“Good luck,” I said. “It sounds really fun.” And really pathetic, I didn’t say.
But you can probably imagine how much I was thinking it.
The next Friday night, we celebrated Megan’s ungrounding with a much smaller version of the party she’d planned the previous week—just her, me and Carter, Pepper Laird, and a couple of other cheerleaders. We sprawled out on the leather sectional in the family room.
Megan’s house was like a cross between a hunting lodge and a corporate boardroom. Heavy wood furniture held cutting-edge electronics. An iron candelabra kept watch over Mrs. Wiley’s three cell phones at their charging station.
Megan’s grandmother was the CFO of an investment brokerage. She was queen of all she surveyed, and she demanded perfection and faultless obedience—from her interior decor, her two secretaries, and her granddaughter.
Mrs. Wiley adopted Megan after her mom died. And she was among the scariest people I’d ever met in my life. You just didn’t mess with the woman. And everyone—Megan included—knew it.
Our conversation had been doddering along when Pepper turned to me. “I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Did you know our sisters are totally friends again?”
“Really?” I waited for a sarcastic smile or something, some signal that she was joking.
“Yeah,” she said. “Weird, right?”
Forgetting even the broken arm and the cafeteria incident on Kasey’s first day, Kasey and Pepper’s sister were as incompatible as…well, as a drill team dancer and a person who ate lunch with Lydia.
I turned away, studying the seam of the armrest. Carter took my hand and bent my fingers like they were poseable toys.
I mean, yes. Kasey having friends was a good thing. A couple of weeks ago, if you’d told me the most popular girl in ninth grade wanted to hang out with her, I would have been thrilled.
But my sister, goofy Adrienne, beautiful Tashi, hostile Lydia, and now Mimi Laird? It didn’t add up. I mean, sure, life isn’t like an 80s movie where everyone’s locked inside their perfectly defined boxes, but our school wasn’t quite progressive enough for a mix that diverse.
Or maybe it was. What did I know? I was a former Doom Squad member with a prep boyfriend and a cheerleader best friend.
I felt a tapping on my leg. “Oh! I forgot to tell you!” Megan said, her eyes wide. “Earlier, when I said I thought Emily had a doctor’s appointment? She didn’t. She ate lunch with your sister and Lydia.”
“With the Sunshine Club,” Pepper said.
“That’s your sister?” Carter asked, his nostrils flaring like he’d smelled something bad. “I’ve seen their pos- ters…I thought it was a campaign stunt.”
“Emily likes everybody,” Pepper said, waving it off. “She gets around.”
“Not at lunch,” I said, feeling oddly territorial. “Is she with them tonight?”
“Maybe,” Megan said. “She never texted me back.”
There was an unsettled silence. For Pepper and the other girls, it was probably more about the unexpected mixing of the social groups than anything else.
Carter’s chest heaved with a sigh, and he let go of my hand. Megan was staring at the ceiling fan, chewing her tongue like it was a piece of gum. Her fingers lightly drummed on the coffee table.
As for me, I was trying to scold myself back into a rational line of thinking.
So my sister was making friends across the established boundaries. That wasn’t cause for alarm. All it said about her was that she was open-minded, friendly. What did it say about me that I instantly jumped to the conclusion that she was mixed up in something bad?
But the more I tried to talk myself out of it, the more convinced I was that there must be something going on under the surface. To make a single friend in eighth grade, Kasey had to befriend a horrific vengeful spirit. Then she hits high school and immediately rounds up a posse of BFFs—by poaching my friends?
Look on the bright side, I told myself. It might not be ghosts. Maybe it was just drugs. Or blackmail.
But ghosts? It couldn’t be.
Because Kasey knew better than to go flirting with the dark side again.
Immediately, a pair of twin headaches blossomed at the back corners of my jaw.
After last year’s episode, we’d been visited by a woman in a nondescript gray suit driving a nondescript car (the woman, not the suit) and looking like she worked for a nondescript insurance company. But her name was Agent Hasan, and I don’t mean “insurance agent” Hasan. I still have no idea who she works for, because her business card only lists her name and a single phone number. But she took care of talking to the police, getting Kasey booked into Harmony Valley, and getting us moved out of the old house. She combed through the rubble and left with a thin, sealed envelope.
And she gave us her card with a “strong suggestion” to call if there were any other incidents “of interest.” That was how she talked—using words that seemed harmless but were actually bursting with ominous meaning.
Before she left, I cornered her and asked what would happen if it wasn’t over—if Kasey wasn’t cured.
She didn’t want to answer me, I could tell. But finally, she said, “Whatever arises, we’ll contain it.”
Their kind of containing was what kept my sister at Harmony Valley for ten months, even though, technically, there was nothing wrong with her. Calling the number on that card might get my sister locked up for a lot longer than ten months.
Or worse than locked up.
“I’m sure it’ll be over soon. Mimi’ll get sick of them and move on to something better—” Pepper cut herself off and blushed. “You know what I mean.”
There was a time when I would have been insulted, but I nodded and gave her a distracted half-smile.
The thing is, I wasn’t offended.
I actually hoped she was right.
