Ella found herself reading her mother’s poems and fables less and less. She didn’t have time to miss her walks to school or her weird runs with Sam. She didn’t have time to obsess over the silver shootings, or even read very much about the latest one. She just had time now for school and her very busy life.
Which felt great. Or at least, not empty.
And that was good enough.
Chapter 45
Sarah was trying not to begrudge Ella of the part she’d gotten for the Festival. It was wrong to be jealous of your orphaned friend who’d grown up in the inner city of a big town and never known anything but poverty. It was wrong to envy her when she got a break. Even if it was a really cool break.
Sarah had been hoping for some type of audition, but apparently Ella just knew the right people. Which was what you needed in Napper. Sarah knew that. And it wasn’t Ella’s fault her aunt worked with the mighty Charles Napper.
Maybe it wouldn’t have bothered Sarah so much if Ella still felt like Ella—old jeans, brown hair, phone she almost never touched, homework she always did.
Sarah sighed—there she went again. She’d liked Ella better as an oddball. It was like Sarah had been using Ella as some sort of toy—the friend who needed Sarah more than Sarah needed her.
Now the tables had turned. And Sarah was lonely. She’d come to really value Ella as a friend. And now Ella had lots of other options. She’d been busy every day that week—playing tennis, going out with guys who seemed to have come out of the woodwork, hanging out with new friends.
She and Ella had started saying, “Hey, we should get together soon.” But then they didn’t. It worried Sarah. When you started talking like middle-aged women who don’t have time for lunch, it was kind of over.
Just yesterday, Ella had suggested they go get their nails done that weekend. Whatever. Sarah hated getting her nails done at those stinky salons. She’d made up some lame excuse and found herself wishing they could go to that stinky farm instead. That sounded way more interesting.
Being with Ella had been fun because Ella had just been Ella. Most of the kids Sarah had grown up with weren’t at ease in their skin. And now they’d gotten under her best friend’s skin and were morphing her into someone else.
Sarah hated that.
At least she still had Sam. Nice, crazy Sam. Sam who apparently was not as into her as she was into him. Sam, who would never kiss her or even ask her out.
She sighed. Lately, he’d been acting weird too—well, weirder—only on the other extreme. He’d mostly stopped talking to her or anyone else, and walked around looking haunted half the time. She’d seen him running by the institution the other day and he’d stopped at the Havensborough Unit and stared up—like he was looking for a camera or trying to communicate with the stars or something. He had looked, Sarah had to admit, like he belonged a little more inside the psychiatric institution than out. And yet he was the most true person she knew, the only one in the school who would walk around just being himself.
It was because of Sam that Sarah had let the black fade out of her hair and stopped with the dark lips and eyes. She’d realized that just because you were trying to be different than everyone else didn’t mean you were trying to be yourself. She’d spent the months since meeting Sam trying to figure out who she was. Which, apparently, was a jealous jerk who begrudged one friend’s success while judging her other friend for his obvious eccentricities.
She texted Ella—“You still up for that mani-pedi? I’m going purple; how ‘bout you?”
Sam still hadn’t come up with a way to tell Ella she was his cousin without sounding like a whack job. The truth was that the harder he tried to look not crazy, the crazier everything became.
Sam looked down at his utterly normal hands—long, slim fingers that were a good match for his tall skinny body. When he had changed he hadn’t been afraid. He was afraid now—terrified of it happening again and just as terrified that it would never happen again. When he’d dragged himself home that night, he’d insisted his father talk to him, tell him as much as he could. Which wasn’t as much as Sam would have liked.
“I’ve never had a half-breed son before,” his dad had said, a wry sadness in his voice.
“You’ve always had a half-breed son,” Sam shot back. “You just haven’t wanted one.”
“I’ve always been happy with what I had,” his father said, looking him in the eye.
“Well, good for you,” Sam said, slicing a hand through the air. “Just tell me if this will happen again. If you can tell me anything useful at all.”
“I don’t know if or how often it will happen again,” his father had said. “But I know this. To stop it from happening, don’t eat meat, don’t look at the moon, and a bit of Aleve won’t hurt either.”
Of course his father would assume he never wanted to transform again. Sam had let out a snort.
His father had ignored it. “But whether it happens or not, don’t go near the ones you love.”
“Why?” Sam had asked.
His father had actually laughed. “Because,” he’d said with a bit of his own snort, “you could hurt them. And even if you don’t, you could lead others to them who will. Get used to it, son, this world doesn’t have a ton of room for people like us.”
Sam had stomped off to his room, angry—angry that what his father said was actually true. But determined as well. He would tell Ella.
Sam had never been one to run with his instincts before, but in his transformation a piece of that had changed. It was true that he didn’t want to hurt anyone if he transformed again, but it didn’t seem any better to stand back and let others get hurt because you refused to stand up and be who you actually were.
Ella was his best friend. And his cousin. Something crazy was going on and Sam and Ella were in the middle of it. The only difference was that Sam knew this, and Ella didn’t.
No. That wasn’t the only difference.
The other difference was that Sam wanted to figure it out, was ready to run toward it, while it seemed that Ella was more than happy to step back, look away. She’d come to school last week with some dark highlights in her hair, new clothes, new nails, tan skin—her own transformation into her own kind of half-breed.
