“Yeah, I saw.”
We both saw that the girl on the stretcher was Dina Jennings.
Five minutes later the word has spread throughout the school. We hear it from Ryan at our lockers. Dina was asked to unplug the extension cord for the TV after her class watched a video. But there was something wrong with the outlet, and Dina was electrocuted.
Eventually, I realize the truth; the undeniable consequence of this development. The hex is going to kill her.
“Min, I know you said that she was mean, and that you don’t want to help her,” Ryan says. “But after this, what if it keeps getting worse? You might want to stop, but I’m not going to. We have to do something.”
“Yeah,” says Tam. “We have find Mason Charles and figure out why he would do this to her.”
“OK,” I agree. “Let’s find him right now.”
And the investigation is back on. Dammit.
We find Mason Charles in a downstairs hallway. He’s on his way toward the side doors with one of his friends, and Ryan waves at him, “Mase, can I talk to ya?”
His friend seems to be in a hurry, so Mason waves for his buddy to leave and comes over to us. Mason Charles is a big guy, very wide in the shoulders. He’s got a thin chinstrap of facial hair and dark bags under his eyes. With his large backpack on, he looks gigantic.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“My friend was wondering,” Ryan say, gesturing at me with a nod of his head, “you heard if Dina’s gonna be OK?”
“What it matter to you?” he asks me. “I don’t even know you.”
“I’m Mindee, I live close to her. We’re sort of neighbors. Just thought maybe you had heard something.”
Mason shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t in that class so I heard the rumors same as everyone else. Hope they just took her away as a precaution. If she’s really hurt…” he looks away and there’s a shimmer of water in his eyes. He seems really worried about her.
“My class faced the ambulance. She was moving around, looked like she didn’t want them to take her away. I bet she’s OK,” I say.
Mason seems to take comfort in that. “That’s good. I mean, I know we’re not going out anymore, but still. It would suck if anything happened to her. Hopefully she can make it back to school tomorrow.”
“Why? What’s tomorrow?” I ask.
“It’s the first day of the campaign. Election for next semester’s student council president is in a couple weeks and Dina wanted to win it. She thought it would look good on college applications.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine, man,” says Ryan. Ryan’s a good guy. He manages to say this in a way that seems to actually reassure Mason instead of just being a platitude.
“Just tell her you’ll give her your vote,” he says. “She’ll jump out of the hospital bed for three votes.” We chuckle a bit at the joke and Mason nods a goodbye. We wait until he’s gone before we talk about him.
“Seems really broken up that she’s hurt,” Ryan says. “I don’t think he’s your hexer.”
“Maybe he feels guilty. He could have cast it not expecting that to happen,” I say, thinking out loud.
“If that’s true, then his anger sure seems like it’s gone now. If he did place the hex on her, it should be gone now,” says Tam.
“Then we’ll wait and see. If his anger faded and the hex is gone, then everything’s fine. But if she’s still hexed tomorrow, I have another suspect,” I say and point at something on the wall.
There’s a small poster taped to the wall beside the doors. It says ‘Re-Elect Wayne Shepherd as SC President. Blue Ribbon Pride.’
“Wayne Shepherd?” Tam asks. “Never trust a politician, right?”
“Dina could beat him if she tried. Seems like he might have a pretty good motive to cast some bad luck her way,” I explain. “Plus, every day the election gets closer, he could be getting more desperate to win.”
“And that would explain why the hex is getting stronger instead of weaker,” says Tam, realizing what I mean. “If this was about a break-up, the feelings would fade. But if it’s building toward election day, it’ll get worse each day.”
“If she’s still cursed tomorrow,” I say. “We might just have to express an interest in school politics.”
8
Friday, November 9
Dina’s back at school this morning, with small groups clustering around her locker before the first bell, everyone wanting to tell her how much they care and ask if she’s OK. I will not be one of those people. After yesterday, I’d much rather avoid talking to Dina, even if I am still trying to save her life. Plus, I don’t need to get close to see that she’s still trapped inside that yellow aura. If Mason had cast the hex, and his feelings of anger powered it, then his remorse yesterday should have broken the hex. That she still glows yellow means that either Mason wasn’t guilty, or that he deserves an Oscar for playing concerned so believably.
“So,” said Tam when she saw me looking down the hall at Dina. “What’s the prognosis?”
“Still infected,” I deadpan. “Looks like we’ll have to operate.”
“Feel like asking Wayne some questions?” she asks.
“No,” I say, turning my back on Dina. “I want to join Wayne’s campaign.”
We’re eating lunch in the cafeteria when the student council election campaign begins. While everyone’s eating, Wayne and some of his friends are at one side of the room, running an extension cord to the closest outlet. Not many people are paying attention to them, but I am. I’m sitting with Tam and Marlene, who both bought hot lunches from the caf’ today, while I’m eating a sandwich I brought from home. Tam said Ryan had a basketball team meeting about some upcoming tournament, so he’s not around.
Suddenly there’s blaring music from the side of the room, and everyone turns to see Wayne climbing up onto a table while AC/DC blares from a small CD player next to him. He steps a little too hard, and the CD skips as the tabletop bounces under his feet. After everyone is looking, Wayne’s helper (his girlfriend? I don’t know anything about seniors) turns off the music and he waves to everyone. He talks really loud, almost shouting, as he delivers his pre-scripted speech.
