Season of the Witch (11 page)

“He should pass,” says my mom worriedly.

“Foot, foot.” My dad points at me.

I get up, stand on the one foot. Think only, You win, we win. You win, we win.

“And he makes the shot from downtown!” cheers my dad.

“Whoo!” I call from my perch.

Before I can go back to my seat, L.A. turns the ball over and Dallas makes another two points. “Stay there, stay there,” says my dad.

“They need you,” jokes my mom.

The Mavs are winning and that awful feeling of flatness and defeat has left the room. You win, we win, you win, we win.… I chant it over and over, my leg bent at the knee. You win, we win, you win, we win. My eyes are closed now, despite the fact that it’s very hard to stay on one foot that way. I hear my parents cheering, “Go, go, go!” A burst of “Oh, yeah!” and clapping.

My mom counts down the clock, “Ten, nine, eight, seven …”

And the game is over. The Mavs have won. And my parents
are with me on my one foot and we’re all ridiculously bunched together and hugging.

On Tuesday, I’m in the library when I overhear Jacob Carpio talking to Lily Bar David. “Yeah, I talked to his dad yesterday. He had to skip the interview.”

Jacob and Lily are friends with Oliver. They must be talking about him, they have to be. I slip behind a bookcase so they don’t see me.

Lily says, “Poor guy, he must be so bummed.”

“Pretty much,” says Jacob. “Let’s face it, this hasn’t been the best year for him.…”

There’s a short silence. Then Lily asks, “Has he seen Chloe at all?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hm,” says Lily. “Well, maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

“Maybe not,” says Jacob.

Well, I think. Well, well, well.

The next day, I’m cramming stuff into my locker when Ella hurries over and asks, “Do you want to hear Oliver-and-Chloe gossip or you don’t care?”

“Eh,” I say casually. “I’m easy. Hit me.”

She beams. “Well, you know how he lost his voice and couldn’t do the interview?”

I nod.

“Apparently, he’s in mondo depression mode. His friends are
all visiting him, trying to cheer him up. Only there’s one friend he doesn’t want to see.…”

She pauses for dramatic effect. “Wanna guess who?”

“Does it start with a ‘C’?”

“Wild, huh? And she is de
men
ted.”

I shrug. “What else is new?”

Just then, Cassandra comes out of the stairwell. I remember she asked me not to let Ella know we’re friends, but it’s impossible. She’s right there in front of us.

As casually as I can, I say, “Hey.”

Cassandra nods, says “Hi” to the space between me and Ella. Then she keeps walking down the hall.

I feel Ella looking at me. She says, “I didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

“Because of you,” I mumble, and wonder why I feel like I’m cheating.

On Friday, I’m on my way out to lunch when I spot Chloe on the plaza outside the entrance to school. She’s on the phone, pacing one step forward, one step back as she listens. I hang back, out of immediate sight range.

Chloe’s nodding impatiently.

Finally, she interrupts. “I promise, I swear, I will not make him talk for long, Mr. Chen. Just—if his voice is getting better …”

It’s been one week since Oliver lost his voice. He should be able to talk now. There’s a pause. Then Chloe snaps, “Well, I know he talked to his friend Jacob, so I know he
can
talk.”

So Oliver hasn’t even called Chloe.

Softer now, she says, “I understand. I guess, let him know I’d love to hear from him? Okay. Thanks, Mr. Chen.”

As I duck back inside school for safety, I think, Gee, Chloe. First your man cheats on you, then he has a major crisis and doesn’t get in touch.… Kind of unsettling. I could almost feel sorry for you.

Almost.

I look up, see Cassandra come out of the stairwell. She pauses to look at the school announcement board, a sign she doesn’t want to make contact.

But she puts her hand behind her back, wiggles her fingers at me.

I wiggle mine back.

Monday. The interviews are over. The committee has left. And Oliver is back at school.

I tell myself this is not important to me. What is important is studying for my first Spanish test. Thank God, I have a free study period in the morning. On the second floor, there’s a row of study cubbies—basically a long desk with little walls set up to create white boxes. Most of them have tiny graffiti notes on the walls.

