Gypsy Eyes

by Virginia Andrews

  “We’re not sure,” my father said, sitting beside me and still holding my hand.

  My mother didn’t look at all unsure. In fact, she looked angry at me for fainting.

  My father took my pulse and felt my forehead. “How are you feeling now? Nauseated, dizzy?”

  I took a deep breath. Remarkably, I had no after-effects. It was as though I had imagined fainting. It had come and gone so fast it felt like I had imagined it. “No,” I said. “What happened to me?”

  “It doesn’t necessarily mean something bad,” he replied, more for my mother than for me, I thought. She creased her lips and looked at me as though she was anticipating something more.

  “I wasn’t feeling sick at all before I came in here,” I said.

  “We have no doubt that there’s nothing physically wrong with you,” my mother said.

  I took another deep breath. How could she be so sure? Shouldn’t they take me to a doctor? “I don’t understand what happened.”

  “Don’t think about it,” she said. “Just look at the pentacle again, and tell us if there is something about it that disturbs you.”

  “The pentacle?”

  “That’s what it’s called,” my father said. “Some believe it’s a tool of great power and protection.”

  “We do,” my mother said. “You might as well tell her straight off.”

  “We do,” he admitted. “It’s very special for us because of its religious significance.”

  “Like a crucifix?”

  “Exactly,” he said, finally smiling. “Go on. Look at it again.”

  Slowly, I raised my eyes and, holding my breath, studied it. I was frightened, but this time, nothing happened to me.

  My father smiled and nodded. “She’s all right with it,” he told my mother.

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “I am,” he insisted, and then turned to me and smiled again. “Let me explain it to you. Each of the corners of the star in the center means something, Sage,” he said. “At the top point, we have spirit, power, and on the right of it, we have air, love. Below that is fire, knowledge, and across from it is water, wisdom. And above that is earth, truth. It should be comforting to look at it and to understand it from now on,” he concluded.

  I glanced at my mother. If she looked at me any more intensely, her eyes would be inside me. “Well?” she asked. “After hearing all that, is there anything about it that disturbs you now?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what would. Nothing sounds terrible to me.”

  “Perhaps that there is only one point of the star at the top instead of two?”

  My father looked at her and then at me, anticipating my answer.

  “No. Why should it?”

  The soft smile returned to his face, but my mother still didn’t look satisfied.

  “Why did I faint?” I asked. “I told you. There was nothing wrong with me before I came in here. I ate well at dinner, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, that’s all true. So why did you faint?” my mother mumbled.

  My father shot her a look of annoyance and turned back to me. “I’ve seen it happen before, and so has your mother. She knows very well what the reason probably is. You had a religious experience,” he said, “an epiphany. Do you know what that is?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I knew the definition of the word, but I still didn’t understand what it had to do with the pentacle.

  “You had a realization, an awareness of something so powerful and wonderful and strong that for a moment, it overwhelmed you.”

  “Or burned her,” my mother muttered.

  This time, he just ignored her. “Here,” he said, reaching for a small box on his desk. “Your great-uncle sent this along with it for you.”

  My fingers were trembling, but I managed to unwrap the box and open it to see a small pentacle made of gold on a gold chain.

  “You can wear it now instead of the amber necklace. I mean, you could wear the amber necklace, too, if you want. Whatever pleases you,” he said, fumbling for the right way to say it.

  I took it out of the box and held it up. “This is part of our religion?” I asked.

  He smiled and nodded. “Yes, it’s part of what your mother and I believe. Think of us as spiritualists. The pentacle tells us we have the ability to bring spirit to earth. We told you what the five points represent. The five-fold symmetry is uniquely part of life—the human hand, a starfish, flowers, plants—you find five everywhere. You’ll discover more examples now that we made you aware of it. We decided you’re old enough to learn about it all, but slowly, of course. We don’t want to overwhelm you with too many new ideas and thoughts.”

  I looked at my mother. She was still studying me hard. What was she waiting for me to do? Refuse the necklace? I undid the clasp and started to put it on.

  My father moved quickly to help. “There, now,” he said when it was fastened. The pentacle lay a few inches below the base of my throat. “How does it feel?”

  I touched it. “Cool,” I said.

  “It will warm up,” he assured me.

  “Maybe it will become too warm,” my mother said. “Let us know if it does.”

  “Why . . . how could it do that?” I asked.

  “It won’t,” my father said confidently. He stood and looked down at me. “We decided that you need spiritual protection now. You’re traveling new roads, some of which will lead you deeper into yourself. You need more guidance, and that will give you more confidence and keep you from straying off the true and safe path. Okay?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You don’t have to discuss our beliefs with your friends. Our spirituality is personal. We share that part of ourselves only with those we can trust to know us well. Understand?” my mother said.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s fine,” my father said, looking at me. “She understands.”

  “We’ll see soon enough,” my mother said. “Go on and finish your homework.”

