“Lots of people get married,” Alison said. “Figure you’d have to be in love to want to get married. So maybe there’s two kinds of love. There’s the special storybook kind that people write about, and then there’s a lesser kind that everyone else gets.”
It made sense to Sally. Her father and mother must have fallen in love at some point. Why else would they get married? But it must not have been that special, magical love she’d always read about. Otherwise, her mom wouldn’t have left.
“Who’re the Rolling Stones?” Sally said.
“Some band from, like, the Eighties,” Alison answered. “Old people listen to them. I don’t think they were very happy.”
“Why’s that?” Sally said.
“Because their other big hit was called ‘(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.’”
Sally laughed. She didn’t have much time to pay attention to popular music, but the songs their parents listened to were just ridiculous.
She had a sip of her lemonade and savored its tartness for a moment. Then she decided it was time to ask for Alison’s help.
“Have you ever had the same dream over and over again?” Sally said.
“Hey, it’s my turn,” Alison protested.
“No, I’m not playing,” Sally said. “I’m serious.”
“Why?”
Alison popped the last of her pretzel in her mouth and examined Sally as she chewed. Sally paused before answering. She didn’t think Alison would laugh at her, but she was a little nervous telling her friend about her dreams.
“I’ve had the same dream two nights in a row,” she said. “Actually, the same nightmare.”
“What’s it about,” Alison asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sally began. “It starts out in school, and I hear this clinking sound, and when I look to see what it is, there’s this coin that rolls down the hallway. Then these huge dogs come up the stairs and start chasing me. I run to every room on the second floor looking for somewhere safe, but they’re all locked. Then I get to Mr. Pipich’s room, and the door is open. So I run inside.”
“Scary,” Alison said.
“Tell me about it,” Sally said. “But that’s not all. The first time, Mr. Pipich was in there, and he acted like nothing happened. Then he introduced me to a new student. It was a girl, but she had a wolf’s head instead of a human one.”
“That’s weird,” Alison said. “Then what?”
“I woke up screaming after that,” Sally answered. “But the second time, it wasn’t Mr. Pipich in the room. It was a woman, and she introduces me to the girl, and instead of having a wolf’s head, she’s wearing a wolf mask – you know, the pullover kind?”
“Yeah.”
“So she makes this paper smiley face, and then she tears it all up and blows the pieces at me. Then she lifts her mask, and she’s got the smiley face behind it instead of a real face.”
“What?”
“I know, right? So she takes the paper face and hands to me.”
“What does her real face look like?”
“She doesn’t have one,” Sally said. “It’s just a big, black hole.”
Alison looked scared now. Sally appreciated that. She was glad to know it wasn’t just her.
“So the lady tells me, when I see this again, I’ll be able to find the key,” Sally finished.
“What key?”
“I don’t know,” Sally said. “She doesn’t tell me that. The dogs break in and attack me. Then I woke up.”
Both girls fell silent. Alison sipped her lemonade. She appeared to be thinking about what Sally said, but she didn’t offer any opinions.
“There’s more,” Sally said.
“Oh, my god,” Alison said. “Really?” Sally nodded.
“When I woke from the second one, Tommy was standing in my doorway,” Sally said.
“Why was he doing that?”
“I was screaming so loud, he heard and came to check on me,” Sally answered.
“Holy crap,” Alison said. “You were screaming that loud from a dream?”
“Yeah,” Sally said. “Anyway, I told him I just had a nightmare, and he said he gets them too. And, Alison, he said he has the same dream over and over.”
Alison’s eyes grew wide. Her mouth fell open.
“Is his the same as yours?” Alison said.
“I think it’s different,” Sally said, “but not totally. He said a mean witch-woman chases him and eats him.”
“Oh, my god!” Alison said. “That would scare the crap out of me if I were in second grade!”
