The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer

by Michelle Hodkin

  I closed the door a bit too forcefully. Trapped in my room, I couldn’t delay thinking about what happened today any longer. Noah. Mabel. Her owner. His death.

  Things were changing. Sweat pebbled my skin, even though I knew it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible. I was in class at nine this morning, when that bastard died. He had to have died earlier. The coroner, or whoever he was, was wrong. Even he’d said he was just guessing.

  That was it. I imagined my conversation with him. I’d thought he snuck up on me too quietly, but he didn’t sneak up on me at all. He was already dead. The whole thing was just another hallucination—par for the course, really, considering my PTSD.

  But still. Today felt … different. Confirmation that I was now crazier than I’d known it was possible for me to be. My mother worked with only the mildly disturbed. I was full on delusional. Abnormal. Psychotic.

  When I joined my family for dinner that night, I felt strangely, disturbingly calm as I ate, as if watching the whole thing from a distance. I even managed to be polite to my mother. In a way, it was oddly comforting, the conviction of my insanity. The man died before I met him this morning. Wait, no—I never met him. I invented the conversation between us to give me a feeling of power over the situation in which I felt powerless; my mother’s words, but they sounded about right. I was powerless to bring Rachel back, she’d said, after I was released from the hospital. Right before she mentioned—pushed—the idea of counseling and/or drugs to help me cope. And of course now, I was powerless to leave Florida and go back home. But a skinny, neglected, abandoned dog was something I could fix.

  So that was it, then. I was truly crazy. But then why did I feel like there was something else? Something I was missing?

  My mother’s laughter at the dinner table brought me back to the present. Her whole face lit up when she smiled, and I felt guilty for freaking her out. I decided not to tell her about my little adventure today; if she watched me any closer, she’d turn into the Eye of Sauron. And then she’d follow through on her threat of therapy and medication. Neither option sounded particularly appealing, and really, now that I knew what was happening, I could deal with it.

  Until I fell asleep.

  16

  BEFORE

  WE PULLED INTO A LONG DRIVEWAY guarded by a rusting iron gate. Thick branches of leafless trees twisted over the car, rasping in the wind. Our headlights provided the only light on the silent road. Despite the artificial heat, I shivered.

  Jude put his arm around me and turned down Death Cab on the speakers. I looked out the window. The headlights flashed over an idling car about twenty feet away, and I instantly recognized it as Claire’s. The glass was fogged and she cut the engine as we pulled up. I reached for the door and Jude reached for my waist. I gritted my teeth. I was already on edge, and wasn’t up to fending him off again tonight.

  I twisted away. “They’re waiting for us.”

  He didn’t let me go. “You sure you’re ready?” He looked skeptical.

  “Hell, yes,” I lied. I smiled for emphasis.

  “Because we can turn around if you want.”

  I can’t say his suggestion wasn’t appealing. Warm covers usually win over midnight excursions in the freezing cold.

  But tonight was different. Rachel had been begging me to do this since last year. And now that she had Claire in her corner, my neuroses could cost me my best friend.

  So instead of saying yes, emphatically yes, I rolled my eyes. “I said I was in. I’m in.”

  “Or, we could stay here.” Jude pulled me toward him but I turned my head so that he caught my cheek.

  “Do you want to turn around?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  Jude pulled away, irritated. “I’ve already done this. It’s just an old building. Big deal.”

  He launched himself out of the car and I followed. He’d be pissy later, but it was worth it. We’d been dating for only two months, and during the first one, I actually liked him. Who wouldn’t? He was the picture of all-American wholesomeness. Dark blond hair and green eyes, same as Claire’s. Big linebacker shoulders. And he was sweet. Syrup sweet. For the first month.

  But lately? Not as much.

  The passenger door of Claire’s car slammed and Rachel bounded out to meet me, her dark hair flouncing behind her.

  “Mara! I’m so glad you came. Claire thought you’d chicken out at the last minute.” She hugged me.