  I rose and started out. When I looked back, they were both staring at me, and it seemed as though they were holding their breath. I went upstairs quickly to look at myself in the mirror. Maybe because my mother had put the thought in my head, the pentacle seemed to grow warmer, but it never felt hot. For a few moments, I was mesmerized by it, by the way the gold twinkled. I even thought I saw it spin. I was so hypnotized by it that I didn’t hear the telephone ring, so I was surprised when my father called up to tell me it was for me. This time, it was Summer.

  “Hey,” he said. “Sorry I had to run off at the end of the day, but I just remembered I had to meet my father for something. Any news about the combatants?”

  “Suspended and put on probation, but they weren’t removed from the basketball team. I’m sure missing practice time won’t go over too well with Mr. Jacobs. We’d better be prepared to see him depressed and cranky in chorus class.”

  “Such is life,” he said. “You bend with the wind, or you break.”

  “So you’re a philosopher, too?”

  He laughed. “I try. Look, I don’t see the point in having to go through days and weeks of getting to know each other before we can see each other socially after school. You and I can know someone pretty quickly if we want.”

  “Why do you keep saying you and I?”

  “There’s a saying that’s true, especially for us. It takes one to know one. You’re one.”

  “One what?”

  “Person with exceptional insight. Besides, I get the feeling you’re almost as much a newcomer as I am. You’re still feeling your way around with this crowd. We should do it together. I know I respect your opinion already. You’ll get to respect mine, too. What do you say? Should I come by to pick you up?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I’ve got to prepare my parents more.”

  “Now I can’t wait to meet them. They sound like refugees from Victorian England. So what about meeting me at the mall, and we’ll go to the pa
rty together, okay?”

  Oddly, my fingers went to my new necklace. I touched it as I thought. My hesitation annoyed him.

  “I mean, if you go there with your friends and the party isn’t what you’d like it to be, you’ll be stuck. With me, you won’t be.”

  He was right about that. “Okay. My father is dropping me off at the mall at six.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” he said. “See you tomorrow,” he added, as if he wanted to end the call before I changed my mind.

  After he hung up, I sat and thought for a few moments. Was it possible that we really were alike? Was he just quicker at discovering that? Was it snobby to think like this, to think he and I were so different from everyone else that we were almost in our own world? This all left me with a greater interest in him, a greater desire to know more about him. In a strange way, I was thinking that the more I learn about him, the more I might learn about myself.

  I didn’t think anyone I had met was as concerned about knowing herself as I was about knowing myself. They were who they were, and that was it. Most of them felt comfortable in their own skin, but I was still searching for my identity, waiting for the day when I would hear my real name. Sometimes I felt like I was wearing my face and body the way someone else might wear a costume. Who among my friends ever looked at herself deeply in a mirror, concentrating on her eyes as if they were two windows through which she could see her true self?

  Who stood there asking herself, “Who are you?”

  And who actually waited for an answer?

  14

  The following day, the girls were outwardly just as friendly to me as they had ever been, gathering around to thread and tighten the knot that made us special. They included me in all their personal intrigues and problems. I sensed who was at fault but kept my opinions to myself. From the way she was lording over them with her controlling looks, I could see Ginny had persuaded them to be nice to me again and wanted to be sure they were, but I still wasn’t getting good vibes. I didn’t like the way they exchanged smiles behind my back when they thought I couldn’t see them, not that I was around them as much as usual. The moment Summer appeared, I broke away.

  “Going my way?” he asked, winking at the others.

  “As far as the next class for now,” I said, and we walked off. I didn’t want to look back at the green pool of envy, not that any of them should have been surprised.

  Summer and I were spending most of our free time during the school day together now. We would walk together to classes and sit together at lunch. Since I had agreed to meet him Friday night, I wanted to know as much about him as I could, as did he about me. Even though my personal history was nowhere as interesting as his, he was very interested in it. I was surprised at how many questions he had about my parents. I was embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know as much as I should about their past and their families.

  “Maybe they’re ashamed of them,” he commented. It was the first time I ever thought about that possibility, but it did start me wondering. After all, what other possible reason could they have for not being willing to talk much about their parents and grandparents? I didn’t want to dwell on it, so I made him talk more about himself.

  I particularly enjoyed his descriptions of places he had been with his father after his mother had been killed and the things they had seen in Europe and elsewhere. When he spoke about it, he had the far-off look of someone who could easily recall and relive the beauty he had seen and the good times he had enjoyed. His voice softened and warmed, drawing me closer to him. He was so descriptive and visual that I felt I was accompanying him on his journey back through time.

  “Every summer since my mother died, we took a small villa in the south of France or on the Amalfi coast in Italy,” he told me. “We went to wonderful restaurants with flowery patios, enjoyed the soft, sandy beaches and the refreshing Mediterranean, and especially enjoyed walking through the colorful and active streets at night, listening to all the languages spoken, seeing the fashionable women and men. The laughter was melodic. It was different.”

