by Nikki Loftin
“How do you know it’s not sand?” I asked, peering at the crystals. “It looks like sand to me.”
“But watch it burn,” he said, and sprinkled some more sand on top of the wire mesh. I watched as it caught fire and sparked, then burned away.
“So?”
“It burns a little blue,” Andrew whispered. “Sand doesn’t burn, and stone doesn’t burn blue. Only bone—well, some kinds of bone—do that.”
“How do you know that?”
“Science summer camp, remember? We did a forensics unit.” He wrinkled his nose. “And smell. It smells wrong.”
I leaned down to sniff. He was right. It didn’t smell like any campfire I had ever smelled before. What it did smell like was the oven when Dad had forgotten a rack of lamb in it for four hours and gone out to do yard work. When I’d come back into the house from playing outside, smoke had been pouring out of the oven, and that had been the smell. Burned bone.
“I don’t understand,” I said, backing up. “Why would the playground sand be . . . that? And all ground up? Where would they even get that much to begin with? That’s crazy.”
Andrew looked at me, measuring me with his eyes. “Crazy? Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe something else. Worse than crazy.”
“What kind is it?” I wondered aloud. “Where would you even get that much . . .” I didn’t say the word—I never said it—but the thought hung in the air between us, like poisoned smoke, and for a moment, neither one of us took a breath.
Bone?
The bell rang then, and it was time for lunch.
* * *
I was so distracted by the thought that the playground sand was ground-up bone pieces that I forgot to stop eating. When lunch was finished, Ms. Morrigan walked over from the seventh-grade table she’d been sitting at and smiled at me, smug and dismissive. “Seems you were hungry today, little Lorelei,” she said. “I knew you would eat eventually. I told her you were no different.”
* * *
No different? I felt different; I felt sick. I looked down. My plate had been taken away already, and I couldn’t remember what I’d eaten, but the inside of my mouth felt slick and greasy, coated with butter and oil. I sniffed my fingers; they smelled like almonds.
Marzipan, I remembered. I had eaten tray after tray of marzipan. My stomach was so full it almost felt crampy, so I got up slowly and wandered down the hallway to the restroom instead of back to class. I stood in the stall, facing the toilet, wondering if I was going to throw up—kind of hoping I would, just to stop my stomachache—when I heard the door open and voices.
“So, my teacher, Ms. Morrigan, is the coolest. She lets us eat candy all day long, and she never makes us raise our hands.” It was Tess, one of the girls from my class.
Another voice answered, but I didn’t recognize it. “That’s so weird. My teacher’s name is Ms. Morrigan, too. Do you think they’re sisters or something?”
“Maybe, I don’t know,” Tess replied. I heard them go into the stalls, but they never stopped talking.
“Oh my gosh, Tess, I am getting so fat! I can hardly button my jeans!”
“Me, too. I totally need to go on a diet. But the food here is so awesome. It’s better than the stuff I get at home.”
“I know what you mean. My mom doesn’t even cook anymore, anyway. It’s all fast food burgers and frozen dinners. They take better care of us here than our parents do. You know, our teacher has a whole bowl of Tums in the classroom, if your stomach hurts. I could get you one.”
“I’ll have to ask Ms. Morrigan for some. You know what? I wish I could live here all the time.” Tess laughed, and their toilets flushed.
“Yeah, that would be paradise.”
A part of me agreed with them. If it weren’t for the creepy things I kept discovering—and the strange feeling I had that there was something secret, something really bad, that none of us kids had figured out—I would want to live here, too.
For a minute, I was jealous of those girls. And mad at Andrew. If he hadn’t stopped me from eating those M&M’s, if he hadn’t showed me the bone sand, I would be happy. I would be just like those other girls, excited about all the cool things at the school.
Of course, I knew that wasn’t true. I would never be like Tess and her friend. Those girls hadn’t done the thing I had done. They still had moms to go home to.
The familiar loneliness rushed over me, and I ran back into the stall to get some toilet paper. I didn’t want Ms. Morrigan to see me crying.
When I walked out of the bathroom, sniffling, Principal Trapp was there, pinning something to a bulletin board.
“Lorelei!” She whirled around and dropped the tacks she was holding. I bent and scooped them up, handing them back carefully. “You surprised me!” She leaned down to see my face. “You’ve been crying.”
I started to interrupt her, tell her I had just been washing my face, but she held up a hand.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask you about it. Everyone has secrets. Yours are as dark as anyone’s, aren’t they? They’re yours to keep. You don’t need to tell anyone, not your friends. Not me.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering if she really understood. Something in her stare reminded me of the way my eyes had looked for those long months after Mom died. Maybe Principal Trapp did understand. Maybe she had done something just as horrible, something she never thought she would do.
“Will you help me pin this up?” she asked, and handed me a tack.
“Sure,” I answered automatically and helped straighten the poster board she was working on.
It was a giant green sign, and I read it while she unfolded the stepladder.
MUSIC CLASS BEGINS THURSDAY! PLEASE WELCOME MS. THRENODY.
“Music starts Thursday?” I asked. “As in, the day after tomorrow?”
