by Shawn Sarles
Was this how Calvin felt every single day?
After hanging out with him, his power had kind of rubbed off on her. She didn’t see images or anything, but she understood the paranoia that riddled him. She couldn’t stop imagining the worst everywhere she looked. She didn’t know how he managed it all.
On the court, Steph suddenly leapt up to block a ball, and Grace couldn’t help but wince, hiding behind her hands in case the net cord snapped and cut off one of the girl’s fingers. Grace thought of Calvin’s drawings—the three he’d done of them. Elena’s had come true, which left Steph’s and Grace’s. Luckily there weren’t any fireworks set to go off in the gym, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t keep their eyes open. Disaster could be lurking around every corner. Calvin had taught her that.
“Did I miss something?”
Grace jumped. But then her shoulders relaxed as she recognized Calvin’s voice there beside her.
“You’re back,” Grace said, surprised at how relieved she felt.
“And I got sodas.”
Calvin held up the two drinks and handed one over as he settled onto the bleacher next to her. They were pretty close to the floor. Only a few rows up. Which made for a great view. But more importantly, a quick exit in case all hell broke loose.
Which it wouldn’t.
But it could.
And Grace wanted to be prepared. Just in case.
“How are they doing?” Calvin asked, and Grace realized that she hadn’t been paying attention. Her eyes darted over to the scoreboard hanging on the wall behind the court, and she quickly read off the numbers.
“Twenty to fifteen,” she exclaimed, as if he couldn’t have seen it himself. “Looks like we’re going to win this set.”
“That’ll put my mom in a good mood.” Calvin nodded as he took a sip of his soda and shuffled closer to her.
Grace couldn’t help but notice the careful way he repositioned his notebook on his knee, his palm resting on the leather cover, almost caressing it. It was such a natural movement. He probably didn’t even realize he did it. Like an addiction that caused him so much suffering but that he couldn’t live without.
“Are you feeling okay?” Grace asked, seeing a slight quiver in Calvin’s index finger. A tug at the corner of his brow.
“I’m fine,” Calvin replied. But Grace could tell something was off.
“Here, let me hold on to that for you.”
She reached out to take the notebook, but Calvin’s fingers balled into a fist, pressing down on the sketch pad, trapping it against his thigh.
“You can’t.”
“I can help you,” Grace insisted.
And she could, she suddenly realized. If he’d only let her.
Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? She could save him right here and now. If he didn’t have his notebook, then he couldn’t draw the terrible visions that plagued him. And maybe that would be enough to prevent disaster from striking. To save them all.
“I’m saying it won’t work,” Calvin tried to explain.
“But—” Grace pressed, wanting to defend her idea, to make it true.
“The visions come out whether I have my notebook or not. I can keep them at bay for a little while, but if I’m not ready—”
Calvin shuddered, and Grace didn’t want to hear the end of his story. But she had to know.
“If you’re not ready … what happens?”
“They find other ways—” Calvin swallowed hard, fighting the memory. But then his chin dipped in surrender. “When I can’t hold it back anymore, the visions take over. I black out and when I come to, it’s there. It’s there no matter what I do. Drawn in whatever ink and on whatever paper I can find.”
And by the way Calvin stared at his palms, transfixed by the lines pumping blood in and out of his hand, Grace knew exactly what kind of ink the demon found to use.
“Calvin, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her hand finding his and then jerking back at the icy cold touch, as if a spirit had already come in to possess it.
Luckily, a roar burst from the crowd right then and Grace was able to turn her attention back to the game. Steph had just spiked the ball for a kill off a perfect set from Elena, and they had their first set point. Grace followed the rest of the crowd and rose to her feet, shouting and waving her hands out in front of her, doing everything in her power not to look over at Calvin. Not to think about all the grim things he’d seen.
Instead, Grace focused on Steph, the crowd going quiet when she served, holding a collective breath as the point played out.
