Sunblind

by Michael Griffo

  “Sorry, Gwen,” I start, amazed that I never knew how many types of choirs Two W had before. “I’m not here to join any type of choir or to do singing of any kind.”

  Gwen’s face contorts into the same expression of horror and disbelief and fury that Jess’s used to whenever I expressed my disinterest in becoming a member of Broadway Bound, the drama club she was the president of.

  “Then what are you doing here?” she demands.

  “I just needed a safe haven for a few minutes,” I confess.

  It’s the perfect reminder that honesty is not always the best policy. Gwen interprets my need for a safe haven as the simultaneous need for a friendly ear and a sympathetic shoulder. I don’t need either; I just really need some quiet. But now that Gwen thinks I’m some sort of emotional basket case or a girl with a deep dark secret, she wants to be my bestie.

  While Gwen is babbling on about how important it is to open up to people and not keep problems and secrets and morbid thoughts quiet, I silently formulate a plan of escape. I don’t want to hurt Gwen’s feelings, especially now that I’ve vowed never to call her The Hog again. I don’t want to dismiss her kindness, and I definitely don’t want to come off as evasive so she IM’s Miss Martinez, our guidance counselor, with an anonymous tip that I’m in need of a special one-on-one session. I don’t want to do any of that, but I don’t want to listen to her jabber on any longer either.

  “You have been exactly what I needed, Gwen!” I shout, mimicking her squealy sounds.

  “Me?”

  Gwen might be a good singer, but she’s a horrible actress, and she’s unable to make her voice sound as humble as she intended.

  “Yes, you!” I add.

  “What did I do?” she asks. “I mean, I don’t even know what your problem is or why you needed a time-out.”

  Sometimes you don’t have to scramble to think of something to say; it just spills out of your mouth naturally. Maybe because the truth is more powerful than any fib.

  “I just needed to hear somebody else’s voice for a little bit so I could turn off my own.”

  The smallest sopranoesque note pops out of Gwen’s mouth. “And I did that for you?”

  Before I can reply, Gwen’s arms fly around me and wrap me in what can only be described as a very intense bear hug that threatens to suffocate me and sends the books I’m holding falling to the floor. A few kids scramble into the room, presumably songbirds like Gwen hurrying into rehearsal, and either they are so excited because they’re going to get to sing in a few minutes or super hugging is a common occurrence at choir practice, because no one raises an eyebrow at our embrace. My eyebrows, however, practically fly off of my face when Mr. Dice bursts into the room.

  “Dominy,” he says. “Jess never mentioned that you like to sing.”

  What did he say?!

  “You never mentioned that you like to sing,” he repeats.

  Okay, that makes a little more sense. Less sense than the math teacher also being a choir instructor, but more sense than his mentioning Jess’s name.

  “I don’t,” I reply, picking up my books from the floor.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to give it a try?” he asks. “Finding your voice can be very liberating.”

  The only way I’m going to feel liberated is if I can get out of this room. Suddenly the walls feel as if they’re inching closer toward me every second. Gwen’s hulking body contact, Mr. Dice’s sudden appearance, me thinking I heard Jess’s name—all signs that I have overstayed my welcome. Guess it serves me right for trying to duck out of the way instead of just ramming into the oncoming traffic of my boyfriend and best friend. That’s the last time I do that.

  “I think if I freed my voice you’d all want to lock it back up,” I joke. “My father used to say I couldn’t carry a tune if someone gave me the handle.”

  The way Mr. Dice looks at me and the hush that comes over the choir room is startling, because it takes a few seconds for me to understand that I’m the cause. I crossed the line into Taboo Land by mentioning my father’s name, effectively reminding everyone in earshot that I’ve been legally orphaned. And since everyone in this room aspires to tap into his or her sensitive side, they’re even more affected by my comment than if I were surrounded by the more analytical minds that make up the debate team.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put a bummer on the music fest before the music even begins,” I mutter.

  This time Mr. Dice’s expression is startling, but in a positive, uplifting way.

