How would Althea ever sleep again, knowing what she had done?
She had destroyed Jennie, Jennie of childhood memories and childhood joy. This is how I repay her, thought Althea. I sell her to a vampire.
Althea had cleaned up to the bottom of the stairs. At the top of the stairs waited the locked entrance to the Shuttered Room.
All I have to do, thought Althea clearly, is shut the shutters. I have to close him back up. Bolt him back in.
I can’t save Celeste and Jennie now. It’s too late for them. But I can still stop him. I can prevent him from doing it again.
She lifted her chin. Took the first step up. She felt strong and full of resolution. She was the kind of woman who could conquer whole worlds.
The vampire said, from behind the door of the Shuttered Room, “Do you want the first party to be the last party?”
Althea held the broom tightly.
“Do you want to find out if Ryan will ask you on a real date? Do you want to know if Michael enjoyed himself tonight? Do you want to know if Michael was just accidentally everywhere that you were? Do you wonder why it is that Michael did not bring along the beautiful, perfect Constance?”
Althea trembled. The broom fell from her fingers and tipped against the wall.
The vampire’s voice was soft as cookie dough. “Do you want to see if Kimmie-Jo and Dusty will invite you to their parties? If Becky will?”
Althea slid to the bottom step and folded over on herself, like an old sheet in a musty linen closet.
“Of course you do,” he whispered. The vampire’s laugh was like old leaves on dying trees. “Now, get a good night’s rest, Althea. What’s done is done. And nothing has happened, really. Jennie’s just going to be a little tired. And you have better friends than that now, anyhow, don’t you?”
Chapter 11
MONDAY.
Althea had dreaded Mondays for a year and a half. The terrible building into which she was forced to walk—alone.
That horrible cafeteria in which she was forced to sit—alone.
Each room so grim.
Whether the library or the gymnasium, the English class or the chemistry laboratory, each room seemed designed as a showcase for other people’s friends.
Monday.
And Jennie would not be coming to school.
Althea considered being absent herself. Staying in bed all day. Or perhaps the rest of her life.
But in the end she got up, dressed, drove to school, and parked.
Every move was heavy as lead. Putting the parking brake on left her weak and panting. Pushing down the door locks was like bench pressing. How could she move herself across the pavement? She felt as heavy as the car itself, except that she had no wheels. She had to pick up each foot, and set it down, and then pick up the next one.
Althea trudged forward. Never had the walk seemed longer, the steps higher, the doors heavier.
But the door handle was taken from her, and a larger, stronger hand pulled it open for her. “Hi there,” said a boy cheerfully. “How are you, Althea?”
She did not even recognize him. She did not even know him.
She murmured, “Thank you,” and walked into the gleaming marble foyer.
“Hi, Althea!” called a girl changing the Artwork of the Week exhibit.
“Hey, Althea, you get that math homework?” yelled a voice.
She waved. She called. She answered. She even managed a smile or two. The entire school had learned her name. The power of Varsity Cheerleading! The publicity of standing in front of the entire school for two hours, yelling! These kids knew her; they felt loyalty and affection for her; they enjoyed seeing her cheer. She was theirs.
“Hi, Althea!”
“How are ya, Althea?”
“Sit with me, Althea.”
Her name was used aloud more times that Monday than in all the years of her life.
Althea. The name rang in the cafeteria.
Althea. The name bounced off the gym walls.
Althea. The name was murmured in the library.
“Althea,” as a name, had always seemed both odd and stodgy. Now it sounded beloved and welcome.
Fellow cheerleaders called to her; classmates wanted to chat with her; unknown kids going down the hall actually congratulated Althea on a good game Saturday, as if her cheering had brought about the victory.
Everyone who had been at the party came up grinning and delighted to say what fun it had been, how they hoped she would have another one soon.
And everyone who had not been at the party came up shyly and hopefully, hinting that Althea might include them next time.
But Jennie was absent.
