by Beth Goobie
“No – you’d want to make sure she kept her mouth shut. Because if she opened it, who knows what might come out? Be honest – it wasn’t just the high priestess who had everyone over a barrel, it was also Farang. All she had to do was open her mouth and start talking, and a lot of people’s lives would be wrecked. That would be bad for the tribe. Some secrets are best never told, and the tribe had to make sure Farang never told them. Because that was what was best for the tribe. The tribe was hundreds of people, Farang was only one. Yes, it was hard on her. Yes, she suffered. But she helped a lot of people in the process. So it was all for the good in the end.”
Christine gave a satisfied nod to herself, then shot Ms. Mousumi a sideways glance. “That’s it,” she said. “Here, you can have this copy.” Walking over to the teacher’s desk, she handed Ms. Mousumi two pages.
“Thank you,” said Ms. Mousumi. “You can sit down. Any comments?”
The class sat silent, dense with thought. Beside Maddy, Kara wore a thinking grimace. Secrets, Maddy thought, staring down at the thumbnail welts in her hand. What if someone knew your deepest secret? Would you want her around? Swiftly, before she could tell herself not to, she glanced at the desks near the door. Alarm leapt through her, inner fire. As expected, Ken was watching her, his eyes fixed in a steady, unblinking stare. Next to him, David Janklow was also watching her, his expression uncertain, his mouth sucked in.
And it hit her then like a searing blast of wind – David was the last unidentified rapist, the fifth Masked Avenger. No, Maddy thought, her gaze plummeting. David didn’t rape me. He was the one standing lookout. He never touched me.
Her heart was body-slamming her from the inside out; she felt exhausted by this new knowledge, as if she could barely remain upright. For two weeks now, she’d been sitting across the room from two guys who’d been involved, not just one. And there was also that time David had clipped her shoulder while passing her in the hall. It was creepy, thinking one of her attackers had been so close all this time and she hadn’t known it. How was she supposed to protect herself against something like that happening again when reality played tricks on her like this? Nowhere was safe, Maddy thought frantically. Horrible things could happen anywhere, burst out of the ordinary everyday—
Kara’s hand went up. “It’s interesting,” she said, her tone grudging. “I mean what Christine said about Farang knowing secrets, so everyone hates her for it. I can see that happening, sure. But the way Christine wrote it, the story is, like, blaming Farang for that when it says she has everyone over a barrel. As if it’s her fault. When it isn’t.”
Christine arched another eyebrow. “In your opinion,” she said coolly.
“In my opinion what?” asked Kara, her tone now definitely on the warpath. “That it’s not Farang’s fault? Are you saying it is?”
Uncertainty blew across Christine’s face, and she shrugged. Five seconds of silence ticked by as Kara hissed quietly, and then another hand went up. “How does Farang get to know their secrets when they give her their pain?” asked a guy in the front row. “I need to know – I’m doing the next chapter.”
“Yes,” said Ms. Mousumi. “Brent…Doody, right?”
Brent nodded, then looked expectantly at Christine. She grimaced. “ESP,” she said. “Y’know – mental telepathy. The X-Files. Stephen King.”
“Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo,” Harvir sang in a soft, spectral voice. “Make it up, doodoo-Doody. It’s a story.”
Ms. Mousumi sent him a remonstrative glare as Brent shrugged. “Just wanted to see if there was an actual reason,” Brent said.
“Okay,” said Ms. Mousumi. “So it’s ESP, and Brent is our Wednesday author. Friday, it’ll be Jeremy Dugger.”
In front of Maddy, Jeremy stiffened, radiating alarm.
“Doo doo doo doo,” Kara sang quietly. “That’s what you’ll be writing, Dugger.”
Behind his back, Jeremy gave her the finger. With a quick breath, Maddy glanced again at the back row close to the classroom entrance. Ken and David were both still watching her. Keeper of secrets, keeper of deep, dark truths – Maddy was like Farang, she realized that now. She knew Ken’s and David’s ugliest moment, a moment that might even feel like pain to them. Unlike Farang’s situation, however, this one went both ways. For Ken and David also knew Maddy’s ugliest moment. And without question, all three of them wanted to keep that moment as secret as secret got – never spoken about, forbidden to even think about, the unhappy face forever hidden behind the cheerful, smiling one.
