The Book of Dares for Lost Friends (7 page)

As she walked to the kitchen, she heard music playing in her mom's bedroom. The sorrowful songs all sounded the same. A female voice complained how he'd done her wrong.

Lanora sighed and tightened the belt on her robe. She decided to fix a special brunch for her mom. She got two matching blue mugs, the sugar bowl, and the cream pitcher. It was important never to put the milk carton on the table. She looked in the cupboard for something she could make that wasn't cereal. She spread peanut butter on slices of bread, trimmed off the crusts, and cut them into triangles. She garnished the plates with orange wedges. Then she arranged everything on the table in the most pleasing way.

“Oh, look what you've done. This is so pretty.” Emma sat across from her daughter and stirred sugar into her tea.

Lanora smiled. She was glad her mom noticed. Not everybody did.

“It's nice you don't have to rush off to school, isn't it? And I don't have to go to work. We can sit here in our robes.” Emma's lavender robe was faded and her slippers had worn toes. She said she didn't need new ones, but Lanora suspected that Emma wanted to wear the things Lanora's father had bought her.

Lanora was never going to cling to the past. She was going to create the best of all possible lives. Excellence was out there. All she had to do was make it.

“It's going okay? School?” Emma said.

“Oh, yes. It's going quite well.”

“You like your teachers?”

Lanora raised one eyebrow. This was something she was practicing.

“You don't like your teachers?” Emma said.

“I prefer my friends.” She smiled as she said the word because, of course, that word meant something different to someone like her mom.

“The three girls you told me about?”

Lanora stirred her tea. Actually there were four now. Another girl had started hanging around the A Team. Her name was April. Lanora had been surprised that April joined them. April was not A-caliber material. She was so shallow, in fact, that Lanora wondered whether April presented another kind of test, just like the so-called shopping. Alicia had watched Lanora quite closely when Ariel had asked April if she had any plans for the weekend and April had said, “You know.” And then they all smiled, as if they did know. So Lanora had smiled, too.

If there were a competition for intelligence or taste or strength, then Lanora had no doubt which of them would win. But she didn't want to ride into battle today. She didn't care what the others were doing. She deserved a treat. These empty hours were a blank canvas.

“Saturday,” she whispered to the rim of her mug.

“What are you going to do today?” Emma said.

Lanora nibbled around the perimeter of her sandwich to preserve its shape for as long as possible. What should she do? Visit the castle in Central Park? She always loved climbing the tower, but it was only three stories. Even if you considered the height of the cliff, it wasn't nearly exhilarating enough. Maybe Times Square? The wild lights throbbed with energy. But so many tourists went there. Lanora didn't want to be annoyed by people who had no idea where they were going. Rockefeller Center? Lanora loved the golden statue of Prometheus being given the gift of fire. But that was too near to her father's office. Sometimes he worked on Saturdays. And even if he weren't actually there, that part of the city still belonged to him.

“Are you going to see Val?”

“Val?” Lanora put down her sandwich.

“You do still see Val, don't you?”

“Of course. All the time.” That wasn't a lie. Lanora did see Val in the halls at school and sometimes on the street. Those encounters were never easy. Sometimes when she saw her, she wanted to run up to her and hug her. Sometimes she wanted to grab her hand and drag her to the Bower and tell her everything, every thought, every feeling. But she couldn't. No matter how tempting, Lanora had to stick to her plan. She had to treat Val like a relic from an ancient civilization. A piece of the past to be put in safekeeping until it was useful again.

She washed the dishes and went to get dressed. She decided to wear her black-and-yellow jacket. It was her favorite even though it wasn't at all appropriate for school.

The phone rang as she was buttoning her blouse.

“Oh, it's you,” Emma said.

Of course. Lanora's father wanted a progress report. He wanted to hear about her test scores and the praise scribbled in the margins of her essays. She had a different kind of triumph in mind. She intended to rule the world—at least her corner of it. She put on her jacket, smoothed her hair, and walked past her mom.

“See you later,” she said when she was halfway out the door.

