Don't Die Dragonfly (8 page)

If Opal weren’t already dead, I would have killed her.

She could have said something—anything at all!—to convince my grandmother that I was in contact with the other side. Instead, she slammed an “Out to Lunch” sign on our communication channel. I begged and pleaded with her, yet nothing worked.

So I tried to summon a spirit.

I visualized a protective white light shielding me like armor against any dark spirits. Most spirits were cool and eager to find someone who could understand them, maybe pass on a message to a loved one. But you never knew when a stinker would butt in.

Nona stood by with a patient, sympathetic expression while I concentrated hard. “Is anyone there?” I mentally called out.

Nothing.

“Can you hear me? I just want to talk.”

But apparently no one wanted to talk with me. And I blamed Opal.

“You’re doing this to get back at me for telling you to go away,” I silently accused. “Go ahead. Play your games. I can do this on my own.”

Nona gave me a pitiful glance, and that fueled my determination to prove myself. I snapped my fingers and gestured to the phone. “Watch this. I’ll predict who’s calling. Ask anyone to call but don’t tell me who, and I’ll guess who it is before the phone is answered.”

“Aren’t you taking this a bit too far?” she asked, amused.

“Not until you believe me.”

“It’s not that important. You’re beautiful, healthy, and smart. You’re wonderful without any extra powers.”

“Call someone.” I pointed to the phone.

She sighed, but did as I asked. She went into another room to call someone, careful to shut the door so I wouldn’t overhear. And when the phone finally rang a few minutes later, I played the “Who’s Calling” game I’d enjoyed since I was a child.

“It’s a woman.” I forced an image into my head. “She’s blonde—in her thirties and she is … looking for romance.”

I grabbed the receiver on the third ring—and nearly died when I recognized the voice on the other end. Gerby Weatherby was a balding, eighty-something, poker-playing pal of Nona’s.

“The only romance he’s ever after is the cozy union of a pair of aces,” Nona said with a laugh as she thanked Gerby and hung up.

“But I was so sure … ” My shoulders sagged. “How could I be wrong?”

“It’s okay, honey.” Nona hugged me, her hands warm from being near the stove.

“No. It’s not.” I looked around the room, seeing, hearing, feeling nothing.

Despite the comfort of Nona’s arms, I’d never felt so alone.

* * *

How many times had I wished to be normal? No voices, ghosts, angels, or bossy spirit guides. Be careful what you wish for.

When the phone rang later, I didn’t even try to guess who was calling. But I probably could have.

“You sound down,” Josh said sympathetically.

“Just tired.” I curled up with the phone on the living room couch.

“So go to bed early and dream of me.”

“Always.” I smiled.

We didn’t really talk about anything in particular. Mostly, I enjoyed hearing his voice. He could read the phone book and make it sound interesting. We ended with plans to go out to the hospital on Saturday morning so I could watch Josh do magic for the kids.

When I hung up, I felt even more alone. I missed Josh already, but it went deeper than that. The down mood lingered throughout dinner. I didn’t say much while Nona told me her good news about matchmaking Mr. Picky with a smart, easy-going Gemini woman. I half listened, toying with my food. There was an ache inside, as if I’d lost my best friend. And I caught myself several times tuning Nona out and straining to hear beyond ordinary sounds—hoping for a familiar bossy voice.

Before I went to bed that night, I tried to cheer myself by plugging in the goofy green frog nightlight Dad had found for me in Mexico. It had a crooked froggy grin and buggy, crossed eyes fixed on a fly perched on its nose. In a cozy glow of green, I climbed underneath cool covers and fell asleep to sweet thoughts of Josh.

Only my dreams took a dark turn and fluttered into a swarm of dragonflies—giant evil-eyed creatures. Blood and wings and danger. A monstrous dragon had Danielle in its claws, flying high beyond sky and stars. Then the claws opened and Danielle fell. She screamed, over and over, and I tried to catch her. But my arms wouldn’t move, bound together, helpless.

I awoke to find the twisted covers binding my arms like ropes.