. . .
“Maddy,” said a voice in her bedroom doorway. Maddy looked up from the verbs she was conjugating for French class to see her father, with her mother standing just behind him. Her heart began a warning thud. “Can we come in?” asked her father.
Maddy nodded, and her parents entered. Her mother sat on the edge of the bed. Her father drew up a chair, sat down, and clasped both hands around one knee. He looked nervous – sad, grim, and as if he was about to jump out of himself. Maddy’s heartbeat accelerated.
“Honey,” said her mother, reaching for her hand. Maddy pulled back, and Delores Malone bit her lip. “Okay,” she faltered. “Maddy, sweetheart – we’re worried. You haven’t been yourself for…well, months now, and we don’t know what to do. You won’t tell us what’s wrong—”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Maddy said quickly.
“Yes, something is,” said her father, his voice hoarse but determined. “It started last year, sometime in the spring. We thought at first it was a phase, something you had to work out on your own. Things seemed to improve in the summer, but it’s much worse now. We can’t afford to sit back and let this go on, Maddikins. Something’s wrong, and it’s very wrong.”
“No, it’s not!” cried Maddy, her eyes fixed on her schoolwork. No way was she looking at her parents – they loved her so much, they’d freak if they found out. “I’m just tired,” she mumbled. “I need a break. Maybe if you stopped bothering—”
“We’re not going to stop bothering you,” interrupted her father. “That’s what parents are for. They bother you because they love you. Period.”
“Well, I don’t want you to bother me!” Maddy said helplessly. “Nothing was wrong before you came in. Now it’s horrible. Maybe you’re the problem.”
Her father snorted. “Ian,” her mother said. For a moment, all three sat tensed on the edge of what was coming next. “Maddy,” said her mother, reaching again for her hand. “We’ve booked an appointment for you with a Dr. Matusow. She’s supposed to be very good – we asked around first. She’s worked with a lot of young people. We even met with her ourselves, and we like her.”
Confused, Maddy stared at her mother. “What’re you talking about?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You want me to see a doctor? But I’m not sick. And we already have a doctor – Dr. Ovason.”
“A psychiatrist,” said Ms. Malone, looking her straight in the eye. “Dr. Matusow is a psychiatrist who specializes in working with teenagers.”
“You want me to see a psychiatrist?” Maddy cried. “What – you think I’m crazy?”
“Not crazy,” said her father. “No one said anything about crazy.”
“Then what?” asked Maddy, her breath harsh in her throat.
Both her parents hesitated, their eyes vague, looking inward. “We don’t know what,” her mother said finally. “Because you won’t tell us. We’re hoping you’ll tell Dr. Matusow.”
Maddy stared at her parents in disbelief. A psychiatrist? Her parents wanted her to see a crazy doctor? No matter what her father said, psychiatrists were for crazies – nutcases who heard voices, then attacked other people on the Greyhound or killed their own kids. Maddy didn’t hear voices; she wasn’t anywhere near attacking or killing anyone. In fact, she was the one who’d been attacked. So why was she the one being told to go see a shrink?
“Ps
ychiatrists are doctors for the mind,” her mother said soothingly. “Just like your body gets sick sometimes, so can your mind. That’s when you need a psychiatrist, Maddy – someone who knows how the mind works. Dr. Matusow will be able to help you. She’ll know how to—”
How to get it all out of you, thought Maddy, terror rearing through her. How to make you talk, how to drag you through every goddamn, fucking second of it all over again.
“No!” she shouted, rolling onto her side so she faced the wall. “I won’t go! I won’t!”
Silence followed her words, and then her father cleared his throat. “Maddy, just once,” he pleaded. “Just try Dr. Matusow once. See if you like her before you decide.”
“No!” Maddy repeated, burying her face in her pillow. “I’m not crazy!”
She could feel it – the way her parents sagged into themselves, defeated. Remorse tore her end to end, but she fought it, refused to turn around and face them.