  “Never apologize for remembering something or someone who brings you joy,” he says, his features softening into a kind smile.

  Too bad I have absolutely no musical talent whatsoever, because I think this room would be a comforting place to spend some after-school quiet time.

  On my way home the good energy stays with me, clinging to me like a crocheted poncho, light and flowing and warm. Sometimes it’s necessary to take a detour to get back on track, and standing next to The Weeping Lady I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Looking up I can see that The Lady is in full bloom. Her body is covered with thick leaves; most are a deep green, but some have already started to turn yellow and that interesting shade in between that I’m not sure really has a name other than the not-so-original yellow-green. Regardless, the cluster of colors is vibrant, and it makes her look beautiful and sad and alone, the way she’ll always look to me. It’s an image that has become a source of calmness to me. Today, it’s also a source of camouflage.

  Off in the distance, somewhere beyond the rows of tall, majestic-looking trees that serve as the unofficial entrance to Robin’s Park, I can hear two people talking thanks to my ESP—enhanced sensory proficiency. The fact that I can hear people speak who I can’t see has become normal to me. What’s odd is the fact that voices are coming from inside the park, a place that Louis has urged residents to steer clear of until the serial killer can be captured. Odder still, these voices are making me afraid.

  How is that possible? I’m the one the town is supposed to be afraid of. I’m the reason there are witch hunts and curfews and no trespassing signs. And yet the sound of these voices, soft and muffled and unidentifiable, is actually making my knees buckle and my heart race. So much for latching on to good energy.

  Impulsively, I straddle the huge oak tree and scramble up The Weeping Lady’s body. My fingers act as claws, digging into the trunk, ripping pieces of bark off during my ascent, pulling me higher and higher until I’m face-to-face with the woman I’ve come to consider a friend. Her wooden eyes are staring back at me, and I know that she will do her best to protect me from the voices that are getting louder. I’m not sure what’s more disconcerting: the fact that I can communicate with a tree-woman or the idea that I need protection.

  When I recognize the voices, I know it’s the latter.

  The faces are still just shadowy outlines that I can barely see from within the combination of branches and foliage, but the voices are familiar. They belong to Nadine and Napoleon.

  What are they doing coming out of Robin’s Park? They got out of school the same time I did; there’s no way they could have passed me, gotten all the way into the park, and then turned around. I did dally a little bit while I was trying to remain unseen, but it was hardly that long. Plus, it doesn’t make sense that they would be in a part of town that’s strictly off-limits. Sure, Nadine knows that it’s okay to wander through the area, but Napoleon doesn’t. Why would she arouse his suspicions by bringing him along for an after-school nature hike? And even if she did, Napoleon has never appeared to be a risk taker like Archie; it doesn’t make sense that he would do something that’s so completely against the rules. Unless Nadine for some reason convinced him to follow her into the park? Maybe she has a much stronger hold on her brother than anyone suspects.

  I position myself so I’m straddling The Weeping Lady, my body pressed right into hers, and I’m reminded of Gwen. Maybe our embrace was a foreshadowing to this event?
Maybe I’m just losing my mind? Maybe I should concentrate on not being seen so I don’t cause the twins to stop talking?

  The closer they get, the easier it is for me to eavesdrop, because they’re speaking so loudly it’s obvious they’re not trying to hide from anyone. But when their conversation becomes clearer and I can finally understand every word they’re saying, I realize that they’re not having a friendly chat; they’re having a fight.

  “It’s time that you man up, Nap,” Nadine hisses at her brother.

  “Stop talking to me like I’m a child,” Napoleon replies.

  “Start acting like an adult and I’ll speak to you like one!” she screams. “You need to make choices.”

  “I have.”

  “The right ones, Nap!” she replies, hurling her words at him like daggers. “You have to start making the right choices!”

  “Right for who? Me?” he asks. “Or everybody else in our family?”

  My grip is so tight I expect The Weeping Lady to shriek in pain. The tips of my fingers are white, and I loosen my hold slightly just so I don’t accidentally break off a branch and reveal my hiding place to the bickering siblings below. They’re still about two hundred yards away, but they’re walking in this direction, so in no time at all they’ll be passing right underneath me.

