A Town Bewitched

by Suzanne de Montigny

  Someone yanks my arm. “Let’s go.” It’s Charlotte. She’s just gotten out of DT.

  Her pull is so great that I stumble and land on my butt. Grabbing my hand, Charlotte hoists me up and waves at Kate McDonough, her face aglow like she’s waving to HRH Princess Kate herself.

  I steal a glance over my shoulder at Kate McDonough again. Have I just imagined it all? There’s nothing strange about her. She looks like a totally ordinary human being. Or … has Charlotte broken some kind of spell?

  Charlotte waits until the heavy doors of the gym shut, and then whispers in a high-pitched voice, “Travis got suspended! Can you believe it?”

  “No way!” I say, still regaining my balance and dusting off my backside.

  “Yes!” She drags me back to where my backpack lies abandoned. I pick it up, and we head down the hall to the entrance of the school. “Apparently he’s been doing that to a lot of people.” Her voice bubbles over like a pot of boiling maple syrup.

  “Really? So it’s not just us, then?”

  “No.”

  “That’s amazing!”

  The sun is setting fast, so we hurry home.

  “So how come they let you out so early?” Charlotte asks, wrinkling her brow.

  I feel my head sink into my shoulders. “Because of Peter. He saw the whole thing and reported it.”

  “Oh? In-ter-es-ting.” Charlotte’s eyebrows wiggle up and down.

  “Yeah, I kind of thought so.” A small thrill runs up my spine.

  “He likes you,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

  “Nah, we’re just friends.” I look away.

  We race to Dylan’s school, but as expected, he’s already gone home with Mom. I imagine how he probably grumbled all the way back about what a rotten sister I was. I loathe coming face to face with Mom, trying to explain how her precious daughter had a detention. She’ll be so disappointed in me. If only I can think up some way to distract her. An idea comes to me.

  “Hey, why don’t you come over to our house for supper?”

  “Tonight?” Charlotte asks.

  “Yeah. I figure if we’re together, there’s less of a chance of getting the talk. It’s a good way to stall for time.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll just get us later on.”

  “But it’s worth a try,” I say, letting out a thin, hopeless laugh.

  “Well … alright.”

  When we get home, we walk into the house as though nothing happened. I waste as much time as possible, hanging our jackets neatly in the closet, laying our shoes in a perfect line. Then I bite the bullet.

  “Mom, can Charlotte stay for supper?” I call as casual as possible.

  I hear her moving around on the balcony.

  “Sure thing. We’re having steak tonight,” she calls back.

  Charlotte and I exchange looks. “Steak?” we say at exactly the same moment.

  I’m drooling when we get to the kitchen. Mom’s outside on the deck, wearing her Mr. Fred’s Barbecue apron and flipping meat.

  Grabbing the landline, I hand it to Charlotte. Her hands shake when she punches in the numbers. I hear the ominous tone of each ring, like the suspense music of a thriller movie. Someone answers.

  “Dad?” Charlotte begins, but before she can say anything, loud rumblings in French shoot out of the phone, so ear-splitting that she has to hold it two inches away from her head.

  “I know but …” she says over and over again. “Dad? Dad? Listen … but Dad …” Then, “Okay, bye.” She hangs up, her face red.

  “Well?” I whisper.

  “They know. He says I can stay, but that I’ve got to be back home by seven. He says we have a lot to discuss.”

  “I hope he’s cooled off before then,” I whisper, turning to eye Mom outside pricking the steaks while Charlotte dries her eyes with her sleeves.

  Smoke wafts upward from the barbecue. Giant potatoes wrapped in foil, bake on the grill, steam escaping the silver wrappings. A crisp, green salad filled with juicy strawberries and chopped green onions sits on the counter, and I can smell the poignant aroma of a loaf of fresh garlic bread roasting in the oven.

  “Uncle Jack says you’re tired of my meat and rice and either broccoli or carrots. So I thought I’d whip up something a little different tonight.” Mom steps into the kitchen with three large T-bone steaks steaming on a plate and places them on the table. She whisks up a poppy seed dressing to put in the salad.