As I sit down at one, I see a little tiny scribble. It says, “Ban all sluts!”

I lick my thumb, try to rub it out. It leaves an ugly blue smear. I get up and move.

Then I hear, “Hey.”

Oliver is standing by my seat.

“Hi.” I keep it neutral. “How are you?”

“Okay.” His voice is still thin and scratchy. “My dad said you called. When I was—” He looks down, seems in fact to lose the power of speech.

I can’t resist. “Did the doctors say what it was?”

He nods. “They said stress. That maybe the whole thing with the interview—like, I put too much pressure on myself and my body had this weird reaction.”

“Oh.”

“They said maybe it was just as well I didn’t get the internship. That I need to learn to take it easy. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. How hard I take stuff. I have to not do that.” He actually looks me in the eye to say this: “Not blame myself for every little thing.”

Wow, I think. Medical permission to be a jerk. Nice.

“Well, glad you’re better,” I say, and turn back to my work.

Oliver perches on the edge of the next seat over, says, “Just—when I was sick? When I couldn’t talk? I kept thinking—”

He strangles on his own words. I say, “Yeah?”

“I don’t know. I had this huge feeling that there was something I needed to say to you. When my dad said you called, I somehow felt like you knew that. I know that sounds totally insane.”

Not entirely, I think. “What’d you feel like you had to say?”

He sighs, stares into the white cube like it has answers. “Just … you’ve been nice to me. With everything that happened, you could have been harsh, but you weren’t. Like, you even called to see how I was doing. That was really cool.”

This makes me feel slightly guilty. “Well …”

Oliver takes this as an apology. Nodding eagerly, he says, “I
mean, maybe you were a
little
harsh that one time when you were upset about Chloe—”

Upset, I think. Is that what I was? How about totally freaking out?

Then Oliver says, “But I get why that happened.”

This is meant to be a big fat gift. Oliver “gets it.” Only he so doesn’t. I feel a surge of anger and I look down at the floor. The hate is running through my body like an electric current.

Even Oliver clues in. He stammers, “Well, anyway, I—I …”

My head snaps up. “What, Oliver?
What?
”

His lips move, but nothing comes out. Guess the curse is still working.

But then he blurts out, “I miss you. I’d really like us to be …”

At this point, I don’t care what Oliver wants.

I’m about to shove back my chair and get up. Then I see Zeena standing at the door to the computer lab. Oliver half rises in a panic. From Zeena’s expression, there’s no question that she heard what he said.

Oliver blithers, “Uh, oh, hey, Zeena …”

Zeena’s hostile eyes are fixed on me. She advances, saying, “Don’t … even … think …”

But you have to have some wit to finish that sentence, and Zeena has none. Pushing back my chair, I say, “Excuse me. I think this is my cue to split.”

As I go, I hear Zeena call, “Yeah, you better run. Run fast. But don’t think we won’t find you. Don’t even think—”

I wave my fingers in the air à la Cassandra. Over my shoulder, I say, “Ciao, Oliver. Nice talking to you.”

That afternoon, Ella rushes up to me. She’s all excited and pop-eyed. I swear, I can feel her vibe like a million tiny tentacles reaching out to suck up other people’s energy.

“Hey!” she says, breathless. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, yeah. Why?”

“Uh, um …” Ella bobs like a beach ball. Then she cries, “Zeena’s telling the whole world she saw you and Oliver together. Like
together
together.”

“Oh, for—”

“Is it true?”

“
No
, it’s not true. We talked for like a minute.”

She bites her lip. “Well, you might want to let Chloe know that. Zeena said you guys were flirting big-time. Chloe’s totally on the rampage.”

And of course she’s blaming me. My stomach tightens.

“Are you okay?” Ella asks.
Are you freaking? Can I see? Can I see?

“I’m fine,” I bark.

“Okay.” She nods uncertainly. “Only—”

“What?”

“Just—I was going to ask if you want to walk home today.”

