“It’s okay! I believe you!” Marco kissed him. “Have you been beating yourself up about this for a month and a half?” Brenden nodded. “You crazy man.”
They kissed again until Marco pulled away and said, “Bruno’s here.”
“What?”
“He’s been helping me with the collection. And trying to keep me from going insane until you got home.”
“Really?” Brenden arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, please! You’ve just come clean about making out with some guy at college. Are you really going to get suspicious of me and Bruno?” They laughed. Upstairs Bruno went back into Marco’s bedroom to get his coat.
He said hello and goodbye on his way out. There was a dense patch of trees between the houses across the street, and on impulse he crossed over and walked into it. He had a nervous moment, worried he would stumble into a stranger’s backyard and have to try to explain what he was doing there, but sure enough, he found himself in the familiar clearing.
It took Gardner a moment to appear. “Well, I’m impressed!”
“So am I.” Bruno grinned.
“THEY’RE ALMOST FINISHED,” the student stage manager said to Marco. The rest of the home economics students had taken turns walking the runway in their simple A-line skirts and square-cut Windbreakers, to polite applause from the audience of students and parents. Marco’s collection would close the show.
“Good, good.” Marco turned back to the line of his models, scrutinizing them for the hundredth time. Bruno marveled once more at the black silk blazer Marco had made for him, paired with a gray shirt with French cuffs and lightweight wool trousers. All the models wore black leather gloves.
Turlington stood in front of Bruno. “He shouldn’t be nervous. This is going to be awesome!”
Then the lights went out in the auditorium, and Marco’s models shuffled from the wings toward the opening in the middle of the curtain, which gave way to the catwalk that stretched out halfway into the first section of seats. The eerie opening notes of “Stranger” by Clan of Xymox played in the darkness, and Bruno turned to Gwendolyn, in line behind him. She didn’t look as scared as he expected. “You look great,” he told her.
“So do you,” she said, but her smile looked polite and nothing more.
“Thank you for doing this for Marco. I know he really appreciates it,” Bruno said.
“I did it for you, too,” she said. “Or at least, when I said I would do it, it was for you, too.”
“Well, thank you.” Bruno looked awkwardly away.
Tomasi took his place in the darkened opening. His gray silk suit, accessorized with top hat and the gloves, foreshadowed the rest of the collection. When the drumbeat of the song kicked in, the spotlight opened on him and he strode out onto the catwalk. Soon the stage manager beckoned, and Campbell stepped closer to the opening. When Tomasi returned to the top of the catwalk, he turned around so the two of them could walk together. When they returned, Tomasi exited and Turlington joined Campbell for his second walk.
Bruno was next. At the stage manager’s cue he stepped into the light, joining Turlington as Campbell exited. Bruno was concentrating so hard on all the pointers Marco had given them—keep his chin up, shoulders back, don’t walk too fast, don’t swing his arms—he was at the end of the runway before he noticed the audience. They were quiet and almost motionless. Here and there a camera flash went off. Bruno and Turlington turned around and went back.
When Gwendolyn stepped out to walk with Bruno, the audience applauded for the first time. She wore a gown that gave the illusion of a fitted jacket over a full skirt, all made from the same charcoal raw silk, elaborately trimmed with black grosgrain ribbon, and in the spotlight, with her hair swept up in a chignon, she looked like a movie star. She gave Bruno a quick smile, excited this time, and then they were walking again. Now Bruno relaxed a little and was able to enjoy the thrill of doing yet another thing he never would have predicted he’d do before he arrived at Suburban. Too soon they returned to the top of the catwalk, and Bruno’s work was done until the final parade.
Marco pulled Bruno over. “What’s the audience like?”
“I think they’re blown away,” Bruno said honestly. “This is like a real show.”
“I hope so!” Marco beamed. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“What do you mean? I barely helped you. You did all this yourself.”
“Still, I knew you had my back. It meant a lot.”
“Sure.” They watched the rest of the models go out for their walks.
Celia closed the show in a full gray gown laced from the bodice to the floor with grosgrain ribbon, and drew the most applause yet. Then Marco joined her, and Bruno and the rest of the models followed the two of them down the catwalk and back, clapping along with the audience, which roared its approval.
“I can’t believe it!” Marco said when it was over. “I can’t believe that just happened!” He hugged everyone within reach.
Within minutes Chris and Cosey had found their way backstage. Cosey gushed, kissing Marco on both cheeks. “I want all of it! I knew you were talented, but you just blew my mind! You must come by this weekend, and we’ll place an order for as much as you can make!”
“Thank you!” Marco said. “Thank you so much!”
Bruno got back into his own clothes and went out to find his parents. “Here’s one of the models!” Mr. Perilunas pulled him close. “You looked great! You all did! Your friend is an extraordinary tailor.”
“He is.”
Bruno’s mother kissed him. “Alice and Gertrude are here. Did you know they were coming?”
“I’m not surprised. They’re friends with Lippa, Celia’s boss at the bookstore.” Bruno looked around the crowd and saw the Troika in a cluster.
“Go say hello. We’ll keep an eye out for Sylvio.”
