“Seriously?” I say holding up a brochure for a clown company.
“I grabbed a little bit of everything when I was in the city.” She shrugs. “What do I know about teenagers?”
“You never wanted kids?” I ask. It feels like a forbidden question as the words leave the end of my tongue and suddenly, the air around us feel tainted.
“Once,” Katya says, grabbing at a pendant around her neck. “But that was not meant to be.”
My face gets warm, and I feel foolish. “Just keep it simple,” I say, pulling out a brochure from under the pile. “Like this one, just some patio lights, treats, and music.”
Katya takes the brochure from me and raises an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“It’s more than I ever had.” I smile. “My birthdays were usually spent going through a drive-thru and eating in the car. This will definitely be extravagant.”
Katya shrugs and starts cleaning off the table. “It’s special, you know.”
“Birthdays?”
“Yours,” she says. “It lands on the equinox. Winter follows, bringing with it shorter days of light. It marks the last bit of balance we have until the next year.”
“Don’t sound so dreary,” I say, but a shiver runs down my spine.
I turn and start back toward the stairs. Katya calls out to me one last time.
“Daciana,” she says, “I know something is going on with you and that tovaros. Finding the right one is difficult—it shouldn’t be such work to make things right. Perhaps we could spend the summer in Romania; you could meet others like you?”
Others?—I’m not alone? “That would be great.”
I leave Katya smiling as I run up to my room.
Once alone, I lie on my bed, but instantly visions of Tryan and that girl flood my thoughts. Gah—why can’t I stop thinking about them? I need to keep busy. I go to my desk and pull out a pad of paper, bringing up Brennan’s email with the yearbook pages. I start sketching some funny cartoons to go with the photos.
As it gets darker outside, my eyelids lower, and I realize how exhausted I feel. My last sketch got a little out of control, and ended up looking like Liana. I stare at the sketch in frustration. Suddenly, her eyes blink and her hair begins to move, and before I know it, the image slightly lifts from the page.
I jump back, knocking my chair on the floor then look back at the paper—nothing. The pencil drawing is still, no longer resembling Liana at all. I rub my eyes, then I close up my sketchpad and crawl into bed.
Am I going crazy? Maybe that’s what happens with this ability—you start seeing things everywhere you go. I know there’s no way a demon could have been in that sketch; I just drew it. This ability feels more and more like a curse.
I think about my mom, as I lie awake. Is this why she drank every day? Mom wasn’t what you’d call “settled.” Her dancing job allowed us to move to pretty much any washed-up hole of a town. After her shifts, she’d usually party the rest of the night, and I’d get to have breakfast with a myriad of half-drunk, half-dressed men.
Rolling over in bed, I clutch my pillow. I miss her, I really do. There were moments, like when she’d wake me up at dawn and take me somewhere special, like the beach, or a café, or some other secret hideaway she had found. Those few hours we’d spend together laughing were rare, but I held on to them for the gems they were in my childhood.
I wonder how often she saw the shadows, crossing our paths, hiding in corners, or the pictures hanging on the walls. Was that why we moved—to escape and give her a moment of peace? What could have been so wrong about becoming a summoner that made her run in the first place?
A tap comes from my window. At first, I don’t notice it, but then it comes again, and a third follows even more quickly. I jump out of bed and peer into the darkness. Down below, illuminated by the lights of our front steps, Tryan waves to me. But I don’t wave back. I raise a finger at him to wait, even though I’d rather give him a different one.
I hesitate at the front door, then take a deep breath and walk outside.
“What?” I ask, crossing my arms, staying on the porch, out of reach.
“I want to explain.”
“I don’t need an explanation,” I say. “I was worried when I saw your place. I’m not anymore.”
“You went to my place?” He scratches the back of his head, awkwardly standing in front of me. It’s the first time he’s acted like a teenage boy since I met him.
“I didn’t want to leave, but they didn’t leave me a choice.”
