Imagining elsewhere, p.21
Imagining Elsewhere, page 21
“Can I clean any of this up for you?” she asked Candi, clearly trying to sound pleasant, but failing and sounding, instead, hoarse, tired, and scared.
Vince took his seat beside Candi and ate his Cool Ranch Doritos with deliberate concentration.
“Oh, Carla,” Candi moaned, with fake concern. “What is going on here?” she asked waving a hand in Carla’s general direction.
Carla looked at her feet and breathed heavily through her nose. She said something unintelligible.
“What’s that?” Candi asked. “Speak up.”
“I’ve been sick,” Carla said, a little louder.
“This is Vince’s ex-girlfriend,” Candi said, speaking over Carla. Vince opened his mouth to say something, but Candi barreled on. “Can you believe it? I mean, she wasn’t always quite so grotesque. But still—gnarly to the max, am I right?” Candi turned to Astrid. “Should we give her a makeover?”
Astrid shook her head. She smiled a little, in a way that she hoped was conciliatory, but shook her head. “Sure?” she answered. “How about this weekend—”
“How about now?” Candi said. “Maybe a nose job? Carla, slam your face into the table.”
Before Astrid truly registered what was happening, Carla brought her head forward and, with a clunk and crack, did as she was told. When she stood back up, her eyes were wide and stunned.
“Again. Harder. Break that nose,” Candi said.
Carla did it again and this time, when she lifted her head, blood streamed from her face.
“Eww!” Candi squealed, scrunching up her face. “Should we make her do it again, Astrid?”
“No,” Astrid cried. “No. This is terrible. Candi, please—”
“Shut up,” Candi said, all traces of mischievous fun vanishing. “You’re supposed to be my BFF. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Before Astrid could respond, Candi said, “It’s the carrot or the stick, Astrid. Haven’t you figured that out yet? I give you so many friggin carrots. Now it’s time for the stick. Slam your face into the table.”
Astrid’s head whipped back and then forward again and she thought, absurdly, how embarrassing it all was, before she heard the crack and registered the searing, smarting pain in the bridge of her nose. She lifted her head. “Candi,” she gasped.
Candi glared. Vince put his hand on Candi’s shoulder and she shrugged it off. “Go,” Candi snapped at Astrid. “I don’t want to look at you. Go jump in the lake.”
“What?” Astrid asked, her hands cupping her nose, as though to collect the blood gushing from it, already rising.
“You heard me,” Candi said. “I’ll see you at the Sweet Shoppe later. Just make sure you clean yourself up first.”
Astrid ran from the room, her hands in a prayer over her nose and face, unable to contain the blood. Once she was out of the cafeteria, she felt the urge to go to the bathroom, but her feet carried her out the front doors and then down Main Street, toward the lake. During this walk, Astrid had the time and presence of mind to attempt to disobey. She begged her brain to tell her legs to stop, she begged her brain to tell her legs to take her home. And yet she continued on an ineluctable journey to the not-yet frozen lake.
The only time she’d ever visited the lake was when she’d gone to Marcel’s house. This was the direction her body carried her now. The house, which had looked so gloomy on the night she and Milo had been there, looked cheerful in the crisp daylight, a pink flamingo perched—although leaning kind of pathetically—on the front lawn. Astrid walked around the house and crunched through the frost-covered leaves, down the hill in the backyard. She didn’t pause at the water’s edge, instead charging right in up to her knees. It took a moment for the cold water to fill her shoes, to soak her jeans and, when it hit, she let out an involuntary cry. Then, she plunged into the water, immersing herself.
The water was so cold it felt hot.
It wasn’t so cold, however, that Astrid missed the vibrations coming from the ground beneath her. Even though she had fulfilled the order Candi had given her and she could physically get out of the water, she couldn’t help but take a moment to run her hand over the rocky lake bottom. Unseeing, she pulled randomly at the muck. It felt to Astrid as though the stone jumped into her hand, as though the stone she pulled from the lake had found her.