Today Sarah had told Sam that she was going to help Ella practice her part for the festival. Sam figured he could corner Ella in the theater when she was done and talk to her then.
Sam got to the stage just after Sarah. He waited in the darkness of the wing as Sarah bustled around finding a stool and a microphone, then plugging things in. He had told her he was coming, but he was pretty sure she didn’t know he was here, and he hated to interrupt her. Besides he kind of enjoyed watching her in her element. After a few minutes, Ella came through the audience doors of the theater, texting as she walked up the aisle toward the stage.
Ella didn’t look up until she got to the stage where Sarah was standing. They both smiled at each other, and maybe it was the dim lighting, but Sam felt like Sarah looked a little strained. She motioned for Ella to come up onto the stage, and then Sarah stood Ella in front of the curtain with just a few lights on, as though ready for a big opening act. Gently, Sarah adjusted Ella’s posture, pressed her shoulder’s down, told her to stand with one foot slightly in front of the other.
Ella still looked really nervous. Her shoulders had already tensed back up, and her legs with their bent knees looked like she was gearing up for a sprint off the stage.
“Ella,” Sarah said, laughing. “Relax; it’s just me.”
“I know,” Ella mumbled so Sam could just barely hear her. “I’m just not good at this stuff.”
“Well, of course you are. Why else would they have picked you?” Sarah looked sideways as she said it. Ella did too.
Sam guessed that they both knew. A connection was worth a thousand auditions. And Ella apparently had a good one.
“Okay,” Sarah was saying. “You’ll probably have a mic for the event, so we’re going
to practice with one. Testing,” she said, tapping into it. It echoed back at her and she positioned the stand in front of Ella.
Sam couldn’t help but stare. Sarah’s small hands flitted over the equipment with ease, her hair falling forward. She had always been eye-catching, but as Ella’s hair had become less natural, Sarah’s was fading back into a reddish brown. Parts of it caught the lights on the stage, amber strands flitting like fairies down her back. It made Sarah’s eyes seem greener and her pale skin pinker. And the plain black shirt and black pants she usually wore—those had always done her a lot of favors. Sam wished he was watching a long, long play, so he could sit and stare at her for hours.
It was almost like she knew, because for a minute she blinked in his direction. But the wings were too dark, and Sam had always been good at going unnoticed.
Sarah’s eyes went back to Ella. She patted Ella’s shoulders down again and told her to take a deep breath.
Ella spoke into the microphone. But instead of her part, she asked, “So are you going to be there with your parents?”
“No,” Sarah said. “My parents won’t be there.”
“Why not?” Ella asked. “Are you guys going out of town for the break?”
“No,” Sarah said. “My parents weren’t invited. They’re never invited to Napper’s fundraisers.”
Ella tipped her head to one side. “Seriously?” she asked. “I thought your parents were pretty well off.”
The comment obviously annoyed Sarah, although Ella didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, they do okay,” Sarah said. “Better than okay. But this party’s about more than money. It’s like Hollywood. It’s all about status. And my parents lack that a little. My dad’s politics don’t always line up with Napper’s.”
“Really?” Ella said, like she’d only been half listening. “That’s too bad.”
“Is it?” Sarah asked.
“I mean that they won’t—that you won’t—be there.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Sarah said. “The food is supposed to be amazing.”
“And there’s dancing,” Ella said.
Sarah shrugged. “With old people.”
Ella smiled. “And Jack.”
“Yup. Old people. And their rich relatives.”
Ella looked hurt. “What do you mean?”
“Jack is Napper’s great nephew; didn’t you know?” Sarah said. And then quickly added, “Anyway—I was just kidding about the old people. It’s going to be a blast.”
Sarah tapped on the mic one more time.
“Now let’s do this thing so you can go in there and impress everyone.”
Ella took a deep breath.
White moon rising. Red sun blush.
Melt the old world to a hush.
To bring anew a refreshed land,
I place this stone with purity of hand.
The sun will rise, bright new star.
New definitions of who we are.
Ella whispered and mumbled her way through and when she was done, Sam bit his lip. The poem wasn’t great to begin with, but Ella was awful. She’d sped through most of it, stopping only to take a desperate breath at awkward points in the middle of phrases, her voice shaky and weak. Sam had heard her read in class and she’d always done well, but here—with lights and the microphone, caught into something that was supposed to be a performance, she sounded like a zombie.
“Okay,” Sarah said, obviously a little surprised as well. “Just slow it down a little. At first just imagine you’re reading in class—no big deal. Pause at the end of each line, breathe, and then move on. Slowly. Try it again.”
“Okay,” Ella said. “I’m also supposed to place some ceremonial stone at the end of it.”
Sarah shook her head. “Napper’s a weird one,” she said. “Place it where?”
“I don’t know,” Ella said. “I figured they’d show me.”
“Okay, well, read the poem and then place your imaginary stone on the ground or something. Just be sure to bend down with your knees together and to the side—don’t bend at the hips and stick your butt out at everyone, though old Napper would probably love that.”
