Strange Girl

by Christopher Pike

  “She’s nailed me on a few things,” Dale said.

  Janet jumped on him. “Like what? Give me an example.”

  Dale glanced at Mike, who gave him an encouraging pat on the back. Dale cleared his throat before answering. “She knew I was gay and that I’ve been in love with Mike for the last four years. She gave me the strength to acknowledge that and to talk about it openly with Mike.”

  Janet was staggered. She wasn’t the only one.

  “You’re kidding me!” Janet gasped.

  “He’s not,” Mike said.

  “But how—” Janet began.

  “The rest of it’s none of your business,” Mike interrupted.

  Janet backed up a step. “But Mike, you’re not saying that you’re . . .”

  “What? Gay? What if I am? What if I’m not? Either way it doesn’t matter. What’s going on between Dale and myself is private.”

  Janet shook her head, not because she disagreed with Mike, but because she was still trying to process what they’d just said. The issue between Mike and Dale had been with us for years. To have it suddenly resolved, in the blink of an eye . . . well, let’s just say I was struggling as much as Janet.

  Maybe more. Maybe because Dale was saying that Aja had, with a few well-chosen words, made everything between him and his best friend okay. Adding another layer of proof to the possibility that Aja could in fact work miracles.

  But whatever the source of Dale and Mike’s new relationship I was happy for them. So was Janet. She hugged both of them together, making it a threesome.

  “I’m happy for you guys,” she said. “And I’m proud of you, Dale. It takes a lot of guts to come out of the closet.”

  I spoke up. “Hey, maybe Aja can inspire all the gay people on campus to come out. Think about it—Elder High could be the first school in the nation to enjoy total sexual acceptance.”

  “You’re forgetting Principal Levitt,” Mike said. “He’d flip. He’d break out the white sheets and torches and organize lynch mobs.”

  Dale punched him playfully. “Thanks for making me feel loved and secure at what’s probably the most sensitive moment of my life.”

  Mike spoke. “Have no fear, bro. God works through that girl. Whatever Aja’s set in motion—I know she’s got the Man Upstairs looking out for both of us.”

  Janet backed off a step and shook her head. “I feel like I’m being dragged kicking and screaming into a cult—the Aja Cult. You know when I first met her all I was worried about were all the hearts she was going to break at Elder High. Now it’s like the four of us are grooming her to be a modern-day Virgin Mary.” Janet poked me in the gut. “No offense to your virility.”

  “None taken,” I said. “So it’s settled. Our new marching orders are—we let Aja be Aja. And if CNN or NBC shows up, we’ll deal with it.”

  “Heard any more word on Casey Morall’s investigation of the healing Aja did on Lisa Alastair?” Dale asked.

  “All I know is Casey’s still in Ohio,” I said. “Nicole texted me this morning.”

  “She’s spying for you now?” Dale asked.

  “One can only hope,” I said.

  • • •

  At lunch that afternoon, a few people approached Aja while the rest of us sat on the other side of the courtyard. No one spoke to her long but they all seemed to go away satisfied. I had no idea what they asked and no clue what she told them. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Janet watched uneasily. Mike and Dale looked optimistic.

  The next day at lunch Aja was swarmed. A line formed around the courtyard. Someone started handing out numbers. Aja continued to sit on the bench where we’d eaten our first lunch together. She spent roughly two minutes with each person. It was like she was a priest hearing confessions. At least that’s what Janet said.

  I quit my job at the hardware store. Business was slow and my boss couldn’t afford me. I did him the favor of not having to fire me. Besides, I hadn’t forgotten that Clara had given me only a month to fly out to LA. Aja had warned me Clara liked to put time limits on tasks to get people moving. I took the deadline seriously and used the extra time to work on my demo.

  After going back and forth, I decided to put “Strange Girl” on as a fourth track. To my surprise, Shelly, more than Dale or Mike, helped me with the arrangement. She had a keyboard that could play any instrument that had been invented by man, and she ended up laying down not just a minute of piano that complemented my acoustic guitar, but a string section that came near the end and heightened the emotion of the song. I asked her where she’d been hiding such a far-out composition and she told me Aja had helped her with it.

  “How?” I asked. “She doesn’t play an instrument.”

  We were in my bedroom. Shelly was sitting on my bed with her keyboard on her lap. I was at my computer, juggling my tracks, and playing with the volume of each one. If the digital age had not come along I would have been toast. I was the sort who polished a song forever. I never got to the point where I felt something was perfect.

  My Achilles’ heel was my singing. Because I was so self-conscious about my voice, I had to fight the tendency to drown it out with music. My voice I couldn’t change. But I could control the music. Left to my own devices I’d create the classic “wall of sound” over everything I composed. Probably because walls were oh so easy to hide behind.

  “You going to tell me?” I asked when she didn’t answer.

  Shelly hesitated. “She told me to ignore my shadow.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what I said, ‘What do you mean?’ Aja said, ‘The one with the stick. Ignore him and he’ll go away.’ ”

  “Weird.”

