“Wouldn’t it be neat to have a slumber party in that tower room?” Becky cried.
Althea could not think. A slumber party. Oh, how she wanted to have a slumber party! A dozen girls all at her house, all laughing and happy and glad to be there.
But the tower room?
Becky locked arms with Althea. Together they headed for algebra. Ryan trailed after them, talking about telescopes and stars. Far down the hall Michael waved, smiling. Althea felt her popularity rising on that wave.
Becky said, “We don’t have cheerleading practice today. You want to come over to my house, Althea?” Becky plopped down on the first available seat—not her usual seat near Dusty. “I mean, first we’ll go to Mickie D’s, of course, and meet everybody, but then we could go over to my house.” She yanked Althea down next to her. Becky got a teasing, provocative look on her face. “Ryan lives next door,” she said, as if making an offering. “We could play telescope together.”
Ryan heaved a great sigh. He had followed them into algebra. Althea was confused. Ryan didn’t have algebra. He was a year older. He had trigonometry. Why was he accompanying them here?
“My telescope, Becky,” said Ryan, although he was facing Althea, “is not a toy. Although I am sure Althea and I can think of plenty of games to play.” He winked at Althea.
Ryan had winked at her. Michael had waved at her. Becky had sat with her. Althea didn’t care what had happened to Celeste. She would never care. She winked back at Ryan.
“You’re sick, Ryan,” said Becky. “Get out of here, you’re annoying the algebra class. Go to your silly trig.”
Ryan grinned. “I’m not sick,” he told Althea. “I’m a very interesting person. So. Are you coming to Mickie D’s, Althea?”
She nodded, and he nodded back, and that was heaven. She burned with joy; she felt like a house on fire. When the algebra teacher called on her, she had the right answer; and when Becky made a joke, she had a quick laugh.
I’m here, thought Althea. I’m where I deserve to be.
Among friends.
Chapter 5
BUT BEFORE MCDONALD’S CAME music. Chorus was another high school group that had not turned out the way Althea had expected. She was one of sixteen altos. She had not made friends. She yearned to sit between two girls, both of whom would talk to her; instead she sat on the end of a row, sticking out into the room, next to one girl who never turned her way. Sitting on the end gave her a good view of the curved sections and the friendships other people had made.
I could sit in the middle, she thought. With a popular alto on my left and a cute baritone on my right. She steeled herself. She moved sideways over bookbags and shoes. She said to the alto, “Mind if I sit here?”
The alto beamed at Althea. “Sure! That’ll be a nice change.”
And Dusty, whose seat it usually was, said, “Oh, good, I’m sick of being suffocated in the middle of the pack. Thanks, Althea.”
She sat in the center. One of the crowd. The laughter and chat wrapped her up like a blanket hot from the dryer. She giggled with the boy on her right. He said, “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Althea.”
“What a cool name. I never heard it before.” He smiled. “Althea,” he repeated.
Before she could ask his name, the music director whacked the top of his stand with his long white stick and, in his martial-arts way, began warm-up exercises.
How special her voice sounded from the middle. Being an alto wrapped her in companionship; the boy’s voice an octave lower added a dimension to singing she had never known. For the first time that year, the director met her eye, smiled, and nodded at her.
She felt like an opera star.
The director cut them off. In the silence before he gave more orders, Celeste entered the music room. Her sparkling eyes were dull. Her golden hair was limp.
There were three steps down because the room was designed for tiers of singers or instrumentalists. Celeste stood at the top. She shifted her load of books to her other side for better balance. Celeste felt her way down one step, panted slightly, and rested before taking the next step.
“You’re late,” said the music director sharply.
“I’m sorry.” Celeste looked foggy. “I’ve felt sort of slow today.”
“I am not interested in excuses,” said the director irritably. “You are late. I do not tolerate lateness.”
Celeste shuffled down another step.
The boy next to Althea muttered, “This is a cheerleader? No wonder we don’t win any games.” He rolled his eyes as Celeste tried to focus on the final step down. “Want a cane?” he said cruelly.
