Inside was a darkly shiny herringbone chain.
“It’s tungsten,” he said. “My mom thought it might be too masculine for you, but you know tungsten is my kryptonite, so I thought you’d like it. It makes you my honorary buddy. If you like it, that is.”
“I love it,” I said, even though I still didn’t know what it was.
He lifted it out of the box and fastened it around my left wrist. It was a bracelet, delicate and feminine as you please.
He picked up a kind of cube that seemed like a charm and was dangling at the bottom of the chain. “This opens up, so you can put some sulfur in it if you want. Then our kryptonites will always be together.”
It felt like I imagine it does when you’re proposed to. I wanted to shout YES from the rooftop. Yes, world, yes, Brian is my guy!
I didn’t have a present for him, so we kissed for a few minutes, and when it started to get more urgent than I’ve ever felt, we went by mutual agreement to the living room and ate some chocolate pie. I’m not sure how far Brian wants to go with me, and I’m not sure how far I want to go, either. I mean, pretty soon he’ll figure out I’m a complete loser, so how much longer can I really expect him to stay interested? Pretty confusing, and I don’t have my mother to talk to about it.
All too soon, Brian’s dad was honking his horn for Brian to come out. My relatives were groaning as much as me, just as sorry to see him go.
After the Christmas carols had stopped and I got back here, I couldn’t convince the PMA to let me use the bracelet with its sulfur storage case instead of a patch. So I still itch so bad I can hardly stand it. I wear the bracelet, anyway. It kind of shows the world Brian has staked his claim on me, even though it’s not a ring. I love how it looks on my arm and I’m all the time trying to avoid snagging it on coats and long sleeves. All the girls have complimented me on it, even Melinda. Jill says she wishes Raúl was that thoughtful. I wonder if she’s sorry she had him visit over winter break instead of me.
I’ve spent most of the time in my classes staring at this bracelet, turning my hand around and around to catch the light, but I did have time to notice Ms. Matheson being slightly cheerier. But she still hasn’t asked me to stay after class to talk. I wonder if that era is just over.
January 13
It’s happening! I don’t know how, but it’s going to happen. At lunch today, a group of seniors had taken our window table, so we were in the middle of the room. Brian couldn’t wipe a smile off his face, anyway. Jill and I looked at him and Raúl started poking Brian’s arm because he didn’t know what was up, either. No one took a bite and I was starting to think of ways we could force it out of him without making too much noise when he said it.
“We all made it to the next step for BoPLA.”
I stood out of my chair and Jill shrieked before she could stifle it. Raúl waved his arms and hushed us, but geez, this is the most important thing any of us has done so far. I think we deserved some unrestrained joy. But I sat back down after I noticed all the eyes on us and whispered, “Did your dad tell you?”
“Yes,” he replied. “He got four envelopes in the mail and called me right away. I talked to him after class.”
“So what is the next step?” asked Raúl.
“Interviews. I had my dad schedule them for the same day so we can all go together. It’s on January 30.”
That gives us just under two weeks not only to prepare for the interviews but also to figure out how we’re going to escape from here. Brian says his dad is going to make up a fake field trip to take us on. I’m not sure it will work, but we’re going to have some help, apparently. As we kept talking about BoPLA, students kept passing by the table to put away their trays. They seemed unusually interested in our topic of conversation, but Willa actually stopped and stared at me for a minute before Melinda came back for her and dragged her away.
After we’d finished, I hotfooted it back here to the room with Jill so I could call Beth and see if she could make it on January 30. As I was punching the number, though, Melinda and Willa came in so fast they almost tore the door from the hinges. “What the hell—” I started, but Melinda was ahead of me.
“You have to take me with you to Boston.” She was crazed, grabbing Jill’s wrists. “I can’t stand it here anymore. I have to escape.” She let go only to point at me. “She—I have information against her. I could turn you all in if you don’t take me.”
“Calm down, Melinda,” said Jill, massaging her wrists. “What is this all about?”
The silence was deafening as we all looked at one another—well, all except Willa, who seemed to be utterly out of place. Finally, I decided to take the high road.
“Melinda has some artistic aspirations only the BoPLA can help her with. Don’t you, Melinda?”
“There’s no art at this school at all. I’ll suffocate if I stay here,” she said quietly.
Then I switched to devil’s advocate. “Have you sent in an application?”
“No.”
“You have to have your application approved before you can go for the interview.”
“When’s the interview?” she asked, gasping like a fish out of water.
“January 30.”
“Not a problem,” she said, her whole demeanor changing. “My dad can send it in with any late fees and set up the interview at the same time.”
That’s quite a dad she has. But Jill and I looked at each other, trying to think of more reasons she couldn’t come, and there weren’t any.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll put you on our field trip roster. If we can get out of here, you can come with us.”
That was when Jill came up with a possible reason: “How are we going to get so many of us out of here all at once? Does anyone have a van big enough for you Kelly, you Melinda, me, Raúl, Brian, and Beth? Not to mention someone to drive us?”
