by L. J. Smith
Cassie’s eyes slid cautiously up to Diana’s face. In her opinion, Faye knew exactly what she was doing. But she didn’t say anything—they were pulling up to the pretty Victorian house.
“Come on,” Diana said, jumping out. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you go home.”
Cleaned up? Cassie found out what she meant when Diana led her into an old-fashioned bathroom on the second floor. Soot stained her gray sweater, her hands, her jeans. Her hair was a mess. Her face was smudged with black and striped with tears. She looked like a war orphan.
“I’ll lend you some clothes while we get yours clean. And you can get clean in this.” Diana was bustling around, running hot water into a claw-footed bathtub, adding something that smelled sweet and bubbled. She put out towels, soap, shampoo, all with a speed that bewildered Cassie.
“Throw your clothes outside when you get undressed. And you can put this on afterward,” she said, hanging a fluffy white bathrobe on a hook on the door. “Okay, you’re set.”
She disappeared, and Cassie was left staring at the shut door. She looked at the slightly steamy mirror, then at the bathtub. She felt cold and achy inside. Her muscles were trembling from tension. The hot, sweet-scented water looked perfect, and when she climbed in and it rose around her, she let out an involuntary sigh of bliss.
Oh, it was lovely. Just right. She lay and basked for a while, letting the heat soak into her bones and the light, flowery smell fill her lungs. It seemed to clear the last tired cobwebs from her head and refresh her.
She took a washcloth and scrubbed the grime off her face and body. The shampoo smelled sweet too. When she finally got out of the tub and wrapped herself in the big white terrycloth robe, she was clean, and warm, and more relaxed than she could remember being in weeks. She still could scarcely believe this was happening, but she felt filled with light.
The bathroom was old-fashioned, but not in an ugly way, she decided. Pretty towels and jars of colored bath salts and what looked like potpourri made it nice.
She slipped on the soft white slippers Diana had left and padded into the hall.
The door opposite was ajar. Hesitantly she knocked, pushed it open. Then she stopped on the threshold.
Diana was sitting on a window seat, head bent over Cassie’s gray sweater on her lap. Above her, in the window, prisms were hanging. The sun was striking them so that little triangles of rainbow fell in the room: bands of violet and green and orangy-red. They were sliding across the walls, dancing on the floor, on Diana’s arms and hair. It was as if she were sitting in the middle of a kaleidoscope. No wonder the window had sparkled, Cassie thought.
Diana looked up and smiled.
“Come in. I was just getting the soot out of your sweater.”
“Oh. It’s cashmere—”
“I know. It’ll be all right.” Diana took some book that had been open on the window seat and put it into a large cabinet that stood against one wall. Cassie noticed she locked the cabinet afterward. Then she went out with the sweater.
Cassie looked at the window seat curiously. She didn’t see any spot remover. Only a packet of potpourri and what looked like part of somebody’s rock collection.
The room itself was lovely. It managed to combine pretty, antique-looking furniture with modern things, as if the past and the present existed side by side in harmony here.
The hangings on the bed were pale blue with a delicate trailing-vine design, light and airy. On the walls, instead of movie posters or pinups, there were some kind of art prints. The whole place looked—classy. Elegant and artistic, but comfortable, too.
“Do you like those? The prints?”
Cassie turned to find that Diana had noiselessly entered the room again. She nodded, wishing she could think of something intelligent to say to this girl who seemed so far above her. “Who’s in them?” she asked, hoping that wasn’t something she ought to know already.
“They’re Greek gods. Or Greek goddesses, actually. This one’s Aphrodite, the goddess of love. See the cherubs and doves around her?”
Cassie gazed at the woman in the picture, who was reclining on a sort of couch, looking beautiful and indolent. Something about the pose—or maybe it was the exposed bosom—reminded her of Suzan.
“And this is Artemis.” Diana moved to another print. “She was goddess of the hunt. She never married, and if any man saw her bathing, she had him ripped to pieces by her dogs.”
