The Cassandra Curse

by Chantel Acevedo

  “Good going, Cinderella,” Thalia said above the chaos. Mela ignored her.

  All around us, students were asking the obvious question: What was going on? Once in the cafetorium, we were met with a row of huge, muscled security guards in tight black T-shirts and black jeans. Each of them wore headsets. None of them smiled.

  “Is this . . . typical?” Mela asked.

  “No,” I said, “this is bizarre.”

  The inflatable turkey in the corner had been replaced with an inflatable snowman and an inflatable dreidel. Though it was only the first week of December, some kids were already starting to wear Santa hats to school. The security guards’ stern looks clashed with the festive decorations, big time.

  Nia was staring at the stage. “Where did that girl go? The one with the buckets?” she asked. I’d been wondering, too.

  “Don’t know,” I said. Then I gestured for a huddle, and we all put our heads together. “Let’s be ready for whatever happens. Remember our assignment,” I said, realizing that Maya Rivero was sitting directly in front of me. Silently I pointed at the back of her head. The others nodded.

  Just then, Ms. Fovos, looking more lizardy than ever in a green blouse and brown slacks, called Maya’s name from the end of the row. “Maya. Come with me,” she said, waving Maya forward. Her long red fingernails flashed in the light.

  “I don’t like the look of that teacher,” Mela said.

  We watched as Maya got to her feet and proceeded down the row, saying “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me,” stepping on everyone’s feet as she went. I remembered detention, how Violet and Ms. Fovos had seemed to be conspiring about something, how mean Ms. Fovos had been to Maya, making her sit near the cold AC unit even though she was soaking wet.

  “Let’s go,” I said. There was no way I was going to leave Maya alone with Ms. Fovos.

  The four of us rose, only to be shouted at by Ms. Rinse. “Sit down, you four. At once!” At first, we didn’t do it. Instead, we watched as Maya followed Ms. Fovos to a small door on the side of the stage. I assumed Violet was in there, too. Waiting.

  “What do we do? What do we do?” Thalia whispered furiously.

  “Sit!” Ms. Rinse yelled again, and suddenly, the lights in the cafetorium cut out.

  Some of the students yelped. A spotlight turned on, baking the center of the stage in a warm yellow light.

  “Boys and girls,” came the voice of Principal Jackson. He was standing on the edge of the stage, but in the darkened room, I couldn’t make him out. “It is my pleasure to introduce the one and only JORDAN MIGUEL!”

  The room erupted into a thousand squeals, so high-pitched that I covered my ears. Everyone was on their feet now, and I could no longer see the door through which Maya had disappeared.

  Jordan Miguel walked over to the microphone stand at the center of the stage. He was wearing a white V-neck T-shirt, a silver chain with a guitar pendant around his neck, and blue jeans torn at the knees. “Miami Palms Middle!” he said into the microphone, and everyone went wild.

  I, for one, was standing on the seat of my chair, one hand on Mela’s shoulder and one on Nia’s for balance. My throat was already raw from screaming.

  I know, I know.

  We had a mission.

  For all I knew, Maya Rivero was already cursed. Maybe Raquel was, too.

  But Jordan Miguel was here, in our school, and at the moment, I wasn’t thinking straight.

  Then he put his fingers to his lips and went “Shhh,” managing to shush the entire school at once. “I have a little list here,” he said, pulling out a piece of paper from his back pocket. Everyone screamed. Why we were all screaming was beyond me, but it was as if every simple gesture he made was enough to send some of us into a frenzy.

  Okay. Me. It sent me into a frenzy. Mela had already tried to pull me back down, and Nia had taken out her cell phone to take snaps of me losing my head over Jordan Miguel.

  “This little list has some naaaaaaaames on it,” Jordan Miguel said.

  More screaming.

  “Now, I know you’ve all been voting for Raquel Falcón on America’s Next Star.”

  Screaming.

  “And y’all know she’s gonna win, right?”

  Totally bonkers screaming.

  “Sirens love chaos, remember?” Thalia said, and my stomach dropped a little. “And this is utter pandemonium—which, by the way, I did not cause.”