“Who didn’t?” I ask. “Liana? I can tell you’re just helpless around her.”
“Liana? No, why would she? It was the Senate. They sent some people to retrieve me.”
“What Senate?”
“The Tovaros High Senate.”
“What does that have to do with that girl?”
Tryan lets out a loud sigh. “Liana is my babysitter now. It’s my consequence for helping an underage summoner cross demons over from the netherworld.”
“You’re being punished for the demons I let through?”
He nods.
“But you didn’t help me. I let that imp and ogre through on my own.”
“The Senate doesn’t see it that way.”
I tap my foot on the porch, as Tryan watches me. I feel sorry that he’s in trouble for something I did, but that doesn’t explain how familiar he and this Liana seem to be. Maybe she’s the girl he spent last year with—another summoner.
“You’ve obviously met your babysitter before. She’s rather friendly for someone who’s supposed to be watching you.”
A flicker of hurt crosses his face. “It’s not like that.”
“I don’t care.” I know I sound like a silly girl, pouting as I tap my foot, so I straighten myself up to regain my composure. “Is she staying at your house?”
“Yes,” Tryan says, looking at the ground.
My chest tightens and I can feel my stomach burning. Visions of Liana, the long-legged model, stream through my head. Liana sitting on Tryan’s couch. Liana in Tryan’s bedroom.
“I guess I’ll see you two around.” I turn and open the door.
“Wait!” Tryan calls out. I pause with my hand on the handle. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”
“I’m busy,” I say, opening the door. “I have a date.” Tryan doesn’t answer. I walk inside and close the door, without looking back at Tryan; I can’t. Instead, I brace my back against the door. Why am I acting so stupid?
I return to my bedroom, close my curtains, and go to bed. All night I toss and turn. A few times when I wake up, it feels like someone’s outside, watching the house. But when I get up to look out my window, all I see are shadows playing together in the streets.
The next day is terrible. Actually, it just plain sucks. I wake up late, hurry out of the house, my hair half-brushed, and I’m still in the same clothes from the night before. I’m late for the first period, which means I have to walk in front of the entire class looking like death warmed over. Worse—Brennan’s beaming at me from his desk, which reminds me of our date tonight. Fantastic. Thankfully, Tryan’s not in class.
At lunch, I search for a place to sit where no one will see me. That’s when I see them: Tryan and Liana. She’s laughing aloud in some twinkling, crystalline voice while she sits close—a little too close—to Tryan.
Someone bumps into me, and I stumble a few steps forward. Tryan’s eyes look up and catch mine, but I quickly look away and disappear into the crowd. I find a quiet spot near the wall, sit down, and stare at my food. I’ve lost the little bit of appetite I have left, even though my stomach rumbles in protest. I grab my fruit bowl and pick at a grape with my fork.
Brennan slides in across from me. How did he find me? I glance at him quickly, and then turn my attention back to my grape.
“I thought that tonight we could go down to Marcotte’s?” he says.
Marcotte’s is a local
restaurant, known for its dim lights and romantic music. Katya and Constantine took me there one night, shortly after moving here. The entire meal scene is just not my style. Plus, it’s more of a let’s go steady kind of restaurant than it is a we’re just friends place.
“That’s a little fancy for a hangout,” I grumble. “I thought this was just friends?”
“It is,” he says quickly. “The arcade will be too busy to get any work done.”
“How about a good old coffee shop,” I say, “like the Common.”
“Isn’t that for old people?” Brennan scrunches up his nose.
I have to laugh aloud at this. “We’re not six, Brennan. I’m sure people our age go there. It’ll be quieter than the arcade, and more in the friend-zone.”
“Fine,” Brennan says. “I’ll pick you up at—”
“Uh, uh, uh,” I tsk. “Friend-zone, remember?”
“Friends pick up friends,” Brennan argues.
Tryan and Liana walk down the aisle of the cafeteria. He’s looking all around before his eyes fall on me, and hold mine, making my heart slam against my ribs, faster and faster. Then Liana stands in between us and I tear my eyes away.
