by Dian Cronan
The only seat left is next to me, by a bunch of insipid chatty girls going on and on about how fat So and So got during the summer hiatus. I judge them critically, even though I know I’d be doing the same thing with my friends back home – friends I’ve heard nothing from.
Mary stalks to the last desk like she’s strutting down a catwalk, flinging her shiny brown mane and pouting for a couple of the staring boys. She kicks my bag out of the way with her black flats and sits, turning her back to me and talking to her friends.
“Excuse you,” I say loudly as I right my bag.
Mary throws an insincere “Oh, sorry” over her shoulder without paying the slightest attention to me.
“Bitch.” I whisper, feeling only a little guilty for cussing in God’s schoolhouse.
The bell rings and a flood of beginning of the year announcements crackle over the PA system. The din of gossip continues straight through and I only catch a few words that don’t make much sense: “robotics...ing tryouts...first home game...come back!”
Mrs. Brennan, perched by her desk, hands out our schedules in alphabetical order, forcing everyone to go up front to get them. She probably can’t see beyond the front row despite those Coke bottle glasses. I bet if I held those puppies up to the sun, I could burn an entire anthill into oblivion.
I dread my name being called and having to walk up front to be eyeballed by everyone. Fortunately, or unfortunately, my dread is short lived. Being close to the beginning of the D’s makes Rose Delaney the fourth name Mrs. Brennan calls out in her quiet whisper of a voice. I keep my eyes on the ground and a hand on my hem, as I get up and approach Mrs. Brennan.
“Oh, you must be new deeah,” says Mrs. Brennan without relinquishing my schedule from her gnarled hands, despite my firm tugging on a corner of the folded paper. “How exciting! Why, we haven’t had a new student since little Letta Bauer a couplah years back. Let me get a good look at you.”
Mrs. Brennan lets go of my schedule and holds my shoulders at arm’s length with her knotted claws, drinking me in. “My, well aren’t you pretty!” Mrs. Brennan adds in what she probably thinks is a whisper, “But you might need tah pull your skirt down a bit deeah. It makes you look a mite desperate.”
A murmur of laughter spreads through the room as my cheeks heat up.
“Where are you from, Rose?” Mrs. Brennan asks.
Before I can reply, someone in the back calls out in a faux southern accent, “Why she hails from good ol’ Texas ma’am! She’s the new spook sittah!”
“Oh deeah,” Mrs. Brennan holds a dismayed hand to her lips.
I grit my teeth and retreat to my desk. I glare at everyone. If these idiots actually believe in this stupid curse, maybe an evil glare might make them fear me the way the kids in the movie should have feared Carrie.
I take my seat. Mary mutters under her breath, “More like spooky slut.”
I throw my glare at Mary and can tell I’ve caught her off guard. She clearly thought the smear would only be heard by her friends, but it only takes her a second to recover, and she shoots me a snarky smile and raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, as if to say, You heard me, Spooky Slut. What’re you gonna do about it?
I clench my fists, close my eyes, and allow the hum of the room to disappear into the distance. I’m in my happy place. Happy, happy, happy! I do everything in my power to control my volatile temper, but I have a feeling, before the year is out, Mary’s perfect smile will have an unpleasant conversation with my fists.
***
I manage to make it through the first two periods with relative ease. Most students toss guarded glances in my direction, but that’s all. I’m grateful no one makes me stand in the front of the room to introduce myself, because as my new English teacher Mrs. Clancey put it, “We know who you are already!” It’s both relieving and unnerving.
From English, I go to Chemistry, where no one chooses to be my lab partner for the first semester. In a class of nineteen, this makes me the odd one out, destined to be lab partners with the nerdy, but seemingly capable Mr. McLoughlin. Looking him over, I decide he’s in his mid-thirties and without the black framed glasses, even a little cute.
After Chemistry, I follow the throng into the cafeteria. It looks much as a school cafeteria should, but it’s tiny compared to what I’m used to, and most of the tables are already full. I allow the crowd to carry me through the lunch line for cold instant potatoes, today’s mystery meat, and a stale brownie. By the time I exit with my tray, half of my lunch period is over and all of the tables are taken. With a sigh, I wander around looking for any spot I can squeeze into. From a far corner, I spot a small, pale hand waving at me. Relieved, I scuttle across the cafeteria and plop down next to Letta.
