Daphne slid out of bed and plodded toward it. When she reached the dresser, she could see that two items had been infused with light: her cut-glass box with the penny inside, and the tiny jar of silver body glitter she’d been planning to use for prom.
Anger seized hold of her—spiked heavily with shame. She grabbed the jar of glitter, then flung open the lid of the box and plucked out the penny. Clenching the items in her fists, she stalked down the hall to the bathroom.
“Screw you,” she said, dropping the penny into the trash.
“Screw you,” she said, dumping the glitter into the toilet. She tossed the empty jar into the waste can and clapped some glistening fragments from her hands.
Turning to go, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.
“Screw you, too.”
“Daphne? Why is our toilet all sparkly?”
Daphne opened her eyes to see her sister looming over her. She must have just woken up. Her hair was a mess of tangles and her face looked extrasnarly. Probably hadn’t had any caffeine yet.
“I dumped my glitter makeup,” Daphne mumbled.
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Great. That’ll probably gum up the plumbing.”
Daphne pulled the blanket over her head. She really wished her crabby sister would go away and leave her alone. And turn off the light again and close the door. She even wished the sun would slide back down below the horizon. She wished the whole world would simply shut itself off.
“Are you going to school today?” Gabby asked. There was a tentative challenge in her voice. Daphne could almost hear the arguments lining up inside her.
“No.”
She heard Gabby let out an enormous sigh. Sure enough, she commenced making her case. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t stay home forever. You’ll get behind and we’ll get in big trouble. Do you want to be hauled in front of a judge?”
Daphne didn’t bother to reply. She honestly didn’t care. What could happen to her that would be so bad?
“Look …” Her sister’s voice was soft but tight, as if she were forcing herself to sound gentle. “I know I told you that I wouldn’t call Mom. But maybe I should call Dad and—”
“No!”
Daphne sat upright so quickly, her head throbbed. Gabby looked shocked.
“But why?” she asked. “You guys are so close.”
How could Daphne explain? She’d always basked in the fact that her dad adored her. She knew she was his favorite, and she appreciated his loving her the way she was, never telling her to stop daydreaming and be responsible. But after the party and the whole Sheila thing, she wasn’t sure if he still loved her best. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
She couldn’t face him right now. The same way she couldn’t face Luke and the others.
“Just … don’t. Please?” she said. “I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him coming here, calling me mijita and acting so understanding.”
Now Gabby really looked confused. “Why not?”
“I just don’t! Okay? I don’t want to talk about it! Not with anyone! Even Daddy!” She gripped her head in her hands, but it kept on pounding. All that shouting had left her panting and weak.
The bed shimmied as Gabby sat down next to her. “Fine. I won’t call him. Don’t freak out.” She was still scowling, but her eyes looked more worried than anything.
“Thanks,” Daphne said. She lay back against her pillows, waiting for her breathing to steady and her head to stop aching and for sleep to come steal her away again.
Gabby bit her lip. “I guess … I guess you can stay home another day,” she said. “But you have to promise me you won’t go anywhere. Stay here.”
“I promise.”
“And you’ll have to keep up with your homework. I’ll tell your teachers you’re sick.”
For some reason, this made Daphne’s throat swell up with a sob. “Thanks.”
Gabby sat there a moment longer, rocking slightly and tugging the fingers of her right hand one by one. Daphne braced herself for more lecturing, but after a while Gabby simply blew out her breath and rose to her feet. “Bye,” she said. Then she switched off the light and headed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
“Come on, come on,” Gabby muttered as she turned the key in the Jetta’s ignition. There followed a lackluster electronic whir and then … nothing. “Stupid car!” She wriggled the steering wheel, popped the gearshift into neutral and then back into park, and tried the key once again. The engine let out a high-pitched whinny, as if startled, and eventually turned over. “Finally!” she exclaimed.
The clock on the dashboard read 4:43. She was running late for work—again. Another day, another pile of stress. And another twenty-four-hour nap for Daphne. This made day three of her hibernation.