Althea no longer wanted to know the boy’s name. She no longer wanted to know her own name. What have I done? she thought. Celeste was just supposed to be a little bit tired. She hardly even looks alive!
Althea tried to breathe for Celeste, to suck in rich clear oxygen that would energize her. But Celeste did not breathe deeply. Celeste stumbled and dropped her books.
The music director sighed hugely, exaggerating patience with this idiot who could not even cross a room. The girl who took attendance said dryly, “While we’re waiting, Celeste, I’ll make announcements. Think you can find the soprano section by then?”
If that were me, thought Althea, I’d blush scarlet. But Celeste is just shuffling on.
Then Althea herself went white as paste.
Celeste was not blushing. How could she?
To blush, you needed blood.
Becky laughed with intense excitement, as if she and Althea were going on a grand expedition, instead of just to McDonald’s. Twisting and turning, Becky told every giddy detail of her day. Her black hair was pulled tightly back into a ponytail, and with every syllable, every move, seemingly every thought, both Becky and her ponytail bounced.
Althea tried to concentrate on what Becky was saying, to realize that she was going to McDonald’s with the crowd, but she kept seeing Celeste’s shoe inching toward the edge of the last step, trying to find bottom.
“Lighten up!” Becky commanded her.
As if it were orders from a general, Althea obeyed.
It was only two miles to McDonald’s, and yet, by the time they were in the parking lot, Althea was younger, happier, and noisier. She, too, bounced out of the car. She, too, jumped up and down clapping as Ryan drove in to join them.
Ryan had been joined by a boy named Scottie, whom Althea hardly knew. It was a treat to see these two muscular young men get out of Ryan’s car. First, Scottie dove over the seat back, landing like a beached whale half on the floor and half on the seat. Then, lumbering to his knees, head thrust forward, he opened the right rear door. This door, too, had its problems. Scottie emerged very carefully.
“Hey!” shouted Ryan, diving over after Scottie. “Don’t close that door on my face.”
“Oh,” said Scottie. “Well, I guess I could wait another second or two. But I’m a fast-track kind of guy. I don’t like to hang around, Ryan.”
Ryan slid out. First, one long jeans-wrapped leg. Then an arm, a broad chest, a dark and handsome head of hair, and finally the other leg.
Althea had intended to daydream about Michael, but now she found her thoughts encompassed by Ryan. Ryan was a weight lifter who talked of how many pounds he could bench press, and he knew all his muscles by name.
Everybody had a cheeseburger except Ryan, who ordered three Big Macs. He ate each in only four bites, his teeth dividing each huge burger like pie.
“Well, that’s what’s new in my life,” Becky said, wrapping up a discussion Althea had missed while admiring Ryan’s eating habits and muscles. “Althea, your turn to talk. Hold up your end of the conversation. What’s new in your life?”
Ryan, Becky, and Scottie waited. They went on swallowing milk shakes. Waiting to hear what was new in her life.
What’s new in my life? thought Althea. I’ve gotten to know a vampire quite well. His skin is the color of mushrooms.
I don’t know how he gets in touch with me. What do you think of Celeste, in her altered state? Do you know that I did that? This girl with whom you are having a cheeseburger—she hands people over to vampires?
Ryan and Scottie frowned slightly. Becky looked irritated.
Althea struggled to think of things to talk about. Had anything happened in class? After school? Had she gone shopping? Or even cleaned her room?
It seemed to Althea that, except for the vampire, she had no life.
Suddenly, to her horror, the vampire was standing there. Her throat closed up. Her eyes glazed.
He’s not here! she thought. He can’t come into a McDonald’s! Certainly not in broad daylight. This is not fair. The backyard is one thing, but—
She opened her eyes.
He was not there.
Her nerves had fabricated him.
She breathed again, and realized to her shame that the solitary sigh was her only contribution to the conversation around her.
Becky giggled. “Well, that was exciting, Althea,” she said. “We must chat about this again one day.”
“Don’t pick on her,” said Ryan. “You’re so mean, Becky.”