I would’ve folded my arms with satisfaction—gotcha! But Melinda is only one person, and a pretty small one at that. It wouldn’t be her that sank us. Fortunately, Melinda—la di da?—stepped right in and saved the day with that remarkable dad of hers. “You said it was a fake field trip? Leave it to me. My dad will get us a van and a driver and school approval. I’ll text you to confirm.”
Then she sauntered back out the groaning door with Willa in tow.
“Did Melinda just solve our main problem?” I asked Jill, aghast.
“I think she did. Quick, call Beth before we have to get to class.” The bell rang to punctuate her urging.
I punched the last number and hit send. Beth picked up with, “Well, hi!” like we were the best of friends.
“I don’t have much time, Beth,” I said. “Can you arrange to be at the hospital in the morning on January 30? A bunch of us have interviews at BoPLA, and then you and I can go to MGH.”
“MG . . . ?”
“Mass General Hospital. That’s where my mother is.”
“Oh! Yeah. January 30. I can try to arrange something.”
“Okay. Gotta go. We’ll talk later.” I hung up, reassured and almost late for class. Who can pay attention to that boring stuff when we have so much more important stuff going on?
February 13
It’s only been a month since I last wrote? That’s insane.
I’m going to take this writing slowly. I hereby pledge that if things get too intense, I will stop for the time being.
So, after we got things in motion for our escape on January 30, we all decided to practice for the interviews. Brian and Raúl reported back to us every morning at breakfast. I wonder if Melinda was making Willa quiz her. Who else could she get to help? Or maybe as a rich girl, she didn’t need to worry. Jill and I asked each other a couple of serious questions every night, but before long, it would deteriorate into jokes and laughter. My favorite was when she asked me if, when I started at BoPLA, I thought I would be too much of a distraction for the male students. I about fell off my bed laughing. And then I said no, I was bringing my own man with me,
so if the other boys were after me, they were going to be disappointed.
What a warm feeling it gave me to say things like that. Then we’d go to bed and under the covers I’d touch the tungsten bracelet, feel its smoothness and twist it around my wrist. I thought about Brian in his bed down the hall and wished my kryptonite was some kind of jewelry or even something like clay that you could fashion into something to wear so Brian could keep me always close to his heart, too. Who would’ve thought there would be a disadvantage to sulfur? Ha ha.
I also thought about Jill. I didn’t remember seeing on the website whether the BoPLA used a buddy system like ours. If they didn’t (and they don’t, I can now certify), then I would really have no need for Jill, which was a relief because I was thinking it over a lot, and Jill didn’t have any artistic inclinations that I was aware of aside from listening to music. She has great taste, but she never mentioned wanting to play music or learn to dance or even paint or write. She seemed to be the least likely one the BoPLA would accept. And then I felt terrible about it, thinking I must be letting my competitive side get the better of my friendly side. Because if it came down to it and they only accepted one or two of us, I wanted to get out of the PMA so bad, I was hoping I would be accepted over Jill, definitely over Raúl, and even over Brian. I would have left them all to rot in this freak show for the chance to get to Boston. I avoided that guilt by focusing on how great would it be if they accepted all four of us. (Melinda could come or stay here, I didn’t care either way—sorry if that seems ungrateful after she arranged the transport.) We would roam the halls as a group and with Brian’s control, our cool factor would increase so much that we’d be the alpha dogs in about a week.
I talked with my dad on the phone every day before the interviews, asking what they were planning with Mom. When he said they were almost ready to do the last desperate attempt at a skin graft, I hounded him for an exact date, but they were never sure. I didn’t want to go in there and subject my mother to Beth’s healing if she was fresh out of surgery or otherwise stressed out. It was sure to be a really taxing experience on the both of them, although I never warned Beth what she was in for.
A week before the interviews, I made the mistake of asking if I could come to visit.
“No, Kelly, I’m sure you’re needed in Providence. You don’t have time to come here.”
“Dad, this place is a sham of a school. If you need me, I’ll be there in a second.”
“No, it’s . . . Your grandmother can’t drive the 95 anymore . . .”
I was going to explain to him that I could probably get another ride and in fact on January 30 a bunch of us would be in Boston, so I wouldn’t have to bother Grandma at all, but it finally dawned on me that he was making excuses. I hadn’t seen my mother since the accident. There was some reason my father, or my mother, or both of them, didn’t want to see me. It made me feel hollowed out and preoccupied because all I could think is that I’m too horrible to be allowed to visit my own mother. They must’ve thought I would hurt her again. I would never hurt her again. But if it were up to me, I would never have hurt her in the first place. Maybe they were right. I guess I can do this school on autopilot because no one noticed how distracted I was except Jill and Brian.
Jill decided we’d done all we could and it would be useless to keep practicing for the interview the night before, so we went to bed early. I wish I’d had something to distract me so I could fall asleep more easily. I should’ve taken those last few hours to fantasize about BoPLA. That would have been as nice as a lullaby.