As much as it bothered her, Gabby could sort of understand that instinct. When Sonny died, she’d had the same urge to hide from the world. To power herself down in order to escape the pain and confusion. She hadn’t missed any school; she’d just wallowed miserably in the privacy of her head and cried beneath her covers at night. But Daphne was probably more sensitive and therefore needed more time and space to deal. Also, her ordeal with that Luke guy was not the same as an impromptu fifty-minute kissfest.
Still, Gabby wondered if it was smart to let the girl stay home alone so much. Only what else could she do? Gabby had already missed her Monday shift, calling in sick since she couldn’t use the real reason. “My sister is comatose with a massive attack of self-pity” probably wouldn’t have cracked Pinkwater’s titanium-shelled heart. And it didn’t make sense for her to also miss school.
So she left Daphne at home, calling her periodically from a girls’ room toilet stall to check on her. (The gossip in the Barton High teachers’ lounge that day probably centered on whether Gabriella Rivera had a bladder infection or some gastric disorder.) Each time Daphne answered she sounded half asleep.
“Must be nice,” Gabby grumbled as she pulled the car onto the road and headed for the center of town.
She felt shaky with stress. Her scholarship application deadline was next Monday. Meanwhile, school was really piling it on: all kinds of projects and exams were due right now. Plus everyone was still going on about prom as if it were the very point of their existence. Work was the usual pressure cooker of annoying people and her grouchy boss. And now with Mom gone, Gabby had even more chores to do: paying bills, doing grocery shopping, overseeing meals.
So of course Daphne would choose this point in time to have a major freak-out.
“I should just call Mom,” she said to the windshield as she stopped for the light at Central and Buxton. “I should call her right now.” But she knew she wouldn’t. Mom’s leaving her training to deal with a drama-queen daughter would only make things worse.
It was horrible what those stupid snots had done to Daphne. The girl was a dreamy, idiotic, frustrating ditz most of the time, but she meant well. Now she just seemed broken. A loud, annoying toy without its power source. Daphne didn’t deserve to be treated that way. But then, Gabby didn’t deserve to have to clean up the mess, either.
Catching sight of the neon-framed cinema marquee, Gabby steered the Jetta into one of the remote, dimly lit parking spaces on the side of the theater that Pinkwater insisted the employees use (never mind safety issues) and cut the engine. Then she settled back in the seat and shut her eyes. Sure, she was late, but she really didn’t want to go inside yet. Instead, she just sat, enjoying the stillness and silence. It was nice out there, in the mugging zone. No one needed her. No one expected her to do things or feel things.
A thought entered her mind—slowly at first, just a trickle, then gradually building up until it saturated everything in its path: she really should call Daphne one last time. Before the half-price-night crowds kept her too busy.
With a dismal sigh, she lifted her phone and called home. After several rings her mother’s recorded announcement came over the line. “You have reache
d the Rivera residence. No one can take your call right now. Please leave a—”
“Damn it, Daphne.” She tried again. Again she got the machine. She let out a frustrated moan and tried a third time. And for a third time, her mother’s businesslike tone met her ear.
Why wasn’t Daphne picking up? She always picked up.
She could be in the bath—but that was unlikely, since she seemed to have given up bathing along with school. And the last time Gabby had spoken with her, it sure hadn’t sounded as if there’d been a miracle turnaround in her mood. So had she gone somewhere in her pajamas? Was she ignoring Gabby? Playing loud music? Trapped under something heavy? If that girl had gone and gotten herself hurt, Gabby would wring her neck.
But … that seemed all too possible. Daphne was distracted, and she could barely operate the stove when she was normal. Any number of things could have gone wrong.
“Where is it? Where is it?” Gabby pulled out her wallet and rummaged through the cards and pieces of paper she’d stored in its many pockets. Eventually she hit upon the stone-gray business card with raised navy lettering and punched Prentiss’s number into her phone.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Prentiss? It’s Gabby. Gabby Rivera. Your tenant?”