“Wait. Your father wants to talk to you.”

“Why? We've only had two weeks of school. I haven't gotten any grades yet.”

*   *   *

Lanora walked briskly down Broadway. She hadn't decided on a destination; she would know it when she got there. In the meantime, she enjoyed the sensation of purposefully striding along, passing everyone, crossing streets even when the sign said
DON'T
WALK
.

And then a little troop of fairies skipped across the sidewalk. Their dresses were made of gossamer dragonfly wings. Their hair was pinned up with remnants of the Milky Way. Their feet danced in slippers made from rose petals. They twirled until their skirts lifted them above the ground.

Lanora clapped her hands with delight. She extended her arms to the fairies. But their minders herded them across the plaza and into the opera house.

“Hurry up, girls. We don't want to be late for
Sleeping Beauty.
”

She sat on the rim of the fountain. When she was seven, her father had brought her and her mom to the ballet at Lincoln Center. She was so excited to see magic come to life. She barely even noticed all the times he slipped away from them in the dark.

Something glittered on the ground. She picked up a crystal earring. It would have been perfect for the Collection of Magical Devices. She wondered who had the red velvet box. Was it at Val's? Or was it in her own closet? She held the earring up toward the sunshine. Its cut edges made sparkles dance across her other hand.

Then she saw them. The A Team. With April. All four girls were looking at her. Lanora quickly dropped the earring.

They said, “Hi, Lanora.” Like, we see you. You may have thought you fooled us. But now we know you are someone who picks up trash and pretends it's a star.

“You dropped your earring,” Alicia said.

Anna kicked it closer to Lanora's foot.

Lanora made her mouth smile at them even as her eyes searched out details. Why were they there? What could she find against them? As usual they were immune to criticism. That was how they lived their lives.

“Don't you want it anymore?” Ariel said.

“Maybe she wants new earrings,” Alicia said.

“Earrings are easy to get,” Anna said.

“Even
she
could get earrings,” Alicia said.

Lanora stood up. She rose to that challenge. “Are you going ‘shopping' now?” Lanora said the word in the special way.

“No,” Alicia said. Like how could Lanora be so dumb.

“We have tickets to a show at Lincoln Center.” April showed Lanora the colorful rectangles. She spread them out so that Lanora could easily count. One, two, three, four.

Lanora looked down at her feet so she wouldn't have to watch them walk away. There was the crystal earring. She stepped on it as hard as she could. She wanted to smash it into nonexistence. So that it would never again tempt anyone to pick it up and imagine it could be transformed into something else.

It didn't break.

“Who cares,” she said.

People passed by. No one said, “I care.” No one said, “You have to care.” No one warned her that when she stopped caring, that was the beginning of the end.

 

Twelve

Someone was in the closet. Mau opened one eye. She could hear the sound of a crate being dragged along a shelf. Had she miscalculated? Was it time for Tasman to put food in her dish? Her nostrils quivered. Sadly, no. The smell was not of kibble but of old straw, dried-up mouse droppings, and dust from the desert. She wondered why he was opening one of the Captain's boxes. She decided to go find out. She jumped down from the shelf and padded over to the closet. The door was shut. She scratched at the outside.

Tasman quickly opened it. “Be quiet,” he hissed.

Mau came inside. It was dark. The boy hadn't turned on a light. His arm was inside the crate. Mau heard the rustle of straw as his fingers patted different objects. He got quite excited and pulled something out. When he saw it was a vase, his arm drooped with disappointment.

“It isn't here,” he whispered.

Mau blinked. She didn't care about his futile search. After all, the bag of food was there. She rubbed against it. He didn't give her a handful, as he often did. The boy was not usually immune to her demands, like the Captain. She swatted Tasman's leg. He didn't even look at her. Clearly something was not as it should be. Mau sat down and stared at him until he looked at her.

“It isn't here,” he said again. His voice cracked with emotion.

He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He returned the vase to the crate, closed it up, and shoved it back in its place.