  “Can you go and get the baked potatoes off the grill for me, honey?” She hands me two pink, flowered oven mitts.

  I walk outside and pile the hot potatoes in a dish. With a few more steps, they’re on the table.

  “Dylan! Supper!” Mom calls.

  I’m beginning to relax, thinking I’ve gotten lucky, and that Mom hasn’t heard about the detention … until she pipes up.

  “So anything new and exciting happen at school today?” Her voice is sweet enough to give me diabetes.

  Charlotte and I share a look of despair. I let out a huge sigh and begin the whole story.

  “Ah, that Travis,” says Mom after I finish. “He has so many problems. His dad’s really hard on him. I used to really feel sorry for him at the old school. He always had a lot of old hand-me-downs and second-hand shoes.”

  “But he’s always running us down,” says Charlotte. “And why does he always have to pick on my adoption? He has no idea what it’s like not knowing who your birth parents are or why they abandoned you. I mean, I love Mom and Dad, but I just keep wondering about my real parents.”

  “Yeah, I know how you feel, Charlotte. I went through a lot of that too when I was younger,” says Mom.

  “What do you mean?” Charlotte grabs the pepper and sprinkles it on her meat.

  “You know I was adopted too, eh?” Mom says.

  “No.” Charlotte’s eyes widen.

  “It’s true. I was abandoned right in front of an orphanage in Rawdon, Quebec. Someone placed me there all wrapped up so I wouldn’t freeze, then rang the bell. The nuns came, but by the time they arrived, she was gone.”

  “Do you think she was watching?” Charlotte asks between bites.

  “I’m sure she was,” says Mom. “After all, I was her baby. I can only imagine the fear that made her do it and the tears she cried afterward. She’s probably wondered all her life what happened to me.”

  “Did you ever try to find her?” Charlotte digs her knife and fork into her steak again.

  “I couldn’t because she didn’t leave her name.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to be found,” says Charlotte.

  Mom shrugs. “We’ll never know. But I can’t stop living now, can I?”

  “No,” says Charlotte.

  “So I’ve just decided that she loved me enough to give me a good home, and I’m happy with that.” Mom cuts a piece of meat and eats it slowly like she’s deep in thought. We follow her lead and for the rest of the meal, we all eat in silence, contemplating her words.

  After the dishes are cleaned and put away, we usher into the family room and watch a bit of the news until the grandfather clock chimes seven. I walk Charlotte to the door and wish her luck. Her head and shoulders slump as though she’s going to the guillotine, but I’m sure things will work out fine, especially since Travis’ suspension proves he’s not nice.

  Chapter 10

  The Eagle

  The next day, I see a crowd of kids through the chain-link fence of the school grounds long before we get there.

  “Is there a fight or something?” I ask, straining to see the commotion in the distance through the red and yellow leaves of the trees.

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte says, quickening her pace.

  We race to the school, our footsteps growing faster by the second. A white van rolls into the school grounds, drives up on the grass, and pulls up as close to the growing crowd as possible. It’s Fisheries and Wildlife. The van doors slam shut as two officials wearing grey shirts and black pants exit and stride to whe
re everyone stands.

  The main door of the school flies open striking the stuccoed wall with a thud, and Vice-Principal Watkins, his striped tie flying over his shoulder, rushes down the stairs to the scene. “Move back, everyone!” he orders “Let these men work.”

  The uniformed officials, one bald, and one with a thick beard, walk into the thinning crowd and bend over, disappearing from view. Then the bald man rises and walks to the vehicle, returning with a green garbage bag and a camera as Mr. Watkins shoos the students away. The rest of the crowd parts, revealing the gruesome scene – a dead and mutilated eagle.

  Charlotte and I hurry to the edge of the crowd. The officials are close enough that I can hear them mumbling.

  “It’s definitely not West Nile’s Virus. Look. It’s been gutted,” says the bald man.

  “Just like that little bird Dylan found a few weeks ago,” I whisper to Charlotte.

  “Maybe for medicinal purposes,” the man with the beard says. “You know how some cultures believe eating eagle innards will cure certain ailments.”

