The Unquiet

by Jeannine Garsee

  I jab the knife into my pumpkin to scrape out an eye socket, wondering suddenly about Frank and if he’s called here lately. Or, if I called him, if he’d hang up on me.

  Probably. The day Mom and I left California, he ducked away from me when I tried to hug him. He barely said goodbye. It still hurts me to think about it.

  But I bet it doesn’t hurt me as much as what I did to him.

  3 MONTHS + 24 DAYS

  Wednesday, October 29

  In my dream, I’m playing my guitar onstage in front of the whole student body. Halfway through whatever I’m playing—it’s not even clear in my dream—someone in the audience yells: “MURDERER!”

  One by one they all take up the chant: “MURDERER! MURDERER! MURDERER!”

  I jump off the stage and try to run, but the mob surrounds me, smothering me, slashing me with their claws, and I can’t escape …can’t escape!

  The thing about dreams is that they’re only dreams. If you don’t dream, Dr. Edelstein once explained, you can develop emotional problems. At best, you can’t concentrate. At worst, you hallucinate. Dreaming is how people cleanse their brains. A “cerebral enema” was her exact description.

  At breakfast, the first thing Mom says is, “I heard you talking in your sleep. Another bad dream?”

  “All my dreams are bad.” Seriously, they are.

  Mom bangs silverware into a drawer. “I can’t believe he’s making you wait till January for an appointment.” She means the new psychiatrist Dr. Edelstein referred me to. Someone in Cincinnati, not here in town, thank goodness.

  “I could threaten to bomb the school. That’d get me in quicker.”

  “Don’t even joke about that!”

  Well, isn’t she in a delightful mood? Days like this I wish she’d go back to smoking.

  In art, when I see Cecilia Carpenter, I’m not sure how to approach her. Lacy was so nasty to her; what if Cecilia takes it out on me?

  Taking a chance, I pop out of my chair and slide in next to Cecilia, two tables away. “Hey.” Yes, I’m saying “hey” like everyone else around here. “Sorry about the other day. You know, with Lacy?”

  Cecilia smirks. “Why are you apologizing for Lacy?”

  “Because Lacy won’t.” When her smirk spreads to a smile, I add, “I should’ve stuck up for you. I guess I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “I should have expected it. She’s so, she’s such a—”

  “Shrew?”

  Cecilia giggles. “Yeah. Too bad, because I really like Meg. Tasha, too. Tash and I took gymnastics together, and then”—she gestures downward—“I got fat. And please don’t say anything stupid like ‘Oh, you’re not that fat.’ It’s no big deal. I know what I look like.”

  Relieved by her candor, I plunge right in. “Why don’t you change your mind about helping us out? Seriously, we need you. Tomorrow, in fact.”

  “Are you guys that desperate?”

  That’s when Mr. Lipford catches on that I’m at the wrong table: “Well, Corinne. I take it you’re ready to add your final coat of paint?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I hop up and whisper, “Eat with us!” to Cecilia, and scurry back to my own hard lump of clay.

  “What was that about?” Meg whispers, paint brush poised.

  I pretend not to hear her and hold up my project instead. “So what do you think this is?” It started out as a bowl, but …

  Meg examines my work of wonder. “Ashtray? Candleholder?”

  “Okay. Candleholder.”

  Whatever. It’s almost done.

  Circled around our usual lunch table, Meg, Lacy, and Tasha watch as Cecilia and I approach. That’s when it hits me: they won’t welcome her one bit. Especially not Lacy. Do I really want to see her humiliated again?

  I nod toward a different table. “Let’s go sit there.”

  She does so, with aplomb. “I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Why you dragged me over here instead of sitting with your friends.”

  I start to say they’re not really my friends, that I hardly know them. But that feels like a lie. “Maybe I’m trolling for more friends?”

  Cecilia ruffles her dark hair. I notice for the first time how pretty she is. How, if she slimmed down a bit—okay, a lot—Lacy might consider her a serious rival. “Sure. You breeze into town, like out of nowhere, right? And already you’re hanging out with the queens. Plus, rumor has it”—she twirls a foil-wrapped corn dog—“you’ve got a boyfriend already. You know some girls would draw blood just to get Nate to look at them?”

  “We’re neighbors, that’s all.” So far, anyway. “Maybe people are only nice to me because my mom works in the office. Friends in high places and all that.”

  Unconvinced, Cecilia unwraps her corn dogs. I do the same. Hate to say it, but I’m loving this new high-fat diet of mine. Back in California we mostly had stuff like salads, fresh fruit, and tofu burgers on the menu. Of course, back then, off my meds, I refused to eat anything I didn’t make with my own hands. Poison, you know.

  I break the cap off my Snapple. “Who do you usually eat with?”

  “Pat Schmidt, but she’s out with mono. And Stacy Winkler”—she nods toward another table where Stacy, running for student council, or possibly Dork of the Year judging from her OshKosh B’goshes, campaigns to a bunch of bored freshmen—“but she’s pretty tied up. You still talk to your old friends?”

  Oh, right. Every day. “Um, I’m not what you’d call a social butterfly.”