She nodded, and I yelled, “Woo-hoo!”
My shout and then her laughter echoed down the hall.
“I don’t know if all the students will be as happy to lose their extra recess!” She climbed up the ladder to fix the top corners of the poster.
“Probably not,” I agreed. “It’s just that music is my favorite class.”
“I can tell. I hope you like her. I’ve known her for years. She’s one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever heard. Actually, she reminds me of you. Smart, musical, perceptive . . . and beautiful. And her voice is mesmerizing.” She looked at me with a grin and stuck one final tack in the poster. “Of course, I’ve heard yours is something special, too.”
“Oh, I don’t sing anymore,” I said, feeling my face heat. “Not since . . . well, not for a long time.” I hesitated. “I used to sing for my mom.”
“I would love it if you would sing for me, Lorelei,” the principal said, climbing down.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” I began, but stopped when she placed her hand on my shoulder. She smiled straight into my eyes. “Are you going to make me ask pretty please?” she teased.
Before I could think better of it, I sang. I didn’t exactly choose it, but the first song that came to mind was one my mother had taught me. One we had sung together for years.
“When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, what will I be?” I broke off, embarrassed. The next part was supposed to be a duet, with my mom on the high descant.
The principal whispered the chorus by herself. “Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be . . .” Her voice trailed off, too.
“Lorelei is the perfect name for you. Siren song,” she said quietly. “Has anyone ever told you that your voice is almost magical?”
My mom had said that. Right then, the principal reminded me so much of my mom, I couldn’t answer her. I was afraid I might cry. I nodded once.
“Ms. Threnody will fall in love with you.” Still smiling, she patted me on the shou
lder. “Now off to class.”
“Principal Trapp.” I had almost forgotten the sand.
“Yes?”
“It’s probably dumb, I know,” I said, rushing to get the words out, “but I was wondering about the playground. About the sand.”
“The sand?” She looked utterly confused. “I’m not sure—ah! Alva. There you are. I wondered when you would notice one of your chicks had fallen out of the nest.”
I felt a frigid hand on my arm, and looked down. Ms. Morrigan’s nails were sharp at the tips, and they looked like pale claws against my tanned skin.
“I was worried, Lorelei,” Ms. Morrigan said, but I could tell from her expression she wasn’t. She was angry. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Principal Trapp laughed. “Don’t be too hard on her. She was helping me with the bulletin board. It’s my fault.”
Ms. Morrigan, her hand still on my arm, turned toward her classroom, shaking her head so hard I thought her braids might come undone. “Let’s go.”
Principal Trapp winked at me, and then made a face behind Ms. Morrigan’s back. I almost laughed.
Ms. Morrigan pulled me down the hallway until we turned a corner. Then she stopped, and wrenched me around to face her.
“Ouch!”
“You were asking about the sand. Why?”
The question crackled in the air between us. I didn’t want to answer, I knew that. I wanted to tell her to stuff it . . . but her eyes narrowed, and my head filled with static. I heard a voice—my voice—from blocks away, hissing through clenched teeth.
“Andrew.”
Narrower slits of blue flashed with victory. “Andrew did what?”
Each word burned in my mouth. “Said . . . the sand . . . was . . . really . . .”
“Go on. Say it.”
She stared into my eyes, and I could feel the word buzzing to be let out. But, even with a mind gone fuzzy, even with her eyes flickering like summer lightning, I knew I couldn’t say that word. It was my secret, my deepest secret. Principal Trapp’s voice echoed in my mind. Your secrets are as dark as anyone’s, aren’t they? They’re yours to keep. You don’t need to tell anyone.
I didn’t have to answer completely. But those eyes demanded a word. “Strange,” I answered at last, and felt my mind buckle under Ms. Morrigan’s gaze.
You won’t remember the sand.
I won’t remember the sand.
You won’t talk to Andrew.
I won’t talk to Andrew.
You will avoid him.
I will.
You’re hungry. You will eat.
My stomach growled an answer, and that part of my mind that had questioned, that had seen the strangeness around me, crumbled into dust.
CHAPTER TEN:
FORCE-FED
On Wednesday, no matter what I did, Andrew wouldn’t leave me alone. I’d avoided him for the rest of Tuesday. It wasn’t difficult. He’d seemed preoccupied with something, like he was thinking as hard as he could. But the next day was harder. I tried ignoring him, avoiding him in the hallways, even asking Ms. Morrigan to let me join the girls’ group for our mythology study. He kept pestering me, though. Finally, right after lunch, he grabbed my arm, stopping me from going back to class.
“Andrew,” I hissed. “What’s your problem? Let me go!”
“What’s happened?” he asked, keeping his voice low, too. “I’ve been watching you all day. You’ve been eating. A lot.”
The wait staff was clearing the last plates from the table, and one of them—Gustav? Otto?—looked at us curiously.
“Come outside with me, Lorelei. Now, before Ms. Morrigan notices we’re gone,” he said, and tried to pull me toward the door.
“What in the world? No, Andrew. I’m not going anywhere with you. Let me go!”
His fingers tightened, and I pulled back harder.