  “Could be.” The bald guy presses his lips together. “Or it could be the work of a psychopath.”

  “Or maybe just an angry teenager,” says the bearded man, turning and eyeing the crowd of teens. “But the one thing I’m fairly certain of, is that it’s probably related to that graffiti.” He tips his head toward the school.

  I turn, my eyes following the direction he’s pointed to, and gasp. On the brick wall of the gym, the words ‘I REMEMBER’ are scrawled in bright orange paint across the stucco.

  The bald guy shakes his head. “You might be right.”

  The two officials take pictures, and then finish their examination. They stuff the bird in the bag and load it up in the truck.

  “How awful.” Charlotte says as we watch them leave. “Can you believe it?”

  “No. They’re such beautiful birds,” I say, remembering the eagles from Mr. Bachinsky’s window circling over the Fraser River to prey on the salmon spawning in its waters. “But you heard what he said about an angry teenager. I wonder if it might be Travis.”

  Charlotte moves a little closer to me. “I don’t know. He’s mean, but I don’t think he’s that bad.”

  “Yeah, but remember what Mom said last night about him having a lot of problems?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s possible,” I say, shrugging.

  The bell hums, and we follow the crowd into the school. As I climb the stairs, my blood curdles when I see a familiar form watching from afar. Her brass hair reflects the sun as she stands as still as marble – Kate McDonough! Is she staring at me? I shiver, remembering the spell her music cast on me and wonder what would have happened if Charlotte hadn’t come along when she did. I turn my head away and step inside. Just as I get over the sill, I look back. Her icy blue eyes are still glued on me. So creepy.

  When we get to our locker, I reach for my science textbook. “It’ll be nice not having to deal with Travis today.”

  “Mm-hm,” agrees Charlotte, grabbing her books and her pencil case.

  Without any warning, our locker door slams into us. Tumbling backward into the tight space, I hit my head on the hook. Charlotte is sandwiched between me and the door.

  “Ouch!” I shout, trying to regain my balance. Is this some kind of joke? Who’s doing this? Some guys having a fight? I push Charlotte and the door back out at the same time.

  It can’t possibly be Travis since he won’t be back until Monday. I thrust with all my might, my teeth gritted. The door explodes open and Charlotte flies, landing on all fours on the dirty floor, and there, standing right before me smirking, are Sydney and Samantha.

  “What’d you do that for?” I demand.

  “I hear you girls got Travis suspended.” Sydney sneers, her cruel eyes almost hawk-like.

  “Yeah, so?” Charlotte gets up off the floor and stands all of her five foot two up straight. “I have rights too.”

  “And what rights are those?” asks Sydney, shoving her face in Charlotte’s.

  “My rights. That’s what!”

  “You don’t have any. You weren’t even born here. You should have stayed in China where you belong!” Sydney says, her voice low, but menacing.

  “She was legally adopted!” I shoot back.

  Sydney’s eyes glare at me like they’ll burn a hole right through me. “Oh, reading legal documents now, are we? How totally nerd.” Her voice is overflowing with sarcasm.

  I take in a sharp breath at her words, anger boiling inside me, but before I can say anything else, she clamps her jaw so hard I think her teeth’ll break, then says, “Just stay out of Travis’ way, got it? He’s our friend, and we’re not letting him get suspended over the likes of you – Geek! And you,” she says narrowing her eyes at Charlotte, “Slanty-Eyes!”

  Behind Sydney, a looming figure wearing a striped tie heads our way.

  “Let’s go,” Samantha pokes her finger hard into Sydney’s shoulder.

  They break into the sweetest smiles as though nothing’s gone down between us. “See you, girls.”

  We stand motionless with mouths gaping. Seething, I turn to Charlotte. “Let’s go tell someone.”

  “No, don’t.” Charlotte’s voice is desperate. “I don’t want to get into any more trouble.”

  “Yeah, but they can’t get away with that. I mean, this is Canada. We have rights.” I grab her arm and try to steer her toward Mr. Watkins.

  She breaks away from my grip. “Just leave it.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not the one who’ll be in trouble,” I say as we turn the corner into the science lab.