Childhood memories filled Althea like those doughnuts: heavy and lasting. Jennie and Althea going to the petting zoo; Jennie and Althea playing Chutes and Ladders; Jennie and Althea buying spring hats and being too shy to wear them; Jennie and Althea taking riding lessons and being in horse shows together; Jennie and Althea drawing up lists of cute boys, back in elementary school when there was no such thing, and giggling insanely all night long at each other’s houses, daring each other to phone a boy; Jennie and Althea cutting each other’s hair so badly one sleepover that Jennie’s mother escorted them to a mall hairdresser who was open evenings.
Jennie was absent.
Althea found herself behaving vaguely to all who spoke her name. Don’t be rude, she said to herself, pay attention! People are talking to you.
But curiously enough, her distracted manner made her more desirable.
She pondered this. The popular person who doesn’t have time for you becomes more popular! she thought.
She saved up the faces of all who spoke and laughed, thinking—did I earn this? Or did the vampire somehow migrate to each of them, and instruct them in their sleep: Admire Althea today.
And tomorrow? Next month? Next year?
Will they forget me as quickly as weather? Will I vanish like last Monday’s sunshine, or yesterday’s snow flurry?
Jennie was absent.
Her mind returned continually to that.
The vampire will ask me for another one, she thought. Not right away. But soon.
Althea changed classes, ate lunch, went to the library, got books from her locker, and wondered who it would be.
Who?
Who will I give him?
Who will he take?
Like owls fluttering through the halls, their wings hitting her hair, the cry who? who? who? who? who? rang in her ears.
I cannot do that again, she said to herself. I cannot destroy another human being! I can’t participate in it anymore. That’s all there is to it.
“You know, Althea,” said Ryan’s voice, “you’re more daydreamy than I realized.”
She jumped, astonished to find she was sitting in a chair, and that Ryan was sitting in a chair next to her. He was smiling into her eyes, his hand resting on the chair back. “Hi, Ryan,” she said, blushing. His hand shifted from the back of the chair to the back of her neck.
His fingers were callused, but his touch was gentle. He touched her skin as if exploring new worlds, lightly tugged her hair, and watched what he was doing, fascinated by his skin against hers.
Althea swallowed, thinking of somebody else who liked the backs of necks. Jennie is absent.
She took Ryan’s hand and held it in her lap instead. He was delighted and looked at their two hands together. He separated her fingers with his and intertwined them, making a row of ten knuckles: her smooth, small, pale knuckles alternating with his large, knobby, dark ones.
“The school day,” he said, managing a laugh, “has ended. Did you notice? You want to go for a drive? Maybe pizza. I can always eat pizza. I could eat yours if you’re not hungry.”
Michael appeared beside them. “Holding hands in public?” he teased. “I’m shocked, Ryan.”
“Get lost,” said Ryan cheerfully. “We’re going for pizza.”
Ryan pulled Althea to her feet. The library was
full of kids doing research papers or homework. All were watching. She felt their eyes. The cheerleader and the football players. The popular girl and the handsome boys. The one you dream of being.
And it’s me, she thought. It’s me.
Chapter 12
THE THREE OF THEM made their way out of the school, bumping into one another, laughing, pushing on the steps, sheltering one another against the wind. Althea, confused about why they were a threesome, said aloud, “Michael, are you coming, too?”
Michael and Ryan roared with laughter.
“It’s my car he’s inviting you to use,” explained Michael. “Old Ryan here is without a vehicle. If you plan to see much of the guy, keep in mind that he’s going to need a chauffeur from now on.”
“What about the car with three broken doors?” said Althea, who yearned to slither and slide in and out with Ryan.
Ryan sighed heavily. “The police. The cops.”
She was horrified. “You were arrested?”