“And it’s sorta like mine,” Sally added. “He gets chased, and someone tries to eat him. That’s what the dogs are trying to do to me. I think this is all connected somehow, Alison, but I don’t know how, and I don’t what it means.”
Alison didn’t say anything. She sat at the table, staring at nothing.
“Hey, look who it is,” a voice called out across the food court. “It’s Little Red Riding Hoodie and her sidekick!”
Sally and Alison turned and saw Kylie and Brinna standing a few feet away looking smug and bitchy. Sally sighed. Was there nowhere to escape The Set?
“What are you two doing here?” Alison said. “Did Molly let you off your leashes, or did you dig under the fence when she wasn’t looking?”
Brinna looked confused. Sally snickered watching her try to puzzle out what Alison had said. Kylie looked contemptuously at Alison.
“What, are you stupid?” Kylie said. “Molly’s at a Spirit Committee meeting along with Wendy and Moira.”
“Aahhh,” Alison said. “So you guys are the B-team.”
“What?” Kylie said.
“Wendy and Moira are on the A-team with Molly,” Alison explained, “but you guys aren’t good enough for that. You’re allowed to hang out with them in the hallway at school, but you’re not good enough for the cool stuff.”
“That’s not true!” Kylie said, raising her voice.
“Then why aren’t you on the Spirit Committee,” Alison asked.
“Because,” Kylie said.
But she didn’t say anything after that. Her face turned red, and the smug look she’d had on her face when she first addressed them was replaced by one of anger and confusion.
Alison didn’t say anything. She just held Kylie with her gaze, wearing a placid expression that continued to ask her question.
“You know what, losers?” Kylie said. “Neither one of you is ever gonna do anything cool. You’re gonna spend your whole lives wishing you could do things like Molly or us.”
“Yeah,” Brinna said. “You’re gonna wish you could be like us and Molly.”
“Oh?” Alison said. “So Molly didn’t want the part in the sixth-grade play that Sally got? Sally didn’t beat her out?”
“Nobody cares about that stupid play,” Kylie shouted. “It won’t be cool at all without Molly in it.”
“Yeah, it won’t be cool at all without Molly in it,” Brinna said.
“No,” Alison countered, “it wouldn’t have been cool with Molly in it, because she would have turned one of Shakespeare’s great tragedies into a comedy.”
“What? How?” Brinna said.
“Her performance would have been laughable,” Alison pronounced.
Sally guffawed. Ordinarily, she preferred to avoid trouble with The Set. She had enough of it randomly. But Alison’s joke was not only funny, it was dead accurate.
Kylie frowned at both the jibe and Sally’s reaction. She took a step forward and assumed a threatening pose.
“You two losers better watch your step,” Kylie said. “You keep messing with Molly or anyone else in The Set, and you’re really gonna regret it.”
“Yeah, you’re really gonna regret—”
“Shut up, Brinna!” Kylie shouted, cutting her off.
“Whatever, B-team,” Alison said. “I’m tired of listening to you. Send the A-team if you want to insult us. You guys are weak.”
Sally grinned broadly a
t them. She didn’t need to say anything. Alison was crushing them.
“Keep talking, Jamison,” Kylie said. “See what happens to you.”
“Allez vous,” Alison growled. “Avant debotter le cul.”
Sally didn’t know what Alison had said, but her best friend’s face had gone stony, and there was a definite threat implied. Brinna looked confused. Kylie glared.
“Watch your step, Jamison,” Kylie said as she turned away.
“Yeah,” Brinna said. “Watch your step.”
The two of them sauntered off, strutting as though their parents owned the mall. Alison watched them go with a steely gaze. Sally alternated between staring at Kylie and Brinna’s retreating forms and Alison’s face. A moment later, Alison turned back and smiled.
“Where were we?” she said.
“I don’t remember,” Sally said.
“We’d better get going,” Alison said. “My dad will be here to pick us up soon.”