  I glanced at Claire, still huddled by the car. Her eyes narrowed slightly in return. She looked unfriendly and disappointed, likely hoping that I wouldn’t show up.

  I lifted my chin. “And miss my chance to spend the night in this illustrious insane asylum? Never.” I placed an arm over Rachel and grinned at her. Then looked pointedly at Claire.

  “What took you so long?” Claire asked us.

  Jude shrugged. “Mara overslept.”

  Claire smiled coldly. “Why am I not surprised?”

  I opened my mouth to say something obnoxious, but Rachel took my hand which had frozen solid in the few moments I’d been outside and spoke first.

  “It doesn’t matter, she’s here now. This is going to be so much fun, I promise.”

  I looked up at the imposing Gothic building in front of us. Fun. Oh, yes.

  Jude blew into his hands and pulled his gloves on. I steeled myself in anticipation of the long-ass night to come. I could do this. I would do this. Claire had made fun of me for freaking out after Rachel’s birthday party for the last time. I was sick of hearing about the Ouija board incident. And after tonight, I wouldn’t have to.

  As I stared at the building, fear seeped into my bloodstream. Rachel withdrew her camera from her pocket and opened the shutter, then took my right hand again as Jude moved to hold my left. Still, their company and the contact didn’t make what we were about to do less terrifying. But I’d be damned before I freaked out in front of Claire.

  Claire took out her video camera from her backpack before slinging it over her shoulder. She started walking toward the building and Rachel followed, pulling me along behind her. We reached a dilapidated fence with several NO TRESPASSING signs plastered along the length of the weathered wood, and I reflexively looked back up at the ominous institution above me, towering over us like something out of a Poe poem. The architecture of the Tamerlane State Lunatic Asylum was formidable, made more sinister by the creeping ivy that snaked its way along the front steps and expansive brick walls. The stone window facades crumbled in decay.

  The plan was to spend the night in the abandoned building and head home at dawn. Rachel and Claire wanted to thoroughly explore it, and try to find the children’s wing and the rooms where shock therapy was administered. According to Rachel’s canonical horror literature, those would be the rooms most likely to contain any paranormal activity, and she and Claire planned to document our adventure for posterity. Hooray.

  Jude inched closer to me, and I was actually grateful for his presence as Rachel and Claire scaled the rotting wood fence. Then it was my turn. Jude gave me a lift but I hesitated as I grabbed the fragile wood. After a few words of encouragement, I finally hoisted myself over with his help. I landed hard, into a rustling pile of decaying leaves.

  The easiest way into the building was through the basement.

  17

  I KNEW RACHEL WANTED TO GO TO THE ASYLUM. But until the night after Mabel’s piece of shit owner died, I didn’t remember why I agreed.

  On Saturday I tried to prepare myself to dream more, to remember more—to watch her die. I crawled into my sheets shaking, wanting and not wanting to see her again. I did, but it was the same dream. Nothing new on Sunday night, either.

  It was a good sign, the remembering. It was happening slowly, but it was happening nonetheless. And without a psychologist or mind-altering chemicals. My mind was obviously altered enough.

  I was almost glad to have Mabel to wonder and worry about all weekend, even if I couldn’t bring myself to try and find out Noah’s
phone number. I figured I’d ask him how the dog was in English on Monday, but when I got to class, he wasn’t there.

  Instead of listening, my mind and my pencil wandered over my sketchbook, drifting lazily as Ms. Leib collected our papers and discussed the difference between tragic heroes and antiheroes. Each time a student left or entered the classroom, my gaze shifted to the door, waiting for Noah to stroll in before the next bell rang. But he never did.

  When class ended, I glanced at the drawing before closing the book and stuffing it in my bag.

  Noah’s charcoal eyes squinted at me from the page, cast downward, the skin around them crinkled in laughter. His thumb grazed his bottom lip as his hand curled in a lazy fist at his brilliantly smiling mouth. He looked almost shy as he laughed. The pale plain of his forehead was smooth, relaxed mid-chortle.

