"Not if I'm going to be concentrating on
you,"
James said. "And there are certain people who can't
be influenced by mind control at all-your brother,
here, is one of them. Your mom could be another."
"All right; I'll get them to go out," Phillip said. He
gulped, obviously uncomfortable and trying to hide
it. "And once they're gone
...
then what?"
James looked at him inscrutably. "Then Poppy and
I do what we have to do. And then you and I
watch TV."
"Watch TV," Phil repeated, sounding numb.
"I've got to be here when the doctor comes-and
the people from the funeral home."
Phil looked utterly horrified at the mention of the
funeral home. For that matter, Poppy didn't feel too
cheerful about it herself. If it weren't for the rich,
strange blood coursing inside her, calming her ...
"Why?"
Phillip was demanding of James.
James shook his head, very slightly. His face was
expressionless. "I just do," he said. "You'll understand later. For now, just trust me."
Poppy derided not to pursue it.
"So you guys are going to have to make up tomor
row," she said. "In front of Mom and Cliff. Otherwise
it'll be too weird for you to hang out together."
"It'll be too weird no matter what," Phil said under
his breath. "All right. Come over tomorrow after
noon and we'll make up. And I'll get them to leave us with Poppy."
James nodded. "I'd better go now." He stood. Phil
stepped back to let him out the door, but James hesi
tated by Poppy.
"You gonna be all right?" he asked in a low voice.
Poppy nodded staunchly.
"Tomorrow, then." He touched her cheek with his
fingertips. The briefest contact, but it made Poppy's
heart leap and it turned her words into the truth.
She
would
be all right.
They looked at each other a moment, then James
turned away.
Tomorrow, Poppy thought, watching the door
close behind him. Tomorrow is the day I die.
One thing about it, Poppy thought-not many peo
ple were privileged to
know
exactly when they were
going to die. So not many people had the chance to
say goodbye the way she planned to.
It didn't matter that she wasn't really
dying. When
a caterpillar changes into a butterfly it loses its cater
pillar life. No more shinnying up twigs, no more
eating leaves.
No more El Camino High School, Poppy thought.
No more sleeping in this bed.
She was going to have to leave it all behind. Her
family,
her hometown. Her entire human life. She
was starting out into a strange new future with no
idea of what was ahead. All she could do was trust
James-and trust her own ability to adapt.
It was like looking at a pale and curving road
stretching in front of her, and not being able to see
where it went as it disappeared into the darkness.
No more Rollerblading down the boardwalk at
Venice Beach, Poppy thought. No more slap of wet
feet on concrete at the Tamashaw public pool. No
more shopping at the Village.
To say goodbye, she looked at every corner of her
room. Goodbye white-painted dresser. Goodbye desk
where she had sat writing hundreds of letters-as
proven by the stains where she'd dropped sealing wax on the wood. Goodbye bed, goodbye misty
white bed curtains that had made her feel like an
Arabian princess in a fairy tale. Goodbye stereo.
ouch,
she thought. My stereo. And my CDs.
I can't
leave them; I can't....
But of course she could. She would have to.
It was probably just as well that she had to deal
with the stereo before she walked out of her room.
It built her up to start dealing with the loss of
people.
"Hi, Mom," she said shakily, in the kitchen.
"Poppy! I didn't know you were up."
She hugged her mother hard, in that one moment
aware of so many little sensations: the kitchen tile
under her bare feet, the faint coconut smell that
dung to her mother's hair from her shampoo. Her
mother's arms around her, and the warmth of her
mother's body.
"Are you hungry, sweetie? You look so much better."
Poppy couldn't stand to look into her mother's
anxiously hopeful face, and the thought of food made
her nauseated. She burrowed back into her moth
er's shoulder.
"Just hold me a minute," she said.
It came to her, then, that she wasn't going to be
able to say goodbye to everything after all. She couldn't tie up all the loose ends of her life in one afternoon. She might be privileged to know that this was her last day here, but she was going out just like
everyone else-unprepared.
"Just remember I love you," she muttered into her
mother's shoulder, blinking back tears.
She let her mother put her back to bed, then. She
spent the rest of the day making phone calls. Trying to learn
a little
bit about the life she was about to
exit, the people she was supposed to know. Trying
to appreciate it all, fast,
before she had to leave it.
"So, Elaine, I miss you," she said into the mouth
piece, her eyes fixed on the sunlight coming in her window.
"So, Brady, how's it going?"
"So, Laura,
thanks
for the flowers."
"Poppy, are you
okay?"
they all said. "When are
we going to
see
you again?"