Bruno went over to the women, who greeted him warmly. He thanked them for coming.
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Lippa said. “Your friend is incredibly talented, and you all did a great job. But we were almost as curious to see this school as the show.”
“Really?”
“Did Celia tell you about her friend Mariette, and what happened here last year? Well, at the time Celia thought Mariette was one of the Kind, and I thought I had just put too many ideas in her head. But after that boy found you at the store that night and asked you about being an Ambassador, I remembered it. Now we wonder if she wasn’t on to something.” Lippa looked at Alice and Gertrude, who nodded knowingly.
“You think . . . you really think?” Bruno looked from one to the next.
“I don’t know what I think, but I am definitely intrigued,” Lippa said. “How crazy would it be if Suburban was a hot spot of Unkind activity, and no one had any idea? Maybe we could tell you and Celia what to look for, and you could let us know if you see anything unusual.”
“Nothing very interesting happens here.” Bruno said.
Marco appeared in the lobby, hand in hand with Celia, who hadn’t changed out of her gown. She made the rounds with him, beaming as he received his well-deserved accolades. Every time Bruno looked at her, he thought only of the new moon that was coming soon, and the power he was about to squander by failing to meet his admonition—it made his attraction to her all the more vibrant, more desperate. But his head held his heart at bay. Even in the strange world of the Kind, if something felt wrong, he was determined not to do it. There would be another admonition after this one expired. One with terms he hoped he could accept.
SYLVIO HANDED THE PHONE to Bruno and lingered to hear what he said. “Hello?”
“Bruno? It’s Celia. Something’s wrong.”
“What happened?”
“It’s Tomasi. He was supposed to come to me last night, through my sketchbook. He never came, and I was bothered by it, but only in the annoyed girlfriend kind of way.”
“Okay . . .”
“But this morning his parents called me, wondering
if I knew where he was. They must be really concerned, because they’ve never been crazy about me.”
“So he’s not at home, and—” Bruno looked at Sylvio standing over him. “You know, let me come over.”
“Would you? Please!”
Bruno hung up, and Sylvio said, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Bruno said honestly. He had a bad feeling. “I have to go.”
“To Celia’s? Do you need a ride?”
“That would be great.”
“Sure. That’s how cool I am. You can be all mysterious and I’ll still give you a ride.” Sylvio went to get his keys.
At Celia’s house Bruno traded polite greetings with Mrs. Balaustine before he went upstairs with Celia. Bruno still felt strange being in her bedroom and hoped Tomasi wouldn’t suddenly reappear.
Closing the door behind them, Celia said, “All I can think is that he went into the book in his house, but didn’t make it to my sketchbook. Have you figured out anything about how he travels?”
“Not really. Did he ever tell you what it was like in there?”
“He says it’s like jumping out the window of a plane and then hurtling through space like a skydiver toward another window.” Celia fell silent.
“And he thought someone was following him.”
Celia nodded. “But he never actually saw anyone because it goes by so quickly.”
Bruno didn’t know what to do. “I wonder if Gardner knows.”
“Gardner?”
“He seemed to know about Tomasi. One time he said something about how Tomasi traveled differently, and I didn’t understand what he meant, but I bet Gardner is familiar with that space, too. Of course—it’s a liminal, so it’s another form of Ebentwine!”
“Would you ask him?”
“I’ll go right now.” Bruno got up, and Celia did, too.
“Can I go with you?”
“Would you mind if I went alone? I have a feeling he might tell me more if you’re not there.” Bruno felt bad about leaving her because he could tell she was scared. But he had a hunch he wasn’t going to like what Gardner had to say.
He went out into the backyard and glanced around before stepping into the bushes behind Celia’s house. In a moment he reached Ebentwine, where Gardner was waiting.
“You know where Tomasi is, don’t you?”
“Well, hello to you.” When Bruno didn’t speak, Gardner added, “Yes, I know where he is.”
“What have you done to him?”
“Why do you care? If Tomasi is out of the way, you can console Celia, be a shoulder for her to cry on. You never know where that might lead.”
“Why would you say that? The way he travels—that’s the Ebentwine, too, isn’t it? Is he trapped in the Ebentwine?”
“I don’t know if I would say trapped, but he’s there,” Gardner said. “And I suppose you’re going to try to get him out now.”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t. You could go back and tell her there’s nothing you can do. There are other people she could ask for help, you know.”
“Is what happened to me, and Ms. Moreletii, happening to him?”
“What do you mean? The lightheadedness? The blurred vision? Disorientation and loss of strength? Unconsciousness?” Gardner watched Bruno, who already could feel the first symptoms encroaching on him.
“You shouldn’t have done this!” Bruno said, and stumbled back through the bushes to Celia’s house.
She was waiting in the backyard. “What did he say?”
“Tomasi is trapped in the Ebentwine, and I have to go get him out.”
“He’s in the clearing?”
“The Ebentwine isn’t just the clearing. It’s all the places inbetween. When Tomasi travels between books, he uses the Ebentwine, the way I use the clearing.”
“How can we get to him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to get to his Ebentwine.”
