Chapter 6: The Gang
My jaw falls slack because there’s no way to contain my awe. The flakes form into a group of people—a gang. They take one step forward in unison. Steadying themselves, their furious gazes fall on me.
Confused by their presence, I focus on the short boy in front dressed in dark, dank clothing. He mouths something so slowly that his snarling lips articulate the sound of each and every letter, but I read them as though his silent words blast as loud as a battle cry. “Kill her!”
The group accelerates in my direction. No, not just toward me, but after me! I hesitate for a split second, my brain slowly realizing their intentions. They’re coming after me. Run!
Sucking in a forced breath, I pivot to run in the only available direction, toward the packed train platform. I plow into oncoming commuters, now thankful for the lost bag that I should be towing. My hands clench, and I pump my arms, willing my feet to pound the pavement faster.
I just begin to gain ground when the oncoming crowd of commuters thickens, slowing my movements to an agonizing pace. When I look over my shoulder, the gang closes in.
With new determination, I dart around a corner. Mercifully, the wall of bodies parts into a valley, and I dash through the divide, praying it will close up behind me, blocking my attackers.
Rushing forward, I vault over a set of ticket machines. My feet slam the ground on the other side. The landing sends a piercing pain up my shins and into my knees. Before I take off again, someone grabs the back of my cardigan. I pull forward, trying to get away, but their greedy fingers stretch my sweater like taffy.
Instinctively, I turn to look at the person holding me captive. As I do, my palms and knees hit the floor in momentary shock. My boy, the one from the photograph, stares back with his sparkling green eyes. With a flustered expression, he lifts one finger, pressing it to his lips, urging my silence.
I’m confused and relieved all at once. Somehow his image calms me, just as it has before. As I begin to smile at him, the gang yells at us from a distance.
“There she is!”
The boy’s chin juts in their direction. When I follow his line of sight, I see the gang is closer. My eyes dart back to my boy in confusion. Is he one of them? I don’t have time to figure it out.
I look down at his hand. He’s clenching my sweater, so I strain away from him, pulling farther, twisting and turning until my arms extract from my sleeves and I’m free. With my bare arms now exposed, they swing freely by my sides as I launch into a full sprint. Glancing back over my shoulder, the gang descends on the boy, but before I see what happens, I hurl myself back into the crowd, hopefully disappearing from their view.
A new train rolls to a stop. If I time my escape correctly, I can jump on and ride away before the gang catches up again. I race to the front car and take a quick glance back.
I collide with someone. Their arms fling themselves around me in a cage grip. In response, I tense my muscles and thrash my body, willing myself to break free. The person won’t let go. I’m trapped.
“Seraphina—Seraphina, what’s wrong? It’s me.”
When I recognize the voice, I look up at her, my hands still clenched, and I’m on the verge of tears. Aunt Mona’s hands release me and move from my waist to rest on my shoulders. She attempts to calm me by placing her face level with mine.
“What’s wrong?”
I stand, confused, staring at her lightly crinkled eyes. It takes several seconds to really see Mona, to understand she’s really here.
I need to protect us.
I turn, shifting square in front of her, to defend us from the gang. They must be right behind us by now, so I’m ready to punch or kick anyone that nears. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I start to shake. Trembling fingers brush tangled hair away from my face so I can scan the crowd over and over. I quickly realize they’re gone. Vanished.
When I turn to face Mona, my body starts to shake uncontrollably. Mona defines the tremors as hypothermia because she instantly rubs her mittens up and down the length of my naked arms to warm them. Right now, I wish the friction would start a fire, but the thought makes me think of the Lady in Black, and I know if I had to choose, I’d rather be cold.
“Where’s your coat?” Mona demands.
I remain silent, still confused by the serendipity of our meeting. Jittery, my eyes flicker around. I’m sure the gang will appear again at any moment.
“Where’s your luggage? What’s happened? I was worried, so I came looking…you didn’t answer your phone.” Her questions and concerns come faster, but I’m still nervously scanning for trouble.
Mona pulls my face toward hers. “Seraphina, are you okay?” she asks. Concern flashes in her eyes, but I can’t answer. I realize I’m still breathing too hard from running.
Mona shimmies out of her coat and wraps it tightly around my body. She pulls me into her arms and guides me through the open train doors. She takes a final glance over her shoulder at the station, probably to ascertain what I was running from.