The girl in this picture was slim and lithe, with toned-looking arms and legs. She was kneeling, aiming a bow. Her dark hair fell in tumbled waves down her back, and her face was intense, challenging. Deborah sometimes looked like that, Cassie thought. Then she glanced at the next print and started.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Hera, queen of the gods. She could be—jealous.”
Cassie bet she could. The young woman was tall and proud, with an imperious set to her chin. But it was her eyes that held Cassie. They seemed almost to blaze from the print, full of passion and will and danger. Like a crouching jungle cat . . .
Shuddering uncontrollably, Cassie turned away.
“Are you all right?” Diana asked. Cassie nodded, gulping. Now that she was safe, it was all coming back. Not only the events of the last day, but of the entire last week. All the hurt, all the humiliation. The hanged doll in her locker, the scene in the cafeteria. The rubber snake. The game of keep away with her backpack . . .
“Cassie?” A hand touched her shoulder.
It was too much. Cassie turned around and flung herself into Diana’s arms, bursting into tears.
“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay, really. Don’t worry . . .” Diana held her and patted her back. All the tears Cassie hadn’t been able to release in front of her mother or grandmother were flooding out now. She clung to Diana and sobbed like a little child.
And it was just like the images she’d had in the library. As if she were seven years old and her mother was comforting her. Somehow, Diana made Cassie feel that everything was going to be all right.
Eventually, she slowed to hiccups and sniffles. Finally she lifted her head.
“Tell you what,” Diana said, handing a Kleenex to Cassie. “Why don’t you stay here for dinner? My dad won’t be back until late tonight—he’s a lawyer. I can call a couple of friends and we can order a pizza. How does that sound?”
“Oh—great,” Cassie said, biting her lip. “Really great.”
“You can put on these clothes until yours dry—they’ll be a little big, but not too bad. Come downstairs when you’re ready.” Diana paused, her emerald-green eyes on Cassie’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“No . . . not really, but . . .” Cassie floundered, then shook her head angrily. “It’s only . . . it’s just . . . why are you being so nice to me?” she burst out. It all still seemed like a dream.
Diana stared at her a minute, then she smiled with her eyes, although her lips remained grave. “I don’t know . . . I guess I think you’re nice and you deserve it. I can work on trying to be rotten if you want.”
Cassie shook her head again, but not angrily this time. She felt her own lips twitch.
“And . . .” Diana was looking off into space now, her clear green eyes distant. “We’re all sisters, you know.”
Cassie caught her breath. “Are we?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Diana said firmly, still looking far away. “Yes, we are. In spite of everything.” Then her face changed, and she looked at Cassie. “You can call your mom from this line,” she said, indicating a phone. “I’ll go down and order the pizza.” And just like that, she was gone.
Chapter 9
The girls who came over were named Laurel and Melanie. Laurel was the girl Cassie had seen in the library with Diana. Up close she was very slim, with light-brown hair almost as long as Diana’s and a pretty, pixieish face. She was wearing a floral dress and pink hightops.
“It’s veggie pizza, isn’t it?” she said, kicking the door shut behind he
r because she was carrying a stack of Tupperware containers in her arms. “You didn’t order any patriarchal pepperoni, did you?”
“No meat,” Diana assured her, opening the door again to reveal another girl standing there patiently.
“Oops—sorry!” Laurel shouted on her way to the kitchen. “I’ve got stuff here for a salad.”
Diana and the new girl turned as one to shout, “No tofu!”
“It’s just veggies and greens,” Laurel’s voice floated back. Diana and the new girl exchanged looks of relief.
Cassie was fighting shyness. The new girl was definitely a senior, tall and beautiful in a sophisticated way. Her smooth cap of chestnut hair was pulled back with an Alice band, and under it her gray eyes were cool and assessing. She was the only person Cassie had ever seen who looked as if she were wearing glasses when she wasn’t.
“This is Melanie,” Diana said. “She lives on this same road at Number Four. Melanie, this is Cassie Blake—she just moved into Number Twelve. Mrs. Howard’s her grandmother.”