“Please, think. Anything!” Celia pleaded with him.
“My in between is a shortcut between places. His in between is a shortcut between books . . . The library! I think the school library might be the way.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said, but he stopped her.
“If he . . . I think you should stay here. Please, trust me,” Bruno said. Celia looked ready to cry. “I have to go. If he’s been in there that long . . .” Bruno reached out to touch her but stopped halfway, not sure if he should. “Can I use a piece of paper?”
She pulled a sheet out of her sketchbook and watched as he quickly sketched her bedroom and closet, connecting them to the janitor’s closet and the hallway at Suburban. Then he went into the closet, pushed past her clothes, and felt for the mop bucket behind them. In a moment he was in the first year hallway. Bruno took off running for the library. What if it’s locked? He tried to think of a closet in the library he could use to pass through. But it was no matter—when he got there, the library doors were open and the lights were on.
“Bruno! What are you doing here?” Lois looked up in surprise.
“Tomasi is trapped in the Ebentwine,” Bruno said, panting. “I have to get him out.”
“Here? How will you—in the stacks?” He nodded. “Do you know what you’re doing?” He shook his head. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No.” Bruno ran through the gate that protected the stacks, sending it swinging. He charged down the aisle and paused to pick up the lantern. One, two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four. That means if there’s another volume of You Are Here, it’s in aisle one hundred twenty-eight. Bruno ran as fast as he could down the main aisle until it was as black as a cave. He slowed down every now and then to raise the lantern and check the aisle number. The air began to change, turning hollow and gusty, as though a storm were brewing. Pockets of wind blew out of the side aisles, buffeting him as he passed. There was a rustling, a distant roar that grew, and then the first scrap of paper brushed across his face like a giant moth, flapping away in the darkness.
When he reached aisle 128, the lights had begun to flit around the corners of his vision. He scanned down the aisle until he found You Are Here. This volume was so large, he had to put the lantern down and lift it with both hands. He opened it and found a twelve-line poem.
“An admonition? I don’t need an admonition!” Bruno turned the page and found another admonition. “Help me out!” He kept turning pages, and each one flapped away from his hand in the wind.
Halfway through the book he found an illustration. Bits of graphite streaked across the page, making it look like a blurry sheet of newsprint. The edges of the drawing were dark, but in a corner a silhouette was visible, looking like a drunken man crumpled on a park bench. “Tomasi!” Bruno called as loudly as he could into the gusts that blew off the page from the space in the drawing, mixing with the tormented air in the library. The figure lifted its head. Bruno put his hand to the page and was surprised when it went straight through. Bits of paper brushed against his arm as he strained to reach as far as he could, but Tomasi was too far from the surface of the page.
“Tomasi! Can you reach for me?” Bruno stretched as far as he could into the drawing, but Tomasi barely moved his head. Bruno yelled in frustration and pulled his arm out of the book. He pounded his head, trying to figure out what to do.
What’s next? One twenty-eight . . . two fifty-six? Bruno left the book on the floor, scooped up the lantern, and headed back to the main aisle. He took off running again, and now the wind grew louder, like a storm coming in off the sea on a night with no moon. The pressure in his ears kept changing, and once he slipped and crashed into the end of a row of shelves. Now and then someone rushed across his path, but he ignored them. He kept going, checking the aisle numbers, and slowed down a little as his destination approached. Ahead of him a figure loomed in the darkness. It was Gardner, standing by aisle 256.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Gardner said.
“I have to sav
e Tomasi,” Bruno said, gasping.
“No, you don’t. Go be happy with Celia.”
“I can’t do that. Are you going to stop me?”
“I can’t stop you.” Gardner stepped aside, and Bruno entered the aisle, feeling as though he might faint.
The books were nearly as tall as he was. He hoped the volume he needed was on the bottom shelf, because he didn’t know how he would get a book down from the top. You Are Here jutted out from the bottom, and he set down the lantern and tugged at it, blacking out for a moment. He shook his head and his vision returned, and he labored to prop the huge book against the shelf so he could heft the cover open.
This time the drawing was on the first page: graphite images of papers streaking across the page. Some of them flew out of the drawing, whipping around him like headless birds before they drifted to the floor. Tomasi was there, too, hunched in the same place as before. But now he was twice as close to the surface of the page, and when Bruno reached through, he could grasp Tomasi’s arm. “Come on!” he called. Tomasi’s head lolled to the side. Bruno pushed his other arm through the page and pulled on Tomasi with all his might. Tomasi struggled up and lurched toward Bruno. He fell, but his hand caught on to the bottom of the book as though it were a windowsill, and Bruno pulled him back up, hoisting his upper body over the threshold. “Tomasi, you have to lift your legs!” Bruno reached into the drawing and dragged one of Tomasi’s legs up over the bottom of the page. Then he pulled him as hard as he could, and Tomasi toppled out onto the library floor. Bruno closed the book.
“Can you hear me?” he asked Tomasi, who weakly lifted his head and looked up at Bruno. “We have to get back!”
Tomasi tried to speak, and Bruno bent close to hear him. “How did you find me?”
Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange) Page 26
