to get her attention. Sorry to disappoint you, Gwen, but I’m just trying to deal with the Amaterasu Omikami in the room.

  “Deal with me!”

  “Sorry!”

  “Miss Robineau?” Mr. Dice asks. “Did you say something?”

  Thanks a lot, Jess! This is why I don’t want her barging into class like a sunburst, hovering in midair, and trying to have a telepathic conversation with me! There’s only one end result when that happens, which is that I get into trouble.

  “Dominy,” Dice continues. “I asked you a question.”

  Time to play dumb. Literally.

  “I’m sorry,” I say meekly. “I just don’t understand Edgar’s formula.”

  “Well, it really isn’t Edgar’s formula,” he explains. “Though he has made it his own with the addition of this extra plus sign.”

  Erasing the extraneous plus sign, Dice surrounds the “ab” with parentheses. He looks at me with his arms out to the side in the classic “voilà” stance, as if this simple change will make the formula on the chalkboard decipherable.

  “Sorry,” I repeat. “Still don’t get.”

  Dice looks through Jess to stare at me as if he’s trying to determine if I could be so arithmetically challenged and quickly comes to the same conclusion as most of my previous math teachers: I can. He then announces that he’s going to take us through the steps of the associative property one more time. When he turns his back to us to erase all evidence of what I incorrectly assumed to be Edgar Sullivan’s personal equation, I turn my attention back to Jess.

  “Now do you understand why your presence makes me nervous?” I ask.

  “You’re just nervous because your new teacher’s kinda hot,” Jess gushes.

  Ignoring the little pellets of golden sunlight that are cascading down from her fingertips, I close my eyes, hoping that this action will get Jess to realize she really needs to leave me alone so I don’t have to spend the entire night relearning what I should be learning right now. When I open my eyes, I see that I’ve failed. Jess is way too interested in Two W’s newest academician.

  “I know that I’m predisposed to thinking your new teacher is attractive because we’re both Japanese,” Jess says, continuing on quickly before I can remind her for about the seventeen-thousandth time that she is only an honorary Japanese citizen. “But seriously he is adorable. Look at his butt!”

  “I am not going to look at Mr. Dice’s butt!”

  I swear my heart literally stops beating for about ten seconds until I am absolutely certain I did not scream that statement out loud. I love Jess, but seriously, right now I think I’
d rather face Louis, Barnaby, and their horde of vigilantes fully armed with machine guns filled with silver bullets than have to spend another second fake-talking to Jess. She doesn’t even know the havoc she’s causing.

  “I can tell by his lack of an accent that he’s been abso-thoroughly de-Japanized, but since he’s educated, being a teacher and all, he may know about our heritage,” Jess rambles on. “I’m sure he’d be very interested to know that there’s a real live Amaterasu Omikami in his classroom.”

  Since I can hardly believe that there’s an Amaterasu Omikami in class, I doubt very much that my teacher is going to accept that fact. He barely accepts the fact that I say I understand what an associative property is when he finishes scribbling on the blackboard and asks me if I comprehend.

  “Oh now I get it!” I squeal in the most unconvincing voice ever that even makes Gwen snicker.

  I glare at her, and she immediately shuts up, and Dice proves that he’s as cool as Jess thinks he looks by not calling me on my obvious fib. He does give me Teacher Eye for a few seconds, that look that silently conveys that the teacher knows that the student doesn’t know what the teacher wants the student to know, but the teacher knows that the student will not acquire the required knowledge through further interrogation. It’s an educational win-win; the student isn’t unduly embarrassed, and the teacher doesn’t have to waste time re-explaining a basic theory that should be easily understood. Unfortunately, now that Jess is not part of any educational institution, she’s forgotten that sometimes it’s necessary to move on from a concept.

  “I’m so glad that we can communicate silently and that we’re eternally connected,” Jess states. “You being my murderer and all.”

  Terrific! I’m stupid and a murderer. There isn’t an ounce of malice in Jess’s voice. She understands and accepts that I personally didn’t kill her; I was being used in Luba’s psychotic vendetta against my father. But the word still stings. It’s a reminder that I’ll be eternally connected to Jess’s death as more than just a witness or a mourner. I’m the reason she’s dead.

  I don’t say a word in reply or protest, but Jess, being my best friend, can still gauge my emotions even if we’re in separate metaphysical worlds.

  “Dominysan, I’m sorry. It’s just a fact,” she says. “Please don’t take it personally.”

  Don’t take it personally?! How the ef can I not take it personally? That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.

  A glimpse of the clock above the door reveals that there are still fifteen minutes of class, way too long an amount of time to spend trying to half-listen to today’s lecture and half-ignore Jess’s quips and comments and veiled jabs. I have to put an end to this.

  “Jess, I love you, but you need to go,” I say, all assertive and adult-like.

  “I can’t,” she replies, all petulant and childlike.

  “You have to!” I silently cry. “You’re being disruptive and, honestly, keeping up this charade is really exhausting.”

  “But I came for a reason,” she finally admits. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Then tell me!”

  “It’s about the twins.”

  The twins? Jess has to tell me something about Nadine and Napoleon that’s apparently important enough to pay me an unscheduled visit, and she’s been wasting time goo-gooing over my teacher’s butt?! Don’t goddesses possess self-control and occupy themselves with existential conundrums and other vitally important things? Since when do they float in and out of classrooms just to say hi?

  “I have manners, Dom!” Jess yells so loud little golden cloud puffs shoot out of her mouth. “I am not going to suddenly appear and announce that you can only trust one of the twins because the other one is dipped in pure evil and then poof, disappear again, go on my merry way, and leave you to ponder the ramifications of my statement.”