Sally sighed. Leave it to Molly’s little toadies to totally ruin pretzels and lemonade and The Question Game. Going to the mall with Alison was supposed to be her escape. Instead, it was just another normal episode in her sad, sad life.
Five
The weekend passed without further incident, and on Monday, Sally found herself back in school with a strange mixture of excitement and dread. Play practice started this afternoon. The most wonderful thing that ever happened to her was about to really get going. She wasn’t restricted to just enjoying the moment after it happened. This one would keep going for eight weeks!
But that wasn’t until after school. In the interim, she feared pop quizzes from Mr. Frank and bullying from The Set. Sally didn’t believe that the confrontation at the mall food court would be quickly forgotten, especially since Molly was still pissed about not being cast.
Her fears were confirmed shortly after entering the building. As Sally made her way to her locker, Molly and her toadies came strutting down the hallway. They all seemed to see Sally at once, and as if on cue, they fanned out, forming a wall. They said nothing. They just kept walking. There was little room to get by. Sally was forced to the side, and Brinna gave her a shove with a designer-sweater-covered shoulder into a locker as they passed.
Sally sighed. It could have been worse. She suspected it would be eventually.
Alison was waiting at her locker. She had her blonde hair tied up in a pink bow today, and was wearing a very cute Columbia-blue cardigan with a white top, dark blue jeans, and pink Vans. She looked fabulous, and Sally was jealous.
“Bonjour, mon ami!” Alison said, her eyes sparkling. Her outfit really brought out the blue in them.
“Alison, I’m not ready for French just yet,” Sally complained.
“You’re very Monday,” Alison said, putting a pretend pout on her face. “Here I thought you’d be excited because the play is starting.”
“I am,” Sally said.
“Then turn that frown upside down, girl!”
Sally rolled her eyes and opened her locker. She had just finished getting out her books for social studies and math, when a voice called out from behind her.
“Hey, Sally, what’s happenin’?”
She turned and saw Brian Pomeroy standing not far from her in a red, Roosevelt sweatshirt with a bright, yellow “R” – which had claw marks through it, since the school mascot was the Wildcats – on the chest. He smiled at her, and his brown eyes shone like a pair of tiny stars. Could he be more gorgeous?
Her heart skipped a beat. Had he just spoken to her?
“Uh, hi, Brian,” she said.
“Hey, check it out,” he said. “We match.”
He motioned back and forth with his hand at their shirts. Sally looked down at her own tattered hoodie and then back at him.
“Uh, yeah,” she said.
Stupid! she thought. So stupid! Could you sound any more lame?
“What’s happenin’, Alison?” he said.
Of course. She’d said something moronic, and he’d turned his attention to her prettier friend.
“Nothing,” she said. “How about you?”
“Just on my way to homeroom,” he replied. “Gotta finish my math. I can’t believe Mrs. Lamay gave us all those problems over the weekend.”
“I know, right?” Alison said. “Like, I’ve got stuff to do on the weekend, Mrs. Lamay. I may have to listen to you drone on about math during the week, but on the weekend, I should get a break.”
“Exactly,” Brian agreed. “She probably sits at home on the weekend dreaming up ways to torture us.”
“Right!” Alison agreed. “They oughta call her Mrs. Lame-ay.”
“Or just Mrs. Lame,” Brian said.
They both laughed. Sally smiled weakly and started looking for a means to slip quietly away. She didn’t want to be here while Brian and Alison flirted.
“Hey, Sally,” Brian said. “I didn’t see you after school Friday, so I didn’t get to say congratulations. Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” Sally said, blushing. “Uh, you too.”
“Thanks,” he said, grinning at her. “I’m looking forward to working with you. Should be fun. You were really good in the auditions.”
“Thanks,” she said again.
She tried to think of something to say to him – something that wouldn’t be totally lame or just parroting what he said to her. Her brain melted. Nothing came.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you after school,” she said.
“Yeah, guess so,” he said, still smiling broadly. “Cool. Catch you ladies later.”