After lunch on Saturday, I went out to the great room to find Mom sitting at the island, looking over some work stuff. And—as always—Kasey had claimed the sofa, even though she was barely paying attention to the TV.
I leaned on the bar next to Mom. “Can I use the car later?”
She looked up. “Sorry, what?”
“I need to go take some pictures. For the contest.”
“Oh.” Mom hardly glanced away from her computer. “Sure, honey.”
I chose my words carefully. “I really want them to be good, you know? To make up for all of the old ones I don’t have anymore.”
Mom minimized her spreadsheet window, which meant she was really paying attention. Maybe using her sympathy to get what I wanted makes me a bad person. But I couldn’t worry about that. I had to figure out what was going on with my sister.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Out. I might call around and see if anybody can help me.”
Studying the back of my hand, I took a half step to the left—revealing to my mother’s eager eyes the sight of Kasey flopped on the couch.
“I know someone who can help you,” Mom said.
“How much farther?” Kasey asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It depends on the light.”
We were trooping through the forest at Lakewood. The guest lot and picnic area were deserted—big surprise—and we slipped into the woods, ignoring the rusted NO TRESPASSING sign. I carried my camera and a couple of pieces of white poster board to bounce light off of. Kasey was lugging a pile of costumes and props. She kept falling behind and having to trot to catch up.
She let herself be talked into helping with minimal groanage, which surprised me. Only when I said we were going to Lakewood did she try to back out. But by then, Mom had latched on to the idea of us taking pictures together—just like old times—and ordered her to help.
I was kind of excited about the shoot, but my real motivation was to get my sister alone. I kept trying to think of ways to introduce the topic of Mimi, but I couldn’t come up with anything besides Why on eart
h would Mimi Laird lower her exalted self to hang out with you?
“Here,” I said, as we reached a clearing. It looked similar to the one where we’d seen the creature the week before. My skin prickled with goose bumps, and I waited to see how Kasey would react. But she just seemed relieved to be able to drop the pile of clothes.
“What’s our theme?” she asked.
“Um…” I looked around. “Why don’t you grab the violin?”
She made a dissatisfied face. “It doesn’t have any strings.”
“Fine,” I said. “How about the wedding gown?”
Kasey looked horrified. “It’s ninety-five degrees!”
“Yes,” I said. “Definitely the wedding gown.”
I’d picked up the dress at the thrift store for ten dollars. It had a plain top with spaghetti straps and a full tulle skirt, like a tutu. Kasey pulled it over her head, and then I turned away so she could finish changing. I zipped it up and she looked around.
“You know,” I said, “that looks kind of like Pepper’s prom dress from last year.”
It was weak, but I was dying to start interrogating.
Kasey shot me a sideways look, which I ignored.
“Speaking of Pepper…what brought on this whole Mimi reunion? I didn’t think you guys got along.”
“We used to be best friends,” she said coolly. “What’s so weird about us talking?”
“I didn’t say it was weird,” I said. “But since you brought it up, what’s weird is that you broke her arm.”
“Are we going to actually take any pictures?” Kasey asked.
I raised the camera and checked the settings. “What’s weird is that you broke her arm on purpose,” I said. “As I recall.”
I braced myself for an explosion.
I got an unruffled gaze. “Well, I apologized,” Kasey said. “And she understood. So.”
Hey, sorry I broke your arm? That was all it took to get back on Mimi’s good side?
Suddenly, Kasey started spinning, her arms outstretched, her face turned toward the sky. The skirt bloomed out like a flower. I quit talking and started taking pictures.
A minute later, she stopped to rest. It wasn’t a cool day, and the edges of her hairline glistened with sweat. She raised her arm and wiped her forehead. Without warning her, I took a picture, and she gave me a dirty look.
I looked back at the pile of props. “Just try the violin.”
She picked it up, her eyes still veiled with hurt. “You really think it’s that strange?” she asked. “That someone wants to be my friend?”
Okay, no. That’s not how I meant it. “No…I only think it’s strange that Mimi Laird wants to be friends with you.”
“Everyone seems to want me to get on with my life. To be happy.” Kasey’s voice was thoughtful, and she gently tucked the violin under her arm. “Everyone but you, Alexis. Even Pepper is nicer to me than you are. And she’s a senior. And popular.”
Unsure if that was supposed to be a jibe about my own unpopularity, I let it go.
I snapped a couple of pictures, which made Kasey turn away again.
“I do want you to be happy,” I said. “But not if…” If it means you’re doing something bad. Something wrong. Something that would ruin everything for all of us.
She stood up straight—she was almost as tall as me now—and looked me right in the eye. “Not if it means hanging out with people you don’t like?” she asked. “Like Lydia?”
“Yes, in fact,” I said. “Like Lydia. You don’t know her, Kase.”
“No, Lexi, you don’t know her. She’s had a terrible year. Give her a break.”
“Excuse me!” I said. “What about my year?”
Kasey’s mouth fell open.
My mouth fell open, too. At first I couldn’t figure out where that had come from. But then it was like a door had been opened. “You think it was easy?” I asked. “Being home with Mom and Dad? Trying to pretend things were normal? Losing everything we owned? You got to move into a furnished town house, Kase. We had nothing. No clothes, no dishes—my camera, all my pic-tures—everything was gone.”
