Hill offers, “So I guess she’ll be on her own totally when she turns eighteen. Awesome—but scary.”
I shrug and smile at the same time. “I think she can handle it; she seems pretty tough.”
“Not too tough, I hope. I don’t want to have to rescue you…”
“That’s not funny, Hill. We haven’t even talked in person yet. It’s like an online dating thing, I guess—if you can call it dating at all. I don’t even know if she thinks of me, you know, as a—date.”
Hill rolls her eyes at me, just as Dax joins us at our table. I give Hillary a look that says don’t tell more than you need to.
Dax talks with his mouth full of red licorice he had at lunch, “What’s the word, hummingbirds?”
We have to laugh—both at his red teeth and his lame greeting.
Hill says, “You got that from a Big Bang episode. And your mouth looks like the Gates of Hell.”
Dax grins, showing red teeth again. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet and listen. Heard any more from strange Jeffersontown girl, Emelia?”
“I’m not sure why that should be your business, but, yes—we’ve been messaging each other. That’s all. Nothing out of the ordinary to tell.”
Dax looks disappointed. “Well, just thought I’d ask. Better go brush my teeth before chem class. Later.” And he’s gone as quickly as he came. The thought in my mind now is what would happen if I actually went on a date with Mariah. I know Hill’s cool, and probably Dax and Charity. Charity’s dad wouldn’t like it, though, and neither would Aunt Penny. Mostly because she would feel compelled to call Mom. Woodhaven, here I come! And, of course, the mean girls here would just have one more reason to pick on me…
* * * *
The following morning, in English, Ms. Schell announces that we are finished with contemporary American short stories, and that the next unit will be Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. She wants us to compare and contrast the genres of prose fiction and drama, and also to look at historical accuracy in fictionalized accounts of real events. She says that we see inaccuracy in the reporting of events in the media every day, and it’s an important life skill to separate truth from fiction. I love this teacher. So, she passes out the texts—apparently, juniors all over the county will be studying the same play during this six weeks of the spring term. I know it’s set in Salem, so I bet Mariah is familiar with some of the events in the plot already. Something for us to discuss—cool!
Before we start reading, Ms. S. gives us some hand-outs on characters, themes, etc., and some online references about Arthur Miller and the development of his work. I know some kids may see this as overkill, but I want to be a writer/professor someday, and I appreciate the thoroughness. I can’t wait to start reading.
As soon as I help Penny clean up the dishes from dinner, I go up to my now shrimp-colored walls and open The Crucible. I read the opening scene, which sets the background for building tension in the small village of Salem. Before I go on, I look back more carefully at the cast of characters. There are several young girls who basically cause most of the trouble by accusing various innocent people of bewitching them. One of these girls is named Mary Warren, who is described as an orphan living on the Proctor’s farm and helping with the children and the chores. I close the book and lie down on my side on the bed, staring at my newly beautiful wall and trying not to jump to impossible conclusions.
My phone buzzes—of course, it’s Hillary. Inevitably, she must have read the character descriptions, too, and she’s calling to poke at me about Mariah. Reluctantly, I pick up the phone. “Hey, Hill.”
“You sound awfully calm. Haven’t you read any part of The Crucible material for English yet? My class was told to at least look at all the supplementary stuff before tomorrow.”
“So,” I venture, “why would I not be calm?”
“Shit, Em—what about the character of Mary Warren? Isn’t the name just a bit familiar? And the orphan thing? And coming from Salem?”
“Oh, Hill. Of course I’m thinking about that. But we shouldn’t jump ahead when we really don’t know. Even if there’s some similarity: Warren is a pretty common name in New England, I think. And lots of people lose their parents and live in foster care.”
“You’re right, Em, of course. I’m making something out of nothing. I just have a bad feeling.”
“Honestly, you’ve had a bad feeling since the moment we set eyes on the girl several weeks ago. I just decided—right now—this moment—to ignore vague intuitions and ephemeral ideas about Mariah. In fact…”
Hill interrupts, “Except for the fact that I don’t know what ephemeral means, I don’t like the sound of that.”