“Bye,” Alison said.
Sally watched as he sauntered off. Even the way he walked was beautiful.
“He liiiiikes you,” Alison said.
“Shut up; he does not,” Sally said.
“Oh, yes, he does,” Alison taunted. “He thinks you’re très belle.”
“He’s just looking forward to the play.”
“Yeah, cuz you’re in it.”
Sally closed her locker and tried to hide a smile. It would be amazing if Brian liked her. That was why it wasn’t true. She’d already used up all the good things that were going to happen to her for at least a month when she was cast as Juliet. There was no way she was getting that and Brian too.
But it was nice to think about. Very nice, indeed.
***
Mr. Frank did not throw a pop quiz at them, although he did get off on a tangent about what was wrong with Congress these days. Sally tuned out. She didn’t have the strength to listen to him get up on a platform about Democrats or Republicans or whatever it was he was upset about today.
Mrs. Lamay had difficulty holding her attention as well. Sally got most of the homework problems right, but she didn’t have any interest in the new material, so she found it hard to concentrate. She’d just have to try to figure it out tonight.
In third period, Mr. Pipich lectured on Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan.” Sally found that much more enjoyable. Mr. Pipich read a portion of the poem aloud. Sally liked when he did that. He had a marvelous delivery and a rich baritone voice.
“‘And all who heard should see him there,’” Mr. Pipich intoned dramatically. “‘And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, / And drunk the milk of Paradise.’”
When he finished the passage, he paused and said nothing for a moment, meaning he was about to make an important announcement. Sally leaned closer in anticipation.
“Let’s go back to the introduction,” he said.
There was a rustling of papers as the students dutifully turned the pages in their textbooks. Mr. Pipich read the opening sequence again.
“‘At this moment,’” Mr. Pipich read somewhat more flatly, “‘he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, t
hat though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone has been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter!’
“Now,” Mr. Pipich said, closing the book, “does anyone believe Mr. Coleridge?”
There was silence. Even Sally was taken aback by the question. It was not what she had expected to hear. She had thought Mr. Pipich would say something profound, not ask them if they believed the words of the writer.
“Well?” Mr. Pipich prodded. “Anyone have an opinion on this?”
Sally considered the question. Intuitively, she knew that the correct answer was, “no.” Mr. Pipich would not have asked if there was no reason to doubt Coleridge. But she couldn’t put her finger on why. She scratched her head and flipped through the poem looking for clues.
“Molly?” Mr. Pipich said. Molly did not look happy to have been selected to venture an opinion.
“Well, yeah,” she said, sounding a little unsure of herself.
“Yes, you believe Coleridge when he writes that the poem was unfinished?” Mr. Pipich asked.
“Yeah,” she said after a pause.
Molly smelled a trap. She wasn’t stupid. But Sally could tell she didn’t know how to avoid falling into it.
“Why?” Mr. Pipich asked.
“Because,” Molly said, trying to sound confident, “he told us he was interrupted when he wrote it. Why would he lie about something like that?”
“An excellent question,” Mr. Pipich said. Molly smiled and looked smug. “Why would he lie?”
Sally could tell Molly was being set up. She hid a grin as Molly flipped that raven-black hair of hers.
“Does everyone else share Molly’s opinion?” Mr. Pipich asked.
He seated himself on his desk and scanned the classroom with an interrogative look. No one said anything.
“Show of hands,” he said. “Who agrees with Molly?”
Most of the class put up hands. Sally didn’t join them.
“So,” Mr. Pipich continued, “most of you think that there is no reason to believe that Samuel Taylor Coleridge is lying to us when he writes that he was interrupted and unable to finish the poem.” He gazed out among the raised hands. “But I see we have a few dissenters. Not everyone thinks Molly is right.” He paused for a moment. “Hands down.
Little Red Riding Hoodie: A Modern Fairy Tale Page 5
