As he moved past me on his way to his seat, for a fleeting second his jeans brushed against my hip. I closed my eyes and took in a long, deep breath.
I was still a mess. I still had no idea what to think—about anything, really. But he’d given me three eighths of a smile, and that was a lot.
Idiot-Girl whispered, cautiously, He doesn’t hate me.
And the Cynic didn’t say anything back.
16
Hailey
After Clara and I were fully dressed in our Glinda/Wicked Witch costumes, down to the green skin and warts for her and the nauseatingly perky body glitter for me, our mom gave us a full inspection, while Dad stood back, faintly smiling. That was where he seemed to be a lot of the time, standing a little behind Mom, vaguely approving but with no real indication of what he was thinking about.
Like all of our Halloween costumes—and for that matter, all of our clothes in general—we’d bought these online, and then Mom had put them through some fairly elaborate adjustments to get them to fit us. In this case she’d adjusted them a second time, after we’d decided to trade, but she hadn’t seen us in them since then. Her voice was a little stern as she said to me, “Hailey, that Glinda costume was not that revealing when your sister tried it on. What have you got stuffed in there anyway?”
The answer was her old argyle socks, but she didn’t have to know that. I shrugged. “Well, how do you expect us to turn tricks if we don’t show a little skin?”
Dad turned away quickly, looking vaguely embarrassed—so at least he’d been listening—but Mom just laughed. The last time I’d managed to shock her was when she’d been pregnant with us and the doctors had showed her our conjoinment on the ultrasound. The power of that shock had left her immune to all others, like if you heard a bomb going off so loudly that it deafened you.
We let her take a couple of pictures—she would print them out on our home printer and mail them to our grandparents, as usual, for fear that any type of Internet posting or even email might be intercepted by evil reporters—and then we shuffled into the minivan, with Dad behind the wheel.
As usual, we sat in the backseat, listening to the radio and looking out the windows. The sun was just going down behind the clouds, and the whole world had a pinkish glow.
“So,” Dad piped up after a couple of minutes. “What’s the story with this Max guy?”
I held back a laugh. Dad can seem so clueless half the time, you almost think he’s got no idea what’s going on. And then he asks questions like this.
“Um,” Clara said. After a second she added, “What do you mean?”
“Well, you went over to his house last week, right? So what’s his story?”
She shrugged, in a confused and useless display of fake nonchalance. “I don’t know. He just moved here for his dad’s work. We don’t really know him that well or anything.”
“Except,” I said, “we know he loves stargazing. Constellations. And what was it? Schmidt-Cassegrain telescopes?”
Clara made a small noise of frustration.
“Well,” Dad said, glancing back at us in the rearview mirror, “that sounds promising.”
I smirked, but managed not to cackle.
“We’re just friends,” Clara bit out.
“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” Dad said, his tone easy and calm. I had no idea whether he really hadn’t meant anything else or was just covering his tracks. “He sounds like a promising new friend. You could use someone to talk stars and telescopes with. Couldn’t you?”
Again Clara shrugged, despite the fact that Dad couldn’t see it as he drove.
“Also,” I said—and maybe I was a little too revved up on pre-party adrenaline at this point—“we know that he’s cute.”
“We should take him up to the observatory sometime,” Dad said, without necessarily acknowledging me. “Or out to the one at Chabot in Oakland. You know they’ve got a thirty-six-inch telescope? I think you’d get a kick out of it.”
Clara looked out the window. I was pretty sure she had only two things on her mind at this point: murder and suicide.
“That sounds like fun,” I said.
“Really?” Dad asked. “You think telescope viewing sounds like fun, Hailey?”
It’s kind of annoying that Mom and Dad can tell our voices apart, even when they’re not looking.
“Yes,” I said, “I do. Well, not telescope viewing so much, but going to Oakland. And bringing Max. I’m up for it. What do you think, Clara?”
I was needling her, partly. But also I was desperate to go anywhere outside of Bear Pass. If an observatory was what it took, I would do it, for sure.
She kept looking out the window.
“I think she’s up for it too,” I announced.
Clara elbowed me. “Could you just—please—could you . . .”
“Well,” Dad said, “let’s think about it, anyway, all right? I’d like to get you two out more. I think it’s about time you had a few adventures.”
“What about you?” I asked Dad. “Would it be fun for you, too? You barely get out of Bear Pass any more than we do.”
“Yeah,” he acknowledged, “it would be fun for me, too.”
He pulled up in front of Amber’s house. The sun had just gone down; a little of its light still filtered in above the horizon. Already cars lined the street all the way down the block. Most of the houses were decorated for Halloween, but none more than Amber’s. Her whole front yard had been transformed into a haunted graveyard, with tombstones, skeletons rising out of the earth, and ghosts floating from wires between the trees.
“Midnight,” my dad said as we stepped out onto the ramp. “I’ll see you right here. One minute after twelve, if you’re not inside the minivan, you both turn into pumpkins.”
“Isn’t it the minivan that should turn into a pumpkin?” Clara asked.
“The minivan,” I assured her as we scuttled down the ramp, “is already no better than a pumpkin. A pumpkin would be a step up in coolness.”