The thoughtful gray eyes were turned on Cassie, then Melanie nodded. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Cassie said, glad she’d had a bath and hoping Diana’s clothes didn’t look too silly on her.
“Melanie’s our brain,” Diana said fondly. “She’s devastatingly smart. And she knows everything there is to know about computers.”
“Not everything,” Melanie said without smiling. “Sometimes I think not anything.” She looked at Diana. “You know, I overheard some whispers about a Cassie, and something to do with Faye, but nobody would tell me more.”
“I know. I only found out about it today. Maybe I’m out of touch with what’s really going on in school—but you should have told me you’d heard something, at least.”
“You can’t fight everybody’s battles, Diana.”
Diana just looked at her, then shook her head slightly. “Cassie, why don’t you go in and help Laurel with the salad? You’ll like Laurel; she’s a junior like you.”
In the kitchen Laurel was standing in front of a counter full of vegetables, chopping away.
“Diana said I should help you.”
Laurel turned. “Good! You can wash that shepherd’s purse over there—it’s fresh, so it’s probably got some native wildlife crawling on it.”
Shepherd’s purse? Cassie looked at several piles of greenery doubtfully. Was this something she ought to know?
“Uh . . . this?” she said, picking up a dark green triangular leaf with a mealy white underside.
“No, that’s wild spinach.” Laurel gestured with her elbow to a pile of long, slender leaves with ragged edges. “That’s the shepherd’s purse. But you can wash them both.”
“Do you ever use—uh, feverfew—in salads?” Cassie asked hesitantly as she washed. She was glad to have something to contribute. These girls were so smart, so competent, so together; she desperately wanted to make a good impression.
Laurel smiled and nodded. “Yes, but you have to be careful not to eat too much; you can get a rash. Feverfew’s good for other things, too; it makes a good wash for insect bites and a great love—” Laurel broke off suddenly and went into a flurry of chopping. “There, this burnet is ready. It’s good to get these greens fresh, you know,” she added quickly, “because they taste better and they’re still full of life from Mother Earth.”
Cassie glanced at her warily. Maybe this girl wasn’t so together after all. Full of life from Mother Earth? But then, suddenly, she recalled that day when she had leaned against the red granite and felt a buzzing deep inside it. When she’d imagined she’d felt that, rather. Yes, she could see how you might think that fresh plants were full of that life.
“Okay, this is done. You can tell Di and Melanie it’s ready; I’ll get some plates,” Laurel said.
Cassie went back into the spacious front room. Melanie and Diana were absorbed in conversation, and neither of them saw her come up behind them.
“. . . picking her up like a puppy off the street. You’re always doing that,” Melanie was saying earnestly, and Diana was listening with her arms folded. “But what’s going to happen later—?”
She broke off as Diana saw Cassie and touched her forearm.
“It’s ready,” Cassie said, feeling awkward. Had they been talking about her? Calling her a puppy off the street? But it hadn’t been Diana saying that; only Melanie. She told herself that she didn’t care what Melanie thought.
The cool gray eyes weren’t unfriendly, though, as Melanie looked at her while they ate the salad. Only—thoughtful. And when the pizza came, Cassie had to admire the ease with which the other three girls laughed and talked with the college-age delivery guy. He got so interested in Melanie that he practically invited himself inside, but Diana, laughing, shut the door on him.
Afterward, Melanie told several amusing stories about her trip to Canada over the summer, and Cassie almost forgot about the remark. It was so good just to be surrounded by easy, friendly talk; not to feel shut out. And to be here by Diana’s invitation, to see Diana smiling at her . . . she still could scarcely believe it.
When she was getting ready to leave, though, she got a shock. Diana handed her a neat pile of clothes—the gray sweater showed no trace of soot now—and said, “I’ll take you home. Don’t worry about your grandma’s car. If you give me the keys, I’ll have Chris Henderson drive it to your place.”
Cassie froze in the act of handing over the keys. “Henderson? You mean—you don’t mean one of the Henderson brothers.”