I answer, “Well, that’s okay. You’re my best friend, but it’s my decision. And I just decided to study this play and find an opportunity to spend time with Mariah—and to keep the two things separate in my head.” What I don’t add out loud is, “And in my heart.”
Silence from Hill’s end. Then, “Okay, Em. I just hope you know what you’re doing. And don’t count on any witchcraft protection from me. Remember, I’ve officially given up Stregheria.” And with that, she hangs up.
Chapter 25: Casual Date
I’m starting to think that I’ll never understand Mariah unless I get to see her in person. The messaging just seems to make everything more uncomfortable. And I have so many questions. Not that I really believe that she isn’t—human—but there are some things that don’t match up. And I really do feel some kind of weird vibe from her, even though I deny it to Hill.
If only there were some way we could see each other casually. Maybe a study date or a lunch. I feel like I might get more clues as to who she really is if I can talk to her face to face. But Mariah is in Jeffersontown and I’m in Shively, and I don’t have a car.
The next day, I’m sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter watching Penny make spaghetti sauce. The radio is playing retro rock, and I feel more relaxed than I have in days. I offer to put the water on for pasta and go to the cabinet to get the big pot. As I’m filling it with water, Penny says, “I hope you can get your own dinner tomorrow; I have a training meeting in Jeffersontown and I won’t be home until close to 7:00 P.M. You’ll be okay?”
In a flash of brilliance, an idea comes to mind.
“Sure, that’s fine, Penny. But maybe I could…go with you.”
She turns away from the stove to give me a weird questioning look.
“Not to the meeting. I meant, well…I want to go to that bookstore near the high school. There’s a book about parent/child relationships that I want to get. For me and Mom, you know?” Of course, this is a big fat lie.
I feel guilty that I’m lying to Penny. But it might make a big difference in my future decisions.
Penny is still giving me a suspicious look.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I offer. “But I want to get along better with Mom. I just can’t imagine going to that Woodhaven place, and I don’t have that great a track record when it comes to making Mom understand me.” I look at Penny for a reaction.
“Well, I can’t argue with that. Okay—I’ll drop you off on my way to the meeting. But what about dinner?”
“No prob. I think there’s a pizza place near there.” Of course, I know for sure there’s a Papa John’s, but I manage to modify that piece of info. Penny still looks unconvinced.
“I guess…I should trust you, Em. I really have no reason not to…”
I swallow my guilt and say, “Great. It’ll be fine. I’ll be right there at the pizza place drinking a Diet Coke and reading when you come by at…?”
“A little after six. You’re sure you feel safe?”
“Of course. In Jeffersontown? Of course,” I repeat.
* * * *
And that’s how I end up meeting Mariah at Moon Struck. I messaged her and told her I would be there at 4:30 on Tuesday afternoon. After an agonizing wait of about twenty-five minutes, she messaged back. So I get to talk to her in person and see her new hair
cut. And maybe answer some of Hillary’s questions about the Salem thing.
When Penny drops me off, I see Mariah instantly. She’s sitting on the porch of the bookstore. She has on jeans and a striped T-shirt, and her haircut is dope. I feel flutters in my stomach.
When I get out of the car, Mariah sees me instantly, too. She stands up and comes forward to meet me with a grin on her face.
“Hello, Emelia. I’m so happy you wanted to see me. In person, I mean.”
I feel my face flush with excitement and a bit of shyness. The haircut suits her.
“Yeah, me too. Have you ever been in the bookstore?” I assume she lives somewhere nearby, since she goes to the high school here. Probably someone dropped her off before I got here.
“No, I have not. Is it interesting?”
I laugh. “Well, I suppose. It’s all new-agey kinda stuff. Smells like incense. And wait ‘til you see the lady who runs it!”
Suddenly, I notice Mariah’s face. She looks completely left in the dust as far as understanding me—sort of like I must look in Algebra class. What did I say that was weird?