“My what?”
She sighed. “Your tenant. Ten-ant.”
“My aunt? Sorry. I can’t hardly hear you.”
Just great. She got a lousy connection with a total imbecile. “It’s Gabby!” she shouted. “I’m renting the yellow house on your property!”
“Oh, hi. How are you?”
“Listen, could you do me a favor? Are you at home?”
“Sure am. What can I do for you?”
“My sister is … well, she’s sick. And I can’t seem to get through to her. Would you mind walking over there and checking on her? Then maybe calling me back at this number?”
“You bet. Hold tight and I’ll phone you as soon as I can.”
As soon as he hung up, Gabby felt foolish. Why had she called Prentiss? The guy would dawdle on his way over there, maybe stop to wax his fancy car, and then chat with Daphne about the weather while she bled all over the kitchen floor. Gabby could have driven over there herself and been faster.
She drummed her hands on the steering wheel, trying to ignore the awful visions that kept rearing up. Their rental house in flames … Daphne sleepwalking into traffic … Daphne’s face turning a bright shade of cerulean as she choked on a piece of corn dog.
Lila, late as usual, pulled her Dodge Viper into a nearby space and started touching up her lipstick while some country song blared from her speakers. After a couple of seconds of admiring herself she noticed Gabby and let out a tiny shriek. Then she turned down the music and lowered her window, motioning for Gabby to do the same.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her freshly painted lips curled in annoyance.
Gabby held up her phone. “I’m waiting on a call. It’s … personal.”
“Uh-huh,” Lila said, climbing out of her car. “You do know you’ll be late?”
Gabby simmered at the irony of that statement. “Yeah, I know,” she said, forcing a smile. “Please tell Pinkwater I’ll be there right away. Okay?”
Lila flashed her a look that said Fine, but it’s your ass in the deep roaster, not mine before she shouldered her purse and headed around the corner.
“Come on, come on,” Gabby grumbled to her phone. It remained dark and silent. She could see her face frowning back at her in the view screen. Her forehead was bunched and her eyebrows had scrolled together, making her look haggard—the same stressed-out expression her mom often wore. Was everyone who looked after Daphne doomed to have premature wrinkles?
All at once the cell started ringing, erasing her reflection as it lit up.
“Yeah?” she said, answering.
“She’s all right,” came Prentiss’s voice. “I think I woke her up. Poor thing looks really bad. When’s the last time she ate something, you think? You girls doing all right with food and all?”
Gabby paused. She hadn’t really noted her sister’s eating habits. She’d just been so busy. Come to think of it, she really hadn’t seen her eat much lately. Guilt welled up inside her—and quickly boiled over into anger.
All she’d needed was for Prentiss to check on Daphne. She hadn’t asked for a damn commentary on their standard of living.
“How about I have my mom make some soup?” Prentiss went on. “I could bring it over later and—”
“No!” Gabby shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Look. I appreciate your help, but we’re fine. Really. We don’t need any pity and we don’t need any handouts.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I was just thinking it must be tough without your mom and all.”
“I said I can handle this! God! Why won’t anybody give me a break?” Gabby shut off her phone, tossed it into her bag, and headed into the theater, ready to disappoint her irate boss, her lazy coworker, hordes of annoying moviegoers, and anyone else who might depend on her.
Daphne lay stomach-down across the couch. Only her left thumb revealed signs of life, moving occasionally to click the Channel Up button on the TV remote.
Prentiss had woken her from a deep sleep. And even though she felt worn out, she couldn’t seem to drift off again.