“Thank you!” I say. “I was starting to feel like a plague victim. Everyone’s leaning away from me like I’m contagious.”
Letta laughs. “I’m glad to see you’ve made it to the halfway point. Allow me to introduce a few more allies.” She points at the three faces smiling from across the table. “This is Shane, Patty, and Eileen. They accept me for my Jewish inheritance and they’ll accept you for your curse.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, surprised to realize I actually mean it.
“So how goes it?” Letta asks, piling the cold potatoes into her mouth.
“Okay I guess. It’s a heck of a lot different than Texas. Everyone thinks I’m the slutty spook sitter. And some bitch seems to hate me for no reason.”
The four pale faces around me exchange glances and say in unison, “Mary Donovan.”
“Yeah,” I say. “How’d you know?”
“She’s the Queen Bitch,” Eileen says. She’s pretty in a classic way, like Janet Leigh or Doris Day, with her blonde bob and dark eyebrows.
“She’s also Ronan’s girlfriend,” Shane adds. “She’s the unofficial prom queen. His popularity and his dad’s position make him pretty much in charge ‘round heeah. She fulfills her first lady duties pretty well.” Shane is the stereotypical Irish kid. He’s a tall, scrawny redhead blanketed in freckles. He probably goes around cursing his affliction, but I’ve always thought freckles were cute.
“Speakin’ of Ronan...” Patty says, throwing her deep brown eyes over my head. “He’s coming ovah heeah!”
“Tah speak with the commoners?” Shane says in mock bewilderedness. “Is the student council campaignin’ stahtin’ up already?”
“Well he sure ain’t comin’ tah talk tah us,” Eileen says pointedly, turning to me.
I turn to look at the Adonis that is Ronan Quinn. The only thing Irish about him is his name. He’s tall and brawny like Beckan, but in a polished way that says his muscles are sculpted by a strict gym regimen. His skin is smooth and clear. He wears a light green polo over a pair of white cargo shorts and Sperry’s. He’s exactly my type. He tosses his head to the side to get a few stray chestnut pieces of his shaggy ‘do out of the way, and throws a glossy smile at me. My pulse quickens.
“Hi, Rose,” he says as he approaches, reaching out a hand for mine.
“Hi, Ronan,” I say, taking his soft hand. He shakes mine gently, as if afraid he’ll break my delicate fingers. If this is the king of the idiots, then I’m going to win him over. Maybe then the commoners will stop looking at me like I’m the devil.
“I see you’ve been talkin’ about me already.” His smile widens. “I’m glad.” His accent reminds me of Mrs.Carroll’s, carefully controlled.
I smile, but inwardly I roll my eyes. A master of fake charm myself, it’s easy to spot it in others. The question is, why’s he bothering to charm the girl everyone’s determined to hate?
“Well,” he says, “I’m sorta the unofficial welcomin’ committee. Why don’t you grab your lunch and join us?” He motions to a table filled with an equally preppy and fake group, including Mary Donovan. The others chatter excitedly, but if Mary’s eyes could kill, I’d be very, very dead.
I have zero desire to sit next to Mary, and I’m pretty comfor
table chatting with Letta and her friends, so I’m not especially inclined to accept Ronan’s offer. Not yet anyway. Just because I’m new doesn’t mean I’m easy. “I appreciate the offer,” I say, “but I’m just fine here. Maybe another time.” I smile lightly and turn around, but apparently, Ronan isn’t used to hearing no.
“Come on, Rose,” he says. “You wanna make sure you get in with the right group don’t you?”
I bite my tongue and hold my sweet smile for as long as I can, but I already know this will end badly. I know Letta and her friends aren’t exactly the cool kids, but they’re the only people who’ve been nice to me, and I don’t think it’s fair of Ronan to insult them like that.
“What do you mean?” I ask as my previous desire to win Ronan over morphs very quickly into a stubborn desire to spite him.
“Well,” Ronan seems confused, “I mean you wanna make the right friends around here. You don’t wanna get in with this gawmy group. You’ve already got a unique challenge in front of you.”