Poppy couldn't answer. She wished she could call
her dad, but nobody knew where he was.
She also wished she had actually
read
the play
Our
Town
when she'd been assigned it last year, instead of using Cliff Notes and quick thinking to fake it. All she
could remember now was that it was about a dead girl
who got the chance to look at one ordinary day in her
life and really appreciate it. It might have helped her
sort out her own feelings now-but it was too late.
I wasted a lot of high school, Poppy realized. I used
my brains to outsmart the teachers-and that really
wasn't very smart at all.
She discovered in herself a new respect for Phil,
who actually used his brain to learn things. Maybe
her brother wasn't just a pitiful straitlaced grind after
all. Maybe-oh,
God-he'd
been right all along.
I'm changing so much, Poppy thought, and she
shivered.
Whether it was the strange alien blood in her or
the cancer itself or just part of growing up, she didn't
know. But she was changing.
The doorbell rang. Poppy knew who it was without
leaving the room. She could sense James.
He's here to start the play, Poppy thought, and looked at her dock. Incredible. It was almost four o'clock already.
Time literally seemed to be flying by.
Don't panic. You have hours yet, she told herself,
and picked up the phone again. But it seemed only
minutes later that her mother came knocking on the
bedroom door.
"Sweetie,
Phil
thinks we should
go
out--and
James has come over-but I told him I don't think
you want to see him-and I don't really want to
leave you at night...." Her mother was uncharacter
istically flustered.
"No, I'm happy to see James. Really. And I think
you
should take a break. Really.
"Well--I'm glad you and James have made up. But
I still don't
know...."
It took time to convince her, to persuade her that Poppy was so much better, that Poppy had weeks or months ahead of her to live. That there was no rea
son to stick around on this particular Friday night.
But at last Poppy's mother kissed her and agreed. And then there was nothing to do but say goodbye
to Cliff. Poppy got a hug from him and finally forgave
him for not being her dad.
You did your best, she thought as she disengaged
from his crisp dark suit and looked at his boyishly
square jaw. And you're going to be the one to take care of Mom-afterward. So I forgive you. You're all right, really.
And then Cliff and her mom were walking out,
and it was the last time, the very last time to say
goodbye. Poppy called it after them and they both
turned and smiled.
When they were gone, James and Phil came into Poppy's room. Poppy looked at James. His gray eyes
were opaque, revealing nothing of his feelings.
"Now?" she said, and her voice trembled slightly.
"Now."
CHAPTER 10
Things have to be right," Poppy said. "Things have to be just right for this. Get some candles, Phil."
Phil was looking ashen and haggard. "Candles?"
"As many as you can find. And some pillows. I need lots of pillows." She knelt by the stereo to ex
amine a haphazard pile of CDs. Phil stared at her
briefly, then went out.
"
Structures from Silence . . .
no. Too repetitious,"
Poppy said, rummaging through the pile.
"
Deep
For
est
-no.
Too hyper. I need something
ambient."
"How about this?" James picked a CD up. Poppy
looked at the label.
Music to Disappear In.
Of course. It was perfect. Poppy took the CD and
met James's gaze. Usually he referred to the haunting
soft strains of ambient music as 'New Age mush.'
"You understand," she said quietly.
"Yes. But you're not dying, Poppy. This isn't a
death scene you're setting up."
"But I'm going away. I'm changing." Poppy couldn't explain exactly, but something in her said
she was doing the right thing. She was dying to her
old life. It was a solemn occasion, a Passage.
And of course, although neither of them men
tioned it, they both knew she
might
die for good.
James had been very frank about that-some people
didn't make it through the transition.
Phil came back with candles, Christmas candles,
emergency candles, scented votive candles. Poppy di
rected him to place them around the room and light
them. She herself went to the bathroom to change into her best nightgown. It was flannel, with a pattern of little strawberries.
Just imagine, she thought as she left the bathroom.
This is the last time I'll ever walk down this hall, the
last time I'll push open my bedroom door.
The bedroom was beautiful. The soft glow of can
dlelight gave it an aura of sanctity, of mystery. The
music was unearthly and sweet, and Poppy felt she
could fall into it forever, the way she fe!l in her
dreams.
Poppy opened the closet and used a hanger to bat
a tawny stuffed lion and a floppy gray Eeyore down from the top shelf. She took them to her bed and put them beside the mounded pillows. Maybe it was
stupid, maybe it was childish, but she wanted them
with her.
She sat on the bed and looked at James and Phillip.
They were both looking at her. Phil was dearly upset,
touching his mouth to stop its trembling. James was
upset, too, although only someone who knew him as
well as Poppy did would have been able to tell.