We waved good-bye and headed inside.
Just inside the front door, hordes of teenage werewolves, vampires, and sexy lady pirates filled the kitchen, all holding red plastic cups or cans of soda. Jack-o’-lantern lights were strung across the walls, and paper bats hung from the ceiling. People shifted around to let us pass. A couple of them nodded in our direction.
I just prayed to God that Alek wouldn’t be here. Having him see me as sparkly sweet Glinda would make me want to bash my own brains in. This arts academy interview had better be worth it. I still wasn’t entirely sure I’d gotten the better end of this deal.
Steam rose out of a big pot on the stove. I inspected it.
“Smells good,” I said to Clara, raising my voice over the hum of conversations going on in the kitchen, not to mention the throbbing, spooky White Zombie music floating in from the living room.
“Hot apple cider,” said a voice behind me.
Max.
I turned, angling myself so that Clara had no choice but to face him head-on. I could see him too, but I had made myself peripheral.
He was dressed as the Tin Man, from The Wizard of Oz. He had the whole costume, even the silly hat. It looked high-quality, probably a rental, but he hadn’t bothered to paint his face silver, and his skinny wrists poked out from the not-quite-long-enough sleeves.
He said something that I couldn’t hear over all the other voices and the music coming from the next room. Clara leaned in closer, pulling me with her as she cupped her hand toward him, straining upward toward his giraffe-like height.
He leaned down, raising his volume. “I said I like your costumes.”
To me he said, “Hailey, that’s amazing. That Glinda costume really makes you look so much like Clara.” He laughed. “Okay, I know, I’m an idiot. But seriously, most of the time you look different. I guess it’s the hair.”
I touched my blond wig, looking up at him suspiciously. I felt like such an incredible dork in the sparkly wig.
“In a good way,” Max said quickly. “You look beaut—I mean, the costume is great.” Turning toward Clara, he said, “And your costume is superscary. Too bad I had to go and be the Tin Man, though.”
Now, what was that supposed to mean? Was he worried that people would think we’d coordinated our outfits with his? Was he afraid of being associated with us like that?
I felt Clara stiffening and pulling back. I may have been frowning at him too. His voice became rushed. “I m-mean because you’re the witch.”
“Yeah,” Clara said coldly, “I got that.”
Behind Max, at the far end of the kitchen, a group of jocks passed through—Gavin and Josh and a couple of others, all dressed as vampires. Gavin looked our way and held up a hand in greeting. I nodded back.
I was pretty sure that wouldn’t have happened before last weekend’s meteor shower—the only time we’d ever hung out together outside of school. It wasn’t like we were friends now. I didn’t even want us to be. But we’d known each other since middle school, and it was weird to think that after all these years, there could still be this tiny little shift.
Max’s hand brushed over Clara’s loose black sleeve. “In the book,” he said, “isn’t there something about the Wicked Witch being responsible for the Tin Man’s condition?”
“You mean having no heart?”
He shrugged. “I might be wrong.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t remember anything about stealing your heart, but I know you storm my castle at some point. Or infiltrate it.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth. Did she really just say that?
There was this moment when they both seemed all frozen and red-faced, and I just knew that Clara was wanting to melt into a puddle on the floor. But then Max laughed. And after a moment, amazingly, Clara laughed too. Kind of a bubbly laugh, actually. Like maybe having her castle stormed wouldn’t be so bad.
He cleared his throat. “S-s-so . . . anyway, I haven’t forgotten about our bet. You saw more meteors, so I have to teach you something at the observatory.”
Yes! He still wanted to go! Now I had to stop myself from clapping my hands and squealing with delight. But Clara, like a moron, just stood there not saying anything.
His cheeks turned pink. “I m-mean, if you still w-want to go.”
“Um, yeah,” Clara said. “Sure. Definitely. Only . . .”
Max frowned. “W-what?”
Clara said something, but it was too quiet; even I couldn’t hear her.
Max leaned in, frowning, cupping his ear.
She said it more loudly. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that.”
Oh my God, what is she saying?
But she plunged on, as if she couldn’t stop until she’d said every worst-possible-thing that she could come up with. “If you like Lindsey, hanging out with us might not be your best move.”
Oh, I wanted so badly to scream at her, slap her, shout some sense into her. But I knew that I must not speak. All I could do was tear at my wig with both hands. And maybe stomp my foot a little.
Max cocked his head, looking down at us both at a quizzical angle. “What are you saying?”
Clara squirmed. Her voice came out squeaky. “Lindsey’s nice enough, but she gets a little freaked out by things she doesn’t understand. Like us, for example. And maybe even anyone who hangs out with us.”
“I noticed that,” Max said, with an uncomfortable laugh. “I mean, not so much about you guys, but the part about getting freaked out easily. When I started stuttering, she practically teleported out of there.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Clara said quickly. “I mean, if it was just a onetime thing, she’ll probably—”
“It won’t be.”
“What?”
“It won’t be just that one time. It will definitely happen again.”
Well, I must admit, I hadn’t been expecting that.
“Clara,” he said calmly, “I was a special ed kid. I mean, daily speech therapy and full-day resource room for three years, because I was barely speaking at all. It’s better now, but it’s always going to be there. You have not heard the last of my stuttering.”
