“The two girls apparently left the school together and went—somewhere—they both refuse to talk.” Mom’s voice gets louder; I can tell she’s yelling now. Penny hands me the phone with an almost sympathetic expression.
“Hi, Mom. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. We went to a bookstore—that’s all.” I’m trying to keep Hill’s secret while desperately saving my own butt.
“Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Emelia Behrends! You left campus while on a school field trip—and you deserve the suspension you received, and more.”
There is no possible reply to this. “I know, Mom—you’re right. I’m just—really sorry.”
“Well, that’s good. Hopefully, you learned a lesson from this experience. And maybe this friend, Hillary, is not such a good influence. I’ve been looking into some other options if this time in Shively isn’t effective.”
At this point, I motion to Aunt Penny to help. I know I did something wrong, but Mom has no reason to blame Hill. Without her, I would still be alone in Kentucky. As far as Mom’s “other options,” I can’t imagine how disastrous those might be.
Penny gets on the phone with Mom, and I can tell she’s trying to calm Mom down. After all, I’ve already gotten a three-day suspension, which will go on my permanent record. And I lost the chance to win an award at the writing competition. I’m wondering what else can possibly teach me more of a lesson…
Chapter 16: A Visit and a Close Call
Somehow, I just knew that a phone call would not be enough for my mother. Penny tried, unsuccessfully, to calm Mom down and assure her that I would be sufficiently punished. But my dear sweet Baptist mother ultimately felt compelled to punish me in person.
Monday night, Aunt Penny goes to the door looking like nothing is out of the ordinary. Probably a neighbor needing to borrow something or UPS with a package to deliver.
Wrong! Totally wrong. It’s my mom, carrying a suitcase, wearing a black cotton skirt and a lime green shirt that shows her flabby arms. She also sports an expression that would scare the most unrepentant of sinners. I see this spectacle because I have followed Penny to the door, I guess sensing that there was something weird about to happen.
The three of us stand there for what seems like an hour, just staring. Penny’s mouth hangs open in total shock, which is how I know she wasn’t in on this plan. I am silent, too, reminded of that expression on Mom’s face that Sunday in August back in Daytona. At least this time it’s only me who will get yelled at and humiliated…
Mom speaks first, “Penny. Emelia. Surely you can’t be surprised? That I would come to see what’s going on here after Emelia’s little disappearing act at that conference? I am ultimately responsible for her, you know.”
Penny looks like Mom slapped her in the face—which she basically did in the figurative sense. Words can hurt just as much as physical pain. I’ve been wounded by my mother’s sharp tongue many a time. I try to recover enough to be polite.
“Hi, Mom. Let me get your bag.” And I step forward to grab the suitcase for her. My movement puts Penny in motion, too, and she ushers my mother into the house with a gesture. After an awkward pause, they hug. I carry Mom’s bag into the hallway, my mind running ninety miles an hour. Where will she sleep? On the couch? In Penny’s tiny office? One thing I pray to Diana—not in my room.
Now that the ice is somewhat broken, we all head to the kitchen. Penny scrambles to put the teapot on, knowing Mom prefers tea to coffee. Mom sits at the table, clasping her hands in front of her like a model student in class. I get cups and spoons; action is the only thing keeping me from falling apart. Finally, we all have tea and sit around the table attempting to smile and act normal.
Penny gives conversation a try, “So, Andrea. It’s good to see you. But unexpected. I thought we had settled on Em’s punishment over the phone…”
Mom gives us both a withering look.
“Penny, I know you mean well. And I really am grateful that you were willing to help me remove Emelia from the…toxic environment…in Daytona. She had seemed to be doing well until this latest lapse.”
Penny jumps on this opportunity, “Oh, Andrea—she is doing well here. And lapse is a good choice of word. She and Hillary didn’t do anything terrible—just a little bad judgment I think. Both girls are suspended from school, and Em has extra chores and no phone or computer. Don’t you think that’s enough?” And she finishes with a sort or pleading look.