Kasey’s jaw relaxed, and she looked at me with—was it compassion?
Nope. Totally not compassion. Her face transformed. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed. “Excuse me, I was in a mental institution. I couldn’t wear clothes with buttons, Lexi, because they thought I might choke somebody!”
Then, in a burst of anger, she took the old violin ($4 at the thrift store) and swung it. I managed to snap a picture just as the brittle wood hit a tree trunk and cracked.
Kasey stared at it, shocked at what she’d done. Then she smashed it again, and again, until all that was left was the neck. I took almost a whole roll of film.
Panting, she dropped the violin and turned to me. “I’m sorry if you had a hard year,” she said. “But don’t I deserve a chance to be happy? Why can’t I have friends of my own?”
“Go ahead,” I said. “Find out for yourself that Lydia’s a backstabbing, conniving gossip. But if she ever finds out what really happened to you, you’d better be ready to deal with the Lydia I know. Because not everyone is as forgiving and accepting as I am.”
Kasey sank down to the ground, the wedding dress puddled around her. She closed her eyes and shook her head.
I lifted my camera, but for once I couldn’t find a shot.
All I could see was a fourteen-year-old girl in pain.
Pain caused by me.
She’d lost everything, and now as fast as she could piece together a new life for herself, I was chipping away at it. She was my sister—why couldn’t I be supportive?
Was it really because I was afraid Lydia would hurt her? Or did it go deeper than that? Had I grown so smug in my new life that I wasn’t willing to let go of any of it to make room for Kasey? I couldn’t even share the stupid sofa.
“Kasey…I’m sorry,” I said.
So we’d seen something in the woods. So Lydia was reaching out to lonely freshmen. So (against all odds) Mimi had found forgiveness. What did that have to do with Kasey?
“I’m really, really sorry,” I said again, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. “I made a stupid assumption. I got suspicious, and I thought—” Might as well confess, even if it made me sound evil. “I thought there might be something going on. Something like—like Sarah.”
Her shocked eyes darted up to meet mine, and she recoiled.
“But that was wrong,” I continued. “I know you wouldn’t get involved with that stuff again. You’re smarter than that.”
I hoped she’d stand up, forgive me. We could cry and hug and get the heck out of the woods before we both ended up covered in ticks.
I’d have settled for her storming away.
Worst case, she’d sit there and cry, too hurt to respond.
She didn’t do any of those things. She stared up at me, as surprised as a little fish, her eyebrows perfect arcs.
And when she spoke, her voice was a rush of confession and release.
“But what if I’m not, Lexi?” she asked. “What if I’m not smarter than that?”
I PUT MY HAND OUT and plunked to the ground.
They’d lock her up for years—maybe forever.
It would break our mother’s heart, clean down the center.
Kasey grabbed my hands and held on to them like we were in danger of being swept away. “It’s not like last time,” she said. “It’s not, I swear.”
Weighed down by the props, we went back toward the parking lot, leaning on each other like shipwrecked survivors. Kasey’s gown kept getting caught on sticks and roots, and by the time we made it back to the pavement, the bottom layer of tulle was a shredded mess.
We spent the next few minutes sitting in the motionless car, staring out the windshield at the decaying fountain in the middle of the lake. Finally I put my seat belt on and started the engine.
“Did you do anything to the car? Brakes, fuel line?” My voice was flat, heavy.
She scowled. “No.”
“Tires, power steering, axles?”
“No, Lexi!” she said, folding her arms across her chest and sinking into a deep pout.
As if she had any right. As if she hadn’t, eleven short months earlier, messed with the brakes in the car our dad was driving and sent him careening into a tree. As if it weren’t her fault that he has metal plates in his leg and will never again get through an airport security line without being patted down.
We came to the old LAKEWOOD sign at the entrance to the community.
I hit the brakes so hard that the tires squealed and the car filled with the unmistakable odor of burning rubber.
Kasey shrieked and slammed into her seat belt. “What are you doing?!?”
“Did that thing in the woods last week have something to do with this?”
She was as wide-eyed as a kitten. “What thing?”
“Come on. The thing in the woods!”
“Oh, that.” She sighed. “I don’t know.”
Un-freaking-real. I sat back against my seat.
“Lexi, there’s a car coming behind us.”
“He’ll go around,” I said.
“There’s not room to pass.”
“Fine!” I pulled onto the main road without even looking for traffic. Kasey squealed and bashed against the passenger seat. The other car passed us anyway.
There was no sound except the rumble of the engine and the tires on the road. Halfway home, it started to drizzle. Kasey leaned forward and looked up, as if she could see into the clouds. Miraculously, I made it all the way into the garage without losing my temper again.
“What now?” Kasey asked.
Our parents were out at Dad’s coworker’s wedding; they’d be gone for a few hours, at least. I unbuckled my seat belt and turned to face her. “We’re going to have a talk.”
“Where?”
“The kitchen.”
“Fine,” Kasey said, unbuckling and opening her car door. “But I have to change first.”
“Go ahead of me,” I said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
From Bad to Cursed Page 7