“Oh?” I feel the urge to call forth my happy place, but force it to the back of my mind. “Please, enlighten me.”
“Well, Rose, come on.” He spreads his hands. “I know about what happened at The Wharf Rat, and I know you know about the unfortunate history of your house. You’ve already been seen around with Beckan O’Dwyre. Why don’t you make the right choice this time, and come hang out over here? We’re real fun, I promise.” He smiles at me one last time.
I take a deep breath, but anger sweeps over me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it now.
“Listen, Ronan,” my sweet tone disappears, “I might be from the south, but I ain’t stupid. You’re bein’ about as real as Kim Kardashian. I don’t know what your game is, and I don’t particularly care. I wanna sit here and enjoy my lunch with these lovely people, and I don’t much appreciate being told who my friends should be or what my situation is. Now, you run along and go play with your little friends. Mkay?” I swivel back around to meet the four pairs of large eyes staring at me. I pray Ronan will do what’s best for him and save himself further embarrassment. But he doesn’t.
“Look what kind of bitch we have over here!” Ronan shouts to his friends. “The spook sitter is too good for us!”
“Alright,” I say to myself. “Alright then.” I stand, holding my untouched lunch tray. I take another deep breath and when Ronan turns back around, I smash my tray into his expensive shirt and rub it around a few times. In the shock and silence that falls over the cafeteria, the Styrofoam tray slowly slides down his shirt before falling and landing on his Sperry’s. Ronan stares at his shirt and then at me, eyes and mouth wide in disbelief. I dip my hand in the cold potatoes and gravy and smear it across his reddened cheek. I flick the excess on his pants and then lick my fingers to clear the rest.
“Mmm,” I say. “Humble pie just like Grammy used to make. You should have some.”
From behind me, Patty breaks the long silence.
“Oh...my...gawd!”
Chapter Ten
The Second Fire and the Mystery Sandwich
I spend the rest of my day ignoring sneers and insults. Although plastering Ronan with my lunch is satisfying, it also cements my isolation. In Latin, a boy actually scoots his desk away from mine, like I’ll curse him. I wish I could. Mostly I just hope for a friendly face, like Letta or one of her friends, but I don’t see them again until the end of the day. Letta, Shane, Patty, and Eileen walk home with me, still full of praise.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Patty says. “I mean, Ronan’s had that comin’ a long time, but for someone tah actually do it...”
“I can’t believe it took someone until senior yeeah!” Eileen laughs.
“We worship the ground you walk on.” Shane bows and begins chanting, “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”
“Thanks,” I laugh. “I think.”
The weather is warm, but a breeze rustles the trees. I look up at the blue sky dotted with cotton ball clouds and sigh. I’m more relaxed now than at any other point since moving to Port Braseham – well, actually, more relaxed than the last two years, perhaps because I’d finally released some of my pent up anger. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take my bike to school. If tomorrow is as crappy a day as this one, I’ll be able to burn off some excess anger on the ride home without hurting anybody. If I get suspended again, Mother’ll kill me.
Letta and her friends drop off one by one as they make their way home. By the time I reach the bottom of the hill, only Letta remains. We stand at the corner of Letta’s street and my infinitely steep driveway as the silence passes between us. Letta stares up the mountain at the tips of the turrets, just visible on the horizon, and I follow her gaze.
“What do you think?”
Letta looks back at me owlishly. “I don’t know much about it.” She shrugs. “All I know is most of the town is afraid of it.”
“That makes two of us,” I say. “Even Beckan thinks it’s haunted, and he practically lives in it.”
“It’s about more than ghosts,” Letta says. “People are afraid of it without going anywhere near it. It’s the curse surrounding it that everyone’s afraid of.”
“Yeah, but what is the curse? I mean, what’s scaring an entire town?”
Letta shrugs again. “I don’t know. People don’t talk about it, like there’s an unspoken rule or something. Those who do are kids our age who aren’t really sure because their parents won’t talk about it either. Sometimes I get the impression no one actually knows the truth behind it. It’s just about tradition.”
“Why don’t they tear it down?” I ask. “It’s ugly as sin anyway.”