She held the rock as she tried to run out of the water. She tripped, falling in again, and she crawled the rest of the way to land, still holding the stone. Only when she rose again, and saw Mrs. Monroe standing on the shore, waiting with an oversized towel, did she put the stone into her pocket.
“Come on, baby,” Mrs. Monroe said, putting her arm around Astrid’s shoulder and jogging her back up the lawn. “We’ll get you warm in the house. You’ll be okay.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dressed in long johns, two pairs of socks, and a sweat suit, with a fleece blanket draped over her shoulders and a towel wrapped around her wet hair, Astrid shivered in the Monroe’s cozy kitchen. At the same time, she felt awake—more awake than she’d felt in a long time, maybe even since moving to Elsewhere. Or at least awake in a way that wasn’t miserable, that wasn’t literally dread-full.
“How-how did you know?” Astrid asked, her body still sometimes jerking unexpectedly and uncontrollably. Mrs. Monroe had given her some Tylenol, but her nose throbbed and she kept unthinkingly raising her hand to touch it; it was broken all right, the septum shifted dramatically to the right of the bridge of her nose. She’d not yet been able to bring herself to look in a mirror.
“Know what?”
“T-to help me.”
“Marcel called. She used the payphone at the school.1 She asked me to keep an eye out for you.”
“Thanks,” Astrid said. For a moment it was quiet, and Astrid took comfort in listening to the hissing and crackling of the brewing coffee on the counter.
“Well, thank you for what you’ve been doing for Marcel,” Mrs. Monroe said finally. “I apologize for what I said on that terrible night. For blaming you. I know it’s not your fault—I know whose fault it really is.”
Astrid nodded. “I never wanted your job. I do like Earth Science, but it’s not like I was trying to replace you or anything.”
Mrs. Monroe rose and poured two cups of coffee. She placed one on the table in front of Astrid and gestured at the milk and sugar. Astrid heaped sugar into her coffee and held the warm mug in both hands. “Not happy to have lost the salary,” Mrs. Monroe said. “Or the position, generally—I’ve truly enjoyed teaching. But the stress of the past few years . . . it was really getting to me. I just hope that you can get her through this exam and then maybe sometime in the future . . . this will blow over. Maybe I’ll be able to teach again someday.” Little frown lines appeared around the sides of Mrs. Monroe’s mouth.
“I know it’s not really about the Regents,” Astrid said.
“Oh,” Mrs. Monroe said, raising an eyebrow. She sipped her coffee.
Astrid waited for the woman to continue, but she didn’t.
“I understand that you probably don’t trust me, but I’m not a narc,” Astrid assured her. “If you have information—any information—that could help us . . .”
“I don’t know where it is,” Mrs. Monroe said forcefully, putting her coffee cup down so hard that some of the liquid careened over the lip and formed a circle around the mug. “I’m sorry,” she said, sighing. “There is distant knowledge, deep inside my brain, but I don’t go digging for it. I don’t want to know. Because if I knew and then she asked me, again, to tell her, I would have to. And then . . .”
“And then what?” Astrid prompted. “What exactly would happen?”
“Here is what I know—from my own family and from Crystal, Candi’s grandmother. Before she died, she came to me. Crystal told me the story was wrong, that it wasn’t the townspeople who killed the witches.” Mrs. Monroe looked at Astrid, her expression frank and open. “It was Mercy who killed her sisters. Mercy’s sisters were good and kind—responsible even—but Mercy wanted more power. You see, the sisters had learned to channel the energy of the area. This is a special place and they were special women. They had learned how to pull the magic from the rocks.”
Astrid shivered.
“Mercy wanted to move outward. To expand their territory. But her sisters resisted. And so Mercy killed them and tried to absorb their power.”
The kitchen was small and dark, its only light came in through the sliding doors that led out to a deck and the lake beyond. Mrs. Monroe looked over Astrid’s shoulder and out toward the lake.
“Mercy’s sisters had suspected what was coming and they tricked her. They bound themselves, their magic, and their charms more firmly to land. Mercy could never leave—could never take the power away with her. And they left as much as they could in the ground. They returned their magic to the land, so that Mercy couldn’t have it.”