  My stomach churned. I flipped to the previous page, and noted with horror that I’d traced Noah’s elegant profile perfectly, from his high cheekbones down to the slight bump in his solemn nose. And on the page before that, his eyes stared back at me, aloof and unattainable.

  I was afraid to keep looking. I needed serious help.

  I shoved the sketchbook in my bag and glanced furtively over my shoulder, hoping no one saw. I was halfway to Algebra before I felt a light tap on my back. But when I turned around, no one was there. I shook my head. I felt strange all of a sudden, like I was floating through someone else’s dream.

  By the time I arrived at Mr. Walsh’s classroom, I was surrounded by laughter. Some guys whistled when I walked in the room. Because I was finally wearing an iteration of the school uniform? I didn’t know. Something was happening, but I didn’t understand it. My hands trembled at my sides so I balled them into fists as I sat at the desk next to Jamie’s. That was when I noticed the sound of crunching paper behind me. The crunching of the paper that was taped to my back.

  So someone did bump into me earlier. That, at least, I hadn’t hallucinated. I reached around and pulled the sign off my back, where the word “slut” was scrawled on a sheet of looseleaf. The quiet snickers then erupted into laughter. Jamie looked up, confused, and I flushed as I crumpled the paper in my fist. Anna threw her head back and roared with laughter.

  Without thinking about it, I unfurled one of my fists and placed the wad of paper in my flat palm.

  And then I flicked it in her face.

  “Creative,” I said to her as it hit its target.

  Anna’s tan cheeks turned red first, and then a vein protruded from her forehead. She opened her mouth to fling an insult my way but Mr. Walsh cut her off before she began. Score.

  Jamie grinned and clapped me on the shoulder as soon as class ended. “Well played, Mara.”

  “Thanks.”

  Aiden pushed past Jamie on his way out the door, slamming Jamie’s shoulder into the door frame. Aiden turned before leaving the room.

  “Don’t you have a lawn you should be decorating?”

  Jamie glared after him and rubbed his shoulder. “He needs a knife in the eye,” he muttered, once Aiden was gone. “So. A-holes aside, how’s your first week?”

  Oh, you know. Saw a dead guy. Losing my mind. Same old. “Not too bad.”

  Jamie nodded. “Big change from your old school, is it?”

  When he asked me that, a still frame of Rachel materialized in my brain. “Is it that obvious?”

  “You’ve got public school written all over you.”

  “Uh, thanks?”

  “Oh, that’s a compliment. I’ve sat in class with these douches for most of my waking life. It’s nothing to be proud of. Trust.”

  “Going to private school or going to Croyden?” I asked as we made our way to his locker.

  “From what I’ve heard from friends at other schools, I believe this level of asshattery is unique to Croyden. Take Anna, for example. She’s only a few IQ points above a corpse, and yet she sullies our Algebra II class with her stupidity.”

  I decided not to mention that I was probably just as confounded by the homework as she was.

  “The amount your parents donate is directly proportional to how much murder you’re allowed to get away with,” Jamie said as he exchanged his books. When a shadow blocked the light filtering in from the midday sun, I looked up.

  It was Noah. As always, the top button of his collar was undone, his shirtsleeves were carelessly rolled up, and today he wore a skinny, knitted tie loosely knotted around his neck. I could just make out the black cord that hung around his neck, peeking out from beneath the open collar of his shirt. It was a good look for him. A great look, actually, despite the shadows that stained the skin under his eyes. His hair was in its permanent state of disarray as he ran a hand over his rough jaw. When he caught me staring, I blushed. He smirked. Then walked away, without saying a word.

  “So it begins.” Jamie sighed.

  “Shut up.” I turned around so he couldn’t see me flush a deeper shade of red.

  “If he wasn’t such a dick, I’d applaud,” Jamie said. “You could start a fire with the heat between you two.”

  “You’re mistaking bitter animosity for heartfelt affection,” I said. But when I thought about last week, and how Noah had been with Mabel, I wasn’t so sure if I was right.

