by Angel Lawson
“Duh.” She makes a face. “You don’t think I’d really hook up with a kid like that without a good reason, do you?”
I lower my voice. “Why the hell did you do that? I liked Max! Do you realize he’s in detention for at least a year now?” Assuming he doesn’t screw up and get more time added on—which if current events apply, that’s a bold assumption.
“You said you wanted a room of your own and not to see his ugly face every morning.” She lifts an eyebrow and shifts a hand to her hip. “I just helped you get what you wanted.”
“No, I never said that. And are you really just playing everyone here? Bethany? Max? Paul? Me?”
“Everyone here has something they want. Including myself. Including you. I simply know how to make it happen.”
I held my hands up and take a step backwards. “Don’t do me any more favors.”
“Too late,” she shrugs. “You’re already caught up in this.”
“What does that mean?”
She closes the gap between us. “That means that Paul knows you saw me and Max that day. He can turn you in for conspiring with Max to have sex with me, that you two were taking turns. And your real plan was to ultimately have me for yourself and also get your own room. I’ll tell them you told Paul how to find us so Max would get kicked out. I can make it so you get your maximum sentence, locked up here, with me.”
“You wouldn’t,” I challenge. She would. Will. I know it the second I say the words out loud.
She laughs, mocking me. “Dare me.”
A pause beats between us and I swallow. “What do you want from me?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when the time comes.”
My stomach twists. Partially at the thought that this could lead me to seeing her naked and I’m just enough of a deviant that I’d probably risk it. Otherwise, I’m terrified that whatever she wants will trap me here forever.
I back out of the room, wondering what kind of girl does this kind of thing and who made her so evil. I thought my problems with the ghosts trapped in this world were big, but this girl is something else. Unhinged—evil like Vera suggested. Something’s wrong with her.
The spirits and the way I handled them may have put me in the hospital, but I realize now that Charlotte may be the one to keep me here.
*
You Can’t Live a Positive Life With a Negative Mind.
Group feels strange without Max. He may not have participated much but he was always good for a joke. Charlotte’s presence takes up too much space, sucking the oxygen out of the room, leaving the rest of us to fight for any amount of air we can get.
In Marcy-approved psychobabble, Charlotte’s presence in group is toxic.
“It’s hard being so popular,” she tells us. “People always want something from you. Your clothes or directions about how you fixed your hair, or where did you get that necklace. They want your boyfriend because he wants you. They’re nothing but sheep, fighting over sitting next to you in the lunchroom. After a while the stress is too much, it’s easier to just tune it all out with a little weed or a shot of tequila.”
“What happens then?” asks Marcy, enraptured. I stare at the floor, my face a mask of indifference.
“Then I feel warm. Like I can handle anything.”
“But doesn’t being under the influence impair your judgment? Are the consequences worth a couple moments of getting high?”
“Why no—“
“No,” I cut off Charlotte’s pretentious bullshit. They both look in my direction. “It’s not worth it. Not in the long run.”
“Oh, so you admit that you’ve made stupid decisions?” Charlotte asks. “Because I thought you were Mister Moral High Ground.”
To my annoyance, at least three other kids laugh.
“Of course I have. Why do you think I’m here? But I’m not going to make some ridiculous justification that ‘popularity’ made me do stupid stuff. At least I accept responsibility for my actions.”
“Are you really judging me on smoking a little weed? You got so wasted you burned your freaking house down!”
“You have no idea why I did that,” I blurt, unable to control myself. “You know nothing about me.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah, well you don’t know much about me either.”
“We all know more about you than we need to. Poor little rich girl, wah wah wah. So many people want to be me, I just can’t cope.” I use my fists to make a crying motion. Vera fights to cover a smirk at my attempt to mock Charlotte. At least someone is enjoying it. “Your life is so perfectly-perfect it made you into a train-wreck narcissist.”
“Let’s settle down.” Marcy uses her calm voice. “You both have different experiences and it’s okay to react to them differently, but please, let’s not drag each other down. We’re here to lift one another up.”
I snort at that, knowing full well Charlotte’s intention to drag everyone down with her.
*
My first plan for Charlotte is ignoring her. I’m good at this. I’ve spent years pretending my problems do not exist, especially pesky, annoying ones that drive me to the brink. With Max gone, I spend most of my free time with Vera. My alone time, or time separated from the female population anyway, is spent alone. No need to make new friends when the clock is ticking—plus look what happened last time.
“Tell me about your aunt,” I say to Vera one day over a game of cards. It’s raining and we’re stuck inside.
She lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow. How do the girls manage to maintain their grooming in here? “My aunt?”
“Yeah, you know, the one that helped you discover your true nature.”
“Ah, so I have this Aunt Lolly, she’s young-ish I guess, my mother’s youngest sister. There are two others that are older and they all practice as well, but Lolly seemed to be the most concerned about counteracting my religious upbringing.”
“I bet your mother hated that?”