  “You weren’t there last night when I got home.” Her voice is shaking.

  “What happened?” I drop my books on the table and settle on my stool.

  “My mom and dad lectured me for almost an hour about violence and how to disarm a conflict, and blah, blah, blah.” Charlotte rolls her eyes. “I cried and cried, but they just didn’t seem to understand. They said I shouldn’t choose violence, and that I won’t be able to go on their next trip with them if there are any more stunts like that.”

  “What trip?”

  “I don’t know. Some trip that’s supposed to be especially for me.”

  “That’s crazy.” I drum my fingers on the table. “They’ve gotta take you.”

  “No. They mean business. That’s why I can’t say anything. I’d kind of like a bit of peace and quiet tonight.”

  Class begins, but I can barely concentrate I’m so angry. I steal a glance at Kyle to my left. His mouth is curled into a twisted smile. He waits until Charlotte looks at him, smirks, and then pulls the corner of his eyes, narrowing them to tiny slits.

  Charlotte reels. “Did he just do what I think he did?”

  I’m so stunned I’m speechless.

  He does it again.

  Charlotte swings her head around and stares at me, her mouth and eyes wide with disbelief. “He’s stretching his eyes to make them look Chinese!”

  I glare at Kyle, and then whisper to Charlotte, “Look, we’ve got to do something about this.”

  Charlotte shakes her head. “No, I can’t. Remember? My parents? The trip? There’s nothing we can do, so let’s just pretend we don’t see it. Then he’ll stop.”

  But it doesn’t stop. It goes viral. Not only with the IGs, but with absolutely everybody. Whenever a teacher turns their back, or slips out for a moment, teens stretch their eyes at us. That’s when I realize the truth of the matter – the IGs have declared war.

  Chapter 11

  The New Music

  The following Monday, Travis is back. He catches sight of us as soon as we walk into the school. Frowning, he turns around without saying a word. We ignore him back.

  We grab our flutes and folders from the narrow storage shelves of the band room and find our seats in the front row. I rise to get one of the last black stands for Charlotte and me on the racks in the corner of the room. There are only three
left. Reaching out to take the one that least looks like it will fall apart, my hand is blocked by a thin arm.

  “Sorry. That one’s mine,” says Kyle.

  I shake my head and reach for the other working stand.

  “Mine,” declares Sydney, grabbing the stand and whisking it out of my reach. “They’re both for Travis. He’s a bit behind since he missed two days of school, and he needs that many to hold all his music so he can catch up.” She sticks out her chin and gives a wicked smile.

  I’m just about to lunge at her stand when Mr. Waring calls out, “Hurry up, Kira. Let’s go.”

  Throwing them a vicious glance, I take the broken stand back and thump it down in front of Charlotte.

  “What’s with this?” she asks.

  I recount the story of what just happened while I attempt to turn the screw on the bottom, my fingers turning black from the grease.

  “What?” She says when I’m finished. Her face grows red, and just when I think she’s going to explode, Mr. Waring clears his throat and taps his baton, stopping her dead in her tracks.

  “Today,” he says, “I’m handing out some new music.” Everyone’s eyebrows rise with interest.

  “And you probably think it’s a march, right?” He shakes his head. “Not.” He reaches behind him and picks up a brand new folder off the upright piano. “It’s a really exciting arrangement of Celtic tunes.”

  Aw, no! Not him too!

  I wait for the class to moan, but instead they cheer.

  “It’s a medley that starts with a rhythmic piece called a strathspey, followed by a reel, and then the ever classic tune, Danny Boy.” He says it like he’s talking about the greatest hit of all time.

  My heart sinks. Oh, please, anything but Danny Boy!

  The class mumbles with excitement.

  “Strathspeys have a lot of dotted rhythms like these ones.” Mr. Waring’s chalk scratches the rhythms on the board. “It goes like this.” He counts it out and taps the chalk to the beat. “And this one goes like this.” Again, he taps a rhythm. “But the best way is to feel it rather than to count each and every sub-beat.” He faces us. “Now let’s all give it a try.”