  Jamie answered with a sad shake of his head. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  I shot him a poisonous look. “Before …?”

  “Before you’re doing the walk of shame out of his den of iniquity.”

  “Thanks for thinking so highly of me.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mara. Girls can’t help falling for Shaw, especially in your case.”

  “My case?”

  “Noah is clearly smitten with you,” Jamie said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He shut his locker and I spun around to walk away. Jamie followed behind me. “And that ass don’t hurt, neither.”

  I smirked over my shoulder at him. “What’s your deal with him, anyway?”

  “You mean, aside from the fact that his attention already has Anna Greenly gunning for you?”

  “Aside from that.”

  He considered his words, the mulch crunching under our feet as we cut across one of the flower beds to the picnic tables. “Noah doesn’t date. He’ll screw you—literally and figuratively. Everyone knows it—his conquests know it—but they pretend not to care until he moves on to the next one. And then they’re alone and their reputations are shot to hell. Anna’s a prime example, but she’s only one of many. I heard that a senior from Walden tried to commit suicide after he—well. After he got what he came for, pun intended, and didn’t call again.”

  “Sounds like a major overreaction on her part.”

  “Maybe, but I wouldn’t want to see that happen to you,” Jamie said. I raised my eyebrows. “You have enough problems,” Jamie said, and a wide grin spread across his face.

  I returned it. “How magnanimous of you.”

  “You’re welcome. Consider yourself warned. Much good may it do you.”

  I shifted my bag to my other shoulder. “Thanks for telling me,” I said to Jamie. “I’m not interested, but it’s good to know.”

  Jamie shook his head. “Uh-huh. When you’re all broken-hearted and listening to sad kill-yourself music after it ends, just remember I told you so.” He walked off and left me at the door to History. Wise were his words, but forgotten in the face of my next class.

  Lunchtime found me once again scrounging for scraps from the snack machine. I rooted around in my bag for change when I heard footsteps approach. Somehow, I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

  Noah reached around me, brushing my shoulder as he placed a dollar in the machine. I sidestepped out of his way.

  “What shall I get?” he asked.

  “What do you want?”

  He looked at me and tilted his head, and one corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “That’s a complicated question.”

  “Animal crackers, then.”

  Noah looked confused, bu
t he pressed E4 anyway and the machine obeyed. He handed me the box. I handed it back to him, but he laced his hands behind his back.

  “Keep it,” he said.

  “I can buy my own, thanks.”

  “I don’t care,” he said.

  “What a surprise,” I said. “How’s Mabel, by the way? I meant to ask you about her this morning but you weren’t in class.”

  Noah gave me a blank look. “I had a previous engagement. And she’s hanging in. She’s not going anywhere for a while, though. Whoever let her get that way ought to die a slow, painful death.”

  Suddenly queasy, I swallowed hard before speaking. “Thank your mom again for taking care of her,” I said, trying to shake it off as I made my way to a picnic table. I sat on its pitted surface and opened the box of crackers. Maybe I just needed to eat. “She was amazing.” I bit the head off an elephant. “Just let me know when I should pick her up?”

  “I will.”

  Noah loped onto the picnic table and sat beside me, leaning back on his arms but staring straight ahead. I munched next to him in silence.

  “Have dinner with me this weekend,” he said out of nowhere.

  I almost choked. “Are you asking me out?”

  Noah opened his mouth to respond just as a group of older girls burst forth from the stairwell. When they saw him, they arrested their breakneck pace and sashayed suggestively as they walked past us, tossing a chorus of “Hey, Noah”s behind them. Noah seemed to ignore them, but then, the tiniest twitch of a traitorous smile began at the corners of his lips.

  That was all the reminder I needed. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

  “Already have plans?” His voice suggested he was merely waiting to hear my excuse.

  I delivered. “Yeah, a date with all of the crap I’ve missed in school,” I said, then tried to recover. “You know, from transferring in late.” I didn’t want to talk about that now. Especially not with him. “The trimester exams are twenty percent of our grade, and I can’t afford to screw them up.”