“Totally hated it, but somehow she would talk my mom into letting her babysit. I figure they were desperate, you know, to get to church and all, so they let me go. She lived in this broken-down house, sort of out in the country that belonged to my grandmother. She had all these crazy little tokens and containers and crumbling books all over the place. Lolly let me rummage through them all—ask questions and stuff. I just thought it was weird crap left by my Abuelita after she died.”
“It wasn’t?” I lay down a card.
“Well, yeah,” she laughs, “it was, but it wasn’t just crap. It all had meaning and purpose.”
“What kind?”
“When I was younger I thought she was just cooking or maybe making crafts or something. It never made much sense. Later, when the Goddess awoke, I realized she was working spells.”
“Like magic spells?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. Lolly and the other women in the family performed spells all the time. Health, wealth, beauty. Sometimes they helped people find things. Other times they’d cast a spell for luck.” I try to keep the skepticism off my face, but it must not work because she shoots me a glare. “I know you think they’re just tricksters, but they weren’t. This stuff is real. As real as that crow in your room.”
I can’t argue that and I shouldn’t, since she’s the only one that believes me.
“Do you know why I’m in here?” she asks.
I think back to the group sessions. Vera is pretty quiet other than the occasional snarky remark. “No.”
“When I was thirteen I refused to go to church one week. By that point Lolly’s influence had taken hold and I felt ridiculous sitting through three hour church services, praying to a God I wasn’t sure existed, and if he did exist, he wasn’t the sexist jerk being talked about. My step-father went on a rampage and hit me. So I ran away from home, usually to Lolly’s house or one of my other aunties. My parents called the police. I got picked up, went to court and sent home. This happened over and over again for about 18 months. Finally
my step-father sent me to a religious reform school.” She gave me a look. “Super religious. Skirts and dresses. Church every day. Beatings for going against the bible. It took me a couple months but I finally escaped and ran away—except I didn’t have anywhere to go and I couldn’t go back to Lolly’s house. We’d both get in trouble. So I ended up living with a bunch of squatters.”
“You were homeless?”
“Yeah, but I really didn’t want to go back. Things were okay. I traded with other kids doing some low level magic, like telling fortunes or whatever. Just little things Lolly had taught me, but one day this cop came around and rounded us all up. I thought I’d end up in detention. Instead he dropped all of us under eighteen at some guy’s house. He was pimp.”
“Woah.” This story is moving way past my comfort zone. “What happened?”
“Before he could send me out to work, I poisoned him.”
“What?”
She laughs, catching the attention of Charlotte across the room. The girl narrows her eyes for a second but then gives me a bright smile. I avert my eyes back to Vera who says, “It was supposed to be a spell to make his dick fall off. Seriously.”
Under the table I move my hand instinctively to protect myself.
“No shit.”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t actually know how to perform that spell. I mean, I kind of knew one to get rid of acne so I thought maybe it would work. I slipped it in his 40 and he slid off his chair and started convulsing. Someone called 911 and we all ran but the police had been watching the house already. I ended up back in front of the judge. He decided I may have some serious mental problems and I ended up in Brookhaven instead of long-term detention.”
She and I stare at one another. It’s only for the safety of my own dearly loved body parts that I don’t tell her that the judge may have been right. Instead I toss my useless cards on the pile and say, “That’s some kind of story.”
“Right? Maybe one day I can write a book about it and become a famous author.”
I laugh. I really like Vera. A lot. “So how long did you get?”
“I got the max. I mean, it was basically attempted murder, but at the same time they viewed it as extreme distress. They think I’m super fucked-up. Maybe I am.” She gives me a sly smile. “But my plan is to ride out the sentence until I’m eighteen. I cause just enough trouble not to be considered for early release but not enough to get moved over to the detention facility. One thing’s for sure, I’m never going back home again. Once I’m legal, I’m free.”
“Sounds like that may be a good plan.”
As the hour wears on Charlotte gathers a group of admirers around her position on the couch. The weird thing is that she described her allure to people in group. Describing her popularity—people’s desire to be around her. She’s upfront about it, to the point that it sounds bragging but she’s not lying. Even in this environment everyone wants a piece of her.
Not me.
“Why do you think Max did it?” Vera asks, drawing my attention back. “You know, other than the obvious.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it went much beyond that—but even I have to admit she seems to attract people.”
“What about you?”
I glance over. She’s hot. The kind that makes something instinctive rock my gut and my body wants to rule my brain. “I’ve already got enough danger in my life.”
Vera snorts, loud enough to get a couple of looks. This seems to prompt Charlotte to get louder, the kind of loud the guards usually put a stop to, but not her. Never her.
“God, she gets on my nerves,” Vera mutters, shoving the deck to the side.
“Tell me about it,” I agree. “She’s got some kind of thing with me. I don’t know what. She wants something, and she’s got everyone wrapped around her finger around here.”
“At least you only have a couple of weeks left.”
“Yeah, I guess.” But not knowing Charlotte’s motivation makes me nervous and when the hour is up I make an effort to keep an eye on her at all times.
*
I’m lugging two huge bags of trash down the stairwell when I hear footsteps behind me. “Wait up.”