“I dunno that either,” Letta says and then winks. “But I I bet Hot Beckan O’Dwyre would.”
I laugh. “He’s not hot!” Maybe a little cute, but hot is an exaggeration.
“Yeah sure,” Letta says, starting down her street. “Try telling my dreams that... See you tomorrow.” She turns her head in a short, dark wave of hair, and meanders down the long drive into the shade of the trees.
I walk up the hill slowly, in no hurry to return to Wolfhowl Manor. As much as I want to believe the house is just a house, I still don’t feel right inside it. Is it just the townspeople’s blind belief in the curse that scares me? Does it just give my mind something to focus on because I want so badly to be back in Texas? Am I just looking for a reason to hate a perfectly good house?
Or is the tingling at the at the back of my neck a sign? Is the sensation of being watched real? Does my depressive nature press down on me inside of the house because I’m unhappy to be in Maine, or because the house wants us gone? And then there’s that first day on the cliff. And the ghostly hand in the basement.
This is ridiculous. All I have to do to know the curse isn’t real is look at Liam and see how happy he’s been since coming here. If the house really is cursed, wouldn’t Liam notice too? Wouldn’t Mother? We’ve all been in and around the house, poking around in all the nooks and crannies. If something’s really off about this place, wouldn’t they feel the same uneasiness I do? As far as I can tell, neither Liam nor Mother has noticed anything out of the ordinary. Maybe I really am just fixating on all the negativity I feel about my life right now. It’s not like that would be surprising.
I detour by the O’Dwyre cabin. Liam, whose kindergarten class releases at one-thirty, a full hour and a half before my classes, is sitting on the front porch with Lady, scratching her ears while Beckan whittles a stick down to nothing in the rocking chair. If we keep this arrangement up, we’re going to have to find a way to thank Beckan for all his help with Liam.
“Hi, kiddo!” I say, forcing a smile. “How was your first day?”
“Hi, Rosie!” Liam runs over and hugs my waist. “I had a great day! How was yours?”
“It was good,” I lie, and Beckan smirks. “What are you smilin’ at?”
“You aren’t going tah tell him the truth?” Beckan is stifling laughter.
&nbs
p; “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say evasively, avoiding his gaze.
“So you didn’t dump your lunch in Ronan Quinn’s lap?”
Liam gapes up at me. “You started a food fight?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “It was an accident. I tripped. How would you know anyway?”
“It doesn’t take long for word tah spread ‘round heeah.”
“I know, but seriously, three hours?”
Beckan shrugs. “Welcome tah smalltown life.”
“Roo-sssie!” Liam tugs on my skirt so hard I have to grab it before Beckan sees my underwear. “I’m hungry!”
Beckan holds up his hands innocently. “I swear, I gave him a snack not an hour ago!”
I sigh. “A bottomless pit, you are. Alright, let’s go.”
“I’ll walk you up. I want tah check on a few thins anyway.” Beckan follows us as Lady runs circles in our wake. Once the house is fully visible, about seventy-five feet from the side porch, Lady whimpers and sits. She looks back toward the cabin and then at Beckan a few times.
“Come on, Lady,” I coax gently. “You’re allowed inside.” Lady looks at me with piqued ears, but doesn’t move. She sinks to her belly and flops her tail. We’re a pet household, always have been. We had a dog when I was younger, but he died a couple of years ago. I’d tried convincing my parents to get another pet for the family, but then they split and the whole idea was lost in the chaos.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.
“Aww, Lady’s just a scardey cat,” Beckan replies.
I punch Beckan hard in the arm before Liam turns around and says curiously, “Scared of what?”
Beckan looks at me. “Oh erm...nothin’. She just doesn’t like bein’ too far from Ol’ Derry is all.” He whistles at Lady, and granted permission, she pops up and trots back down to the cabin to wait on the porch.
Beckan says he wants to check out the fire damage on the side porch so he can let Derry know what supplies are needed for repairs. Now that someone lives here, especially a child, the O’Dwyres don’t want any preventable accidents occurring on their watch. I send Liam inside to wash his hands and tell him I’ll be in to take his snack order momentarily. I follow Beckan and watch him inspect the fire-eaten wood from the lawn.