“Well,” her father said slowly, “we won’t force you.”
Quietly, they stood and left the room.
. . .
As Brent Doody walked to the front of the room, a muffled chant of “Doo doo doo doo” started up from several desks. Seated at her own desk to Maddy’s left, Ms. Mousumi raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Coming to a halt before the class, Brent arranged the pages in his hand and studied the first few lines. Part of the theater crowd, he’d had a minor role in last year’s Bye Bye Birdie, and had a tendency toward melodrama.
At the back of the room, Julie wore a satisfied expression. Maddy watched her glance at Dana and smirk.
Brent rocked once on his heels. His expression grew suddenly intense. “ZOMBIES!” he cried, leaning forward. “THEY WERE COMING FROM EVERYWHERE! From the huts the people lived in. Out of the forest. From the fields where they worked. Nobody knew why, but every day more and more people in the tribe were turning into zombies. It happened at night. The people went to bed normal, and while they slept, some of them mutated.
“Of course, we know what was happening. We know it was the high priestess causing the problem. Because when you don’t have your soul, it’s very easy to go over the edge and become a zombie. It can happen in the twinkle of an eye. But the people in the tribe didn’t know this. To them, it was a great mystery. Why was this happening, and how? They thought the gods were angry with them. They thought they’d done something wrong.
“When a person turned into a zombie, they stopped doing what they were supposed to. They went psycho! Crazy! Out of their minds! Their eyes glowed orange. All they could think about was eating raw meat. They went after anything, and gobbled it up raw and bloody. Like the tribe’s dogs and cats. Or birds. And if they couldn’t find those, they’d go after the kids in the tribe. Several babies were missing.
“The tribe was terrified. Every morning, they’d wake up and someone else had gone crazy and was eating babies. Then the whole tribe had to catch the new zombie and kill him. Because if they didn’t, he’d eat a baby. This was a major problem. It was getting everyone down.
“Why was the high priestess doing this to the tribe? Because she liked it. The more scared the people got, the more they begged her for help. So she got to be more and more important. Whenever people started to forget about her and maybe not come to the temple so much to pray, she’d turn another few people into zombies. Then everyone would beg her for help, which was exactly what she wanted.
“The high priestess used a very particular stone to zombify people. It was a stone that held the soul of a dead person. This person was a very powerful wizard when he was alive, and the high priestess had beaten him in a duel of magic powers to the death. Then she’d put his soul into a stone and brought it with her when she came to this village. Now she was siccing the wizard’s soul on the villagers – it was actually his dead soul that was zombifying them.
“Farang spied on the high priestess, and she found out what was going on. One night, she snuck into the office and stole the wizard’s soul stone. She took it out into the forest and smashed it into pieces with a bigger rock, and the wizard’s soul escaped. Farang could see it lift out of the smashed pieces of rock like a green light. It was eerie.
“‘I give you one wish,’ it said to her. ‘For saving my soul. Because I can read minds, I already know what you most desire. You want to be rich and famous. More powerful than the high priestess. You want to get out of this dinky tribe in this backwoods forest, and go somewhere ritzy and modern where they have toilets and the Internet and democracy. Where you can blow your nose in a Kleenex, for Pete’s sake! Well, your wish will be granted. Not right away, but it will come. Be patient. Now, I must go. Before the high priestess wakes up and finds out I’m gone.’
“Before Farang’s eyes, he lifted into the air and flew away, leaving her alone. She was angry and shook her fist at him. The wizard was right – he had read her mind and gotten her wish right. But she was pretty sure he was cheating her, and she’d never get to be rich and famous. Still, she had to be happy because she’d just saved the tribe from Zombiedom.
“Only the high priestess knew Farang had stolen the wizard’s soul stone. She saw it all in a dream. So she waited, plotting her dark schemes. Some day, she would get Farang back. Some day!”
Brent grinned at the class. Julie flashed him a brief thumbs up. Maddy glanced at Kara, wondering if she’d noticed, but Kara was studying Brent with an expression of disgust. Ms. Mousumi’s face was almost as pained.