I glance back and see Charlotte but continue walking. I have zero interest in what she has to say.
“Dude, slow down.” She runs beside me and grabs for the bag. “Let me take one.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Obviously, but I can carry one, too.”
I ignore her and continue down to the bottom floor where she scurries to push the door open for me. After heaving both bags into the dumpster I wipe my hands on my jeans and ask, “What do you want, Charlotte?”
“I want to make a truce.”
“Yeah, no thanks,” I sigh and start for the door.
“No really. I’m serious. This is stupid,” she says. “We’re obviously the two best-looking, socially appropriate, well-adjusted people here. We shouldn’t be at odds.”
I blink at her. “Did you really just say that? Are you trying to like, create your own A-List clique here at the freaking mental hospital? I mean, none of us are really fighting for captain of the cheerleading squad or anything.”
“I just…” she pauses. I can almost hear the wheels in her head spinning. Her expression switches from snobby elite to vulnerable girl. She drops her head. “Look, I need a friend. I screwed up doing that to Max. I liked him. But I’ve spent my whole life messing with people to get ahead. I couldn’t stop myself.”
She tries to look petulant, but I can see the glint in her eye. “What is this really about?” I ask.
“Why do you hang out with her all the time?”
Her.
Vera.
“We’re friends.”
“But we can’t be?”
“Uh, no. You’ve sort of burned that bridge.”
She frowns, this time it seems sincere, even if a little confused. “Well, how do I fix that?”
“You don’t. Not with me. I’ve seen you with your squad. They love you. You certainly don’t need me.” Or want me, I think. I’m just the shiny object out of her reach. “I have three weeks left, Charlotte, and I will not jeopardize that. I’m already going to miss the start of fall semester but I want to go home.”
“Can’t we be friends for the three weeks, then? Or at least not enemies? I promise not to mess anything up for you,” she offers me an awkward smile.
“I don’t trust you.”
The light in her eyes dims but a smile forms on her face. “How about I tell you why I’m here. Why I’m really here. You’ll know something about me—the real me. No one else knows.”
“I don’t know, Charlotte. I’m not really into secrets and stuff.” I have enough of my own.
“Think of it as collateral. If I fuck up your release you’ll have something on me. It’s big enough to get a lot of people in trouble,” she says.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her. “But I’ve got to get back. They’ll be looking for me upstairs. You, too.”
She nods. “That’s all I want. Thanks, Connor.”
I follow her up the stairs with a tight knot in my stomach. I don’t trust her, but I have a feeling if I don’t accept her proposition, then the other, evil side of Charlotte will appear and I’ll regret my choices, again.
*
After dinner, but before meds, Paul passes around mail. My mom is pretty good about sending me letters each week. If I’m lucky I’ll get one from Emma. Today I’m lucky and am unfolding her latest drawing when Vera sits next to me, unsealing her own long, white envelope.
I nudge her and show her Emma’s artwork, a character she’s created named Roscoe. It’s a bunny with long ears and weird anime eyes. “I have no idea where she got the name Roscoe,” I say.
Vera gives me a small smile but focuses on her letter. I notice her hands have a slight tremor and I ask, “Is everything okay?”
“It’s from my mother. My auntie is sick.”
“Your aunt? The one you told me about?”
“Yes.” She sighs heavily. “Lolly. It doesn’t sound good. Especially if my mother is letting me know.”
It’s hard to explain what it’s like in here, knowing you have no real contact or control over what happens outside. A bomb could go off, a war could start, your family could fall apart and there’s nothing we can do or any certainty that we would even know unless someone told us. So the automatic words in my throat are, “What are you going to do?” but I don’t say it. She can’t do anything.
Charlotte strides into the room, a thick stack of envelopes in her hands. Even across the room the loopy, girlish handwriting is visible on the paper. Her friends from home still keep in touch. I wish I could say the same. None of the guys are going to write anything much more than a text or a doodle in spray paint on any given day. Again, I wonder what they’ve been doing since I’ve been here, and what will happen when I see them again in a couple of weeks.
“I’m going to my room,” Vera says, eyes glaring at the girl across the room. Charlotte’s laughing at whatever she’s reading, and it only packs a punch to the news Vera’s just received.
I grab her arm. “I’m sorry about your aunt. Let me know if I can do anything.”
“Thanks, Connor.” She gives me a weak smile.
“Sure.”
We both know I can’t do anything.
Chapter 11
I start kitchen duty the following day. The room is hot and steamy, sweat pours down my back and neck. It’s worse than garden duty or any other job on campus. Midway through my shift, Vera passes through the room collecting rags and other items to take to the laundry.
“Hey,” I say, scraping caked-on grits from a plate.
“You look like a drowned rat.”
I angle the sprayer in her direction. “Yeah?”
She lifts an eyebrow—daring me. We both know I’m bluffing.
“Do me a favor?” she asks.
“What?”
She looks around but Mrs. Carver, the kitchen manager, is helping another kid near the refrigerator. “I need a couple spices from the pantry.”