Mom looks at me—I try my best to smile. Everyone takes a sip of tea, as if it were choreographed.
“Mom?” I venture. “Like I said on the phone, I’m sorry I caused any worry or trouble. We really didn’t…”
Mom stops me with a hand up. My mouth pops shut. “Emelia, I don’t care what your motivation was. Well, that’s not strictly true. You know how I feel about homosexuality—so do you, Penny.”
Penny looks like she might explode with tension. I feel like puking. What can I say?
“Andrea, I’ve known the Calvanos for years, Hillary’s family. There’s nothing like—that—I feel sure. Em hasn’t been in any other trouble since she got here in August. She and Hillary are friends. Surely it’s okay for Em to have a friend?”
In answer, Mom gets up and goes to her purse, which she left in the hallway. She returns to the table and slaps a brochure down in front of me on the table. The first words I see are these: STRICT CHRISTIAN ENVIRONMENT. In bright red, like a stop sign. Looking closer, I read: Woodhaven Academy, Billings, Montana. What the hell?! Now I know what Mom meant by “other options.”
Of course, I need to phrase my response carefully for Mom.
“Mom, no. I swear I’m going to behave from now on. You can trust me. Please…”
And Penny chimes in, in spite of my mother’s closed expression. “Andrea, that’s not necessary. Em really is not in trouble. I mean, she’s suspended for a few days, and I’ve taken her computer and phone for two weeks. She’ll have plenty of time to think about what she and Hillary did. And how dangerous it was to leave campus alone with nobody knowing. Please give her another chance here with me.” Poor Penny—she’s an adult just like my mom, but the ten-year difference I guess makes her sometimes feel like a kid. That, and my mom’s serious take on everything. I think Penny feels the pull of my mom’s expectations almost as much as I do.
So, the outcome of this torturous visit is that Mom takes us both to church on Wednesday night before she leaves on Thursday. Penny and I both attend graciously (and silently), even though it’s hugely uncomfortable. Mom invited Hill and her mother, but they didn’t show. Still, at least Mom’s talking to me somewhat normally, and hasn’t brought up Woodhaven since Tuesday. I’m making a show of missing my phone and computer, and doing boat loads of extra chores at home. Plus watching that I don’t say a single word against Christian beliefs.
And Thursday, she’s gone. Charity’s dad offers to take her to the airport, which she accepts politely.
It was indeed a close call. I’m so relieved that the topic of Mariah never came up. If it had, I probably would have said something foolish that raised more questions.
Once Mom’s gone, the main thought in my head is that, if Mariah does friend me on FB, I won’t see the post (or be able to respond) for another nine days. She’ll think I don’t want to get to know her and was just being polite. For some reason that I refuse to analyze, this realization upsets me more than all the rest of the hassle.
Chapter 17: Into the 21st Century
I am determined to find Emelia. It seems the only way to do so is with the machine called computer. After Emelia and her friends left that day, I felt muddled by the thought of this face book and how to “find” Emelia Behrends. I rest that night on my pallet in its bed of dirt with her name pounding in my head.
So today I am starting my new endeavor of learning about the ways of communicating in this time and place. The first thing I do is gather my courage to go into the school building when the people are
in there, and make my presence known as a student. Though my undead heart pounds heavily, I manage to go to the room labeled Computer Lab and sit in front of a machine as if I belong there. A young man with cinnamon-colored skin like Tituba and a smile like warm butter greets me and asks my name. I can feel Tituba’s energy in the room, though I try to ignore it.
I say “Mariah” easily, and then realize that he expects a surname, too. I see no harm in giving him my real surname, Warren. So now I am known in this place as Mariah Warren. I hope to learn what I need to know to find Emelia.
After the first few days, I am beginning to have some success. The computer turns out to be a machine for writing and for finding information. It is a bit overwhelming at first to have access to so much information so quickly, but fascinating as well. I wonder how different life in Salem Village might have been if everyone—or even just the authorities—had this wealth of information and ability to communicate at long distances in the blink of an eye. Abigail Williams would never have succeeded so thoroughly in spreading false information and deceiving an entire town! It still makes me angry to think that she sailed away to Barbados without punishment, while I had to leave behind my entire life to become what I now am.