“Hi everyone! I’m Wayne Shepherd, your student council president for the first semester. As you may know, the election is coming up in two weeks to choose a president for the spring semester. I just want to say, that under my leadership, we’ve seen increased turnout for dances, and for football and basketball games. We’ve also sold more official Laurier High shirts and sweaters than ever, money which goes to funding the junior and senior proms at the end of the year. Considering that, I’d say I’ve accomplished an increase in school pride, and am announcing today that I am running for re-election for the SC president in the spring term. I hope you all vote for me, and Go Wildcats!” there’s an awkward moment where everyone watches him climb down from the table, and nobody claps or anything. A few people shout encouragement, but mostly my fellow students don’t care. Gradually the cacophony of a hundred conversations picks back up and it’s as if Wayne had never spoken at all.
This is our chance to spark up some conversation with our suspect.
I get up and pack my lunch into my backpack, and get the girls to come with me toward the table where Wayne is organizing a bunch of photocopies and one of his friends is gathering up the extension cord.
“Hello,” I say as we approach, making a little wave that I immediately regret because it looked stupid. Wayne looks up from his photocopies. He’s got blue eyes and when he looks at me he makes really good eye contact. Jeez, this guy’s handsome. (Good God, get over it, Mindee.)
“Oh, hey,” he says. He points at us, naming us from memory as he looks at me, Tam, and Marlie. “Vefreet, Abel, and… darn I lost it.”
“Leonardson. Marlene,” she says, almost apologetically.
“Leonardson. Guess I just lost your vote, huh?”
She shakes her head. “It’s OK.”
“So
what can I do for you girls? Gonna vote in the election?”
I want to say something, but I’m busy noticing that Wayne has a bit of stubble on his jawline and it’s sort of like something you see on hunky romance-book-cover guys. Tam clears her throat and jumps in to save me. “We were wondering if we could help with your campaign at all.”
“Really?” he asks, genuinely surprised.
“We’re very interested in school politics. Mindee might even run for a council seat.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, turning those eyes back at me.
“Not this election,” I manage to say. “But in the spring, like, the election for next fall’s council. Maybe then.”
“Very cool. And yeah, you can help.”
Wayne points to the various stacks of pages on the table. They are different campaign posters, each with a picture of Wayne, his name in big letters, and the election date. Every poster is themed like a different joke, with Wayne’s face photoshopped on different bodies. There’s a Santa Wayne, with the line “Makes a great stocking stuffer;” a surfer dude Wayne captioned with “A wave of school pride;” Wayne’s head on a werewolf body and the line “Transforming student council.”
“You guys can help us put up some posters. We’re allowed one poster in each classroom, but it’s tough to get into each class since most of them have fourth period classes right now.”
I laugh at the surfer guy poster and tell Wayne that I like those. “Yeah, Sydney did all the work on these,” he says, pointing to the blonde-haired girl sitting in front of the posters. She’s pretty but too thin, with a really strong jaw and a pointy nose. She’s looking at us like we’re a bunch of stupid little girls trailing after her boyfriend, and I guess that’s the role we’re playing.
“This is my girlfriend Sydney, Sydney this is…” he smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I try real hard to memorize names but your first names escape me.”
We all say our first names, and Sydney nods and smiles a little.
“I’m gonna take the CD player back to communication tech lab, and I’ll let Sydney get you girls sorted out with some posters, OK?”
Wayne and his friend take off, and we’re alone with Sydney. We didn’t even get a chance to start talking to Wayne about his rivals for the presidency, or specifically about Dina. I resign myself to talking to Sydney.
“So how can we help?” I ask, sitting down across from her. Marlie and Tam sit on either side of me.
“We have to get posters up in each class, but we can only do it in the five minutes between periods,” she says. While she might look a little severe, her voice is actually very warm. All three of us sit across from her and she explains how we should each take a hallway and try to put posters up in as many classes as possible between fourth and fifth period. She gives us each an assortment of posters and a roll of scotch tape.
“So, who else is even running?” I ask. “I know last year we had the same president both terms.”
“Lots of people are running,” she says. “Even people who haven’t been on council or volunteered to sell clothes tried to run. Fortunately you have to have council experience to run for president so that limits the field to Wayne and a few others.”
“Anyone else have a shot to win?” I ask.
“Al Kwan has been on council for years and he’s got lots of friends since he was on the football team. That’s like 60 votes just from teammates. And Dina Jennings is running. I bet she’ll get a pity vote after she electrocuted herself.”
“Oh that girl?” I say, trying to act like I didn’t realize who Dina was. “She’s kind of a bitch though, right?”
Sydney laughs out loud, actually having to cover her mouth with one hand to contain herself. “You got that right. Last month she actually proposed that council should arrange more assemblies first thing in the morning because she doesn’t like her first period math teacher.”
We laugh a little. Tam interjects, “But really it doesn’t seem like anyone can beat Wayne. He’s so good at all those speeches.” Thank God Tam’s willing to sound like she’s the one all gaga over Wayne. Sadly, I might be a little too fawning if I had to say something like that.