He stopped squeezing when he realized I was serious, but he didn’t let go. “What happened, Lorelei? You’re different. Something happened after lunch yesterday.”
He was speaking slowly, like I was stupid. It made me want to scratch his eyes out. Bryan talked to me that way sometimes, when he wanted to really make me mad. “Yesterday, you left the cafeteria and you were gone for a long time. Where did you go? Who did you see?”
“Andrew Fortner, I am going to kick you in the privates if you don’t let me go right this instant,” I said. “I’m not stupid. I didn’t see anyone yesterday. I just went to the bathroom.”
Andrew backed up, worried I really was going to kick him, I guess. “Calm down, Lorelei. I know you’re not stupid. I just want to know where you went. Who you saw. Was anyone in the bathroom?”
I thought back. Why did my thoughts seem blurred again? Maybe I had a brain tumor. Maybe I was just being annoyed to death. Either way, I wanted to get back to class. I was hungry, and Ms. Morrigan had brought a snow-cone maker into the classroom as a special treat for working hard on our math lesson.
“Fine. I ran into Tess and some other girl. They talked about their teachers, and then they left. Then I went back to class.” I pulled against his hand again. “Now let me go. I will tell Principal Trapp about this, you know. You’ll get thrown out of school, and I won’t care.”
“You won’t?” he said, looking at me like I’d just kicked him for real.
“No, I won’t,” I said. “It’ll just mean more food for the rest of us, fatso.”
“Lorelei!” He gasped. Was he going to cry? Maybe. A thought flashed through my mind, like a diver rising to the surface for a quick breath—How could I say that? What was happening to me?—but then it went away, and I pulled free of his hands at last.
“Wait.” I had almost left the room, when his voice stopped me. It sounded . . . broken. I looked back. He was crying, one tear inching down his cheek, his arms wrapped around himself.
“I’m listening.”
“If you come with me right now, I’ll leave. I promise. I’ll leave the school and never come back. I already asked my parents if I could transfer out. They said no, but I could convince them.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt up and rubbed the hem across his eyes to dry them. “You’ll never have to see me again. But I want you to do one thing for me.”
“I’ll never have to see you again? Quick, tell me,” I said. He was crying harder now. I had caused those tears. “What do you want me to do?”
It was probably a trick. He was trying to get me into trouble. I told him that.
“How could you possibly get into trouble at Splendid?” he answered calmly, sniffing. “There aren’t any rules here. You can go anywhere you want, do anything you want to, remember?”
I thought he was wrong—I knew there was something wrong with what he was saying—but I just nodded. I wanted to get rid of him, get him out of my life, so I could go back to class, and my friends, and the golden dish that my teacher kept full of candy for me. My stomach twisted. I was starving. I needed to get rid of him so I could grab a snack.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll come. For one minute. Then you disappear, and never come back.”
“Agreed,” he said, looking sadder than ever.
I followed him outside, squinting at the glare of the sunshine on the white sand of the playground.
Sand. It was sand, wasn’t it? For some reason, I couldn’t remember why, I had a feeling it was something else. Something scary.
Andrew’s fault, I thought. A breeze whistled past, and the leaves on the tree nearby rustled a warning. Stop listening to him. Get away from him. He’s trying to ruin your life.
Andrew had crossed over to the jungle gym, reached down into the sand, and returned before I could decide to leave.
“Here, Lorelei. Do you remember what this is?”
Go back inside, the leaves
rustled. Be safe.
My hair whipped around my face as the wind grew stronger. “It’s sand,” I said. “It’s playground sand. Is that all?”
He tilted his head. “You don’t remember? Our science experiment? Yesterday, when we snuck into the science wing and burned the sand?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t. And the wind is messing up my hair. Can I go now?”
“Yeah, sure,” Andrew said. “After you do one thing. One little thing.”
“What?” I was really suspicious now. I knew there had to be a catch.
“Eat it,” he said. And he held his hand—full of sand—up to my face.
I couldn’t help it; I backed up a step. “You want me to eat sand? You’re crazy!”
“Okay, crazy. I can live with that. I’ve been called worse.” He looked down at his stomach.
“No,” I said. “I’m not going to do it. I’d throw up. You’re completely demented.”
“Eat one piece, then,” Andrew said. “Just one. That couldn’t possibly make you throw up. And you’ll see why I asked you.”
“One piece?” I asked. “And you’ll leave me alone?”
Andrew held up one hand in what had to be a Boy Scout salute. “On my honor. One piece, and if you don’t see what I mean, I’ll leave forever. You’ll never have to see me again.”
“Fine,” I said. I reached out, took a grain of sand off his palm, and put it on my tongue. It tasted strange—bitter, then sweet, harsh and sugary in turns. It tasted like tears and terror and . . . “Marzipan?”
Andrew was looking at me as if he expected something to have changed. “How do you feel, Lorelei? Can you remember what happened yesterday now? Do you remember . . . any of it?”
I didn’t answer. My mouth was parched, the sand wicking away every bit of moisture as it sat on my tongue. Sand didn’t do that, I knew. Sand didn’t change taste or turn your mouth as dry as . . . I shook my head and tried to spit, but my mouth felt like a desert.