Mau scratched the side of the bag of kibble.

“Shh,” Tasman warned her again. He put his ear to the closet door. He heard nothing. But Mau wasn't the least bit surprised when Tasman opened the door and discovered the Captain standing there.

“What are you doing?” the Captain said.

Tasman straightened himself up. He was actually as tall as the Captain, even though he never seemed to be.

“I was searching for the…” He paused.

“For what?” the Captain said.

Mau looked at one and then the other. The humans didn't usually stare at each other like this. As still and as silent as if they were cats. But they weren't cats, of course, and so eventually they would return to the babble of conversation.

The boy broke first. “I was searching for something I need.”

“What?”

“It's just something I need. It isn't important.”

The Captain pushed Tasman aside and went into the closet. Mau followed and scratched again at the bag of food, even though she knew it was futile. The Captain pointed to the crate. “What were you doing in there?”

“Aren't they my things? Didn't Grandfather send them with me when he told you to look after me?”

“Yes, they're yours. But they aren't for you to muck around with. I'm keeping them in trust for you. I know the value. I know when to sell. You don't know anything.”

“I know more than you think,” Tasman muttered.

“Don't I give you what you need? Food, clothes, spending money. Don't I pay you for the work you do? When you do it.”

“I'm going to write the new catalogue entries.”

The Captain folded his arms across his chest. “I know you took the amulet.”

Tasman went back to his desk. “What amulet?”

“The one you took! You think I don't know what's in my own shop? The blue faience one with the two crawling kids.”

“Oh. That amulet.”

“That amulet. That amulet.” The Captain mocked Tasman. He slammed the closet door shut. Mau had to jump quickly to save the tip of her tail.

“How much did you get? You probably got cheated. Did you take it to that crook on the East Side?”

“I didn't sell it.” Tasman got out a pen and paper and started writing.

“Didn't sell it? Tarnation. Then why on earth would you steal it from me?”

Tasman's writing got more agitated until the pen slashes ripped the paper. “It's all stolen, isn't it? Everything in here, every vase, every book, every bead, every astrolabe, every bowl was stolen, wasn't it?”

“Bah.” The Captain waved his hand and leaned against his desk. “Don't be getting all ethical on me.”

Tasman threw down the pen and stomped over to the Captain. “Maybe that's what happened to him. Did you ever think that? Maybe stealing the incantation bowl set the demons loose and caused all the trouble?”

“There isn't a bowl.” The Captain banged his fist against his desk. His nostrils flared as he struggled to breathe. When his face wasn't quite so red, he waved his hand and sat down. “That's just a story. Besides. We're not talking about what I've got. We're talking about what I don't have. What you took.” He picked up a letter. “I got an order for that amulet. So you'd better give it back.”

Tasman shook his head.

“Blast you. Why not?”

“I gave it to someone who needs it,” Tasman said.

The Captain took hold of Tasman's hand and peered sadly into the boy's eyes. “You didn't give it to
him
, did you?”

“No!” Tasman jerked away and hurried back to his desk. “I gave it to Val.”

“Who's Val?”

Tasman's face reddened. He shut his notebook and held it close to his chest.

“That girl who was here?” The Captain spluttered. “You could have given her one of the imitations. She wouldn't know the difference.”

“I know the difference,” Tasman said.

“That's what worries me. You've got a lot of nonsense in your head. If you start believing the things you write for the catalogue, you can get in a lot of trouble.”

“I'm already in trouble,” Tasman muttered.

“What?” the Captain said.

Tasman picked up his pen and bent over his notebook.

Mau sat outside the door to the closet, waiting patiently for food to appear in her dish and for all to be right with the world.

 

Thirteen

For over a month, black-and-white posters had haunted the bus stops. Young, beautiful people in beautiful, angular poses with no explanation of who or what they were—except that the letter Q, X, or R appeared somewhere in the photo. Then, on Sunday, a new clothing store opened up right around the corner from M.S. 10. It had a distinctive red sign with the initials
QXR
carelessly scrawled in black.