Struggling to untangle myself, I pushed the covers on the floor and waited for my heart to slow. I glanced around my room, then looked again because something had changed. My nightlight! I realized with a jolt. The cross-eyed frog had been replaced with an angel-winged nightlight.

“How did that—Opal! You did this!”

Closing my eyes, I looked for my spirit guide. I never actually saw all of her—just fuzzy bits and pieces; it was a sense of her presence that I wanted. Like a bat flying blindly at night by internal sonar.

“Opal, did you switch my nightlight?”

I never did like frogs,
her voice came through strong and sassy.
Slimy creatures, caused plagues back in my day.

“You’re here!” I rejoiced. “I couldn’t feel you. I thought you were gone.”

I never left.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

There wasn’t anything of importance to say.

“That never stopped you before. And now Nona doesn’t believe me.”

It’s not my place to interfere.

“You’ve been interfering my whole life. Why stop now?”

You have an odd way of showing gratitude. Let me remind you that I am here as your guide, not as your servant.

“What about being my friend? I needed you earlier and you let me down. I started to doubt myself—thought maybe I
had
lost my gift, lost you.”

You’ve lost nothing; in fact, you will gain a new gift soon—if you are wise enough to recognize good fortune.

“Nothing’s been good lately. Thanks to you, Nona thinks I’m delusional, and my attempt at helping someone could end up getting me in big trouble.”

True blessings appear in many forms and wisdom is in the journey. My dear child, you vex me to no end. You have much to learn.

A sigh and then she was gone.

Walking over to my wall, I plugged the green frog nightlight back into the socket. Then I took the angel nightlight to bed with me, hugging it against my chest.

My best friend hadn’t deserted me.

Opal was back.

During my first period class the next morning, I was called to the principal’s office.

When the teacher gave me the message, I stood on shaky legs and looked over at Penny-Love. She whispered, “What’s he want with you?”

“Haven’t a clue,” I lied.

“Weird. But it’s probably nothing.”

“Yeah.” I hid my worry with a shrug. “Probably nothing.”

“Dunlap is okay,” she added as I shoved my book into my backpack. “Those rumors about him slamming a kid against a wall are exaggerated. And I don’t think he really broke Nick’s arm.”

Gulping, I glanced over at Josh. He gave me a thumbs-up gesture.

As my footsteps echoed in the near-empty school hall, I had a déjà vu moment. Walking down a hall in a different school, passing students who pointed and stared. Fearful whispers. “Witch.” “Voodoo Queen.” “Devil’s Daughter.” “Freak.” Summoned before a different principal, the school board, and a committee of “concerned parents.” Reading a petition, but unable to finish because my eyes filled with tears. My mother arriving with clicking heels, then leaving with a slammed door. Her fury and shame directed at me as we drove away, never to return.

“The principal wants to see me?” I asked the secretary who glanced up from her computer when I entered the office.

“Are you Sabine Rose?”

“Yes.”

With a black pen, she crossed off my name from a typed list. “Please go inside. He’s expecting you.”

I reached for the door and turned the knob.

“Good morning, Miss Rose,” Principal Dunlap greeted in a hearty tone. He was not a typical high–school principal. He was nicknamed “the Cowboy” because he wore denim and cowboy boots instead of a suit and tie. A gold belt buckle gleamed with the outline of a bucking bronco as he stood and introduced a stocky uniformed man sitting off to the side. “Let me introduce Officer Peters. He’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“Sunday night’s vandalism and the assault on Mr. Watkins.”

Oh, that, I thought nervously.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” the principal added. “Only some routine questions. Are you comfortable with that?”

“I—I guess.”

Officer Peters gestured for me to sit across from him and picked up a pen and notepad. “Where were you Sunday evening around nine-thirty?”

“At a friend’s house. But what does this have to do with—”

“Jillian Grossmer,” he interrupted in a crisp tone. “1396 Sapphire Way. Attending a cheerleading meeting?”

“Yes.”

Dunlap drummed his fingers on his desk. “But you aren’t a cheerleader.”