  What did she say?

  “Correction,” she adds. “I really do have to let you ponder the ramifications on your own because of the whole limitation thing. I can supply you with information, I can gently nudge you in the right direction so you can combat the negative forces that are multiplying all around you, but I can’t tell you everything so that the scales tip and you have an unfair advantage.”

  That is a lot of information that I’ll dwell on later. Right now I want to zero in on the comment about the twins. “What do you mean I can only trust one of the twins?”

  “That’s correct. That’s what I said.”

  I give Jess a bit of a pause, but she clearly doesn’t understand that she needs to complete her statement.

  “Which one?!”

  Adopting a shocked expression that borders on outrage, Jess almost flips over right onto the floor at Gwen’s feet. How can she be shocked? Can she be so inhuman as to not think that her comment is going to arouse my curiosity, pique my suspicion, and lead me to ask for specific clarification? I mean there are only two twins. Just give me a name!

  “I absolutely cannot,” she says grandly. “Nor can I give you a gender or an age, since, you know, one twin is always technically older.”

  Infuriating! Absolutely infuriating! And also very scary. If Jess felt the need to make a surprise visit, risk being seen no matter how many times she’s practiced her mumbo jumbo in a crowded space, just to tell me this one fact that her superiors—whoever or whatever they may be—have allowed her to share, this has to be really mega-important.

  “Actually I can say one more thing,” Jess adds.

  “What is it?!”

  “The evil twin is super skilled in the art of deceit,” she says. “Oh and he or she has vowed to, you know, destroy your life and stuff.”

  Oh my God! When I silently speak that phrase, I translate it into Japanese so Jess will fully understand my freak out. “Nanite koto!”

  So I was right about the twins all along. They are different, and they do play a role in my life. Perhaps a much larger role than I ever imagined. But according to Jess these twins are on opposing sides, one good, one evil. But which one is which?

  “Jess, please, you have to give me a hint,” I beg.

  Miraculously the sunlight fades from Jess’s body, and all that’s left is the girl that I remember. The change only lasts for an instant, but it brings back such cherished memories that I feel tears sting my eyes. Jess may be this immortal entity, but underneath all the sunshine and wonder, she’s still my best friend. Death hasn’t changed anything. Except that now Jess can’t tell me everything that’s on her mind.

  “Sorry, Dom,” Jess says, resuming her golden goddess appearance. “I’ve said everything I can.”

  I nod my head. I’m not happy, but I understand. I feel Jess’s hand brush against my cheek and watch her disappear, her sundrops mingling in with the dandruff galaxy that’s still visible on Danny’s back.

  Pondering the question about which twin I can trust, I suddenly zero in on three dandruff flakes that are lined up perfectly in one horizontal line. I’ve seen that before in the sky, but somewhere else too. Yes! Jess’s diary. Caleb said it was Orion’s constellation. The same star cluster as is in the tattoos Nadine and Napoleon have on their hips. Somehow the twins are connected to Orion. And thanks to Jess I now know that one of those connections is made up of pure evil. But which one?

  When the bell rings signaling the end of class, I’m not worried about writing down Dice’s homework assignment; I’m not worried about the pop quiz he’s threatening to give us this week; I’m not even worried that if I maintain this study ethic I’m bound to get my first failing grade in my entire life. The only thing I’m concerned about is finding out which twin I can trust.

  Slamming my textbook shut I feel my body shiver as if deep inside of me the wolf is trembling. And I know exactly why: We have to unlock the latest mystery and quickly.

  Our lives depend upon it.

  Chapter 6

  Weirdness doesn’t always begin with a capital W.

  Transforming into a werewolf
, yes, that’s weird capitalized, no doubt about it. But there are other times that can still be classified as weird that don’t scream at the same decibel level of weirdness. Like earlier, when I bit into one of The Worm’s mother’s brownies in honor of our special half day thanks to some off-site teacher meeting, the brownie was stale. Stale! Beverly Worman’s brownies are never stale; they’re always nothing less than scrumdillyumptuous. Again, weird. Or like just now when I snuck into the choir room to avoid bumping into my boyfriend and my best friend on their way to football practice. Also weird.

  Why would I do such a thing? Why would I want to avoid Caleb and Archie, especially when I could use their help in deciphering Jess’s cryptic message? Is it because they’ve been acting strangely lately? Because I’ve been acting strangely around them lately? Or because I don’t want to introduce any more strangeness into their lives? Lots of questions; not a lot of answers.

  If it’s because they’ve become Mr. and Mr. Strange, how can I blame them? I’ve turned their world into an episode of Stephen King’s Most Bizarre Happenings in the History of the World. And I have to admit, they haven’t been acting that odd. I just get the sense that the novelty of my affliction is starting to wear off.

  I know that Caleb and Archie have both sworn to have my back for as long as I’m cursed, but I don’t want to keep bringing them down with my drama. I want to make sure they’re fresh and invigorated and excited to do battle on my behalf whenever the time comes for us to fight. Right now, however, is the time for a detour. So I’ve decided to leave my little soldiers alone and let them do battle on the football field, while I hide out among choir robes, choral risers, and music stands. I definitely got the bad end of the deal though, because I hate to sing.

  “Oh my gosh, Dominy!” Gwen squeals. “Are you joining show choir?”

  “No,” I reply.

  “Jazz choir?!” Gwen squeals again.

  “No.”

  “Madrigal choir?!” Gwen squeals for a third time with remarkably the same amount of excitement in her voice as she had the first time.