Both girls giggled and the ice finally broke.
Ella read the poem and placed her “stone.” Her reading was better. At least as good as it was when she read a passage in folklore.
“Okay,” Sarah said. “Now kind of try to flow with the words a bit. Don’t overdo it or anything. But when you talk about the moon, picture the moon. You’ll be surprised how well the images and your feelings about them will connect to your language without any overacting.”
Ella said the first few lines and they were pretty good. Really good. Sam found himself feeling proud of his friends—both teacher and student. Also, he figured at this rate, he’d have a chance to steal a few minutes with Ella, but she had begun pulling her phone out to check it.
“Thanks, Sarah,” she said the minute they got through the whole poem. “This has helped me a lot, but I’ve got to run.”
Sarah looked at her watch. “Where are you headed? I was kind of hoping we could go for pizza or something. Sam was supposed to be here soon too.”
Ella’s eyes lit up. For a second Sam was flattered. Until Ella said, “Actually Vivi is taking me to look at some cars. She said maybe for Christmas.”
“Cool,” Sarah said. “That is more motivating than pizza.” She turned off the mic and wound up the cord. “What kind are you looking at?”
“I don’t know,” Ella gushed. “Honestly, I don’t know anything about cars, but Jack does. He told Vivi he’d help her look.”
“So Jack’s coming?” Sarah said, her hands slowing on the cord. Sam held his breath; it was obvious Sarah didn’t like Ella’s counselor.
“Yeah,” Ella said, grabbing her bag and shoving her phone into her pocket. “And maybe Brandt. They know a ton about cars.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Sarah said.
Ella hopped off the side of the stage and jogged up the aisle and to the audience doors. For a minute, Sam saw his old friend—ponytail bouncing, bag slung over her back. But just before the exit, she paused, adjusted her hair, and walked carefully out the doors.
Sam watched Sarah as she stared at the door that shut behind Ella. He felt like he should say something so he didn’t startle her, but she seemed so lost in thought that he was pretty sure anything would startle her.
Sam stepped forward, still in the shadows, but closer to Sarah. She put away the microphone, picked up her bag, and went to the lights to flip them off. Her fingers brushed the switches down, leaving only the aisle and exit light shining, and still he held her in his gaze. He liked the way the dim lights traced her profile—the deep set eyes, angular nose, full lips. She turned and began to walk in his direction. Then, for a minute, she stood there in what would have been his long shadow if the lights behind him had been on. She turned and went back for something she’d forgotten.
Sam shook himself out of it. There was a light switch near him and he flipped it on. “Hey,” he said, as though he’d just come in.
“Hey,” she said, not quite looking up. When Sam caught her eye, he could see that her eyes were full of tears.
“Hey,” he said again, moving closer. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, pulling a tissue from her pocket. “It’s just—” Her voice shook a bit and she paused. “It’s just a lot of things. I can’t…I can’t even explain it. I’m—” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m a little jealous I guess.”
Sam could see the relief break like sunshine through a mist as she said it.
She laughed. “Yeah, I’m definitely jealous. Ella’s reading was actually really terrible to start with—almost like she was trying to be intentionally bad. And the poem is just terrible. Some rich donor must have written it and asked for it to be read. And…I don’t think Ella even really wants to do it.”
Sam nodded. He didn’t think it seemed like Ella wanted to do it either.
“But sh
e’s a quick learner.” Sarah dabbed at her eyes and put on her coat. “So there’s my jealousy on the one hand,” she said. “And…and on the other hand. I kind of miss her. She’s been so busy. With Brandt and Jack and Lila and Nicole and who knows who else?”
Sam laughed and they began walking toward the back door.
“I mean, why can’t she see it?” Sarah said. “That she’s too young for Jack and that Brandt’s kind of a jerk.”
Sam shrugged. Girls, he’d noticed, often seemed to have this problem, but he didn’t point that out to Sarah.
“It just would have been fun if you and me and Ella could have hung out or something. You know?” She looked at him with her big, shiny eyes.
He wanted to touch her face, to comfort her. He could feel how her skin would be under his fingers. It made him sweat.
Sam cleared his throat. “Well, maybe we could do something fun—you and me. We could maybe go get ice cream or something.”
“I like ice cream,” Sarah said smiling. “Even when it’s freezing outside.”
“We could get hot chocolate instead,” he said quickly. “That new coffee shop has—”
“No,” she said interrupting. “I think ice cream sounds good.”
They walked through the empty halls, their arms occasionally brushing. Sam felt the warmth of her fingers. He hadn’t held her hand since the corn maze.
Sarah glanced at him and he pushed open the door to the parking lot. Sarah walked through.
Sam took a deep breath and fingered the hundred dollar bill he’d folded into his pocket three very long weeks ago. It’d been washed several times since then and still it stayed folded and tucked away—evidence that Sam wasn’t nuts. That he wasn’t poor and that he could grab a thing he wanted and keep it close. He hoped it was true.
Chapter 46
Sam took Sarah to a small little ice cream shop called Percil’s. He’d never been there, but back in August when school had started, he’d heard kids at school talking about it like it was Disneyland. At the beginning of December, the place was still packed.
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