“‘Come on, let’s go in for a bit. Then we can get a pizza across the street.” And I nod toward the Papa John’s. Again, that look from Mariah. Like she’s totally out of the loop on pizza-eating.
We walk in to the store, me leading the way. The bell on the door tinkles as I catch the first whiff of incense. Mariah wrinkles up her nose at the smell. Soon, the Woodstock granny appears. I nudge Mariah as if to say, “That’s her, the hippie lady.” Mariah smiles at me, but still looks puzzled.
The proprietor seems busy with something and goes to the back of the store after greeting us, leaving us free to wander.
I whisper, “There are books about witchcraft here. We’re reading a play about witches in Salem in school. I’ll bet you know more about the Witch Trials than most of us.”
Silence from Mariah—and a near-panic expression. I can’t imagine why this topic is such a problem for her.
“Why—why would I? I don’t believe there are witches in Salem.”
Now I’m confused…“No, Mariah—I meant the witches in the play, or people accused of being witches centuries ago.”
Now her panic is written all over her face. “I don’t want to talk about that kind of thing, Emelia. Please.”
By now we’re over by the rack of jewelry and away from the witchcraft section. I wonder what Mariah’s issue is, but I decide for the sake of getting along and getting to know her that I won’t pursue it—for now, anyway.
As we’re half-heartedly looking at the earrings and bracelets, I try another topic.
“So what do you like to do when you’re not at school or studying?” A safe enough question…
Mariah takes some time answering. She has to think about it?
“Well, I like to read sometimes. I used to read the Bible, but not…anymore.”
“I can relate. I grew up Southern Baptist, but I’m kind of out of the church now. I did something they couldn’t accept.” Now I’m the one panicking that I’ve said too much. What if she asks me about Taylor? “No big thing, really. But I’m not much of a Bible reader either, is all.”
Mariah seems to let this subject die. We walk to the back of the store in silence. Woodstock Woman is sitting at a low table, writing in a journal. A huge orange-striped tabby cat sits at her feet. As we come near, it stands and stretches up like a Halloween cat.
Mariah smiles, her eyes crinkling in an appealing way. “I do like cats. Do you, Emelia?”
“Oh, yes. They’re awesome. I think I’ve always had a cat since I was little. The one I have now, Mr. Strange, is back in Daytona with a friend. Aunt Penny is allergic.”
“I wish I could see him sometime.” And Mariah gives me another wide smile.
“He’s the best boy. I miss him.”
At this point, we sort of naturally drift toward the front door. As we go out, Mariah holds the door open for me. I think I like that.
Chapter 26: Feeling the Way
I am quite relieved to get out of that shop! At every turn, I was so afraid of saying something ridiculous or revealing my ignorance about modern Kentucky culture. But, in spite of my fear, I love having this time with Emelia. She doesn’t seem to notice anything strange about me…
My next hurdle is the planned meal at the food place across the street from the bookstore. It’s called Papa John’s, and seems to serve a food item very popular with young people in the 21st Century. We didn’t have this “pizza” in early 19th Century Boston, and I have no frame of reference for teenagers eating on their own and paying for food. I need to take a deep breath and focus on getting to know Emelia.
As we get to the door of the restaurant (I have just learned that this is the proper term for this type of place), Emelia seems to step back from the door. I’m thinking I should open it for her as I did leaving the bookstore. I do so, and am rewarded with the sweetest smile.
“Okay, Mariah,” she says. “Do you like pizza?” Before I can answer, Emelia laughs. “Of course, everyone likes pizza. It just depends on what kind.”
I have no idea what pizza actually is, and, of course, I don’t eat any sort of human food. I put all my energy into thinking of how to get through this strange event without making a fatal mistake in my friendship with Emelia.
“Let’s sit over here,” she says, walking toward a table and chairs attached to the wall. I follow without words. On the way to our seats, I see some food that looks like open-faced pie on a sort of cart. This must be pizza…
After we sit, Emelia suggests that we decide on a pizza that we both like. What on earth am I going to do? I need to quickly find a plausible excuse for not eating.