  “Really? You don’t act shy.”

  “I’m not. I just like to keep to myself.”

  “Ha, good luck with that.” She finishes off her first corn dog and crunches into the second. “I know, I know,” she says, like she’s expecting criticism. “I can’t help it. I like to eat. I eat even more when I’m nervous, and I’m nervous right now. That game on Saturday? I’m singing the National Anthem.”

  “You’ve got guts,” I say in admiration.

  “Singing’s the only time I feel good about myself, you know? Like people are listening to me for a change, instead of ragging on the fat girl.”

  We chew in companionable silence for a while. Then Cecilia informs me, “Looks like your friends are trying to get your attention.”

  Sure enough, Lacy, half out of her seat, beckons madly. Is there a rule that says I can’t sit with anyone but them?

  Cecilia studies her corn dog stick. “Better go before they get mad.”

  I hesitate. Of course I don’t want to lose the few friends I have, but neither do I want to abandon Cecilia. “No point in moving now. Lunch is almost over.”

  It’s kind of sad how overjoyed she looks. We chitchat about this and that till the buzzer rings. PE is next. As I gather my book bag and head for the tunnel, Cecilia lags back.

  “I’m going the other way.” She nods to the far doors leading directly into the gym. The sign says NO ENTRANCE. PLEASE USE CORRIDOR. “I don’t like the tunnel.”

  “Who does?”

  “Nobody. But once when I was five, my brother accidentally locked me in the garage. He said he didn’t hear me yelling. I was stuck there for hours. I’ve been claustrophobic ever since.”

  “Yikes. I don’t blame you.”

  She shines with gratitude. “I just don’t want you to think I believe in ghosts, which I absolutely do not.”

  “That makes two of us,” I say cheerfully. “See you there, then.”

  So I take the tunnel like everyone else—I’m not getting busted—and make a mental note to stop at the office to report another dead rat.

  3 MONTHS + 25 DAYS

  Thursday, October 30

  As we survey the boxes of Halloween decorations after school, Lacy warns, “Don’t expect me to climb on any ladders in my delicate condition.”

  Tasha hoots. “Delicate?” Thankfully she agreed to help us out just this once, and only because she’s not swimming tonight. “Don’t make me barf. Oh, wait, that’s your job now.”

  “I never
should’ve told you,” Lacy hisses.

  “Like you could keep it a secret? You’ve been spewing your lunch all week.”

  Lacy stifles her reply when Cecilia appears at the cafeteria door. “Jacobs. Tell me you seriously did not invite the singing cow.”

  “I seriously did.” I move closer to Lacy. “We need her, so be nice. I mean it, Lacy.”

  Lacy aims her nose about an inch from mine. Unsure of the outcome, Tasha busies herself with crepe paper streamers. Meg grabs a bag of hollow plastic pumpkins.

  Seconds tick by. Lacy loses. “What-ever, Rinn.”

  Proud of myself, I wave Cecilia over. Meg and Tasha toss over “hi’s” as brightly as I’d hoped. Lacy nods, and leaves it at that.

  With encouragement from me, Cecilia joins in, taping cardboard ghosts and witches to the cafeteria walls. Meg and I spread orange and black tablecloths while Tasha fills plastic pumpkins with candy corn, suckers, and Tootsie Rolls. Lacy languishes, sucking a cherry Blow Pop, absently handing out strips of masking tape to Cecilia.

  Mom, who agreed to stay late so there’d be an adult around, pops in twice to check on us. The second time I send her a look to remind her, please, this isn’t a Brownie meeting, never mind the juvenile decorations. She backs off.

  Tasha ducks when Lacy throws her a lollipop. “I can’t eat that! I’m on a diet till after regionals.”

  “Really? In that case maybe you can give Cecil here some pointers.” With that, Lacy pig-snorts at Cecilia.

  I wondered how long it’d take her to start some shit.

  Disregarding Lacy, Cecilia addresses Tasha. “Just be careful you don’t develop some weird eating disorder. It’s common in athletes. My dad’s a doctor,” she explains to me.

  Lacy hoots. “So why hasn’t he come up with a cure for obesity yet?” She snatches up a handful of candy corn and pitches it at Cecilia. Little orange and white cones rain down on the pumpkin display and skitter off the table.

  “Knock it off!” I yell.

  “Knock it off,” Lacy says, mocking me. “Jeez, who croaked and left you friggin’ queen of the candy corn?”

  Tasha explodes into laughter. Even Meg giggles. Okay, that was a pretty funny line. I struggle to stay straight-faced, and fail miserably. Cecilia stares at me in betrayal. I quickly sober up. “Oh, ignore her. She’s been nothing but a bitch since she got knocked up.”

  Sudden silence. I don’t realize what I said till Lacy flies in my face. “Thanks a lot! And you call me a bitch? You think I want the whole school to know? I haven’t even told my parents!”

  I’m such an idiot!

  “Sorry,” I say meekly.

  “You’re sorry,” Lacy repeats, dripping with spite. “Well, gee, doesn’t that make me feel better?”

  “Cecilia won’t say anything. Will you?” I plead.