  We had to be sharp, I reminded myself. The cafetorium was so packed with people, though, and there was Ms. Fovos at the end of our row, keeping an eye on everyone.

  Jordan Miguel continued shouting excitedly into the microphone. “But this is a talented school right here! Raquel isn’t the only superstar.” He waved the list in the air. “We’ve got Keneisha Truman, who earned the highest Florida State Exam score in the county this year. Give it up for Keneisha!” The spotlight shone on Keneisha, an eighth grader, who emerged from backstage. Jordan Miguel gave her a huge hug before Keneisha took her seat again.

  Jordan checked his list. “Where is my boy Rajiv Singh? RAJEEEEEEEV!” Jordan called out, his arms in the air in a victory pose. Rajiv, a quiet seventh grader who wore his hair over his left eye, took small steps out from backstage. It seemed to take him forever to get to Jordan, who gave him a double high five. “This guy,” he said, as if he’d known Rajiv his whole life. “This guy has been named the youngest violinist in the Miami Junior Orchestra!” Jordan mimed playing the violin, and Rajiv gave him a lopsided smile before taking his seat again.

  Jordan shushed us once more. “Now this next name,” he said, and squinted at the list, making a big show of it, as if he hadn’t read all the other names perfectly. “This one right here? She’s not only representing your school in the county science fair, but if she wins, she’ll be invited to WASHINGTON, D.C., for the Young Scientist Competition. So, we’ve got to support her! Give it up for MAYA RIVERO!”

  The velvet curtain to the left of Jordan Miguel rustled. We watched as Maya became tangled in it and couldn’t get out. Jordan stood there, mic in hand, and didn’t move to help. Finally, Maya got herself free and stumbled toward center stage.

  “So that’s why she went backstage,” Nia shouted up at me. I couldn’t relax entirely. Though Maya didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, the fact was we still didn’t know what Violet was doing.

  “There you go!” Jordan said, as she walked over to him. Just like he’d done with Keneisha, he gave Maya a giant hug. She stiffened up like a telephone pole, staring at the rest of us as if saying, “Help?” Then it was over, and Maya was back in her seat in front of me.

  Keneisha was now happy-crying, her friends rubbing her shoulders as if, by touching her, they were touching Jordan Miguel. Rajiv was slumped in his seat, hair over his eyes, arms crossed. And Maya? Well, she had pulled out a notebook covered in doodles of whales and busied herself by giving one of them stripes with a blue pen. The tips of her ears, however, were very red.

  “So much to celebrate,” Jordan said, when the cheering died down.

  I wondered if he was going to sing or not. I thought he’d give Keneisha, Rajiv, and Maya some sort of gift. A certificate maybe? But all they got was a hug or a high five.

  The lights dimmed some more and the spotlight on him grew brighter. “And what better way to celebrate than with a song?” he said dramatically into the microphone. Then all the lights went out with a snap. I teetered a bit on my chair.

  When the lights came on again, Jordan Miguel was gone. In his place was Raquel, in a sequined top and a full red skirt with pockets. She wore black heels. I didn’t even know Raquel could walk in heels. I knew I couldn’t. She was holding a bedazzled microphone.

  “Hey, guys,” Raquel said. “I’d like to thank you for supporting me. I want to congratulate my classmates Keneisha, Rajiv, and Maya. And all of you for being so awesome,” she said, and everyone cheered.

  For the millionth time, I thought: Who is this person in the shape of Raquel? She wa
s so smooth and poised, and my heart sped up while I watched her, the way it did whenever I saw a celebrity on Miami Beach walking down the sidewalk.

  The opening chords to a song began softly. Raquel talked over them. “I’m going to dedicate this song to my real friends. You know who you are,” she said, and swept her arm before her as if to indicate: All of you are my real friends. Everyone screamed some more. But that couldn’t be true. They weren’t all her friends. Before all of this, Raquel had had one best friend. Me. Now, it felt as if she really did mean everyone in the room. Everyone but me.

  She sang beautifully, her mouth forming perfect Os, her fingers dancing along with the music.

  Above her, I noticed a single feather floating down. I scanned the room for Violet, but she was nowhere to be seen. Another feather rode the AC currents for a while before hitting the ground.

