“Where were you?” I ask. Mrs. Reese answers instead of my mom.
“Oh, no place special.” she says. “Just the bank, some errands…you know, boring stuff. How about you guys? Anything new here?”
“New is an understatement.” Sean says. “Look at the mugs by the cookie jar.”
Mrs. Reese leans over the counter and picks up the two mugs, her eyes finding the tea blobs in the bottoms. I’m waiting for her face to register some type of horror, but her expression remains bland as she says. “Whose are these?”
“Garrett and Nalena’s.” Sean says. “From this morning.”
“Nalena’s?” Her face is surprised, not horrified, but the shock in her tone gets Mr. Reese on his feet beside her. She tips the mugs so he can see into the mouths of them too.
“Can you believe it?” Garrett says, as he dumps a wing on the pile of separated chicken pieces in front of him.
“Evangeline,” The sound in Mr. Reese’s voice does something my own voice has never been able to do. It stops her pen and raises her head. “You need to look at this. Nalena’s tea is formed in the sign of the Contego.”
There it is, out there, just like that. No fanfare, no easing into it. My mom’s face goes blank, as if her expression just slid off her chin. I have the urge to shout, It’s just tea! It’s no big deal! at all the somber faces in the room. My mom puts down her pen and stands on shaky legs. Whatever this is, it is a bad enough joke to scare her.
“That can’t be.” she says.
Mrs. Reese hands my mother both mugs across the table. My mom looks into one and then the other, again and again, her face draining to a sickly shade of pale that feels contagious. The motion in the air evaporates, all of us suspended in our small pockets of space around the kitchen, as my mom continues her inspection of the mugs.
“This has to be a joke.” she says weakly.
“It’s not, Alo Evangeline.” Garrett says. “I swear it. I poured out Nalena’s tea myself.”
“You poured it? Then your touch must’ve affected it.” My mom’s tone is an odd mix of accusation and vulnerability. Garrett doesn’t waver, but his own voice softens.
“No, ma’am.” he says. “Nalena has received the sign of the Contego. I’ve seen proof of it twice today.”
“Impossible.” my mom whispers. She puts down the cups and grips the edge of the table. My stomach churns. All the comfort I felt from my mother’s presence is sucked from the room and the air that is left feels raw on my skin.
“What proof?” Mrs. Reese asks.
“Nalena was attacked in the bathroom at school today.” Garrett says. “A friend caught the whole incident on a cell phone. After playing back the video, I didn’t have any doubt of what she was. So, when we got home this afternoon, I tested the theory to be sure.”
“Tested how?” Mr. Reese asks narrowly.
“He attacked her.” Sean deadpans, making it sound like there were easier ways to prove it, but that maybe Garrett cut right to the chase. My mom’s mouth seals shut in a tight, straight line and her eyes cast down on the tabletop. I see her swallow. Her words come slow and deliberate.
“And what happened?”
“She was able to avoid me.” Garrett says, leaning both hands on the counter. “Until she was frightened, of course. She dropped out at the mention of fear, so I knew she hadn’t been trained.”
“Of course not.” my mother barely whispers. “She is a daughter of Alo. There was no reason for me to expect an alternate sign.”
She pinches the paling skin between her eyes. Whatever has happened to me, whatever I am or am becoming, it must be terrible. Her hand shakes over her face. Who I am has somehow become devastating to her. Tears flood my own vision, distorting her entirely.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I say.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Nalena,” she hiccups beneath her hand. “I just…don’t… want you...tangled up in this. And now…you’ll have to choose…”
Her words evaporate into sobs and Mr. Reese goes to my mother, putting an arm around her. My mom turns into him, hiding her face in both hands against his chest. Her back bucks with her grief.