“She’s not mean,” said Althea quickly. “I’m slow.”
Ryan took this opportunity to discuss his telescope. Weight lifting was his daytime activity; stars were his nighttime activity. Scottie took this opportunity to mention several things that normal teenage boys enjoyed doing at night, as opposed to something lame and pitiful like studying satellite orbits.
“Here’s what I say,” said Becky. “I say we have a party at Althea’s, because it’s new, and we haven’t partied there, and I’m sick of all the old places. Ryan can set up his telescope in that tower room, while we dance on those big old porches.”
Althea’s smile trembled. She had fulfilled her obligation to the vampire. She could do as she pleased. And yet … she had not shut the shutters. Was he still there? Where was that dark path, exactly? Could he touch other people? Would Becky … ?
Althea’s body was rigid, as if her blood had stopped circulating—or been drained. “I don’t know if that would work out, Becky. I mean, I’d love to, but—”
“All right, all right,” said Becky, sulkily. “I just think it’s somebody else’s turn, is all. It seems to me the parties are always at my house.”
“That’s because your parents let you do anything all the time, Becky,” Ryan said. “Most people’s parents never let them do anything.” He stuffed his napkins into his cup, stuffed his cup into his burger box, and squashed the whole thing into a remarkably small square. “So, what’s Celeste’s problem?” he said to Becky.
Althea’s stomach knotted up. This was it. This was where they found out, where they understood, where they caught her!
Becky shrugged. “She didn’t want to talk. Said she was tired.”
“She stumbled around the school today like a zombie,” said Scottie.
“She could at least have been polite,” said Becky. “Here she is, a ninth-grader, everybody on the squad has been very nice to her, and she couldn’t even be bothered to let us in on her problem. I asked her if I could help and she shrugged. That did it, that shrug. You can’t have secrets from your teammates. They don’t like it.”
“Let’s not talk about Celeste,” said Ryan. “Let’s talk about you.”
He meant her. Althea. Ryan wanted to talk about Althea. An uncertain, joyous smile began on her lips. Ryan said, “Come on, more. More.” He touched her lip corner with his finger and drew the corner up till Althea laughed out loud.
Celeste won’t be tired long, Althea thought. She’ll perk up in a few days. I’m not going to worry.
Anyway, it’s worth it.
Chapter 6
HOW DARK THE YARD was.
Althea had not known such darkness existed in the world. There was not a hint of light. Nothing at all that was less than black. And yet she could see where the vampire was and where he wasn’t.
He was half in the hemlocks. Indeed, he seemed half hemlock. His arms were among the needled branches; his hair might have been growing straight from the trees.
“You wanted me?” he said. “How flattering. You want to give a report, perhaps? Tell me how things are going with your new popularity, perhaps? It isn’t necessary, my dear. Since I created this popularity, I know exactly how it is going.”
She had thought he was part of the shutters, that the tower room was his coffin, that his tomb was the house. But no. He was growing out of the trees, the thick, black, towering hemlocks. But maybe that was part of it. The trees themselves were also a tower.
I could cut the trees down, she thought. If I need to, I will cut the trees down.
She wondered why she would need to. She had finished her commitment to the vampire. It was over between them. It was just that she had a complaint to register. She said, “I didn’t think Celeste would be that tired.”
The vampire shrugged. The trees lifted and fell with his shoulders, swishing blackly. “I didn’t promise degrees of tiredness,” said the vampire.
Althea wet her lips, and the vampire, laughing, wet his lips.
She put a hand over her heart, and the vampire, laughing, put a hand over his heart.
He said, “All the gestures are blood symbols, did you realize that?”
“But you don’t deal in symbols,” she said.
“No.”
Once more, the air thickened around them. The blackness of earth and sky faded to a predawn gray, and the gray was so thick that Althea thought she would suffocate, that the human body could not absorb clouds of wool. She panted, struggling for air, and stumbled away from the hemlocks toward the house.
The sun rose.
The tower of the house cast the first shadow of day. A shutter flapped where it had come unfastened. It sounded like a soul unhinged.