  “You make it sound wonderful.”

  “It was. It was like I was living in a movie. My father is a very handsome man. I could see the women, even those with other men, startled by his good looks, smiling flirtatiously, and moving on like children being tugged away from the playground, gazing back at us until they disappeared around corners or into restaurants. One summer we went to Greece, and one spring we went to South Africa on a safari. I have some fantastic pictures to show you one of these days.”

  “I can’t believe how much you’ve traveled.”

  “My father’s books are sold in so many countries now. He had people meeting us everywhere.”

  “But who was teaching you, homeschooling you, all this time?”

  “He was, of course. Wait until you meet him. My father is an amazing guy. He’s an expert in just about every subject and speaks four languages.”

  “My parents can speak French, Italian, Spanish, even Portuguese,” I said. “And it doesn’t seem to matter that they don’t use them much. Whenever there’s an opportunity, they do.”

  “Same with my father. He can learn a new language quickly.”

  “What about you?”

  “I speak French well enough, and Spanish.”

  “And your father can teach you math and science?”

  “Do I seem far behind the others in our class in any subject?”

  “No.”

  “There’s your answer,” he said.

  “But really, what about friends all these years? It sounds like you weren’t anywhere long enough to make any, and being homeschooled, you didn’t have the same opportunities to make friends.”

  “I managed,” he said. “When I wanted to, that is. Although it might look like I’m trying to be friends with everyone here, I’m quite selective when it comes to that. I know the difference between an acquaintance and a friend. Besides, who are you to talk, anyway? You’re more than fifteen years old, and from what you’ve told me, you haven’t exactly been a social butterfly. In fact, it sounds to me as if you’ve been locked up like the Lady of Shalott in the Tennyson poem we read in class yesterday.”

  “It’s not quite that bad.”

  “But close,” he insisted. “What are they, from another century or something?”

  I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to disagree with him.

  “You’re really confusing your girlfriends,” he continued.

  “Why?”

  “From what you’ve told them, they know how little social experience you have, but they’re impressed with how you handle the boys and the advice you hand out to them about their little romances.”

  “Who told you all that?” I asked suspiciously. Was one of them actively trying to damage my relationship with him before it had really gotten started? “And don’t say a little bird,” I warned.

  “I overhear them talking. Mia, in particular, likes to raise her voice when I’m anywhere in earshot. Besides, I can see all that for myself anyway. I don’t need any of them to point out what’s real and what’s not.”

  “Mr. Know-It-All.”

  “Not Mr. All but Mr. Enough,” he replied. His eyes sparkled when he smiled.

  “Why is it I believe you’re not kidding?” I said.

  “Neither of us is when it comes to ourselves,” he replied. “That’s what I like about you, your brutal honesty.”

  “Brutal?”

  “Well, I suppose for most people, any honesty is brutal. I don’t care as long as it doesn’t create new problems for me with you,” he added.

  Did I blush? Was that my heart beating harder but happier? Or was my mother right, and it was merely my hormones, subdued until now, finding their voice inside me. This is how it should begin for any girl, I thought, really learning about each other first; only for me, it was happening faster, peeling off the layer of protection with which we all cover our personal and intimate details.

  Was it h
appening too fast? How could you tell? If I ever needed a warm mother-daughter talk, I needed it now, but I was afraid even to suggest it, afraid of what new scrutiny and suspicion it would bring. I was living under a microscope as it was. No, the only way I could navigate through this new sea of passion and emotion was to make the most I could of my time with him and be as careful as I could be.

  Even though Summer spent much more time with me now, he didn’t ignore the friendships or, as he put it, acquaintances he had made. Whether he wanted to impress me or not, he seemed to be influential in getting Nick, Ward, Skip, and Jason back together, brokering a truce. He had them laughing and hanging out together again in a matter of days. When I complimented him on that, he shrugged and said, “It was easy. They’re like little children, Sage. It still takes longer for boys to grow up. You can’t get better evidence of it than watching them in action.”

  “Well, listen to you, Mr. Enough.”

  He laughed, but again, I couldn’t disagree with him. He was certainly right about the other boys. Still, I wanted him to show more humility, but it was difficult to get him to be modest about anything. He had claimed I would be the one to bring him down to earth. I wondered how could I do that. Where were his weaknesses? He was already excelling in all our classes. In history, Mr. Leshner and he practically were having private conversations. He had a way of challenging the text and the lessons in a manner that amused Mr. Leshner and in some instances had him being the one to rethink facts and conclusions. It was the same way in science, and on two occasions, he caught our English teacher making grammatical errors, but he was clever enough not to look smug about it. He always couched his corrections in a question, pretending not to be sure himself.

  I sat back and observed him more and more, trying to be as objective about him as I could, not because I was, as my mother might accuse me of being, sexually fascinated with him. That was true, but it wasn’t all that was driving me. I was learning from him, learning how I should behave, because he was right. In so many ways, we were alike.