I feel a rootless shame. The floor begins to spin and then the whole kitchen is spinning, with everyone swirling around with it. Everyone but me. All eyes are on my mom. I am the only one left standing still. Mrs. Reese crosses the dining room to rub my mom’s back as she collapses into sobs in Mr. Reese’s arms. This is a thousand times worse than I expected. I must be a monster. I grasp the counter as it spins by me. I should’ve never been born. The room twirls until it is just a strobe of nauseating colors. I didn’t choose any of this but I am ensnared at its center. I’m going to be sick.
It is hard to describe how I feel him cut through the blur.
He is only a shape—an unmistakable outline against the color—walking easily into the swirling twister that envelops me. He reaches out and the color that glows all around him explodes toward me in a white hot heat. The swirl melts back from him and his warmth spreads out to encase me as his touch comes nearer. The moment we make contact, the colors implode in a pop and I am standing in the kitchen, Garrett’s hand clasping mine.
“You okay?” he whispers in my ear. I can still feel the heat surging from his hand. It pumps through my body like a medicine. I put my hand on his.
“I’m fine.” I say. He smiles like he knows that he is a power outlet. His palm pulses against my skin as his energy blooms into my veins and rejuvenates me. The dizziness subsides, but he keeps hold of my hand, as if he plans to stay until I move away. I look into the open sky of his eyes and what I see there hits me with a jolt. It is no longer my mom who can bring me my deepest comfort. It is Garrett.
Chapter 11
Dinner is a funeral. Although my mom settles down, she asks Mr. and Mrs. Reese to wait until after we eat to discuss ‘this whole thing’. Which is me. Me, bringing the world down in flames. It makes it a little impossible to eat. I just push my food around and wait for everyone else to finish.
Garrett sits on one side of me, eating slowly, his leg close enough to mine that wiry sparks of heat are trapped between us. On the other side, my mom is a stone, not eating what’s in front of her either.
The only one that seems completely unaffected by any of this is Iris. She slurps her milk and tells jokes that don’t make sense, swallowing only if the food gets in the way of her talking. With every punch line, she laughs until her face turns magenta and it’s hard to tell if she’s wildly amused or choking. It must be pretty normal because the Reese’s don’t seem bothered by it. In fact, they ignore her even as she twists her head from side to side, looking for an admiring audience. The ponytail plume on her head dances with her gerbil-ish attention span.
“E-vanch-line,” she calls over the table to my mom. “What’d the chicken say to the potatoes?”
My mom, with puffy eyes, tries to smile. “I don’t know. What did it say, honey?”
“It says eat the greens beans!” Iris squeals and she stuffs her mouth full of beans, laughing. My mom pushes out a flat laugh and lets her weak smile fall into her lap. When Iris calls my mom’s name again, Mrs. Reese taps her daughter’s hand.
“Enough jokes, Iris.” she says. “Finish your dinner.”
The rest of the meal is quiet. When the Reese’s are finished, the four boys get to their feet and clear away their dishes.
“You didn’t eat nothing.” Iris says to my mother as she slides off her chair.
“You didn’t eat anything.” Mr. Reese corrects her, but then Iris shrugs and leaves. She was right. My mother’s plate is untouched, but Garrett carries it away without another word. My mom starts mumbling beside me.
“Bart Cubulick, ninety-three, thought of his mother everyday; Phi Tan, eighty-six, fished for his family without complaint; Shelly Lennon, twelve...”
I listen to my mother’s feverish simmer of useless names and stories and every word she speaks becomes a pair of sharp, fierce teeth
gnawing at my stomach. She hasn’t explained anything to me. All she’s done is cry on Mr. Reese’s shoulder as if I am her personal tragedy.
Feeling so cut off from her is like swimming in the pit of a well. I’m struggling to figure out what is going on and she isn’t even trying to help keep my head above water. When our house was on the verge of being condemned due to the amount of paper, she’d said a change of view would be nice. When we ran out of money and had to go on welfare, she said we might as well get a little back from all the taxes we’d paid in. I’ve always relied on her telling me things are going to be fine, whether or not I believed her.