  Then another.

  Sirens.

  Mela said, “Callie,” my name sounding like a warning. I stepped down from the seat. For a second, I thought Raquel noticed and frowned.

  A red feather landed on Raquel’s left foot.

  “I see them,” I said.

  More feathers. Some glitter, too.

  “What in the world . . . ?” Nia said.

  We watched intently. Everyone in the cafetorium was swaying. Some had turned on the lights to their cell phones and waved those overhead. But the four of us? We were as still as a held breath. I could feel it in my chest, on my scalp, a buildup of muse magic. I was ready for . . . something. Beside me, the others were tense, too. Mela was holding my hand. Thalia’s foot kept tapping the floor. Nia was looking at the app on her phone, which showed her the formation of the stars overhead. They’re always there, even in the daylight, she’d told me the night before. They can tell us about the future sometimes.

  “It doesn’t make sense. I’m not reading any disturbances here,” she muttered, maximizing and minimizing the screen.

  Finally, Raquel’s song was over. “That was ‘Friends of a Feather,’ and it’s my new single,” she shouted over the cheering. Jordan Miguel approached her just as the lights turned on again.

  “Feathers, of course,” Thalia said. “It’s the blasted song title. The feathers were a gimmick. Just a stupid gimmick.” She leaned back in her chair and draped her arm over her eyes in relief. Violet came out from backstage, feathers stuck in her hair. Ms. Salvo and Ms. Fovos each gave her a high five. That’s what they’d been whispering to her about before the assembly. Violet had just been helping with the special effects.

  We all sighed. I could feel the energy draining from me, leaving me exhausted, as if I needed a nap. No sirens here.

  “We have a surprise for everyone, don’t we, Raquel?” Jordan said. Raquel nodded, smiling brightly at all of us. “What’s that in your pocket?” he asked her.

  Raquel reached into her skirt pocket and drew out the box.

  The box.

  The four of us shot to our feet.

  “There’s something special in there, Raquel. Something you need to see. In fact, if you’ll all reach under your seats . . . ,” Jordan said.

  “Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no,” I heard myself saying. All around me, my classmates were bending down, reaching under their dusty seats, and finding boxes identical to the one Raquel had been carrying around for days.

  “What if they’re all curses?” I said.

  Thalia was the first to act. “Not on my watch,” I heard her say, laughing, and suddenly, Principal Jackson, who had been standing at the edge of the stage the whole time, began doing a funny dance, jutting out his chin and wiggling his butt. Unfortunately, his “moves” made his pants slip down and puddle to his ankles, revealing boxer briefs covered in Christmas trees.

  The entire cafetorium erupted in hysterics.

  Then Mela’s hands started fluttering, and thankfully, my scalp started to buzz right on time. We both hit everyone at once with muse magic, inspiring the whole school to suddenly sing Raquel’s “Friends of a Feather” song at top volume, and moving themselves to tears as they did so. People were holding on to one another, crying and singing at the same time.

  Cool-headed as ever, Nia plucked a box out of Maya’s hand, then proceeded to collect them from everyone she could reach. They gave up the boxes without a problem, too busy crying and singing to care. Even Raquel and Jordan Miguel had sat down and were wiping each other’s tears and singing into the microphone without any accompaniment. Principal Jackson, his underwear still on display, was pretending to hold a microphone of his own, and wailing into it in a voice deep and rich.

  My scalp felt like it was on fire. I could feel them all, each and every one of my schoolmates, tapping into the place in them that made them want to express themselves. I swayed a bit, felt Nia’s hands on my shoulders.

  “You can’t hold them forever,” she said. She checked on Mela next, whose eyes were starting to get droopy. Thalia, for her part, was still giggling at Principal Jackson. I watched as she patted her own back, literally reaching around and patting herself with pride.

  I grew more tired by the second. The singing was already growing quiet. Raquel and Jordan Miguel were blinking, as if they’d just woken up. At least Maya no longer had a box. Nia had dumped as many as she could into the big trash can in the hall.