I know she won’t see them. The gang has disappeared, just like the Lady in Black. I force their images out of my head. The gang is not real. I’m crazy.
Mona and I sit in silence on the train. As the city speeds past us, she studies me. I stare blankly out the window, failing to understand what’s happening. The lady, the candles, my hand, the boy, the moving earth, the gang—if one more unexplained thing happens I might crack in half. With chattering teeth, I burrow farther into her quilted coat, wishing I could hide away.
“Where’s your luggage?” Mona’s questions begin again.
“The airline lost it,” I mumble.
She nods.
“My cell phone and coat—they’re in there,” I explain. “Sorry, I should’ve found a pay phone and called. I didn’t think it would take me this long to get to your house.” I look down at my feet.
“What happened to your lip?” She points, her eyebrows knit with concern.
I already forgot about that.
“Commuter in a rush to get somewhere, I guess.” I shrug. “They elbowed me.” I place a finger on my lip. It throbs under the touch of my freezing skin.
Her eyes soften. “Well, we’ll get some ice on it when we get home.” I cringe at the thought of purposely putting something frozen on my body after today. Mona leans in to look at the wound. She eases back and crosses her arms. She must be getting cold by now as well.
“Why were you running back at the station?”
This question is difficult to answer. Should I worry her and tell her the truth: I’m crazy.
“I thought I was going to miss the train.” My lips press into a tight line. I hope she won’t see through my lie.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re here.” Her voice is sincere, in a gentle, parental way, a way in which Ray would never speak to me. She wraps her arm around my shoulder and squeezes.
“Me, too.” I tuck my head into the corner of her neck. For some reason, I know I’m safe with her.
Thirty minutes later, we exit the L train and walk to Mona’s home in the city. Thankfully, it’s only a few blocks away.
She lives alone in a Victorian brownstone. The facade is pine green and heavy, but the windows arch, looking like a face with surprised eyes. Although covered in snow, her city-size front yard reveals her passion for covering everything with mosaic glass.
I consider Mona a free spirit.
“Hippie,” Ray called her once.
She’s well read and well traveled; one can easily make the assumption upon entering her home. Items collected from all over the world make up her eccentric decor.
A well-worn red Persian rug lays centered in the main room underneath a Venetian glass chandelier. A rust-colored velvet couch and two opposing modern chairs complete the seating area. The extremely high-reaching ceiling and mayonnaise-yellow walls act as a quiet backdrop for her fifteenth-century medieval tapestries and modern Kandinsky painting.
An old trunk serves as a coffee table. Amazonian shrunken heads, a Neolithic fertility goddess, white marble busts of her favorite poets, and tenth-century Chinese porcelain decorate the living room like everyday tchotchkes. Finally, a ten-foot-high totem pole, carved from red cedar, sits in the corner, guarding the bright, lofty space.
I only know about these things because Mona has told me the story for each.
Mona leads me to my room, up two flights of stairs and past her library, which houses an expansive collection of antique books. We pass several closed doors, rooms that I had never bothered to investigate in the past.
“Well, here it is,” she says as she pushes her way through the guest room door. “It gets nice light.” She walks over and pulls open the curtains. “And it has a fabulous view of the city.” She gestures out the window, then tucks a lock of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear.
“This is great, Mona. Thanks.” I smile back, hiding my sadness.
“We’ll pick up some necessities from the store tomorrow to replace what you’ve lost.” She crosses the room to the closet. “I guess we’re lucky you’ll be wearing uniforms to school. I picked them up yesterday.” She pulls one out for my inspection and holds it up.
“Cool.” I nod, but it isn’t. The uniform is ugly. I’ll have to do some serious accessorizing.
“Also,” she adds, “ignore the box of Christmas lights on the floor. I’ll put them in the attic tomorrow.” She gestures toward the pull-down stairs at the ceiling. “I just took them down earlier.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll help.”
“That would be great.” She hesitates. I can tell she’s gauging my mood. Then she continues cheerily, “So, I’ll run downstairs, grab an ice pack for your lip, and call Ray. He’ll be relieved you finally arrived.” With that, she slips into the hallway. Her footsteps disappear, descending the stairs.
On so many levels, I’m lost. Lost in my new space. Lost in my thoughts. Lost from my father, my mother. Each thought pushes me further into depression.