I realize that it’s always been me and her, except that while I’m stuck here sinking on my own, it suddenly seems like a lot more of me making things work and dealing with it all, than her. And, with her not saying a word to me now, the little jaws snap at my gut as she mutters—setting up her usual escape into her writing so she won’t have to talk. I decide to head her off before that happens.
“I guess I just go this one alone.” I mutter. The bitterness in my voice finds its target and she turns her head, the fog of names lifting as she blinks at me.
“Go what alone?” she asks. From the corner of my eye, Garrett pauses from clearing the bottles of salad dressing off the table. The other Reese’s go quiet, but continue cleaning up.
“Me!” I snap at her. “Remember how you were crying before dinner? I’m doomed...remember? That. That’s what I’m going alone.”
My mom blinks again and her expression clears and then crumples, as if she’s slapped me in a nightmare and just woken up. She gets to her feet, pulling my hand along with her.
“We need to talk.” she says.
I jerk my hand away from her but Garrett murmurs, “Go Nalena. Go talk with her.”
I feel younger than Iris as I follow my mother into the living room. My mom pushes my pillow aside on the couch and sits, patting the cushion next to her. I fall down beside her, pulling my comforter around me.
“Bet you’re confused.” my mom says. “I just want you to listen to me and I’m going to tell you what’s going on.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything.” she says. The thread of a shiver slips down my spine, but I remain quiet and still.
Her brow puckers in the center. “You’ve been given a different ancestral sign than the one I was expecting. I’d been watching all along for a sign of Alo, and I was hoping we’d reach your eighteenth birthday without one. It would mean that you wouldn’t be involved in all this. But I never thought to look for a different sign. I assumed that some of your preferences, like your love for running, was attributed to your Alo heritage. We’re phenomenal runners. But it’s also a sign of the Contego and I’m sorry I didn’t think to look for that.
“I should’ve known better when you first came home from school and told me you didn’t feel right. The sign of Contego can first show itself when you feel threatened or in danger. You weren’t sick. Your column of chakras, the energy points inside you, had aligned when the girl at school threatened you. It was perfectly normal.
“Our community has four blood lines. The Veritas are those who manage the exchanges of energy in the world and keep things as balanced as they can, the Addos are those chosen to lead the individual Ianua communities…we call them Curas…” She pauses a moment to lick her lips as if she knows I’m on the verge of screaming. “The Alo, like me, are the ones who record the memories of the deceased to retain their knowledge for use to us on Earth and the Contego, like the Reese’s, protect us all.”
“Stop doing this.” I tell her, but she shakes her head.
“Listen to me. This was my mistake. I didn’t expect you to receive any other sign than Alo. This kind of thing only happens when there is a Cusp. I guess it is the universe’s way of making sure the Alo are protected and the Ianua is preserved during times of trouble.”
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I jump to my feet, shouting at her. My nerves feel electrocuted. The Reese’s go quiet in the other room and I grasp my own forearms, biting my lip. “Whatever game you’re all playing, you got me!”
“Nalena...what I do,” my mom starts again. Her eyes are glossy.
“I don’t care what you do!”
The phone rings. We both go silent as I hear Sean say hello and then there is a long pause, like before.
“For Sean, press one...” He sighs and goes through the list of Reese boys like he did earlier, reminding whoever is on the other end that Garrett is taken. It should make me happy, but instead, I am sitting here with my cast crossed over my chest, feeling like everyone is in on the joke but me. Sean hangs up and Mrs. Reese asks him what’s new in his philosophy class. Sean sputters a hollow answer and Mr. Reese fills the void, asking Garrett about finals. Their conversation starts up again, giving us our privacy. My mom rubs her brow, pulling at the skin with her fingertips.
“Garrett’s taken?” she asks. “With you?”
Thankfully, her voice is low enough that it hardly makes it to me. Garrett won’t be able to hear her in the kitchen.
“Maybe.” I say. “Maybe’s he’s not so out of my league after all.”
My mom’s face tightens.