“Thank you, Brent,” she said. “You may sit down. Any comments?”
Kara’s hand shot up. “What I don’t get,” she said emphatically, “is why Farang wouldn’t wish to not be the pain eater anymore. It makes more sense that that would be her greatest wish.”
Back in his seat, Brent shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal to her anymore. She got used to it. A chance at fame and riches was more important.”
Kara rolled her eyes. Another hand went up. “How would Farang know about fame and riches, and toilets and Kleenex, and all that?” asked Nikki Nutter, a girl who sat in the rear row opposite Maddy. “She’s lived in a tribe in a forest in, like, the stone age all her life. She’s Neanderthal.”
Brent grimaced, then shrugged again. “The zombies told her,” he said. Snickers swept the class. Beside Maddy, Kara hissed, then started texting on her phone.
“How would the zombies know?” asked Nikki.
“Zombies,” said Brent, “know everything.”
“Actually,” Harvir volunteered, “it was the wizard who talked about those things, not Farang.”
“Oh yeah,” said Brent, perking up. “And he would know – wizards know everything.”
“Okay, okay,” cut in Ms. Mousumi, getting to her feet. “We’ll leave it there for today. Jeremy – you’re up next, on Friday. No more zombies, though – the wizard is gone, so Zombiedom has officially been terminated.”
Jeremy nodded. “Fine with me,” he said.
“Glad to hear it,” said Ms. Mousumi.
“Doo doo doo doo,” someone sang softly.
Zombies, thought Maddy. That was what psychiatrists were for. And she wasn’t a zombie. So she was never, never, never going to see a psychiatrist. Period.
The class moved on.
Chapter Seven
It was the Thursday lunch hour, and Maddy was hanging around the edges of the smoking crowd, listening in on conversations. Her usual smoking buddy, Jennifer Ebinger, was at a dental appointment, and so Maddy was at loose ends, drifting like an exhaled breath of smoke. Since no smoking was allowed on school property, students who had taken up the habit hung around the 7-Eleven across the street. Next to the store entrance, Jeremy was being chatted up by Julie. Jeremy wasn’t a smoker – he played striker on the soccer team, and Maddy knew from Leanne that school policy stated that any sports team member caught smoking was to be cut, no exception
s. But Jeremy had friends who smoked, and on occasion he could be seen hanging out with them here, inhaling secondhand smoke.
Jeremy’s Pain Eater chapter was due the following afternoon. Was Julie working her wiles, wondered Maddy as she watched the two – trying to in-flu-ence Jeremy? And if she was, would Jeremy go for it? He was well liked – not because of his appearance, which ranked about average, but for his easygoing personality and sense of humor. Which meant he didn’t need the popularity boost Julie’s approval could give him, but who knew? Popularity politics were twisted, the work of snaky minds with forked tongues. With a shrug, Maddy turned away. None of it was her business, and there were still seven surnames preceding hers on the class list. Anything could happen in the novel before her turn came up – a disease could wipe out half the tribe, the high priestess could shapeshift into a tarantula, or Farang could OD on the allura leaf poison and kick the bucket. Come to think of it, thought Maddy, she herself could come down with a near-fatal illness the day she had to read her chapter. She just had to plan her symptoms – a rasping cough and a lot of sniffing should do it. If she hyperventilated in her room before complaining to her mother, she might even be able to jack up her body temperature—
“Hey, Maddy,” said a voice. Turning to face the speaker, Maddy saw a grade eleven student. Herb Someone-Or-Other, she thought. Whatever his last name was, the guy had never spoken to her before. Nondescript – a forearm tattoo, a phone in his shirt pocket – he was one of the stream of faces she passed daily in the halls. “So, you getting your daily nic dose?” he asked conversationally, leaning against a parked car. “Your nicotine vitamins?”
Maddy shrugged. The joke wasn’t really worth a smile – kind of an insult to the intelligence.
“Nicotine make you happy?” asked Herb, studying her face. “Does it keep you smiling?”
Unable to make sense of what he was saying, Maddy frowned. What was the guy’s point? And why was he talking to her? Was he a friend of Leanne’s?