I’m so scared and furious, I can’t think. I sputter, “I don’t know when I’m leaving.”

Ella hesitates. “I think you should really go straight home. And someone should be with you. Chloe’s really, really mad.”

“Chick is de
ranged
,” I say, my voice rising.

“That’s what I’m saying,” says Ella. “I’m worried she’s going to
try and … do something to you. Do you want me to walk you home?”

Ella is a sweetheart. But I don’t need a sweetheart right now. I need Cassandra. She and I are a team; together we have the power.

“No,” I tell Ella. “I’ll be fine.”

ALL AFTERNOON, I SEND OUT distress signals to Cassandra.

Hello, Cassandra?

Yo, babe, need you
.

Seriously. Kind of in trouble here
.

I get back silence. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her today. What if she’s not even in school?

I can feel the eyes on me all afternoon.

Everyone knows. Everyone knows
.

I have my Spanish test last period. I can’t concentrate. When I finish, I take my paper up to Señorita Romero. I glance at the clock: three-twelve. Usually by three-thirty, the only people left in the building are kids doing after-school stuff.

Oh, and the ones who are waiting to kill you.

Cassandra, please!

Three-fifteen. School’s over. Kids tumble out of class, racing for freedom. I try to stay with the crowd as much as possible.

In the hallway, I run into Malcolm Willander, who asks if I
understood what we were supposed to do for calc. He is half flirting with me, and even though I’m not into him, I wonder if it’s worth it to keep the conversation going for protection.

Then two of his friends come by. He says, “So, catch you later?” and I say, “Yeah, text me,” and we’re done.

Three-twenty-five. There are still some kids lingering. If I hurry—but not obviously—and stick to crowded areas, I can make it out of the building.

I bump into Nina Watts, who’s on her way to drama club. Wagging a finger, she says, “Were you talking to Oliver, naughty girl?”

“Not me,” I throw over my shoulder, and keep going.

I pull open the door to the stairwell, look down it. The dark tunnel feels scary.

Most kids are gone now. If I get stuck in an isolated spot, I could be dead. Maybe I should just wait this out. Stay put till everyone’s gone. Chloe and Co. won’t wait around forever. I’m sure they have some tremendously important shopping to do.

I turn around, head back toward the library. There’s always someone in the library after school—some club or kids doing work. And even if no one’s there, books just feel safe. You can’t hurt someone around all those books, right? If I can just make it to the library, I’ll be safe, I think crazily, now all but running down the deserted hallway.

“Finally,” says Chloe, stepping out in front of me. Startled, I gasp.

I turn to run, but Zeena and Isabelle move in behind, blocking my exit.

“Hold her,” says Chloe. Zeena’s nails dig into one wrist, Isabelle’s
into my arm. They start shoving me toward a nearby bathroom. I wriggle, squirm, try to flail free. But they’re too strong, too fast.

Chloe opens the bathroom door—“Madame,” she says with a nasty smile. And I am pushed inside.

Our school bathrooms have three stalls with doors. To the left are three sinks and a long mirror. All the stalls are empty. I take a deep breath, get ready to scream for help. Suddenly, I feel an explosion of pain at the back of my skull. Someone’s got my hair in her fist and is twisting hard. I cry out, swing my backpack, desperate to hit her. Zeena catches my hand and claws my fingers off the strap. Then she tosses the bag to Isabelle. I hear a splash and laughter. I am vaguely aware that my backpack is now in the toilet.

My hand hurts so fucking bad, worse than anything. There is blood. I can feel it sticky on my fingers.

“That’s it for the bag,” says Chloe lightly. “Now for the bitch.”

A wrestling match. Isabelle and Zeena take hold of my arms, start dragging me back. Instinctively, I struggle, twisting my body around, flinging myself forward. Chloe reaches down, grabs my ankle. I kick wildly, but Isabelle and Zeena pull me back and I end up on the floor. They drag me by the arms into the stall. I drum my feet on the floor, make horrible whining noises, but I don’t have the breath to really scream.