God, she was bored. Not restless-bored, just … tired of absolutely everything. It was hard to escape her thoughts while awake. Everything her mind hit on seemed to twist and deform until she found herself thinking about Luke. Thoughts of school warped into thoughts of him. But thoughts of family also led to thoughts of him—or of Dad, which only amped up her anger and pain. Even seemingly safe thoughts could distort themselves into Luke-centered ones. Musing about clothes would lead to picturing dresses, which would cause her to think about prom. The sight of a book would remind her of that awful Jane Eyre that used to mean so much to her. Even the simple act of watching dust swirl in the sunlight from the window would remind her of that ridiculous glitter makeup.
She’d hoped watching TV would be a nice diversion, but so far it hadn’t been. It was all sad and horrible, and it only made her feel more wretched. Talk shows featuring shouting guests, soap operas featuring Lynette-like women in jewels and fancy clothes, medical-drama reruns, a science program discussing the possibility that gamma rays could end all life on earth.
Her thumb clicked the remote again, and she found herself looking at a newscast. A wandering deer had caused a six-car pileup on Highway 77. The camera kept zooming in on crushed metal, flashing emergency lights, and debris littering the roadway.
Obviously there was nothing she could watch that would ease her sad, sore little brain. Everywhere there was suffering, destruction, fury. What a naïve baby she’d been to have never noticed it before.
The doorbell chimed its overly cheerful ding-dong. Daphne closed her eyes and made a small whimpering noise in her throat. Gabby had probably schooled Prentiss on the art of lecturing little sisters and sent him back over to holler at her. She thought about ignoring it but feared that that might make things worse. Their concerned neighbor might very well have the Barton police break down the door.
She muted the television and slowly pulled herself to a standing position. Her limbs felt as if they’d been cast from iron, and her joints seemed rusty from lack of use. Eventually she made it to the door and opened it a crack. But instead of Prentiss, Mule was grinning awkwardly down at her.
“Hi,” he said. “Is Gabby here?”
Daphne shook her head. “She’s …” But she couldn’t remember where her sister was. Work? The store? The bank? Someplace important. What time was it, anyway?
Mule cocked his head and studied her. She could almost see him taking note of her blank expression, her gravity-defying hair, and her rumpled pajamas with the cartoon monkeys all over them. No doubt by now he could catch a whiff of that sharp scent, like overly ripe fruit, that her body was givi
ng off after three straight days of no bathing.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His voice was so full of worry that her eyes automatically misted up and her throat got that just-strangled feeling. She wanted to say yes, but that would be such an obvious lie. On the other hand, saying no would just invite more questions. And saying anything right now would squeeze the tears out of her. So she just stood there, feeling helpless and pitiful. And stinky.
“Hey, uh …” Mule shifted his weight and raked his fingers through his curls. “How about I hang around until Gabby gets back. Would that be okay?”
Daphne nodded. She left the door hanging open and flopped down on one end of the couch, propping her bare feet on the coffee table.
Mule walked inside and set down his backpack, keeping his eyes on Daphne the whole way. “Sure is nice out today,” he said, slipping off his jacket and draping it on the nearby chair. His movements and voice were extrasteady, as if he were an expert negotiator and Daphne were some crazy person with explosives strapped to her chest.
Slowly and gently, as if trying not to spook her, he settled himself on the opposite end of the sofa. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him watching her as she focused on the muted television. Reporters were now interviewing one of the drivers of the pileup. The guy appeared dazed, but not too freaked to ramble into a microphone. The camera then panned to a dead deer lying on the shoulder of the road. Its mouth was open and bloody, and its glassy eyes seemed to be staring right into Daphne. Once again she could feel that downward-tugging sensation inside her. It felt as if she were teetering on a ribbon-thin brink, in danger of plummeting into a dark, cold abyss.
Then Mule loudly cleared his throat.
“So I’ll just say it. I … heard about what happened,” he said, turning his torso enough to face her. “I’m really sorry about what those guys did to you.”
Water filled her eyes, blurring the scene until it was just blotches of color, like a bad Impressionist painting. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and scurry off to her room, but she couldn’t move. She could only sit there, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the fuzzy glowing blob of the TV set.
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