“It’s murky, at best,” Darlene said.
But I was curious. “How does it work?”
“Emma!” Michelle said, glaring at me.
Darlene sat down next to me with the photo in her hands. “You write down the person’s name on a piece of paper, wrap it inside a photograph, and place the scroll inside a bottle of Four Thieves vinegar and throw it into a moving body of water. Then you call on Papa Legba to remove the obstacle from your path, and you visualize the person moving away from you, repeating the word
good-bye
three times.”
“It sounds pretty easy,” I said.
“Emma, you’re supposed to be on my side,” Michelle said.
“I am on your side. That’s why I’m considering it. Overbook needs to go.”
“But this isn’t the way.”
“Well, nothing else has worked.”
Darlene could sense the tension churning between us. She set the photo of Overbrook on my nightstand and put on her coat. “We better get going, child. I want to make the last train before dark.”
Darlene hugged Michelle, but Michelle’s body stayed rigid. I got my keys and told her I’d be right back, but Michelle just lay down on her bed and turned onto her side to face the wall. This whole situation had blown up far beyond our expectations.
But still, I couldn’t let it go. As I drove Darlene into Waverly Falls, I asked her more about the spell.
“So, is a voodoo hex dangerous?”
“No, not really,” she said.
“Can anybody do it? Or do you have to be a voodoo practitioner?”
“Darling, a hex is just a formal way of putting a wish into the universe. The universe likes a balance. And where injustice exists, the spirits like to restore it.”
“So, it’s sort of like karma?”
“Exactly. But karma takes too long.” I laughed. “I’ll send you the ingredients,” she said. “In case you change your mind. And I’ve got other spells, too. Even a spell to reunite lovers. You know, for later.” She winked at me, and I smiled. Our little secret.
I watched Darlene board the train, which chugged slowly out of sight, then I drove back to campus, anxious to talk to Michelle. When I got back to the room, she was still in a foul mood. She would barely answer me when I asked her questions, and she looked like she’d been crying. Finally, I asked her what was wrong. At first she said nothing, just put her headphones on, an old tactic that wasn’t going to work anymore.
“Come on, Michelle,” I said, sitting on the edge of her bed and taking the headphones off her ears. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
She rolled over to face me. “I don’t know,” she said, sighing. “Everything’s gotten so out of control. And I feel like it’s all my fault.”
“Your fault? It’s Overbrook’s fault. He’s the jerk. And he needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Stop it, Emma!” she said, sitting up.
“Stop what?”
“Everything you’re doing. This isn’t your fight.”
“Yes, it is. It’s everyone’s fight.”
“No, actually, it’s not. You’re going off to Paris next year, and I’m going to be stuck here to deal with this by myself. So if you don’t mind, it’s my fight. And I choose to throw in the towel.”
“Michelle, this is your life we’re talking about. Darlene said that the most important thing is for you to be happy. How can you be happy the way things are? How can you not want to fight?”
“But that’s just it,” Michelle said. “Now that everything is this huge spectacle, I’m not happy at all. I’m miserable. Suddenly everyone wants me to be the poster child for coming out in America. I don’t want to be an activist. I just want to be able to hang out with my friends and not be reminded every five seconds how I’m different. I want to be able to dance with my girlfriend on prom night like everyone else, you know?”
I did know, but somehow I’d forgotten. I’d allowed myself to get so swept up in this cause that I had stopped thinking about the individuals behind it.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to comfort her. “I didn’t mean for this to get out of hand.”
“I know,” she said.
“What can I do?”
But she was already off the bed and moving toward the door. “Emma, I don’t want you to do anything, understand?” I nodded, holding back tears. “I know you mean well, but you’ve got to let me handle things on my own, okay?”
“Okay,” I said glumly, watching her put on her red scarf, the one I’d borrowed so many times before. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to see if Jess wants to take a walk with me. I need to get out of here. No offense.”
And then she left our room, and I felt like I’d lost her all over again.