  “It wasn’t so weird, not when I thought about it. When my father tutored me as a kid, he always stood behind me, snapping, ‘Practice perfect. Practice perfect.’ He never let me hit a false note. If I did he’d whack my hands with an old violin bow he carried. I was young—it hurt. But you see, he was old-school. He thought he was doing me a favor. He believed any bad habit would get ingrained in my brain and in my fingers. I swear, before I spoke to Aja, I felt a shadow hanging over me every time I sat down at the keyboard.”

  “How did she help you let him go?”

  Shelly shrugged. “I suppose by telling me that my father was the key. After talking to her for one minute I went away and thought about what she said and felt a huge weight lift. It was then I realized I don’t have to be afraid when I jam with you guys in the garage or when I play alone. I can make all the mistakes I want and no one will hurt me. I went straight home and laid down this track. I knew it would fit perfectly with ‘Strange Girl.’ ” Shelly stopped. “But I don’t want you to use it.”

  My reaction to Shelly’s comments was mixed. I was grateful Aja had been able to help her. Was I stunned? No. It was getting to the point where nothing Aja did surprised me. It was kind of a bizarre attitude to have about your girlfriend but I suspected if Aja began building an ark I’d probably start gathering two of every animal while I kept an eye on the weather reports.

  Now as far as Shelly and her strings—we had just spent two hours fitting them into my song. They made the song better; I wanted them. Yet I couldn’t use them without her permission so I waved my hand like it was no big deal but inside I was annoyed.

  “It’s cool,” I said. “I wouldn’t just hand over a piece of music like that.”

  Shelly came over to my desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’d give you the strings in a second if I thought they helped. But they don’t—they distract from you. Leave my piano in the background and go with your voice and guitar. Think about it. The song works because the girl you’re singing about is probably going to leave you. You’re alone and you need to sound alone when you sing about her.”

  What she said made sense but I couldn’t help teasing her. “You’re just being a greedy bitch,” I said.

  Shelly smiled. “Hey, this is the first thing I ever wrote that you wanted to steal. It must be good
.”

  “It’s brilliant.”

  “Not. I know the difference between clever and genius. And you’re the genius.” She leaned over and hugged me. “You need to get your demo out there.”

  I told her about Paradise Records’ offer right then. Even though it scared the shit out of me to do it, I felt the urge and just went with it. To my amazement she got all excited and danced around the room. I’d never seen Shelly dance before, not even onstage. She was happy for me and promised she’d keep the audition secret.

  But I knew right then I’d have to tell Mike and Dale before the day was over. I’d been a coward not to tell them the instant I’d heard about the audition. We were a band, and although I doubted I could convince Paradise Records to sign the four of us, my friends deserved to know the truth.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  COME FRIDAY THE line leading to Aja on the courtyard had shrunk. By my estimate no more than twenty new people tried to speak to her. Already I was beginning to think we’d made the right decision to stop protecting her. Of course, for me, it was still hard not to worry.

  Walking home from school that afternoon I spotted a beautiful, black woman picking daisies in the park. There weren’t many black people in South Dakota. It was kind of sad—in all of Elder there were only three black families. But what caught my attention was she was picking the daisies in the exact spot Aja had been gathering them when I’d first seen her.

  As I watched, the woman carried her flowers to a nearby bench and sat down in the broiling sun. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was far from young yet her age did nothing to dim her regal appearance. Dressed in a stunning blue gown, she looked like a queen from a lost kingdom. She noticed I was staring at her and flashed a smile and raised an exquisite hand and gestured to me: Come.

  Seconds later I was standing beside her, staring down at a deck of tarot cards she’d spread over a white towel she’d covered her half of the bench with. She’d waved me over but the cards held her attention. Without raising her head, she motioned for me to sit beside her.

  “Have a seat, Fred,” she said. She had an accent, but I couldn’t place it. It made me wonder where she was from.

  I sat. “You know who I am?”

  She nodded to the cards. “I know a few things about you.”

  “Who are you?”

  She looked at me with her bright, dark eyes. She had the most amazing black hair: long and braided, tied with shiny gold thread. “A visitor.”

  “What brings you to Elder?”

  She gestured to the students pouring out of Elder High and to the rest of the town. “We’re all here for the same reason.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Aja.”

  “I take it you’ve seen the videos?”

  “I have. I must say you’re much more handsome in person.”

  “Thank you. I assume you have a sick relative that needs to be cured?”

  “My daughter was sick but she no longer needs healing.”

  Her voice had changed when she mentioned her daughter.

  “Is your daughter all right?” I asked.

  “She’s dead. She died twelve years ago. Cancer.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

  “You say that as if you mean it. I’m grateful.” She studied me. “I can see why Aja chose you.”

  “Chose me for what?”

  “To be close to.”

  I shook my head. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Call me Angela.”

  “Is that really your name?”

  “Does it matter? I like the name, and on my better days I like to think I’m an angel here on earth doing God’s work.”

  I gestured to her tarot cards. “Are you a psychic? Is that what you do? Readings for people?”

  “Yes. But I’m different from most psychics.”

  “Your rates are low?”

  “Actually, they’re quite high. But that’s not what makes me unique.” She leaned closer. “My readings are accurate.”

  “Don’t all psychics say that?”