Illness seems my best prospect. I start to concentrate on looking uncomfortable physically, making my face reflect nausea. Emelia looks at me with a worried expression. This might work.
“Are you okay, Mariah?” she asks. “You look a little green.”
This puzzles me. “Green?”
“Sick, maybe. Are you feeling sick?”
I am reminded that this is a workable way to get around the eating problem. I run with it.
“I’m so sorry, Emelia. I really enjoyed meeting with you, and I wanted to have—pizza—with you. I just don’t feel well. Maybe it’s something I ate yesterday.”
Emelia looks sympathetic and a bit relieved herself.
“No, don’t worry about it. I have terrible reactions to some foods myself.”
I try to sound modern. “Yeah? I thought it was just me. The change in regional foods, you know? From Salem to Kentucky.”
Maybe I said too much. Emelia looks confused. “But everywhere has pizza, right?”
I answer as I stand up to leave. “Oh, sure. It’s just—last night—I ate some fried fish. It’s not the same here…”
Emelia looks like she understands. Maybe I can get out of the situation without making Emelia wonder what’s wrong with me.
“Maybe you should just have something to drink. Soda, like 7Up or Sprite, is supposed to settle your stomach—ya know? I’m not hungry either, Mariah. Let’s just get a soda and talk…”
I’m not sure what to expect from this “soda,’’ but it sounds like some kind of drink. Drinks I can handle—at least, I haven’t yet had a negative reaction to anything liquid here in Kentucky. And I do want to talk to this lovely girl sitting across from me.
Emelia smiles at me, looking happy to agree on not eating and staying to talk. The next moment, a young man comes by our table and asks us what we want. Emelia takes charge of this process; I’m sure I must look mystified.
“Just two large Sprites, please—or 7Up—whichever you have.”
The skinny young boy with greasy-looking blond hair gives us a wary look. “Just drinks? No pizza or sandwiches?”
Emelia returns his gaze. “Yes, that’s all.” And then, “Maybe we’ll order something else later.” This seems to satisfy him, and he soon returns with
two red plastic glasses full of a clear liquid. I taste it. Sweet and bubbly—not bad. I’m so thankful to have avoided the food problem.
Emelia smiles at me, and I wonder if she sees me the way I see her: as a possible romantic connection. I can’t think of any information I have about this girl to make me think she is attracted to girls, but I don’t have any way to make sure before I potentially make a fool of myself. Which is not something I’m anxious to do. Yet…
Emelia is still smiling. “So you’re from Salem, right, Mariah?”
I smile back and answer, “Yes. But I left Salem years ago.” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I worry that I have said something strange. “Something…happened there…”
Emelia looks at me with what I think is sympathy, “Well, lots of things happen, don’t they? To all of us. You just have to keep trying, I guess…” She looks a bit sad then, and I wonder what problems she has tucked away in her past. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and put my hand on hers where it rests on the smooth table. I hold my breath.
Emelia doesn’t take her hand away, and she doesn’t look upset. Honestly, she gives me a look that seems to say all is well. Our hands stay together for another moment, until the server comes over again. He is carrying a tray of some kind of bread with cheese on it. As soon as he speaks, Emelia pulls her hand away gently.
“Hey. We have some free samples of a new pizza. Spinach and ricotta. Want some?”
Emelia takes a small square, I think just to be polite. I shake my head, and busy myself taking a sip of my drink. Thankfully, he goes away soon.
As soon as he turns away, Emelia speaks, “Look, Mariah. I don’t know you well—hardly at all really. But I think I’m starting to…like you. I mean…”
Emelia is blushing now, and I suspect I am, too—my cheeks feel way warmer than normal.
I try to help her out with, “I like you, too. Like a…close companion, I guess.”
Emelia gives a little chuckle and tosses back her reddish ponytail.
“That sounds a little old-fashioned—like something my granny might say. But I guess it kind of fits. I would like to know you better, and spend some time with you—just us. Is that okay with you?”
Buried Secrets Page 10