C
HAPTER
23
O
ur punishment for insubordination was that we were barred from all school-sponsored activities for the rest of the year, including prom. Not that we cared; none of us were planning to go to prom anyway out of solidarity with Jess and Michelle. But it also meant we were going to miss the school trip, a weekend in Washington DC to visit the memorials. We were supposed to stay at a hotel with a giant swimming pool and a rooftop deck with views of the National Mall. Michelle had been looking forward to it, especially as the trip was scheduled for her birthday weekend.
Amber and Chelsea, of course, reveled in our defeat. I’d become almost immune to their abuse, but a few of their insults still stung. And the disappointed looks from girls who had trusted me were by far the most painful.
Two weeks passed, and Michelle and Jess were spending all their time together. And while I was happy they had grown so comfortable with each other, I felt almost as lonely as I had at the beginning of the year. So I began running again.
One spring afternoon, I burst out the door and took off like a shot toward the woods, running like I was trying to outrun my own shadow. I waited for the endorphins to flood my brain, hoping to achieve some sort of mental escape, even if it was only temporary.
By the time I reached the log bridge, I was winded. Out of shape. I slowed my pace, pressing on toward Old Campus, hoping to feel that runner’s high as I made my way uphill. The late April weather had infused the campus with the smell of grass and rain and green things. I felt good but for the stitch in my side. I tried to ignore it, but by the time I reached the Commons Building, my lungs were burning and a cramp was stabbing my abdomen. I doubled over under the scorched tree and tried to catch my breath, inhaling the scent of roses coming from the garden beyond.
Feeling a sudden rush from the heady scent, I wandered past the building and into the garden, expecting to see the burnt-out husks that had shrouded this place in gloom all winter. But everything was pink and green, trees bursting with tiny buds, plants springing their tendrils out of the ground like the first weeds of hope. The recent warm spell had awakened hordes of tiny snowdrops and crocuses and swaths of sunny daffodils. I let my fingers trail along a cluster of lamb’s ears, then ducked my way under the forsythia that had grown over the arbor.
Feeling a surge of optimism, I headed back toward the trail and resumed my run, stopping short when I got back to the dorm. Someone was standing in front of the entrance. My brain wouldn’t let me accept who it was, but I knew it in my bones and in my blood and in every other part of my body.
Seeing Gray had the effect of a cyclone ripping through campus with me at its center. I simultaneously wanted to run away and run toward him, slap him and kiss him. Even after all the pain he’d caused me, there was something so comforting about his presence—the familiar planes of his face, the soulfulness of his eyes, the white of his oxford-cloth shirt against his tan skin—all of these filled me with longing and joy and that old familiar ache. I had the inappropriate notion that he was still mine, and I wanted to be his too, forever, no matter what happened. I wanted to blot out the past like erasing a giant black cloud from the sky.
When he saw me, some emotion bloomed on his face—happiness? Ridiculously, I pictured him running to me, whisking me up in his arms and twirling me around, like in a scene from a romantic movie. But neither of us moved. His gaze lingered, both familiar and strange—familiar, because this was the boy who had kissed me on summer nights until my lips burned from his stubble, strange because he’d been away for far too long and I wasn’t sure if he was ever going to touch me again.
What is he doing here? Not just here in front of my dorm, but here in Massachusetts?
Soon, anger and resentment replaced my euphoria. My hands went defiantly to my hips as I took a few steps toward him. I’d thought about this moment forever. What would I say to him now that he was standing right in front of me?
“Emma,” he said, speaking first, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sounding more flustered than angry.
“I have two weeks’ leave before I start ‘A’ School.”
I turned his response over in my mind. “No, I mean what are you doing
here?
”
He bit the inside of his cheek. “I had to see you.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, his eyes squinting in confusion. “Nothing’s wrong. I
wanted
to see you.”
“Oh, so now you want to see me?” I said, feeling an internal collision between the person speaking these harsh words and the girl inside me who was fighting the urge to hug him.
“Don’t do this, Emma,” he said, his face pained. “Don’t be like this, or it’ll kill me.” He moved slowly toward me, bending his head to study me, to see if I could really be as cold and indifferent as I appeared.
“What do you want me to say?”
He reached out as if to grab my hands. “I just want to talk. I don’t expect anything. Can we go just somewhere and talk, you and me?”