Diana smiled as she unlocked the Integra. “So you’ve heard of them. Chris is nice, really, just a little wild. Don’t worry.”
As they drove off, Cassie remembered that the one playing keep away with her backpack had been called Doug, not Chris. But she still couldn’t help feeling alarmed.
“We all know each other out here on Crowhaven Road,” Diana explained in a comforting tone. “See, there’s Laurel’s house, and the next one is Faye’s. The kids who grew up here sort of stick together. It’ll be okay.”
“Stick together?” Cassie had a sudden, disturbing idea.
“Yes.” Diana’s voice was deliberately light. “We’ve got a sort of club . . .”
“The Club?” Cassie was so appalled she interrupted. “You mean—you’re in it too? You and Laurel and Melanie?”
“Mm,” Diana said. “Well, here’s your house. I’ll call you tomorrow—maybe I could come over. And we can carpool to school on Monday . . .” She stopped at the expression on Cassie’s face. “What is it, Cassie?” she said gently.
Cassie was shaking her head. “I don’t know . . . yes, I do know. I told you how I heard Faye and Suzan and Deborah talking the first day of school—that was how all the trouble started. I heard the kind of things they said, and I know they’re in the Club. And it was so awful. . . . I don’t see how you could be in a club like that, with them.”
“It isn’t what you think . . .” Diana’s gentle voice trailed off. “And I can’t really explain. But I’ll tell you this—don’t judge the Club by Faye. Although there’s a lot of good in Faye too, if you look for it.”
Cassie thought you would have to look with a scanning electron microscope to find it. After a moment, she said so.
Diana laughed. “No, really. I’ve known her since we were babies. We’ve all known each other that long out here.”
“But . . .” Cassie looked at her worriedly. “Aren’t you afraid of her? Don’t you think she might try to do something terrible to you?”
“No,” Diana said. “I don’t think so. For one thing, she’s—made a sort of promise not to. And for another”—she looked at Cassie almost apologetically, although a smile was tugging at the corner of her lips—“well, don’t hate me, but Faye happens to be my first cousin.”
Cassie gaped.
“We’re mostly cousins up here,” Diana said softly. “Sometimes second and third, and all that, but lots even closer. Here’s some herb tea Laurel made up for me ov
er the summer,” she added, putting something in Cassie’s hand. “Drink some tonight if you’ve been having trouble sleeping. It ought to help. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
...
When Diana appeared at the door, her hair was pulled back in one long, exquisite French braid. It hung down like a silk tassel. She had a packet of good-smelling dried leaves wrapped in cheesecloth in one hand.
“You said your mom had the flu, so I brought some tea for her. It’s good for coughs and chills. Did you try that tea I gave you last night?”
Cassie nodded. “I couldn’t believe it. I went right to sleep and woke up this morning feeling great. What was in it?”
“Well, for one thing, ground-up catnip,” Diana said, and then smiled at Cassie’s reaction. “Don’t worry; it doesn’t have the same effect on humans as on cats. It’s just relaxing.”
Was that what Diana had been doing that first morning Cassie had seen her? Making some kind of tea? Cassie didn’t quite dare to admit she’d been spying that day, but she was pleased when Diana said she’d like to make the tea and give it to Cassie’s mother personally.
“It’s a simple herb and gem elixir for chills,” she said quietly to Mrs. Blake, and there was something reassuring about her voice. Cassie’s mother hesitated a moment, then reached for the cup. She tasted it, and then looked up and smiled at Diana. Cassie felt warm all over.
Even Cassie’s grandmother’s seamed old face broke into a smile at the sight of Diana as she passed the two girls walking down the hall to Cassie’s room.
“It must be great to have a grandmother like that,” Diana said. “She must be full of old stories.”
Cassie was relieved. She’d been afraid that Diana wouldn’t be able to see past the mole and the stooped back and the coarse, grizzled hair. “She is pretty great,” she said, marveling at how much her own attitude had changed since that first day when she’d seen the figure in the doorway. “And it’s nice to finally get to know her, since she’s the only relative I have left. All my other grandparents are dead.”