But I woke up the morning of the interviews feeling like I had the flu or something. My whole body ached and I could barely keep my eyes open. Jill grabbed me a muffin from the dining hall and we went to stand out front and wait for the transportation. It was already there, a giant, unmarked black van. Melinda opened the sliding door and said, “Get in. It’s freezing.” So we piled in and the driver looked back to see us. It was Ms. Matheson!
“The only way my dad could set up this fake field trip was if a teacher drove. So I told him Ms. Matheson was the most sympathetic to our cause,” Melinda explained with a wry smile.
Ms. Matheson winked at me and left me speechless. I might have started asking her why she was helping us, and whether she hated me as much as it seemed like she did, but Brian and Raúl knocked on the door and I slid it open. I wanted both Jill and Brian with me. If I couldn’t sleep, at least their support would give me comfort. But of course Raúl wanted to sit with Jill, so I moved back and Brian held my cold hands between his gloved ones.
“Hey,” I croaked toward the front as we started to move, “Ms. Matheson, do you know about our first stop?”
“Next stop, Rhode Island Hospital,” she announced as if it was a train station.
I rubbed the fog off the window and saw Beth immediately, waiting outside with her shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. She looked right at us, but didn’t make a move, and Ms. Matheson didn’t know who we were looking for, so she drove past.
“Wait! That was her,” I shouted.
“Stop!” exclaimed Brian.
“Sorry,” said Ms. Matheson. I think this was the first time she’d ever driven anything so big.
We circled the hospital and slowed to a stop right in front of Beth, but she still didn’t look up. Was she expecting a limousine? Brian opened the sliding door and said, “Hey, are you Beth?”
She looked up, startled, and climbed in to sit in the back by herself, docile.
“I hope you had a hearty breakfast,” I told her. “This is going to be a big day for both of us.”
“I’ve never been to Boston,” she replied.
Looking at her, so small and so clueless, I was astounded that this was where I was placing all my hopes for my family’s future happiness.
“Get some rest,” I said. If I couldn’t, at least someone should.
As we crossed into Massachusetts (maybe ten minutes into the journey), it started to snow giant wet flakes on the dry pavement. The traffic came to a screeching halt. It’s like people have never driven in snow before. Every time is the first time for these crazy drivers.
All the kids groaned. “We don’t want to be late,” said Brian. “That’s the worst thing you can do at an interview.”
“Calm down, everybody,” said Ms. Matheson. “I will get us there.”
But the sound of the engine idling created such a storm of emotions in me that I was scratching at my patch and clenching Brian’s hand and crossing and uncrossing my legs. I had to do something. So I called my dad.
Big mistake. But, if I hadn’t . . . Ugh. I’ll just write it. Dad told me they were ready for the last-ditch attempt at a skin graft and at noon they were going to start prepping Mom for surgery.
I knew I couldn’t yell into the receiver or in the enclosed space of the van, but my soul screamed for more than a minute. Dad thought he’d lost the connection, and then I took a gulp of air and said, “No, Dad, you can’t let them touch her.”
“Don’t you want your mother to have every chance to live?”
“Of course I do. But you don’t understand. I have a better way.”
“What?”
“I need this, Dad. I need to help Mom, to prove I’m not the worst person in the entire world. Can’t you understand that?”
“No one thinks that. Your mother and I still love you.”
“So postpone the surgery.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You don’t understand. I’m on my way to Boston now.”
It was my dad’s turn to send dead air over the phone waves.
Finally he said, “Go back to Providence or I’ll call the Pyrokinesis Academy.”
“Let me talk to Mom!” I squealed, desperate—I hadn’t spoken with her since my manifestation—but he’d hung up. My dad hung up on me!
I lay back in the seat. I was sweating against all my soft winter clothes. I looked out the window at the incongruously peaceful snow and felt like I
was drowning. Suddenly Brian’s hands were shaking me. “Wake up, Kelly! Breathe.”
I must’ve actually passed out with the stress. I just blinked at Brian. “Ms. Matheson, we have to get there on time,” he shouted toward the front. “Kelly’s life depends on it!”
She backed up the van a little bit, causing a spate of honks, and squeezed slowly past a solid line of cars to get to the exit, where we sped past some town’s reservoir and a Friendly’s restaurant. I mention it because it made me want to stop and eat a meal with my mom and dad, to go back in time and have nothing ever change. It would mean I would never meet Brian or even Jill, but I was prepared to accept that. Nothing in the time since I’d manifested was so great I couldn’t give it up.
The van continued over hill and dale, but mostly through forest and glen. Eventually we emerged on Route 1 and it was hard to imagine the 95 would have been slower, but I tried to breathe under Brian’s guidance and everyone else’s concerned looks. I requested to be dropped off with Beth at the hospital, but Jill said they’d let me go first in the interviews if it helped, and really we should all be done in plenty of time to arrive before noon. I didn’t really have a good idea of how long it takes to move around in Boston, so I trusted her. Now I know she’d never been to Boston before, either, and was only trying to calm me down. Kind, but maybe not the most useful thing in the situation.
I started to think about the BoPLA, finally, and it was such a weird contrast from the fear and tension. “What do you think it will be like?” I said. “Will it be as beautiful as the pictures?”
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