Sydney shrugs. “You should see him rehearsing. He’s like a little kid with all his notes. Memorizing everything all the time. He works really hard for council.”
“So you figure he’ll win?” I ask.
“I dunno. I half expect Dina to show up for the debate showing a bunch of cleavage and then all the boys will vote for her just so they can see her at all the assemblies.”
“You guys got any,” I try not to sound too suspicious, “tricks up your sleeves? Anything to help Wayne win?”
“Campaigning like maniacs,” she says, waving at the flyers. “We have the next two weeks to bother everyone and plant Wayne Shepherd in their brains. We’ll be coming in early, staying late. It’s how we won last year.”
“Cool.” I say, standing up and taking my stack of posters. “I hope you guys win.”
My friends stand up too and we head off toward the stairs.
“So what do you think?” I ask the girls as we walk down the hallway.
“That Wayne seems way too into school spirit to be casting magic curses on people,” says Marlene.
“But maybe his total school spirit-ness is the reason why he casts curses,” says Tam. “I mean, the guy’s a total cult leader. ‘Here, look at my dimples and do all this menial labour for me.’”
“What?” I say, sounding a little more shocked than I had intended to. “I thought he was very, um, earnest.”
“Very what?” she mocks. “You mean you thought he was very scrumptious. Mindee’s mancandy!”
“Did not,” I say, feeling childish.
“OK, let’s just agree that he’s still a suspect,” offers Marlene.
“Deal,” Tam and I say at the same time.
As we walk past a recycling bin, Tam holds her handful of posters over the bin. “So can we dump these?” she asks.
“No, we have to put them up,” I say. “Or else they’ll know we didn’t really want to help.”
“You mean I have to chores for Mr. Perfect too?” Tam scoffs. Marlie pats her on the shoulder and now, thanks to our undercover investigating, we’re stuck taping posters to chalkboards in other people’s classes. I tell them which hallways they should take for postering.
We split off in three different directions, and set to work selling Wilfred Laurier High on re-electing a guy who might be a dangerous hex caster. This has been a strange week.
9
Saturday, November 10
With no school, I might finally have a day where I don’t have to see those freaky yellow lights. There’s always a chance of seeing Dina around town, so I’ve decided I’m going to stay home today. It will be nice to have a day where I don’t see something that makes me feel crazy.
Still, we can’t pretend everything is OK just because there’s no school. Tam and Ryan are off doing something with his family, so I’ve invited Marlene to come over so we can research hexes in more detail. She brought a backpack completely full of occult books.
“Where did you get these?” I ask.
“I have a collection. Mostly I need them because I like to do research when I’m a dungeon master.”
“A what?” I don’t understand what she just said, but she’s blushing a little so I hope I didn’t offend her.
“I play role playing games with my brother and some friends. Usually I’m the one who writes it and they call the writer the dungeon master.”
“Oh,” I say. She’s still blushing, perhaps ashamed to admit her nerdy hobby. I realize that maybe I’ve made her uncomfortable. “That’s cool. I don’t do anything with my brother,” I say in an attempt to make her feel better.
“But I also just like this sort of stuff. Never really thought that magic and curses and stuff were actually real, though. I mean, I believe in psychics and UFOs and disembodied spirits, but’s that all science, not supe
rstition.”
“Right,” I say. I realize that I’ve never hung out with Marlene one-on-one outside of chem class, and maybe it’s because she’s a bit of a weirdo. Still, it turns out I’m a weirdo too, so I’m glad to have her.
“I also emailed you a list of websites,” she says.
“Great. Hopefully we can figure out how to find our bad guy.”
We’re up in my room with the door closed, because I really don’t want to have my dad or brother walk in and see the pile of witchcraft books. You might expect witchcraft books to be huge and old, with leather-bound covers and a strong ‘old book’ smell. One of Marlie’s books is like that, but most are new printings, soft covers, with colourful pages and a lot of talk about positive energy. It seems modern day witches are much more positive and helpful than the old Macbeth style of witches. I’m flipping through one of these newer books, and see a page titles “Cures.”
“Hey, check it out,” I say. “This book has cures.”
She doesn’t get up to come look, since she must have read that already. “It’s not cures for spells and hexes. It’s cures for ailments like the common cold and sore knees.” I read the page a little more and see that she’s right. Apparently if you burn a certain kind of incense, say a specific incantation, and carry a smooth black stone in your pocket, you can break a fever faster than if you take aspirin. Of course, the book cautions that you should also take aspirin and follow your doctor’s orders. I switch to another book.
Marlie’s hogging the cool old leather-bound book, but I think she probably spent a lot of money on that one, so I don’t mind that she’s protective of it. I start flipping through a book about ‘The History of Witchcraft,’ but it seems to be more of a bunch of biographies than a how-to manual.
“Here’s something,” Marlie says. “I think this is the same spell that I saw people mention online.” I’m up on the bed and Marlie’s sitting in my desk chair, so I get up to go see what she’s got. This book is very old, with thick yellow pages. Marlene points to a spell on the bottom of a page.
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