Because I have nothing else to do, I walk the room, inspecting the furniture, the photos, and the view. Finally, I sit on the bed. If my travels had gone as planned, I’d be unpacking my suitcase, settling in with some sense of permanence. Instead, I’m confused about my sanity.
Turning, I crawl into the sea of throw pillows scattered on the bed and collapse into mush on my stomach. Although I don’t want to, I need to mentally catalogue all my strange occurrences over the previous months. Just thinking of them brings tears to my eyes.
First, the very scary encounter with the Lady in Black. I’ve tried to forget about her since my birthday, convincing myself that our meeting never transpired. The thought of her fishing through my mind, burning my brain from the inside, makes me shudder. The candles, the nightmares! Ugh—moving on…
Secondly, my unplanned excursion to Chicago. The “trip” happened before Ray ever decided to exile me to Mona’s house. After being knocked unconscious, maybe I dreamed about the trip? Or maybe I experienced some kind of freaky psychic premonition. Something to consider, no matter how unlikely, I suppose.
Thirdly, the gang of dirty teens. I exhale heavily, remembering the physical effort it took to outrun them. Should I add the boy from the picture to this group? I have a feeling I shouldn’t because I’ve spent all this time allowing his photo to console me. Even after today, it seems as though he came to help. But still, I’m unsure.
What did the Grungy Gang want? I had no purse, nothing to steal. The most perplexing, impossible part seems to be their arrival: sparkling flakes of dust. How could something so beautiful turn into something so terrifying? I must be losing it.
My eureka moment fails to arrive before Mona strolls into the room to baby me with an ice pack. It’s a perk I would never receive from Ray, so I accept her attention with gratitude.
She sits down, and the bed creaks. “I hope you don’t mind using a bag of peas.” She hands over the frozen produce. Only Mona’s rich voice can make such a statement sound sophisticated.
“Works for me. Thanks.” Placing the bag on my lip, I flinch. It’s freezing.
“I’m so happy to have you here. It’ll be great fun to have some girl time. Sometimes it gets so lonely by myself.” She squeezes me with one bony arm. “There are so many fabulous things to do in the city—” Her eyes light up with excitement. “Art galleries, Millennium Park symphonies, and the music festivals. Oh, the music festivals are amazing!”
“Sounds pretty cool.”
We chat for some time, warming up to each other. Being around Mona is easy and unforced, the perfect balance between guardian and child. This is the exact opposite of my relationship with Ray. Maybe this is how life would’ve been with my mom? I smile, letting this one thought make me happy.
I ask Mona the color of Mom’s eyes.
Mona peers deeply into my own. “It looks as though,” she pauses, seemingly pulling the memory from her mind, “they were just a shade darker than yours.” She smiles. She never denies me any info about Mom, and I’m grateful to her for that.
“I figured, but wasn’t totally sure. Ray—I mean, Dad—doesn’t talk about her much, ya know?”
“Yes, I know, and I’m quite sorry about that. He truly loved her, and I fear it’s still very painful for him to bring up the old memories. So try not to hold it against him.”
I ponder her statement. Ray has been through quite a lot, but I was too young to remember the life-altering events: a tragic car accident took Eliza’s life, then not much later, a house fire claimed all their possessions. His consolation prize for a life turned upside down—me.
•
Ray disowning me between semesters works to my advantage. I can now make a fresh start at the prestigious Washington Square Academy. More importantly, it’s the same high school my mom attended.
I suspect the establishment will be about as boring as their navy blue plaid uniforms, which, if I might add, don’t look too horrible with some vintage costume jewelry, courtesy of an early morning raid on Mona’s jewelry box.
After a short, body-numbing walk with Mona through the winterized city streets, we turn the street corner, revealing the campus in the distance.
I stiffen with shock.
For some reason, I hadn’t thought too much about what the school would actually look like, but I should’ve known. Simply connecting the dots would’ve allowed me to mentally prepare because this is now the second time I’ve laid eyes on the golden obelisk, its courtyard, and the surrounding buildings.
Mona doesn’t notice my hesitation, and I quickly catch up with her. Inwardly I want to cry, but on the outside, I force the acceptance of another ludicrous occurrence.
Walking into the campus, I compare it to my memory—which is surprisingly hazy. I dismiss this fact because, with a supposed knock to my head, I hardly had a chance to take in my surroundings clearly. Wasn’t this part a dream?