I am sitting on the grass outside of my hiding place, pondering these memories along with all I have learned from Mr. Perry, the pleasant young man who looks like he could be Tituba’s younger brother. The thought of punishment leads to the image of Emelia and her beautiful silky copper hair that seems to be haunting me. I wish I knew if she and her friend had success in their mission. I know from experience that teachers and others in authority do not like to be fooled by headstrong young girls. I hope Emelia is safe. I hope that I can use this computer machine to find her.
I know what Facebook is now; I’ve secretly been watching a girl named Santina use it in the school room labeled Computer Lab. Observing closely, I soon learn that it is a way to instantly talk to people with writing no matter how far away they might be; just what I need to talk to Emelia, if I can find her. Santina uses Facebook, writing something with the—keyboard (also new to me)—and then somehow making that message appear on the—screen. After a few days of watching, I realize that every time Santina writes, it is in a box with her image and a name—her name. This must be how Emelia wanted me to find her! I am so excited to try it; tomorrow morning cannot come fast enough.
Mr. Perry is alone in the lab when I go in. He has yet to question whether I am actually a student, for which I am thankful.
“Hello, Mr. Perry,” I say.
“Well, hello—Mariah, right?” He flashes his usual bright smile that reminds me so much of Tituba. Although it was so long ago in actual time, for me Tituba is still a recent memory. “Do you need help with anything, or just working on your own this morning?”
“I believe I’ll be fine on my own. I just need to—look something up.” I hope he will have work of his own to distract him, or that someone else who needs help will come in soon. I need a bit of privacy to search on Facebook for this girl who so intrigues me.
“Fine then—I’ve got some systems administration to work on.” I have no idea what he means, but he heads to his own computer at the back of the lab.
I know that the first thing I need to do is to make a—a page—for myself. I figure out how to do that fairly quickly, after watching Santina so closely. I use most of my real information: Mariah Warren, age 17, born in Salem Massachusetts, lives in Jeffersontown, Kentucky. Of course, I have to alter my birthdate; 1676 will not do! And the fact that I am undead, a vampire, remains untold. And the fact that I am a Daughter of Sappho, as Lily described our preference for our own gender. I have no picture, but I notice that some people have pictures of things other than themselves, so I find a picture of Salem scenery in the winter and use that. Amazingly, I am now on Facebook! Welcome to a new century, Mary Warren.
Now to find Emelia. After checking that Mr. Perry is still involved in his work, I touch the letters on the keyboard to write “Emelia Behrends” in what is called the search box. There are three people, but one is aged forty-five, and one has short black hair and lives in a place called Hawaii. The third picture shows my Emelia, smiling and holding a fluffy cat, standing in front of a small brick house. A miracle! This strange machine could be my way of finding a friend, maybe even a new love.
I am too knotted-up in my gut to try it right now, but I will tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to ponder what to say. It has been almost two weeks, and I don’t even know whether she will remember me. So I head back to my home in the earth.
Shortly after I get back, I realize that the feeling in my innards is not only because of the computer, or even Emelia. I have been so preoccupied with this project that I have not fed since a few days before that day I met the girls from Shively. Suddenly, the sinking feeling of weakness and need rushes over me. I have not felt this empty of nourishment in a long time. I fear this may be the time to feed on a human in spite of my squeamishness; I knew this time would come.
Chapter 18: Kindergarten Witch
I now have a Lasa and can make my shrine to Diana in my bedroom closet. I also have three days suspension from school, no computer or phone for ten days, and I’m grounded for two weeks. And Pop slapped me in the face in front of my mom, Roger, and Ri-ri. I can’t remember ever feeling so humiliated and alone. And I have no way to talk to Emelia, or even Dax, for comfort.