  “We’re all in this together, Nap,” Nadine answers. “You know that.”

  At some point I stop listening to their words, because even though I hear them clearly, I have no idea what they’re talking about. However, I am learning a great deal by listening to the tones of their voices.

  It’s come as no surprise that Nadine is the louder one, the angrier one, the one who seems to be steering the conversation. In their twinlationship it’s clear that she’s the dominant force, the one with the more aggressive personality. Napoleon has always been the follower. I don’t know if he’s technically younger or if Nadine, being a girl, is just more authoritative, but Nap definitely takes a backseat to his sister. Until he decides the ride is better up front.

  “The only thing I know, Nadine,” he replies, “is that somewhere along the way you appointed yourself the boss of us all.”

  While Nadine’s voice is brittle and loud and shrill, Napoleon’s is quiet. But within that softer sound lies some unexpected strength. Their roles have become reversed; the butterfly’s wings are made of steel, and the bee’s stinger is easily bent.

  Stopping in her tracks directly beneath me, Nadine makes her brother turn around to face her. I don’t know if his words shocked her so much that she can’t move or if she’s adopting some strategy to make Nap have to react to her sudden actions. Either way she appears to be unsettled.

  “A long time ago I made a choice,” she says, trying hard to keep her voice even. “A choice to control my fate and not be a pawn in someone else’s game.”

  Now when Napoleon’s voice echoes throughout the empty land and into the air, it sounds different. Because it’s the sound of laughter.

  “You really think you’re in control?” Napoleon asks when his laughter finally subsides. “You’re being used just like I am.”

  Nadine’s lips form a smile, but there is no indication whatsoever that she’s going to laugh. It’s the creepiest, most malicious-looking smile I’ve ever seen. I press my thighs and ankles closer to the trunk of the tree and tighten my grip so I don’t slip. There is no way that I want these two to see me. I have got to keep my presence hidden because I know—somehow—that they’d rather kill me than let me live if they discovered I overheard their argument.

  “I’m not being used because I’ve chosen what side I want to be on!” Nadine rails at her brother. “Now you’ve got to do the same thing!”

  For the first time Napoleon raises his voice, and it’s as unexpected as thunder on a beautiful summer day.

  “I have made a choice!”

  Breathing deeply, Nadine takes a step closer to her brother. “And whose side are you on?”

  Not backing down at all, Nap moves into his sister. It’s like he’s suddenly found courage because he doesn’t think he has an audience.

  “Mine.”

  I can tell that it’s the wrong answer even if Napoleon can’t.

  Without saying another word, he turns and starts to walk away, letting his fingers graze against the trunk of the tree. He peels off a piece of bark and flicks it into the air. If he looks up to watch it fly he’ll look right into my eyes, so I melt even closer into the body of The Weeping Lady, wishing that I could somehow burrow inside of the tree to completely disappear so Napoleon won’t see me. But before he’s taken a handful of steps I can tell that he’s about to be distracted.

  Instead of answering verbally, Nadine chooses to respond physically, although I’m not sure if she has any control over her reaction.

  Slowly the silver mist emerges from her body like an extra set of twisted limbs, but instead of shrouding her, instead of insulating her from the rest of the world like it has before, this time it serves as a way for her to connect.

  The pieces of the mist begin to grow and lengthen and conjoin until they resemble a silver snake floating above Nadine’s head, then into the sky, and then toward Napoleon. Slithering in the air, determined and focused and relentless, the silver streak moves with one apparent goal in sight: to capture her brother. I look at Nadine’s face, and she looks just as determined; her eyes are unblinking and filled with hatred. She may not be controlling this thing that’s been released from her body, but she knows exactly where it’s headed and exactly what its intentions are, and she isn’t doing anything to stop it. This is why I was afraid; this is why Jess told me I can only trust one of the twins. Nadine wants to make her brother pay for what he said.