Contrary to the first encounter, a heavy layer of windswept snow nestles around the structures. Two large French-inspired buildings mirror each other. The golden obelisk stands between them, pointing upward into the heavens. The configuration, minus the snow, reminds me of a piazza in Rome. Curious students peek out at us through the ornate arched windows of the east building.
“It’s a beautiful campus, is it not?” Mona asks, misinterpreting my awe-struck face.
“Beautiful—and huge.” I look between both buildings. “There must be tons of students.”
“I believe it’s the grand architecture that makes the school appear larger than it really is. Fortunately, all your classes are in the west building. So it will be quite easy for you to navigate.”
I follow Mona up the overwhelming front staircase, under the columns, and through the ornate entrance doors. The interior is even more exquisite, feeling like a five-star hotel rather than a school.
An intricately woven royal blue and gold rug extends the length of the building. It abru
ptly ends at a roaring fireplace. I can feel the heat radiating from a hundred feet away. Instantly warm, I slip off my coat as I walk around, taking in the murals and the marble columns lining the hall.
Mona delivers me to the first glass-etched door on the right. She hands over my schedule, a photocopied map, and then wishes me good luck with a hug. She leaves, heading to her office in the library. She’s the head librarian for the Academy.
I take a deep breath and open the door. When it creaks open, I stop in my tracks, taking time to soak in the room. Its decor challenges any preconceived notions I’ve ever had about what a classroom should look like. A fireplace sits on the far wall, smaller than the previous, but with more intricate stone designs. Large wingback chairs with fold-down desktops wrap around the room. A Victorian-style chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling. If there’s a chalkboard, or anything else that resembles a classroom here, I can’t find it.
“Hello, you must be Miss Parrish.” A bug-eyed teacher with wiry hair scurries to greet me.
“Yes.” I nod.
“Welcome, Seraphina. I’m Señor Belmont. Why don’t you take the empty seat in the corner?”
Nodding in acceptance, I walk to my new seat. The other students’ eyes follow me. My face flushes, but it shouldn’t. I’ve walked the path of the “new girl” a thousand times before, so I do what I always do: I stand up straight and look ahead. After gingerly taking my seat, my eyes drift out the nearby window until everyone’s attention returns to their previous activities.
The girl next to me struggles to inch her chair closer to mine. She leans into my personal space and introduces herself.
“Heya, I’m Macey DuBois.” She makes the statement more with her huge, expressive chocolate eyes than with the actual words.
“Sera Parrish.” I lean back. Her large dark curls touch my arm. With my chair pinned against the wall, I can’t move back any farther to escape her.
“So—tell me—where do you hail from, Sera?” she asks and bites on her pencil.
“All over, really.” I lean another direction, to hide my unease. “But most recently, Miami Beach,” I add.
“Oh—my—gosh—Miami? That is sooo much better than this arctic freezer. You have to tell me all—about—it. Is it true that all the celebrities have mansions there?”
Before I can answer, Mr. Belmont begins Spanish class. Still, this doesn’t stop Macey from making me promise to tell her every single “oh-my-gosh” detail at lunch.
•
The school week goes by, but not as I expect. The elegant decor of the Academy still overwhelms me, but the fact that I almost feel as though I fit in scares me more. Until now, the feeling of belonging has eluded me in every place Ray and I have tried to call home.
This place, it’s different. The school, the people, and the city—they draw me in as though I’m on the cusp of something important, and I’m here for a reason. However, I can’t completely explain this feeling to myself. Something skims past me daily. I feel it. What it is, I don’t know. I just know I’ll find it soon.
The new sense of belonging is further aided by a sense of permanence because Ray has agreed to let me stay here until I graduate. I no longer look at my situation as temporary.
With the winter weather so hideous, I even find the will to stop skipping class. For now, at least, sitting and listening to lectures while soaking up the warmth of a toasty fireplace is preferable. There’s one in every classroom.
Macey, despite her personal space issues, turns out to be pretty cool. Her sunny and energetic personality attracts lots of friends, which I benefit from. Through her I’ve already met Xavier Blackburn, Agnes Lane, and Scarlett Thierry. The three play in a band and have invited me to jam with them.
For two weeks, my craziness seems to subside. I find myself completely content with my new surroundings—happy, even. In fact, everything’s great until I see him again.
Wander Dust Page 6