“Special ed? Really? What was that like?” Clara asked. We’d never been in a special ed classroom; our elementary school hadn’t had one.
He shrugged. “You get an interesting mix. One guy was in there because he was a biter and had violent tantrums, so that kept things interesting. Then there were these two really great, funny kids who were profoundly hearing impaired. Turns out I talk better in ASL than I do in English, so that was a bonus.”
“Do you still know sign language?” Clara asked.
“Of course. I’m still friends with those guys, and they still can’t hear.”
There was a pause, and then they both started talking at once.
Max said, “So look, I’m not worried about—”
And Clara said, “Well, if you really think—”
Before either of them could finish, Amber appeared out of nowhere and tackled Clara in a giant hug.
“Clara!” she practically screamed. She grabbed me, hugging me too as she shouted, “And Hailey! I’m so excited to see you two! Your costumes are the best, as usual!”
Clara opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Amber rolled right on through.
“Did you know,” Amber said to Max, “that their mom actually makes their costumes for them? She’s, like, the most amazing seamstress in the entire world.”
Amber wore an elaborate eighteenth-century gown with a huge white wig, a glittery plastic tiara, white makeup, and a couple of fake beauty marks, and a deep, wide streak of blood across the neck, with more running down one side of her dress.
“Marie Antoinette,” I guessed.
Clara quickly added the requisite, “You look so pretty!”
“Thanks, so do you!” Amber enthused nonsensically. “Hey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the Sadie Hawkins dance. You know I was one of the organizers, right? And I really want you guys to come. You know who I think would totally want one of you to ask him?”
“Um.” Clara frowned. Max was standing right there; he could hear every word they said. Clara’s desire to flee was palpable.
“Kevin Johnson!” Amber cried. “Wouldn’t he be so perfect for one of you?”
We barely knew Kevin Johnson. He had never been in any of our classes, and we didn’t have any friends or activities in common. He seemed nice enough. He was also epileptic, which was all very well, except that it was the only reason I could think of for Amber to suggest that either of us might want to date him.
On the other hand, this was the first time I could remember anyone suggesting that either of us might conceivably go on a date at all. Unless you counted Bridget, which I didn’t. So maybe I should give Amber some credit for that.
When I glanced toward where Max had been standing, he had already slipped away.
Clara nudged me.
“I know,” I whispered, “I’ll think of some way to get rid of her.”
“No, not that.” She jerked her head toward the front entrance, and I followed her gaze.
“Oh.”
It was Alek, walking straight toward us, and wearing the one thing that was sure to get him kicked out of Amber’s party.
Black jeans and a plain black T-shirt.
17
Clara
My gaze darted back and forth between Amber and Alek. If she spotted him here without a costume, the best-case scenario was that she would merely throw him out a first-story window. Worst-case, she’d frame him as a North Korean spy.
“Amber,” I said desperately, pointing to the opposite side of the room, “is that Tim? That is the best vampire costume I’ve seen all night. You must have helped him with it, right?”
She glanced over at Tim, who’d been her boyfriend for as long as anyone could remember. “No, he did that himself. It’s okay, I guess,�
�� she said, before turning back to me. “Now, about the dance.”
“Actually, it’s taken care of already,” I said.
Amber’s eyes widened in surprise. But she was still looking right at me, and Alek was behind me. This wasn’t good. I was going to have to play the disabled card. “I’m so thirsty,” I said, “and it’s so hard for us to get around the room when it’s crowded. Do you have some sodas somewhere?”
“Oh yeah, we’ve got coolers in the living room,” she said.
I looked toward the hallway behind her. “I guess we could manage it . . .”
She put up a hand. “I’ll fetch it for you. Diet Coke?”
“Perfect. And one for Hailey, too? Thanks, Amber.”
I watched as Amber twisted through the noisy, thickening crowd. Even when Hailey and I were toddlers, we could never just slip and slide through the tiny gaps between people like other kids could, and I couldn’t help admiring how deftly Amber pulled it off now.
On the other side of the room, Alek was talking to a freshman dressed as a sexy nurse. Although the girl was at least Alek’s height, she had her head bent so low that it allowed her to giggle upward at him as she batted her big fake eyelashes. I couldn’t tell whether Alek was flirting back.
He looked up, taking in the room for a minute, and then his gaze fixed on Hailey. He said something to the nurse girl and started walking toward us. I caught my breath.
He had to do a certain amount of twisting and nudging, but he was definitely coming our way, and he seemed to have his eyes on Hailey the entire time. They were more or less staring at each other.
Then Alek was right there, and he actually reached out and touched Hailey on the arm.
When people touch Hailey above the waist, I can’t physically feel the sensations; our nervous systems are separate in our upper halves. I obviously can’t read her mind either. But I swear, when he touched her arm, it was the closest I had ever come to feeling telepathic. I could feel the hairs stand up on my own arm. I could feel the adrenaline surge through my own bloodstream.
He leaned in toward her, on the side that was farther away from me, his mouth close to her ear. But I didn’t have any trouble hearing him. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you. It’s so noisy in here. Can we go outside?”
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