“They’re my friends. So I hang out with them.” I clasped my hands, staring down at my fingers, remembering paint smudges.

“Miss Grossmer confirmed that,” Officer Peters said, reading from his notes. “She also said that you left early.”

“Yes.”

“Did you walk home?”

“Yes. It’s not too far.”

“You reside with your grandmother.” Another glance at his notes. “At 29 Lilac Road?”

“Uh-huh.” My heart quickened, and I wished I could read his mind. But I was too nervous to know my own thoughts, much less understandsomeone else’s.

Officer Peters stood swiftly and reached around back—and I sucked in a deep breath, expecting him to grab handcuffs and read me my rights. But all he held out was a photograph. “On your walk home Sunday, did you happen to see any of these individuals?”

It was a photo of a group of jocks from our rival school. Relieved, I answered truthfully, “No.”

“Are you acquainted with any of these young men?”

I shook my head.

“But you know who they are?”

“Who doesn’t? Our football team slaughtered their team thirty-two to seven.”

“On your walk home last night, did you notice anyone suspicious entering or leaving the school?”

“No. No one at all.”

And then I was excused.

* * *

At lunch, everyone was still talking about the vandalism. It turned out that a lot of students had been questioned, so it wasn’t just me. I wasn’t even a suspect. Yet.

During my journalism class, I pulled Manny aside and asked anxiously, “Have you found out anything?”

“I’m working on it. I got some ideas who might be involved.”

“Who?”

“Can’t talk here.” He looked around. “Meet me by the library after school for a surprise.”

“New information?”

“Even better.” He smiled wickedly. “Get ready to be blown away.”

An image of ruby red flower petals with long thorny stems popped into my head, and I smelled roses. “What do roses have to do with it?”

He wagged a finger at me. “No using your woo-woo powers on me.”

“I wasn’t! Images just pop in my head sometimes.”

“Try to imagine some fame and fortune in my future,” he teased. Then someone called his name and he left.

During class, I thought about the roses. Was it a clue? Had the vandals hidden something in a rose bush? Did they live near a rose garden? Or did it have something to do with my last name, “Rose”? But that didn’t feel right. The connection wasn’t to me.

When the final bell rang, I hurried to my locker, dumped the books I didn’t need for homework, and went straight to the library.

When I saw Manny, I almost turned around because he wasn’t alone. He was deep in conversation with a Goth girl I’d seen a few times around school. Her dramatic appearance screamed “I’m a freak and proud of it!” Her sleek black hair glittered with gold sparkles and her eyes were shaded in heavy black kohl shadows. Gaudy rings crowded on her petite fingers, gold hoops pierced through her eyebrows, and a metal chain dog collar encircled her neck.

I ducked behind a corner, curious. Was Manny part of the Goth crowd? I didn’t think so. From what I knew of him, he purposely shunned all groups, creating his own unique style. So maybe this girl had some information about the vandalism.

“Hey, Manny,” I said, stepping forward.

“There you are.” Manny waved. “We’ve been waiting.”

“So you’re Sabine.” The girl studied me, her gray eyes narrowed critically. “Manny was telling me about you.”

“Oh?” I shot Manny a warning look.

“Yeah. Like how you help him on the
Shout-Out.”
She looked at me hard for a few moments, as if sizing me up. “Is that your natural hair color?”

I nodded. Manny was just looking at both of us, a slight smile on his face.

“That black streak is wicked,” she added. “With some streaks of red—”

“Thanks, I like my hair the way it is,” I said, sounding unintentionally bitchy.

“Suit yourself.” She rolled her eyes as she turned to Manny. “Listen, Manny, I gotta go.”

“Not yet.” Manny grabbed her arm.

“I should be the one to go,” I said uncomfortably.

“Neither of you is going anywhere. Not until I tell you my surprise,” he insisted “Or actually introduce her.”

“Her? Your surprise is a person?”

“Yeah.” Manny gestured with a dramatic sweep of his arm to the Goth girl. “Sabine, meet Thorn. Your new partner.”