“Nalena. He was never out of your league. But he is Contego.” Her brows ripples with worry as she drops her voice even lower. “How taken is he with you? What has he told you about being Contego?”
“Can we just drop all this?”
“Listen to me.” she says. “I just want to be sure that you don’t make any decisions, based on a high school crush. You have a chance to choose differently and I want you to have a normal life. Something away from all this. Please, Nalena.”
“Please what?” My whisper sizzles, trying to get my mom to keep her voice down too. “Are you trying to tell me who I can like?”
“I don’t want him to influence you!” She explodes in tears as she jumps off the couch.
“I’m going to be sick!” she howls and she runs out of the living room, scuttling up the stairs and slamming the bathroom door behind her.
~ * * * ~
I sit outside the bathroom door with Iris and Mrs. Reese, listening to my mother’s echoing retch.
“She’s frowing up?” Iris whispers as my mom starts up again.
Mrs. Reese nods to her daughter and taps on the door, “Can I help, Evangeline?”
“I’m okay.” my mom coughs. Iris looks between her mother and I, shaking her head.
“Frowing up’s not okay.” she says.
“Let’s give her some space. She’ll be fine.” Mrs. Reese stands and puts her hand on my shoulder, rubbing gently, just like my mom would. I can’t even look at her.
“Hang in there.” she says as she pulls her hand away. She looks down at her daughter. “And you need a bath before bed, Iris. Let’s get you into the tub downstairs.”
“The boy’s bathroom?” Iris scrunches up her nose. “Not the boy’s bathroom, Mama! There’s no toys in there!”
“We’ll find something.” Mrs. Reese promises. She guides Iris downstairs by pushing her along, a hand on her back. I am left sitting in the upstairs hallway, unable to even speak a word of comfort through the door. I listen to my mom throwing up again.
“Hey.” Garrett’s voice is behind me. I turn and look down the short staircase. He’s standing on the main floor, leaning on the railing. “Wanna get out of here?”
“No.” I am miserable. “My mom’s sick.”
“We can stick around here if you want.” he says. “But it’s not going to do any good for you to stand there listening.”
I’m sure he’s right, but as I get up and walk away from the bathroom door, guilt and relief tumble inside me like dirty socks. We go down to the family room and sit beside one another on the couch.
“Feel like a movie?” he asks.
“Not really.”
“You a gamer? We have a few video games.”
“No thanks.”
“Talk?”
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I shake my head, offering a weak smile of apology.
“All right. Then let’s do something else.” he says, standing up. He puts out his hand to me. I take it without asking what we are going to do. I don’t know if I even care. His hand is dry and smooth and I can feel his pulse in the center of my palm. Or maybe it is mine. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel like a joke. Or just a crush.
We walk down the hall that stems away from the family room. On the left, the bathroom door is open and Iris is belting out a tuneless song beneath the rinse that Mrs. Reese pours over her daughter’s head.
“Keep your mouth closed.” Mrs. Reese tells her, but I doubt Iris hears a word since she never stops singing. She just sputters under the waterfall.
Garrett points to a door on the right.
“The basement.” he says. “Also, Sean’s room, the laundry room, and our gym equipment.”
We pass the basement door and Garrett draws my hand closer to his chest. My shoulder almost rubs his back as we walk. We head toward the dark oak door at the end of the hall.
“My room.” he says, twisting the knob. He drops my hand and goes in, leaving me at the threshold. The dark, handsome smell of him is here too, like a twin. I inhale him as casually as I can, in long greedy breaths.
He crosses the room and pulls back the deep chocolate-colored curtains from a long rectangle window. The glass panes are just above ground level outside. The moonlight still finds its way in.
My feet sink into the soft carpet. Dark wood closet doors line the wall in front of me, a desk is on my left with a reclining office chair tucked beneath.
There is a black-framed collage of textured art above his bed. A silver branch, an ocean wrinkle, one speckled pearl, a corner of the moon. I spend a long time looking at the collage because it seems wrong to look at his bed. I avoid it, even though it takes up most of the room.
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