  “Most do. But most are liars.” She paused. “Would you like me to do a reading for you? It would be on the house.”

  “Oh, I get it. The reading’s free but in return I have to introduce you to Aja.”

  Angela, whoever she was, stared at me. “I’m not here to hustle you. I’ve already met Aja.” She paused. “But it was a long time ago.”

  “Did you know her when she lived in Selva?”

  “Yes and no. She was a child then. I knew her father.”

  “What was your relationship?”

  “Far from pleasant. I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “If you say so. But you’re in town to see Aja. You already said as much.”

  Angela considered. “I confess it would be nice to see the young woman she’s grown up to be. But I understand a lot of people are asking for her time. I’m not here to bother her.” She paused and searched the park. “I haven’t been here in years but it doesn’t look like much has changed.”

  “Do you have friends in town?” I asked.

  “One close friend.” She pointed to the tarot cards. “Do you want to know what the cards have to say about your life?”

  “You’d be wasting your time. I don’t believe in the tarot.”

  “But you’re curious, admit it. You keep looking at the cards.”

  “They’re beautiful. The paper—it doesn’t look like normal paper. What are they made of?”

  “Skin.”

  “Skin?”

  “Human skin.”

  Was she serious? “The colors—they’re dark but they look—”

  She interrupted. “Full of life?”

  “Yes. Where did you get them?” There were sixteen; she’d arranged them in four rows of four.

  “That’s a long story. Let’s just say they came to me after Aja’s parents died. It was only then I was able to give readings.” Moving fast, she picked up the cards and shuffled them as smoothly as a dealer in Las Vegas. She added, “If it makes the reading any more palatable to you, I only use the cards as a tool to channel. My gift comes from elsewhere.” She handed me the deck. “Now hold them, touch them, feel the cards. Let whatever’s on your mind, whatever you’re feeling, enter into them.”

  I did as I was told, at least the physical part, although I doubt I gave much of my inner soul to the cards. But when I handed her the deck back she put the cards on the towel and suddenly took my hands in hers. Slowly, she began to trace the lines on my palms with her nails. Besides being long, her nails were sharp; they dug into my flesh as she moved over my hands. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant; rather, it was like she was scratching an itch I’d never been aware of before.

  “You’ve led a normal life, up until recently,” she said.

  I assumed she was talking about Aja having entered my life.

  “Kudos to you,” I said.

  She continued to study my palm. But her nails—it was like she was using them to dig lines she couldn’t find. She pressed deeper into my skin; I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d started to bleed. Still, the pain was more than balanced by a strange pleasure. Her touch was almost erotic.

  “You have a great soul,” she said. “You’re destined for great things.”

  “I bet you tell all your customers that.”

  “I’ve never told anyone that.” She pointed to a line just below my pinkie. “Your heart line. Note how it breaks at the end of the first quarter. That signifies a great change will occur in your life when you’re seventeen or eighteen.”

  “Just looking at me you’ve got to know I’m that age.”

  Angela ignored my sarcastic remarks. She continued. “You pretend to believe in nothing when you secretly believe in everything. Yet you want proof. You feel you need it.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Your destiny.” She let go of my hands and turned over the top card on the deck of cards. “Perhaps thi
s will help you find it.”

  I felt a chill in the center of my chest.

  I recognized the card. It was the only tarot card I knew.

  “Is that the devil’s card?” I asked.

  She seemed surprised at the card I’d drawn. “Some call it that. Others call it the card of death.”

  I snorted. “So I’m going to die soon? Is that it?”

  She hesitated before answering. “I’d rather not say.”

  I stood. “Thanks for the reading. I think it’s a bunch of bullshit.”

  Angela nodded sadly. “I thought the same thing.”

  • • •

  I walked home in a foul mood, annoyed with the woman. Yet by the time I reached my house I realized I was more upset with myself. I’d let her get to me. It had been her remarks about Aja’s past that had drawn me in. Still, I suspected they were nothing but lies; that she’d just been scheming to get to Aja.

  When I got home, I finally read up on DID—dissociative identity disorder. Except for possibly suffering a major trauma as a child, there was nothing in the literature that linked Aja to the condition.

  “Except for the Big Person and the Little Person,” I said to myself.

  I was not seriously worried.

  She was too sane.

  And she sure as hell was too happy.

  Later, Aja called and that brightened up my mood. She asked me out for Saturday night: dinner and a movie. I liked her chasing me. She said she wanted to return to the same restaurant in Balen—Benny’s. I begged her to reconsider—to no avail. She insisted she liked their food, then taunted me by asking what the chances were of her getting belted in the jaw again.

  The next day we drove to Balen in a brand-new car Bart had bought her—a Mercedes C-Class, with the incredible 4.0L AMG biturbo V-8 engine. Aja let me take the wheel; she said she didn’t have a driver’s license. For that matter, she said she didn’t know how to drive. I offered to teach her.

  The night ended up mimicking our original date. We talked so long over dinner we missed the movie and ended up checking into the Hilton for another dip in the Jacuzzi and another round of fantastic sex. The only difference this time was Aja didn’t mention the Big Person. I was hoping it was because she was enjoying what pleasures us little people had to offer.