I quickly look at Brennan and speak louder than usual. “Yeah, sure, pick me up at seven.”
“Awesome!” Brennan beams.
I look back at Tryan, but Liana’s pulling him out of the cafeteria. Grrr. I feel the instinct to jump from my chair and attack, but Chantal and Sophie sit down, blocking them from my view. Chantal stares from Brennan to me, and then back again, while Sophie looks up and smiles at the both of us.
“What’s up tonight?” she asks.
“I’ve got football first,” Brennan says. “Then I’m busy.”
“You should come with us,” Sophie says, leaning toward me.
“I’m not really into football.”
“Everyone in high school loves football,” Brennan presses. “What don’t you like?”
I shrug. “I’ve never gone.”
“What! Then you have to come. Sophie, you’re bringing this girl to practice.”
Chantal’s face drops, but I bet mine looks worse. Football. Seriously. I go back to playing with my grape while Brennan drones on about all the things he wants to do this year with the yearbook. My mini-revenge didn’t make me feel any better, leaving me with a lump in my throat. I pick up my untouched tray of food and stand.
“Going already?” Brennan asks.
“I should go get some homework done if we’re going out tonight,” I lie.
“Good thinking,” he says, “see you later.”
On my way out Miss Nelson is waiting for me.
“You can’t avoid me forever,” she says. “I’d appreciate a talk in my office.”
I sigh. I deserve this for how I acted yesterday but still slink through her office door and drop myself into a chair. Her desk has a stack of manila folders on it, but the one that draws my attention is pulled to the side, and has the name CANTAR printed at the top.
“I don’t like how we communicated yesterday,” she begins. “I like to think when one gives respect, they deserve it back.”
I shift in my seat and force myself to meet her eyes. The brown surrounding her pupil is dark and intense as it stares back at me, unrelenting.
“I understand this is a hard year for you, but I hate to see you fall apart. You have such potential, Dacie. Sometimes jumping into relationships within the same year as a personal tragedy is not a good idea.”
“Tryan and I are not together.” The words sound foreign as they come out of my mouth, though I can’t seem to stop them from spilling out. They leave behind a gaping hole, which aches in my chest.
Miss Nelson raises an eyebrow, causing her flawless skin to crease along her forehead. “Really? I’m surprised.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” I grumble, fighting back my emotions as they threaten to erupt.
“So there wasn’t any real connection then?”
I pause, remembering the first time we touched, how an electrical current ran through our fingers. But that was more pain than a connection. Then there was the kiss in the woods, and Tryan’s utter shock and discomfort by it. That should have been a red flag as well. But that dance at school. He didn’t have to, but he wanted it. I’m sure I saw it in his eyes. I shake my head. Who am I kidding? You can find anything you want if you look hard enough for it. I learned that chasing after my mother for the majority of my life. But convincing yourself it exists doesn’t make it real.
“No. There wasn’t a real connection.”
She purses her lips together, as she leans toward me. “I won’t lie. I’m glad you aren’t involved. Boys like Tryan aren’t always the right match. He has a file here of his own, and has had quite the past as well. It’s best you each work separately on yourselves before getting involved.”
The weight of her words pushes me down even lower than I felt before. It was foolish to have feelings for someone I barely know, but how am I supposed to control whom I like?
“I can see you’re still in the dumps about this,” Miss Nelson continues. “I don’t want you becoming withdrawn. Do you have other friends you can socialize with?”
“I was invited to go watch football after school.” The prospect is still unappealing.
“That’s great,” she says, slapping her hands together. “Just try to keep yourself busy, and don’t ignore me. My door is always open.”
Just as I stand, a high-pitched giggle assaults my ears; I instantly know who it is: Liana. She and Tryan walk past the office door, arm-in-arm, and I can feel my entire body tense up.
“I’m sorry,” Miss Nelson says, her hand resting on my shoulder. Its warmth is settling. “I didn’t know there was something else going on. You know what? Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?”