The ball went back and forth, both teams getting digs and putting up partial blocks. Grace cheered “PI-O-NEERS!” with the rest of the fans each time their team touched the ball. It was the longest point of the match, and Grace couldn’t help but get swept up in it, pulled along by the pulse-pounding moment. She peeked to the side, ready to celebrate this nail-biter with Calvin, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t standing, at least. He was still hunched over on the bleachers, his pen scratching away in his lap, filling the notebook that he’d flipped open.
“Calvin?”
Panic sank its fangs into Grace and sucked all the blood right out of her. It left her cold and light-headed and completely out of sorts. The crowd swam around her, the game suddenly suspended in slow motion. She squinted and tried to see what Calvin was drawing, but his head blocked out the images. She had to see, though. She had to know what was going to happen. She had to stop it if she could. She had to save them.
“Calvin!” Grace screamed his name this time and grabbed his shoulder. She yanked him back, gritting her teeth, steeling herself for whatever disaster had visited him. She squinted, but couldn’t make out the drawing. Couldn’t make out the straight lines. The stars flying out in every direction. The fireworks shooting up from the ground.
“Steph!” Grace shrieked, her brain finally piecing it all together.
As she swung forward to scream again, she accidentally knocked the notebook out of Calvin’s scribbling hands and onto the gym floor. But she didn’t have time to worry about that, about who might see his deepest secrets. The dark thoughts that plagued him.
She had to get to Steph. She had to—
The crowd groaned as Steph dove for a ball, her whole body laid out on the floor at the back of the court. She wasn’t able to handle it, though, and it ricocheted off her arms, flying like a bullet, slamming right into the scoreboard hanging on the wall above her.
An explosion like a cluster of cherry bomb firecrackers went off, and the scoreboard lights flickered. They dimmed and then blinked back too bright, throbbing like a pair of eyes about to pop out of their sockets.
And then they did.
The numbers exploded, sending a shower of sparks and pulverized glass down over Steph, who was still sprawled out on the floor.
People started screaming as Steph threw her arms over her face. Then a metallic shriek ripped through the gym and the scoreboard lurched free of the wall. It caught for a second, hovering over Steph’s head just before she was able to roll out of the way, and then it succumbed to gravity, plummeting to the ground and exploding on impact. Shrapnel flew in every direction. Glass and metal and wire. Grace threw her hand over her mouth, watching the debris blow onto Steph, like hailstones whipping in a tornado.
Thirty seconds passed—or it might have been thirty minutes—before the smoke and rubble cleared. Grace could only look on, shock sitting heavy in her muscles, pinning her to the spot. The explosion still echoed in her ears, droning out the screams of frantic spectators all around her. Her eyes blinked, focusing on Steph’s body, willing her to move. To be okay.
The explosion—it was just like in Calvin’s drawing. Fireworks shooting off all around Steph’s head, threatening to blind her. To burn her. To kill her. But that couldn’t be it. Steph couldn’t be—
And then she moved, rolling over slowly. She coughed as she sat up, and Grace couldn’t believe how relieved she felt. How thankful.
Steph was alive. She’d survived the demon’s attack.
Grace started to move down the bleachers, but she stopped as she saw Elena, standing there on the court just a few feet away. Elena’s gaze was fixated on the floor, on where Calvin’s notebook had fallen. On the page open to a drawing of the demon, its lips bloody, its eyes laughing, gleeful.
Would she finally believe now? After the scoreboard had come crashing down?
Grace watched as Elena’s eyes remained fixed on the drawing. And then out of nowhere, a breeze cut through the gym, sending chills rolling through Grace’s bones. Her nose wrinkled as a sour-sweet smell wafted along with the current, but no one else seemed to notice. The air rustled the notebook pages, and then flipped through them in a flurry. The demon’s picture fluttered there on the page for a moment and then began to change in an animated transformation. It morphed into something younger. Something prettier.
Grace gasped as the wind died out and the notebook settled. A smiling face stared back at them. No longer a demon, but a young girl instead.