No. He couldn’t just show up here unannounced and expect me to drop everything. Not with me standing here in my leggings and oversized Lockwood sweatshirt, a sheen of sweat covering my face.
“I don’t know,” I said, unable to come up with a viable excuse.
“Please.”
I could feel my resolve melting. “Let me take a quick shower first,” I said. “But you’ll have to wait out here. Some of the girls in my dorm would be only too happy to turn me in for having a guy in my room.”
“No problem,” he said.
I ran up the stairs to my room and showered at light speed, spending far too long choosing what to wear and finally deciding on a pale pink cotton shirt with jeans. When I went back downstairs, Gray was standing in the parking lot leaning against his Jeep. My heart catapulted over several cars.
“Hi!” he said, like he was seeing me for the first time. “You look great.”
“Thanks.”
“I figured we could go into Waverly Falls, grab a bite to eat. How does that sound?” He was being tentative with me, like he feared at any moment I might dash away.
“Okay,” I said as he came around to open the passenger door. I was suddenly emboldened by a desire to show him that I’d changed, that I wasn’t the same passive little girl he’d left in October. “Can I drive?” I asked.
“I don’t know, can you?” he said, a tease in his voice.
“Of course.”
He tossed the keys to me, and I hopped into the driver’s seat. Once he’d fastened his seat belt, I let the clutch out and backed out of the parking space, then navigated us smoothly off campus and onto the tree-lined road that skirted Lockwood.
“Wow, you’ve gotten really good,” he said.
“Thanks. My dad gave me the Volvo.”
“He did? That’s great, Emma. How is your dad doing?”
“He’s okay,” I said. “Freaking out about next year.”
“Why?”
“Oh. I’m leaving. I got a scholarship to study in Paris my senior year.”
“Paris?” he said. “Wow, that’s incredible.” There was a twinge of disappointment in his voice. “You always wanted to go to Paris.”
An upbeat song was playing on his iPod, the male vocalist singing about shadows and light, kisses and scars. The driving rhythms gave me a false sense of daring and confidence. This was all too strange. Me driving Gray’s Jeep on a beautiful April day. Too much expectation, too much emotion. I was overloading myself, flooding the engines, setting myself up for a crash.
When we got to Waverly, we walked the shops for a while and talked about nothing of importance. Everything felt so raw and new. Gray kept sneaking nervous glances at me. Our hands were so close I could have easily reached out and grabbed his, held it to my lips like I used to.
It was hard to fight the feeling that we were on a first date, fighting against butterflies and hormones instead of our pasts. Because everything here held some significance—the sushi restaurant where we’d gone on our first date, the dress shop where Gray had asked me to the prom, the coffee shop where we’d had our first fight, the bridge where he’d confessed his deepest secret, and of course, the waterfall where Gray had thought about killing himself.
Now I searched for somewhere neutral for us to go, somewhere those old ghosts couldn’t follow us. We decided on Monarch Gardens, the butterfly conservatory, which had walking trails through gardens and koi ponds. We meandered along the path through the gardens as Gray talked about his airman’s training, which had been grueling but was supposed to be a breeze compared to the Coast Guard training that came next. We stopped between two rows of butterfly shrubs that made for a private little alleyway. Gray asked how school was going, and I told him about some of the drama that had been going on with Overbrook and our recent punishment barring us from all school activities.
“So you can’t go to your prom?” Gray said.
“Well, I wasn’t going to anyway because of Michelle and Jess. But yeah, we’ve all been put on a blacklist.”
“That’s too bad,” Gray said. And then he laughed.
“Is something funny?”
“No, I was just thinking . . .”
“What?”
He was blushing a little, biting his cheek. “It’s just, I had this crazy idea that I might be able to take you to your prom while I was home, since you never got to go to my prom last year.”
I wanted to fall into his arms just then, forgive him everything, tell him I loved him still. Some shred of self-preservation kept me from doing so. Because what was really going on here? It had taken me so long to get over Gray. And now he’d been back for less than twenty-four hours, and I was already acting like a love-struck idiot.