  This was no solution, I knew. If the boxes held curses, or even if only one did, there was no way of knowing which one. And we would never know, unless we tested them. Someone had to be first.

  I reached down and found the box under my seat. I shook it.

  “Don’t,” Mela said.

  “I think . . . I think it’s all right,” I said. How bad could a curse be, I wondered. So what if nobody ever believed me again? It’s not like anyone would ever believe this muse stuff anyway.

  I took a breath, and cracked open the box.

  Inside was a small, folded paper. I opened it, and read:

  ONE TICKET

  for America’s Next Star Finals:

  Featuring the Finalists: WHO WILL THEY BE??

  5 p.m. December 20. Miami Airlines Arena.

  “The finals,” I said to myself. “These are tickets.” I wilted into my chair.

  Jordan and Raquel were on their feet. He scratched his head. “See how they loved your song?” he said, a little weakly. Then, his voice growing stronger: “You loved the song, right?”

  More cheering. The triplets from Tampa were hugging and jumping up and down. One of the girls (Letty, maybe?) seemed to faint midhug, and Leo smacked her cheeks until she stood up again. Max and Alain were high-fiving one another. I could hear everyone’s voice was a little raw. They’d all be voiceless tomorrow, too.

  I watched as Jordan gave Raquel a little golden key, and she opened the box she’d been carrying for weeks. She read the note inside.

  “The finals are going to be here? In Miami?” she asked softly, her voice breaking. Jordan nodded, and she jumped into his arms. The cafetorium went utterly wild. Violet emerged from backstage and emptied the rest of the feathers all over Raquel. Then the two of them hugged and bounced up and down.

  “AND YOU’RE ALL INVITED!” Jordan Miguel yelled, pointing to the boxes. “Now, if you want Raquel to be a finalist competing here in her hometown”—more screaming—“then you know you need to watch this week’s America’s Next Star and vote!”

  There was a bit of confusion when some students realized their boxes had gone missing, until Principal Jackson, his pants back on, discovered them in the garbage can and began to pass them out again.

  A single box came down the row and landed in Maya’s lap. She didn’t open it.

  “It’s okay, Maya,” Nia said, “free ticket. Pretty cool, right?” I could tell Nia was feeling bad for taking Maya’s box away in the first place.

  “I can’t go anyway,” Maya said, her voice sounding so sad. “It’s the same day as the county science fair.”

  “Oh,” Nia said. “Well. I’ll join you.”

  “Me, too,�
� Mela said.

  “Count me in,” Thalia said.

  “And me,” I added.

  Maya smiled at us weakly. “You really don’t have to. I’ll be okay. America’s Next Star is a big deal. Way bigger than a dumb county science fair.” She said it but didn’t mean it. Not at all.

  We watched as Maya left the cafetorium.

  Soon, the room was empty, and it was just the four of us. Nobody seemed to notice we weren’t in our second-period class. I didn’t really care that we were missing it, either.

  “Well,” Thalia said. “I’m done in. Utterly. Strike two for the Muse Squad.”

  “We are very bad at this,” Mela said.

  Nia and I nodded.

  You might say the four of us were uninspired to do, well, anything.

  Just when I thought I might actually suggest we make our way to social studies, which was where we belonged, I felt a warm tug on my wrist. The tug grew hotter. It was my bracelet.

  “Heavens, must it be now?” Mela said, wrapping her left hand over the ring on the right.

  “Ow, OW,” Thalia said.

  “Run,” Nia said, and that we did, out the back door of the cafetorium and the five blocks to my house, and my bed.

  It was the first time I had ever skipped school. My heart was pounding as we ran into my room. The floor was cool against my back. The others pushed against me until I was squeezed tight, like being crammed into the backseat of a car with my brothers. I felt I could almost fall asleep. Everything went dark, and then, a rosy light, and the smell of old things and polished wood filled my senses.

  “Home sweet home,” Thalia said with a sigh.

  Chapter 20

  Sirens Underground

  It was only 2 p.m. in London, which meant the V and A was slammed with people. From where I lay under the Great Bed of Ware, sandwiched between Nia and Mela, I could see the tourist-feet all around us, their owners speaking in more languages than I could keep track of.