Ryan looked hurt while Michael grinned. “I was not arrested,” Ryan said with dignity. “The police pulled me over because they could not understand how I was able to get out of such dented doors. It seems that vehicle inspection standards require that the driver and passenger should be able to get out of the car. I argued that we are able to get out of the car—it just takes a little while. The police said, What if I had a passenger who wasn’t that agile? I said, Well, I just wouldn’t take him along, would I? The police said, What about in situations where we didn’t have a while to take? Like breaking down on the train tracks. I pointed out that there are no train tracks. He didn’t care. He said I can’t drive a one-door car until I get it fixed.”
“But he’s not going to get it fixed,” said Michael. “It would cost a fortune.”
“So yesterday,” said Ryan, “I buried my servant, the car.”
“It’s gone to that great junkyard in the sky,” said Michael.
The boys stood reverently for a moment, hands on hearts, mourning the passage of a really good vehicle.
Althea laughed helplessly, adoring them both.
She had never been able to comprehend a girl who would dangle two boys. You would think the girl would choose the better boy, get rid of the crummier one, and settle into having a great time.
Now she could see this was not such a great course of action.
Here was Ryan: sweet and funny. Cute and built and bright.
Here was Michael: all of the above, but more so.
They traveled in a pair, obviously.
She had her own car; she could drive Ryan; they could dispense with Michael. But what girl in her right mind would dispense with Michael? On the other hand, what girl in her right mind would dispense with Ryan, either?
Ryan, Michael, and Althea drove around for a while, all three in the front seat. Althea was wonderfully crushed between their thighs, and when Michael took a sharp turn, his arm on the steering wheel brushed against her, and when Ryan leaned forward to talk to Michael, his shoulder pressed on hers.
Althea thought that probably nothing, including sex or being elected president, could be as splendid as sitting in the front seat, Michael and Ryan talking to her at the same time, their wonderful masculine presence and scent and attitudes filling her with utter contentment.
Eventually, they arrived at Pizza Hut.
Of course Pizza Hut is a perfectly public restaurant, open to the world, and Althea had been there many times. And yet, if you walked in and passed the salad bar and went to the rear of the restaurant, there was a booth in the corner that was virtually a private club.
The high school club.
It was occupied continuously by one group or another, its numbers changing, diminishing, increasing, as one popular person drifted away, only to be replaced by another.
Only six could actually fit in the booth.
Usually seven or eight were crammed in, while several more sat at right angles in the adjoining, non-corner booths, which lacked the special status of the crammed corner.
In her previous life, Althea would hardly have had the nerve to lift her eyes even to look toward this corner.
In her wildest dreams, in her most desperate prayers, she had never hoped to be escorted to it by Michael and Ryan.
They had hardly been seated, hardly begun to argue over whether the pizza should have peppers and pepperoni, when Kimmie-Jo and Dusty arrived.
How interesting popularity is, thought Althea. I am with Michael and Ryan, and that is perfection, and everybody is envious, but the real stamp of approval is from the girls. Kimmie-Jo and Dusty will decide it. Boys come and go, but girlfriends stay, and judge, and count.
Kimmie-Jo shrieked, “Hi, Althea, how’s your throat?” and slid into the seat.
Dusty said, “Althea, thank goodness you’re here. There’s so much to talk about.”
Althea laughed to herself, and when Ryan tugged her backward, so that she was leaning against his chest, she cooperated fully.
Becky came into Pizza Hut.
Althea was amazed to see Becky pause by the salad bar, unsure of herself. Becky’s eyes quickly scanned the booths, to see where she would be welcome. Michael, Ryan, Althea, Kimmie-Jo, and Dusty were in the corner booth. A bunch of juniors had taken the booth on one side, and some seniors the opposite booth. Becky, like Althea, was a sophomore. A cheerleader, yes, but not old enough, and with too little status to break into the Kimmie-Jo/Dusty booth.
I’ve already moved ahead of Becky! thought Althea, seeing popularity suddenly as a sort of board game, where a throw of the dice, or somebody else’s lost turn, had you whipping ahead, gathering points, heading for the winner’s circle.