I know Em also got in trouble; I begged my mom to at least tell me what happened. She called Penny and I found out that Em has no computer or phone for two weeks. I miss her, and I suspect she is sitting on pins waiting to search online for that strange girl, Mariah.
I use most of my three days at home (when I’m not forced to do chores or watch Ri-ri) searching through my book for a spell to get revenge on T.K. Narwani for tattling on Emelia so maliciously. It isn’t easy to find anything suitable, as Stregheria is focused on positive magic. I actually am happy about that, because my nature is not to harm other people. But I want T.K. to feel some of the stress she caused us, especially Emelia. Em was probably going to win a prize at the conference, and this incident has probably ruined any chance that her mom will let her come home at the end of the school year.
Finally, I find something that might work without harming my own karma. One of the most primitive actions in the Old Religion history is the casting of a shadow—the shadow of an animal—on a person. If the spell is successful, that person will take on characteristics associated with the animal. The rabbit is, not surprisingly, tied to fertility; for centuries, white witches have used this rabbit casting spell to help infertile women happily conceive. I have to laugh as I consider using this spell; T.K., a junior in high school from a very conservative Indian family, would not want fertility bestowed upon her. I feel guilty for a moment, but I get over it. How I wish I could talk it over with Emelia!
Finally, I convince myself that simply making T.K. particularly fertile does not give me personal responsibility for her rhetorical conception. If she doesn’t have sex—no problem. Even if she does, there’s available contraception. Giving her the rabbit’s characteristics does not actually make her pregnant. So…here we go.
Unfortunately, I can’t do it alone. Now what? I certainly can’t ask either of my parents, or stupid Roger. It sounds ridiculous, but my sister Patrice is my only choice. I just have to figure out a way to convince her to “play an animal game” without making her suspicious enough to tell on me. She’s only five, but Patrice Calvano is, have no doubt, as sharp as a witch’s dagger.
* * * *
It’s almost dinner time on the fourth day of my imprisonment. I was allowed back at school today, so I did see Em briefly. Apparently, her mom was here from Daytona, talking about some Christian school she wanted to send Em to. WTF? I want to hear more, but Mrs. Murphy seemed to be around every corner in the building, and every teacher looked at the pair of us with an eagle eye of disapproval. Ugghh! This sucks!
Anyway, r
ight now I can hear dinner being prepared in the kitchen, and music coming from Roger’s room. Because of the music, I fail to hear Ri-ri until her pixie face appears in my doorway.
“Hey! Whatcha up to?”
I make an inner vow to be sweet to her for once. “Not much. Glad to get back to school today.”
“I bet. Can’t wait until next fall when I go to first grade. Real school must be tope!”
Where does she get these expressions? Ri-ri sounds like a teenager sometimes.
“Well, would you like to help me with a high school project? I think you can do it…”
This sucks her in instantly. “Really? What is it?”
“Come in, Ri-ri. I’ll explain what we need to do. Let’s sit on my bed.” I never let Patrice climb up onto my loft bed; now she’s totally hooked.
After we climb up and settle in, I go on with my plot. “Okay, it’s an experiment for science. Seeing how much animals and people are alike.”
“Oh, they are!” exclaims Ri-ri. “Roger reminds me of a bulldog whenever he works on his math homework. He looks like he’s gonna grab the paper with his teeth and shake it.” She giggles at her own joke.
“Yeah, yeah—okay. But right now I want you to think about a rabbit. You’ve seen rabbits at the pet store. And your friend Cameron has one, right?” I stop her before she goes into a long story about either rabbits or Cameron.
“So think about a rabbit and picture it in your mind.” Ri-ri closes her eyes and makes a dramatic face of intense concentration. “You see it?”
“Oh, yes. Now what?”
“Well, there’s a girl at my school named T.K. Narwani. She’s in my grade—slim and dark-skinned, with long, silky black hair.”
“I think I’ve seen her…does she have a little brother named Rashesh? With a shaved head and a chubby tummy?”
Buried Secrets Page 7