Something in Elena’s face cracked then. Her jaw clenched as she turned to stare down the court at Steph, who was still sitting on the ground, still getting over her near-death experience. A fire filled Elena’s eyes and Grace realized what she was seeing.
The girl from Calvin’s notebook was there, right in front of them, crouching over Steph, holding her hand and talking to her in a low voice. The likeness was unmistakable.
And as Grace watched her kneel over Steph, checking her arms and face for cuts and bruises, she couldn’t help but wonder who exactly this girl was. With a huff, Elena broke Grace’s concentration before she stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving Calvin’s notebook there on the floor for anyone to see.
Grace scrambled forward then, the shock of the exploding scoreboard wearing off. She bent over and scooped up the notebook, looking back at where Calvin still sat on the bleachers, his gaze transfixed on his trembling hands. He’d need the notebook back eventually, but for now, Grace could hold on to it for him.
A hum ran through the locker room as the girls peeled off knee pads, pulled on sweatshirts, and stowed their water bottles. Their eyes couldn’t help but dart to the corner, to where Steph was changing. A scoreboard had ripped off the wall and nearly crushed her, and yet she’d shaken off the close call and gotten right back on the court. She’d put up an incredible performance and led the team to a straight-sets victory.
Elena banged her locker open and scowled into its depths. She wished it had been her diving for that ball. Then she would have gotten all the glory. Her teammates would be gazing at her with that look of admiration. Steph hadn’t even gotten hurt. No broken bones or severed arteries. She’d only gotten a few scrapes and minor burns. And now the whole team thought she was some kind of superhero.
Elena bit her tongue as she watched the girls rally around Steph, giving her hugs and high fives. It wasn’t fair. These girls were supposed to be her friends. They were supposed to be on her side. That they’d turn on her—that they’d believe the rumors flying around school—it made Elena want to kill someone.
But she wasn’t a murderer. Henry had said as much in his hospital room. However, that hadn’t stopped everyone from whispering behind her back. From spreading the vile lie that she’d pushed her ex-boyfriend into the street on purpose. And now Steph was using this moment of weakness to her advantage. A coup to take over sole captaincy of the team. But Elena wouldn’t back down so easily.
Turning back to her locker, Elena tried to look busy. She rummaged around in her bag, keeping an eye on Steph and counting the girls as they filtered out. She was banking on Steph staying back. On being the last to leave. It was the kind of calculated move Elena would pull if she were trying to endear herself to the team.
And as the door swung shut behind Kayleigh, Elena’s patience got rewarded. It was just her and Steph left, and Elena wasn’t going to waste any time.
Pivoting on her heel, Elena snapped around and slammed her locker shut, pulling out her best snarl as she stalked toward Steph. She had some questions that needed answers, and she wasn’t going to put up with Steph’s lies anymore.
“Who’d you really see in that mirror?” Elena demanded, crossing her arms and cocking her hip, readying for a stand-off. “And I know it wasn’t Cody Crosby.”
This seemed to throw Steph, who fumbled and then acted confused, like she didn’t know what Elena was talking about.
“The mirror. Bloody Mary.” Elena snapped her fingers with each word. “Who’d you really see?”
“I thought you said you didn’t believe in all that,” Steph finally muttered, still looking out of sorts.
“I didn’t. But now—”
And here, Elena had to think hard. She had to reconsider. The proof was right there in front of her. Nearly impossible to ignore. That scoreboard falling off the wall didn’t seem like a random accident. It could have killed Steph.
But Elena didn’t want to think about that now. She wasn’t ready to believe in demons and curses. And it wasn’t important anyway. It wouldn’t help her get control of the team back. For that, she needed the truth. She needed to know Steph’s secret.
“Who did you see?”
Elena’s words cut through the room, sharp and demanding. She moved a couple of steps closer and savored how Steph shrank away, falling even deeper into her corner, her curly hair springing forward to cover most of her face.