  Blithely walking through the open field, his hands in his jeans pockets, Nap looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I think I might even hear him whistling, but my own heart is pounding so fiercely I can’t be sure. I don’t even notice the sound of my own gasp until a split second after it’s released into the air.

  Like the connected twins they are, Nadine and Napoleon both look up at the tree at the same time. They heard me, and it’s only a matter of time before they see me. I cling to the tree even tighter and hold my breath as if that lame action is going to make any difference. I wasn’t in control of my body or my emotions or my voice, and I’ve let myself be exposed! If Nadine is going to let some otherworldly silver mist attack her brother, what the hell is she going to let it do to me?

  Why isn’t anything happening? Why isn’t the mist encircling the tree, wiggling its way up, in, and through the cavalcade of twisted branches to find the source of the sound? Why isn’t it wrapping itself around my body and flinging me to the ground? The answer comes from a source that is both expected and unexpected at the same time: The Weeping Lady.

  Looking beyond my own fear I see that I’m entirely covered by leaves. It’s as if the tree has grown more robust and fertile in seconds. Above me, underneath me, on all sides are thick leaves that have left me completely hidden from any spectators, even those who suspect there’s something very close by worth seeing.

  Thankfully, I’m now in more control of my reactions, because when I turn to the left I see that The Weeping Lady has opened her eyes. Two wooden eyes that look as if they were carved and not created are staring right at me. Bending her head slightly she leans close to my ear, and I hear her speak.

  “Be quiet and listen.”

  Her voice is like a rustle of the wind, and I’m not sure if she’s truly spoken out loud or if her voice has somehow penetrated me, flown through me telepathically like Jess’s. I don’t waste time trying to figure it out; instead I obey her command.

  Ever so slowly a few of the leaves separate, by less than an inch, but enough to give me a view of what’s happening below me. It’s not what I had expected to see.

  My gasp must have interrupted their fight, because Nadine’s silver mist isn’t moving; it’s hovering in the air like a metalli
c airborne puddle. It’s only when I see what Napoleon’s doing that I understand what’s going on.

  Nap’s hand is raised in the air, and the same mist is seeping out of his palm, moving toward Nadine’s silver source, making it retreat back toward its home base. I don’t know if this is the first time Nap’s ever done such a thing or if he’s just more powerful since he’s a guy, but Nadine isn’t doing anything to fight back; she’s standing rigid, and her skin has a deathly pallor. Even without my enhanced vision I can tell that she’s terribly frightened.

  Part of me wants to jump down and help the one twin that I instinctively know I can trust, but it’s as if The Weeping Lady can read my mind, and I feel pieces of twine wrap themselves around my wrists and my ankles. I’m not going anywhere. And just as well, because when I hear Nap scream, I know I’m being kept safe.

  “DO NOT PUSH ME!”

  His voice is like the cry of someone who’s been bullied his entire life and has finally decided to stand up for himself. But the way Nadine’s body shudders, the way she clutches at the air for support, tells me that this isn’t the first time Napoleon has reacted this way, despite the quiet, meek demeanor he’s put forth ever since he came to town.

  These two are very complicated creatures who have their own very special powers. I should feel relief that I’m not the only mutant in town, but the only thing I feel is scared. Yes, I’ve figured out that Nadine is the twin I can trust, but I’ve also found out that Nadine’s mother is right—Napoleon seems to be totally unmanageable.

  And that also means he’s totally dangerous.

  Chapter 7

  I need my boyfriend.

  I know that very recently I went out of my way to avoid him, but it’s a girl’s prerogative to change her mind. Even if that girl’s only part girl. That’s why I’ve decided to pay Caleb an unexpected visit.

  Luckily Louis was called into the station to handle some for-chief-of-police-eyes-only business, so I was able to leave the house after dinner without having to sneak out and defy the town-wide curfew for anyone under twenty-one. Caleb only lives a few blocks from Arla’s house, which I guess is now my house, but based on previous experience Louis would have either refused to let me go outside or demanded that he drive me there and pick me up when I was ready to go home.