“Really?”
“I’ll send an email to your teachers right now. Go, clear your mind, but don’t miss out on some healthy socializing today. Deal?”
I nod. I have no idea where I’m going, but anywhere away from Tryan and Liana works for me.
The best way to clear my head is to go for a drive, and I’ve just gotten total clearance to do it. In times like these, I wish my mom were here. I don’t even have a grave I can visit her at here on the East Coast, so I have to make do. I take myself to the cemetery.
The town cemetery is situated on the outskirts of town. I’m not sure why we push our dead aside, away from our day-to-day thoughts. It doesn’t make them disappear, but I guess it makes it easier than driving past them each day.
I park outside the rusted iron gates and stare up through the entrance. Older cemeteries didn’t account for roads, though they were carved out afterward. I can see the teetering gravestones perched at the edge of the road, and have no interest in driving on top of what rests beneath.
As I get out of the car, a dark flash zips past, brushing against my cheek like a cold breeze. I jump back, and turn just as it disappears through the gates, up the path, and between the gravestones. I should have known a cemetery would be a shadow playground.
My sneakers crunch against the crisp autumn leaves that cover the ground, leaving the trees reaching up to the sky with their barren limbs. I walk past gravestones covered in moss, as the land sluggishly reclaims itself, their clutching tendrils tracing the letters of those who lie below. Some are so plain that they’re nothing more than a rectangle standing erect, while others are elaborate with tiny lambs or tall angels carved from the stone watching me as I pass by.
When I see it, towering above all others and set deep in the cemetery, I immediately know this is why I’ve come. It’s an impressive monument, looming far above me, mounted on a pedestal of marble. Her face is stoic as she stares straight ahead and her arms reach out in front of her, as if she’s looking for something. Could it be her freedom from a family legacy that haunted her, or would it simply be her escape into the next lif
e?
Mom’s grave back in California was simple; I was going to choose a headstone that sat flat against the ground, that way whomever she was running from would never find her. But Katya convinced me to get something that stood up. The irony of it all strikes me now; only in death is she free to stand up tall and proud and stay in one place. At least she gets to stay where it’s warm.
Before my emotions can sink in, another dark flash zips past me, but this one disappears behind the angel. I chase after it, but instead of seeing the flash, I notice a mausoleum a few rows over. There are other mausoleums in the cemetery, but this one has my family name on it: cantar.
As I approach the mausoleum, I notice more words under the name: Ours is not for judgment, but for balance. It’s just like the Book of Summoning. Above the mausoleum sits an angel holding a sword on its lap and a set of scales between its hands.
“Interesting family,” someone pipes up from behind me.
I jump and turn to face an old man in coveralls. He has a logo of the town crest on his shirt; he must work here at the cemetery.
“Who?”
“That name there,” he says. “Cantar; it means balance. They’re one of the founding families of the town.”
I nod and look back at the mausoleum: ‘balance.’ Katya’s words ring in my ears, “A summoner’s job is to balance good and evil.”
“Lots of interesting stories in this place,” he says. “If only the dead could talk.”
“So they say,” I say, turning back to him, but he’s already sauntering away.
I look back at the mausoleum and smile. I’ve found a place that links back to Mom that I can visit anytime I want. But I can’t spend all my time in a cemetery, as I have a paper to write for history class. First, I have to watch my first football practice.
I hesitate at the gate to Greystone Field, where in fall the football team trains and in summer track and field takes place. The football field sits in the center of the track below the stands that flank it near the entrance. On the other side, hidden by trees and a chain link fence, is the road that leads to the expressway and out of town. The stands are scattered with people, dressed in team colors with streamers, hats, and face paint. They’re like a small tribe of crazy fans, a culture all their own. I’ve never seen so much pomp in my life and can only compare it to the businessmen at Mom’s dance clubs, where I used to peek through the curtain, while hanging backstage when I was too young to stay home alone.
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