“I told you. I saw Cody Crosby.”
But Steph’s voice wobbled with the lie, losing its conviction.
“You never liked Cody,” Elena scoffed, licking her lips. She smirked and caught her reflection in the locker room mirror, her teeth narrowed into fangs. “You’ve never liked any boy, have you?”
Her words hung in the air. An accusation. Proof. Because—Elena realized with a shock—she’d known this all along.
The way Steph always looked away when the team changed, focusing on the floor or the inside of her locker. The way she’d clammed up at Elena’s sleepover the second they’d started talking about boys. All this time, it had been staring her right in the face. The truth. The ammunition she needed to take Steph down for good.
“I’m only going to ask one more time,” Elena said, relishing the power, knowing she held all the trump cards. “Who did you see in the mirror?”
A second passed. Then ten. But Elena didn’t back down. And eventually, something in Steph broke. Her shoulders slumped and her head dipped all the way to the floor. She wiped at her eyes, sniffling, and Elena knew she had won.
“Fine,” Steph whispered, tilting her head back up slowly, her eyes glistening. And Elena almost felt bad for her, for the way she’d secured this victory. It felt dirty. But a win was a win. No matter the tactics.
“So …”
Elena watched as Steph struggled with the words, seeming like she’d rather swallow her own tongue than spit them out.
“I saw—I saw a girl. The new girl.”
Triumph flooded through Elena, and she almost broke out into a dance right there in the middle of the locker room.
“You happy now?”
Steph’s bitterness pulled Elena out of her thoughts. It made her focus on the corner of the room again. There was a fire in Steph’s eyes now. A steely resolve as she faced off against Elena, her shoulders thrown back, her chin jutting out, challenging her like they were opponents on the volleyball court. Like she actually had a chance at winning.
“You going to out me to everyone? Let them know I’m a freak? Turn them all against me and get me kicked off the team?”
For once, Elena faltered. She took a step back. That had been her plan, but now—hearing the words from Steph’s mouth—it seemed so cruel. So mean. And Henry’s words wafted back to her. Was this really who she had become? Did she want to be that girl? She stuttered away from Steph and caught her own reflection in the mirror again. The fangs had retracted, and now she looked kind of lost.
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��I don’t care that you like girls.”
Elena’s tone softened, and even though she’d never specifically thought about it, she was relieved to realize it was the truth.
“And don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“You’re not?” Steph didn’t seem to believe her. “But what about the team?”
“It’s your secret. And they won’t care. I’m sure they’d like to meet your new girlfriend.”
“Mary and I aren’t dating,” Steph jumped in quickly to clarify, and the name triggered something in Elena.
“Mary?”
Elena suddenly remembered why she’d wanted to confront Steph. She remembered what she’d seen in Calvin’s notebook.
“Yeah,” Steph replied, clearly confused.
“You can’t date her.”
“Why not?” Steph bristled, drawing up to her full height, suddenly ready for a fight.
“Because she’s in Calvin’s notebook.”
“No she’s not.”
“She is,” Elena insisted. “I saw it during the game.”
And her confidence seemed to stall Steph, at least for a moment.
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Steph countered. “We’re all in his notebook.”
“It’s different with her.” Elena didn’t know why Steph couldn’t see the connection. “It was like a flip book. And Mary—your Mary—she transformed. She turned into that—that thing. She became that demon.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in all that?” Steph scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she frowned at Elena. And Elena had to admit, finally, that maybe she did.
“You can’t let her get close,” Elena pressed. “She’s dangerous.”
Steph’s mouth dropped open, and she spun away from Elena, her hands gripping the edge of the sink.
“Do you know where Mary came from?” Elena peppered Steph with questions. “Or when she even showed up at school?”
“I don’t know.” Steph shrugged, refusing to make eye contact.
“I thought she was your girlfriend or soulmate or whatever.”
“We only just met.”