“But Candi’s grandmother had it?”
“Yes. She knew where it was,” Mrs. Monroe said. “She learned how to tap into it. Look, they’re all born with power. Except for poor, dumb Dolly—it skipped a generation there. But this other magic—it’s like a supercharge. Candi’s grandma knew Candi couldn’t be trusted with it. She didn’t want Candi to be more powerful than she already is.”
“What happens if Candi does find it?” Astrid asked.
Mrs. Monroe sipped her coffee. “Candi isn’t nearly as strong as her grandmother was. But if she finds a way to access the power, the magic . . . I think she’d be pretty unstoppable.”
“What if someone else finds it first, though? Would someone else be able to access the magic?”
Mrs. Monroe frowned. “I don’t know. Probably not. It might just be like . . . like quartz. How quartz has electrical properties.” She smiled, clearly pleased to talk about rocks with someone who understood her. “Quartz only has electrical properties under certain conditions. You have to know how to treat it, how to use it. Otherwise, it’s just a pretty rock.”
Astrid nodded. She wished she had a pen and paper to take notes, but she also knew she didn’t need to. Everything Mrs. Monroe was saying felt like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Astrid knew, with a solemn certainty, where the magic was. She wouldn’t tell Mrs. Monroe—she didn’t want to put the woman in that position.
But she was pretty sure she had a piece of the magic in her pocket right that minute.
1 Yes! Many high schools had actual payphones. You would insert a coin or coins in order to place a call. Who could you possibly be calling, though? Everyone you knew was already at school.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The cheerleaders had already taken seats at the counter, Candi sandwiched between Chrissy and Lori. Jason, next to Chrissy, sneered at Astrid when he saw her entering, “Here comes the creature from the blue lagoon,” he called. “Oh my God, that nose! Now you really look—"
“Shut up, Jason,” Astrid said, without venom. She felt sorry for Jason too.
He was so pathetic.
He continued to sneer and mock, but Astrid didn’t listen. She marched right to where
Lori was sitting and waited, a hand on her hip, until the other girl vacated the position next to Candi. Astrid felt, in some ways, transcendent. She was stronger than before, and knew what she wanted to do. But she couldn’t let on that anything had changed. Or rather, she had to let Candi believe that she really had come around. That the stick, in fact, had worked.
“Hey,” Candi said, smiling sassily. She gestured at Gene the “soda jerk”1 and instructed him to make Astrid a hot chocolate. “She’s had a rough day,” Candi said sweetly to Gene. To Astrid, Candi purred, “Learn your lesson?”
Astrid fluttered her eyelids. “It was a definitely a rude awakening,” she said wryly.
“A ‘Come-to-Candi’ moment?” Candi asked serenely.
“Most definitely,” Astrid said, adding. “And all along my mother thought it was the Jews for Jesus I had to be careful of.” 2
“That lake is so disgusting,” Candi said. “You’re probably going to have double-headed babies now. I’ve never put even a toenail in it.”
“I’d keep it that way if I were you,” Astrid said, shuddering. “But I’m more upset about the nose.” Astrid had spent a long time staring at her new face in the mirror. She had two faintly black eyes—she knew that would go away—but her septum was clearly dislocated. “I look like a Picasso painting.”
“Yeah, you look pretty whack,” Candi said. “Well, we didn’t want you getting too pretty for your own good,” she added cheerfully.
Gene presented Astrid’s hot chocolate, and she dug deep to try to convincingly perform good sportsmanship, lifting her mug aloft and saying, “Here’s to homecoming pranks.” She noticed Milo standing at the margins of the group. Their eyes met before Astrid turned back to Candi.
Candi raised her coke and clicked against Astrid’s mug. “I knew you’d come around. Do you have a brilliant, sick, terrible plan for humiliating your skanky little friend?”
“I sure do,” Astrid said. “Although it’s not original. It’s from a movie.”
“Tell me,” Candi prompted, squeezing her shoulders up to her ears with giddy anticipation.
“Have you seen Carrie?”