The school had its own broadcast studio.
The first week she attended high school, Althea had been awestruck. If you were the president of a club, or the captain of a team, you went on television and announced your meetings and games. What would it feel like to choose your outfit in the morning, knowing that you would be on television?
Kimmie-Jo had not been captain of Varsity Cheerleading when Althea was a freshman; a senior named Katya had held that honor. Katya was tall and lean and looked like an Ethiopian princess. She always wore the most awesome jewelry, and when she was on TV, Althea was overcome with admiration and amazement.
This year Kimmie-Jo made the cheerleaders’ announcements. Her approach was markedly different. No exotic Cleopatra on the Nile, Kimmie-Jo was a bubblehead whose statements of when the game was, or where the practice was, or when Spirit Day would be, always sounded breathless and questioning, as if Kimmie-Jo was not entirely sure and was hoping a really kind football captain would help her out. Really kind football captains always did.
TV announcements were a time in which to say terrible things about people’s hair or clothing or degree of nervousness. “It’s Kimmie-Jo again! Does that girl bring her own hairdresser to school?”
“Oh, wow, look at that outfit. Kimmie-Jo could be one of those TV lifestyle reporters right now, in those same clothes.”
“That would be a good career for Kimmie-Jo. Clapping and squealing. I think she has that down pretty well.”
Althea never made cruel comments. If she were on the school TV, she would probably hide behind the principal rather than face the camera. She was filled with admiration for kids with nerve enough to appear live on TV. She dreamed of being the kind of girl who didn’t even bother with notes, but chatted away, perfectly relaxed, as if having fun.
This afternoon, Mrs. Roundman came on. She was nicely named. Small, slightly chubby, pink-cheeked, relentlessly energetic. Althea felt that the young Mrs. Santa Claus had probably looked like that, pre-white hair and elves, so to speak.
“Good afternoon.” Mrs. Roundman’s smile vanished quickly, and she became fierce. “We hav
e an unexpected vacancy on Varsity Cheerleading. Tryouts will be limited to those girls who tried out in September. Any girl who wishes to try out must commit four afternoons a week, plus the game schedule. She must have a C average or better. All girls planning to try out, sign up after school. Any girl who cannot come at the appointed hour, see me today with an appropriate excuse.” Mrs. Roundman would never believe an excuse. If you were too busy to try out when Mrs. Roundman wanted tryouts held, you were worthless.
Althea’s class burst into talk. “Who quit the squad?” they cried.
“Who got kicked off, more likely,” said somebody.
“Who was it?” they demanded of Becky.
“Celeste,” said Becky. “Isn’t that weird? She telephoned Mrs. Roundman and said she just didn’t have the energy for the season after all. She said it was taking too much out of her.”
The boys looked doubtful that cheerleading could take that much out of you.
The girls looked doubtful that Celeste had ever wanted to be on the squad anyway, and it was her own dumb fault if she ran out of energy.
Althea tried to look ignorant of what had actually taken a lot out of Celeste. I must look sorrowful and concerned, she thought as she rejoiced.
Becky leaned toward Althea, her dark floppy ponytail quivering. “You should try out,” said Becky to Althea. “You almost made it before, you know.”
Even though she was thrilled at the compliment and the suggestion, Althea was a little bit shocked. Shouldn’t Becky show more concern for Celeste? Hadn’t they been friends? Shared practices and snacks all fall? Althea said uneasily, “Did you talk to Celeste? Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
Becky shrugged. “She’s a quitter. Who needs a quitter? It’s not that kind of squad.”
The class echoed Becky. “She’s a quitter. Who needs a quitter?”
But she had not quit, not really. She had been removed.
Becky said, “I’ll coach you, Althea. You’ll be perfect! You’re exactly my height and figure, too, and Mrs. Roundman is aiming for a better lineup. For example, although Amy’s really good, Mrs. Roundman isn’t going to take Amy, because Amy’s too short. And she won’t take Brooke, because Brooke has to be seven feet tall if she’s an inch.”
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