  Cecilia smiles a strange smile. “Of course not.”

  The way she says it—not quite sarcastically, but not sincerely, either—worries me. Maybe I misjudged this girl.

  I see it worries Lacy, too. Forgetting about me, she watches Cecilia dump the rest of the Tootsie Rolls into one last pumpkin, while Tasha and Meg shuffle decorations around. I don’t think I like that smile on Cecilia’s face.

  Then, casually, Lacy says to Cecilia, “So I hear you’re singing the National Anthem. Does that mean you’re coming to the dance, too?”

  Cecilia’s tiny smile wavers. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Why not? No date? You mean you’re singing our National-freakin’-Anthem and nobody asked you to the dance? Bummer!”

  Tasha snaps, “Shut up already.”

  “Oh, well, no matter.” Lacy ignores my scowl. “If you come, Cecil, we’re having a séance in the tunnel. We’d love for you to join us. What do you think?”

  I missed something. “What séance?”

  “Just something Dino and I planned,” Lacy says mysteriously. I stare. “You’re going to Homecoming with Dino?”

  “I’m not going with him.” An evasive laugh. “We’ll just kinda be there at the same time.”

  I’m speechless. Lacy and Dino? Whoever heard of a cheerleader dating a stoner?

  She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s wrong? You jealous? Because I know he asked you and you turned him down.”

  Tasha hoots, “Omigod, Rinn! And you never told us?”

  “Why would I?” Seriously, must they know every detail of my life?

  Meg shakes her head at the pumpkin in her hands. “God, Lace. I can’t believe you’re back with him. What about Chad?”

  “It’s just for the dance,” Lacy insists. “I’m not back with him. And I was never with him in the first place, I’ll have you know.”

  Tasha blows raspberries. “Oh, so that’s why Nate dumped you last year. Because he didn’t find out you were blowing Dino. Sorry. My mistake.”

  Then she looks at me and covers her mouth.

  “You dated Nate?” I ask faintly, hoping Lacy’ll deny it.

  Lacy shrugs. “We hooked up once or twice.”

  Meg slams the plastic pumpkin on a table. “Do you guys always have to talk about who’s hooking up with who?”

  “Well, Meg,” Lacy retorts. “Speaking of which, you better make sure your vaccinations are up-to-date, seeing how Jared’s screwed just about every girl in school.”

  “No he hasn’t! You are so full of—”

  “Shut up.” Lacy stiffens. “Shut up. Shut up!” Drained of color, she clutches her hair and stumbles away, sinking into the nearest chair. “My head’s exploding!”

  If her face weren’t so ghostly I’d swear she was faking.

  “I need something for this pain!” she screams, digging her fingers into her scalp.

  Tasha sneers. “No drugs for you, preggo. Suffer!”

  Lacy must be as sick as she claims or we’d see Tasha flying across the cafeteria by now. She rocks in place while Meg, forgetting her outburst, flutters around her with concern. Tasha, though, who knows Lacy well, watches her performance as skeptically as I do.

  Cecilia asks nervously, “Rinn, maybe you should get your mom.”

  “No!” Lacy sobs before I can move. “Just make it go away! Oh God, it hurts. It hurts so bad …”

  And then, just like someone reached out and hit a kill switch, the wailing stops. Lacy’s hands fall to her lap. She stares at Cecilia, her face relaxing by degrees.

  Cecilia stares back. In fact, we all do.

  “I’m sorry I said those things, Cecilia,” Lacy says softly. “I guess I’m kind of on edge.”

  Tasha jabs a finger into Lacy’s back. “You know what, Kessler? You have some very serious mental issues.”

  Lacy wipes her tears. “I guess I’m just super hormonal.”

  “Well, you got the first syllable right.”

  Meg shushes Tasha. “Drop it. Can’t you see she has a migraine?”

  “Actually”—Lacy blinks in surprise—“it’s gone.” She fluffs out her mass of curls and forces a smile. “But I’m fine now. Totally!”

  Her speedy transformation bites my gut. Either she faked this whole thing and we’re all gullible twits, or …

  Movement catches my eye, a shifting of shadows. I turn my head, rigid with disbelief, and watch the shadows of the table legs grow longer … darker … slithering across the floor like monstrous fingers. What the hell, what the—?

  “Shit!” I stumble backward and bump into Cecilia.

  “Ow!” Ungraciously, she pushes me off.

  I blink at the floor. The table shadows remain. But now they’re simply shadows.

  Nothing else.

  Lacy, back to her old self, regards me with amusement. “What’s with you?”

  “I …” Tearing my eyes away from the floor, I stare at Lacy, then Meg, then Cecilia, then Tasha, and I realize by their clueless expressions that I’m the only one who noticed those shifting shadows.

  Nobody else. The same way nobody ever saw my shadow people, either.

  This is not
the same thing. It can’t be. I won’t let it.

  “Sorry.” Funny how my voice comes out so normal, so perfectly calm. “I’m tired. Let’s finish this up.”

  Done by six thirty, we sit around and admire our handiwork. The plan for tomorrow is for all the students to bring lunches from home and eat in the auditorium, so as not to trash our hard work.