“No,” Candi answered. “Vince doesn’t like when I watch horror movies.” She stuck out her lower lip in a baby-face frown. “He says they might give me bad dreams—or bad ideas.”
“He really cares about you,” Astrid assured her, inwardly rolling her eyes at the weird and performative nature of that whole relationship. “But in the movie, they elect Carrie prom queen and then when she gets to the stage to be crowned, they dump pig’s blood all over her.”
Candi gazed at her, widening her eyes slightly and then smiling.
“That’s brilliant,” Candi said. She turned to Vince, who had just arrived with the rest of the football team. “You were right,” she said, as he swooped down to give her the usual over-the-top kiss, complete with Candi wrapping her long legs around his thighs. “Astrid is an evil genius,” Candi said into Vince’s face.
“Of course she is,” Vince said, releasing Candi so that she could turn again to face Astrid.
“I don’t know,” Astrid said. “Someone will probably tell her though. Warn her. There’ll be no element of surprise.”
Candi tilted her head and snorted a little. “Do you think people will tell if I tell them not to?” Astrid opened her mouth to protest, but Candi continued. “It doesn’t matter anyway. She can know. That might be even more hilarious—if she knows and then she has to walk up there to get crowned and then . . . splash!” Candi crowed with laughter and everyone around her feigned enthusiasm and delight.
“I knew your true nature would show eventually, Astrid,” Candi said, running a finger affectionately down Astrid’s arm. “And to thank you for being such a good and loyal friend, I bought you something. I would have given it to you earlier, but you were being such a poop.”
“Wow,” Astrid said. She wondered if it were a trick. Candi held out a small plastic jewelry box cut to look like glass. It reminded Astrid of Sleeping Beauty’s coffin. “I had my mom order it special for you. Open it!”
Astrid clicked opened the box. Inside were two sparkling earrings.
“What?” Astrid asked. “Candi, are these . . . ?”
“A different kind of carat,” Candi said. She smiled, pleased with herself. “I know you like rocks. And there’s no better rock than a diamond.”
“They’re beautiful,” Astrid said. “Thank you.” The stones were gorgeous and glittering. And huge.
“You’re welcome,” Candi said. “Put them on.” Astrid placed the box on the counter and then gingerly put on each earring.
“You look pretty,” Candi said sweetly. “I mean, except for the nose.”
Astrid tried to laugh. “Thank you, bestie,” she said. Candi liked that, and she shook her head and scrunched her eyes with pleasure, before turning her attention back to Vince.
Astrid sipped her hot chocolate and allowed Lori to admire her new earrings. A moment later, however, she overheard Candi, who seemed to be talking at a volume that invited others to listen.
“I knew she’d come up with something good,” Candi told Vince. “After what she did back at her old school.”
Suddenly, Astrid realized, all eyes were back on her.
“What?” Astrid asked, looking around.
“Oh, I was just telling Vince about your magnum opus. Is that what it’s called?”
“I don’t know,” Astrid shook her head, although she knew very well what Candi was referring too.
Candi giggled, “Tee hee!3 It’s time Astrid. Everyone wants to know about what you did
at your last school. Tell us.”
Astrid looked at Vince, who looked away. She noticed Jason smirking. She looked at Milo, who frowned, and then turned his gaze out the window.
Astrid felt it then, like the breeze down the subway tunnel that lets you know the train is arriving long before you can hear its rumble—something was coming.
Candi watched her expectantly, but Astrid didn’t say anything.
Candi looked bemused and repeated, “Tell us, Astrid. Tell us about what you did to that girl back at your old school.”
Astrid sucked in her breath, clamped her jaw, and clasped her hands over her mouth. She wouldn’t do it. Not this time. Even if it meant jeopardizing her plan to convince Candi that she was unquestionably on board. And for a moment, Astrid stood there, successfully not talking.
Astrid felt a sensation—something both familiar and new—a tingling in and around her ears, a bit of a blur around the edges of her vision. Her hands moved slowly away from her mouth. If you didn’t know better, you’d have no idea of the struggle that was taking place inside of her. And yet, she still didn’t speak. She stared at Candi, her nostrils flaring with the effort.