Althea waved to Becky, calling, “Come on over here, Becky, we have plenty of room.”
Kimmie-Jo and Dusty frowned slightly. Becky came up breathlessly, her cheeks turning pink with excitement. Ryan and Michael acknowledged her politely.
Becky was really only a fringe member of the popular crowd. Only being on the Varsity Squad had moved her onto that fringe. Only during games and practices would she really count. Here, at Pizza Hut, Becky was minor.
Althea was overcome with a sense of power. She—who had been nobody! Nothing! Invisible! Inaudible! She could bestow popularity on Becky.
Ryan said to Althea, “So when’s the next party? That one was so much fun.”
Parties, thought Althea. She landed slightly, not all the way; part of her was still flying. But part of her was grounded. As Jennie had been. As Celeste had been. She had made two choices. And now Jennie was absent; Celeste was trudging. And for what? For a slice of pizza eaten in this corner instead of that?
“I had a great time,” agreed Michael.
“Me, too,” said Becky quickly.
“I don’t know how often I can open up the house like that,” said Althea carefully.
“I know just what you mean,” said Kimmie-Jo, although that seemed unlikely. “My parents get so anxiety-ridden when I even suggest a party that it’s pathetic.”
Talk turned to parental rules. Ryan quickly lost interest and stood up, handing money to the cashier. “Hey, Mike,” he said, “you want to haul us back to the high school so we can get Althea’s car?”
“Sure.”
They got up. A trio. A successful popular trio. Althea was dizzy with it. “Bye, Kimmie-Jo,” she said. “Bye, Dusty.”
Becky shrank down into the booth. She was excess baggage now. Her hostess had left; the rulers of this booth had better people to associate with.
Althea cringed for her. “Becky?” said Althea quickly. “You want to sleep over one night this weekend? Saturday?”
“Hey,” protested Ryan. “I’d like to sleep over one night this weekend.”
Althea laughed, although her soul and body burned at the thought, and kept her eyes safely on Becky.
“I’d love to,” said Becky, no longer shrinking. She sat tall and relaxed. Althea had spoken to her. Althea had included her.
&
nbsp; No wonder the ancient Greeks portrayed the god Zeus with a lightning bolt. Althea could have held electric power lines and made them do her bidding. She was popular now, and the words looked and sounded alike:
Popular.
Powerful.
So Jennie was absent. So big deal. It was like any football game: You had some winners, and you had some losers.
Althea had become the winner.
Chapter 13
THEY HAD TAKEN ONLY one step into the parking lot—a trio of dancers getting one beat into the choreography—when a gleaming black SUV drove up. Several laughing girls rolled down their windows and called, “Hi, Michael.
Hi, Ryan.”
The girls were seniors—and one of them was Constance.
“Hi, Althea,” the girls chorused.
Althea was awestruck. Her name was known to this set? Constance and her beautiful friends? “Hi,” she whispered.
The black SUV rolled on, inch by inch; the driver had decided not to stop all the way, but to creep ever forward. Althea thought that was just right for the personality of this crowd: Nothing would stop them, and they would stop for nothing. They were the girls who would have it all.
Oh, to be one of them!
As the SUV glided past, Althea let a fantasy drift through her mind in which she mixed with this group, and laughed among them, and danced among them, and was the girl who had it all.
Ryan stepped back, pulling Althea with him, but Michael stood still, as if waiting to be run down.
Although the SUV slipped on, Constance opened the passenger door and leaned out a few inches. How lovely she was! Constance deserved to be the only model for an entire magazine. Softly, as if alone with him in a shadowy room, Constance said, “Michael. How are you? I miss you.”
Michael flushed and said nothing. He seemed unprepared, like a child among adults. What had happened between these two, to make Michael stiff with nervousness and Constance soft with hope?
“May I join you?” said Constance, half out the door.
Michael smiled courteously, opened the door the rest of the way, and said, “Of course.”
Now the SUV stopped.
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