From Bad to Cursed

by Katie Alender

  She could have been sixteen or twenty-five—it was so hard to tell in old pictures.

  But I knew the face.

  It was Tashi.

  “Are you ready?” Farrin asked, hanging up the phone.

  “Actually,” I said, “I…”

  She came over to me and, in a gesture that felt almost maternal, tucked my hair behind my ear. “Of course you’re ready, Alexis.”

  I felt myself smiling. “Yes,” I said. Of course I was ready.

  WE WENT THROUGH my film from the football game and printed two pictures for the final interview. I wondered what Jared would say if he knew I had Farrin’s help.

  But then, Farrin was really the least of my advantages, wasn’t she?

  Carter called a few times. I let the calls go to voice-mail. When I got home, I found that he’d left two messages at the house, but they were lighthearted “call if you get a chance” messages, so I wasn’t worried.

  I lay in bed that night, staring at the clock for a while before drifting into a light sleep. I’d always been a solid-eight-hours kind of girl, but that wasn’t the case anymore. Now I basically had to force myself to stay in bed if I’d gotten more than five. In the beginning, I’d suspected that Kasey was sneaking sleeping pills or something. Now I knew the truth.

  I awoke suddenly at the sound of a light click. My feet hit the floor, and my eyes hit the numbers on the clock—2:17—and I was on my way to the hall when I ran into something:

  A box.

  It was the size of a shoe box, but taller, wrapped in silver paper with a silky pink ribbon tied around it.

  I froze and looked around my room—suddenly realizing how many pockets of darkness were hidden amid the furniture.

  “Hello?” I whispered.

  No one answered.

  Lightly pushing the box out of the way with my foot, I reached for my bedroom door and pulled it open.

  My breath felt as shallow as a bird’s as I walked down the hall. From the end of the hallway, the main room seemed vast and empty. I switched on the lights and looked around.

  Finally, I went back toward my room, stepping inside and reaching down to move the box.

  It was gone.

  I straightened up. And someone grabbed my shoulder.

  A yelp almost escaped my mouth when I heard a familiar voice in my ear.

  “Don’t be frightened…it’s just me.”

  “Carter?” I whispered, spinning around and shutting the door so my parents wouldn’t hear us. I flipped on the lamp to see him standing right behind me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to drop this off,” he said, passing the gift to me. His wide blue eyes seemed to track even my tiniest movements. “I didn’t think you’d wake up.”

  “How did you get inside?” I asked, plunking the package gracelessly on the bed.

  “I have a spare key, remember?” he asked.

  “That’s for emergencies!”

  “This is an emergency,” he said, giving me a mischievous smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “A happy emergency.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Aren’t you going to unwrap it?” he asked.

  My mouth open in disbelief, I sank onto the bed and helplessly reached for the box. I knew what it was as soon as I peeled the paper off: a digital camera. A really nice one. More megapixels even than Daffodil/Delilah’s.

  For about thirty seconds I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “It’s a blender,” he said. “What does it look like?”

  “No, but I mean…where did you get it?” Based on the miniscule research I’d done when I signed up for photography class, I estimated this camera’s cost in the twelve- to fifteen-hundred-dollar range.

  “Jeff’s Cameras, out on Langford Street,” he said. His expression was alert but oddly unchanging, like a mask or a mannequin. Or a Ken doll.

  His straightforward answers set sirens wailing in my head. “Carter,” I said. “Why did you bring this here?”

  Finally I’d stumped him. “Because…it’s…for you.”

  “You bought this?” I asked. He nodded. “With what money?”

  “I have a savings account,” he said. “Don’t worry. I still have plenty of money. I can buy you whatever you want, Lex.”

  Oh my God.

  Oh my God oh my God oh my God.

  “I can’t accept this,” I said, shoving the box into his hands. “This is not okay. You have to take it back. And you have to leave right now, before my parents wake up.”

  He took the box and gave me a quirky smile. “I watched you sleep for a couple of minutes. You’re really pretty when you sleep.”

  The air between us seemed to waver.

  “You can’t do this,” I said, my voice hardly more than a breath. “Please. You have to go. You can’t come here. You can’t”—I could hardly say it—“watch me sleep.”

  For the first time, he seemed bothered by what I was saying. His forehead wrinkled.

  “I brought you a very nice gift,” he said, an impatient, childish edge creeping into his voice. “And you didn’t even say thank you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Now you have to go.”

  His lip curled in annoyance. “Not like that, Lex. Not just a throwaway thank you. I mean, I went to all the trouble to go out there and get it and buy the wrapping paper and—”

  “Thank you,” I said, to stem the rising volume of his voice. “Thank you, Carter, it was very sweet.”

  It worked well enough—barely. He was still agitated as I steered him down the hallway and opened the front door.

  “You have to go,” I said. “Please take the camera with you.”

  He gazed down at it, expressionless.

  “And you have to give me the key back, Carter,” I said. “You can’t do stuff like this.”

  His face fell, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out his key chain. He unhooked the key from it and handed it to me.

  “Never again,” I said. “I mean it.”

  “Do you want a ride to school in the morning?” he asked. “I can drive you.”

  “Megan takes me to school,” I said. “You know that.”

  “But I’m your boyfriend,” he said. “You always see Megan. And you’re too busy for me.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

  He smiled, finally happy again. Then he held out the box. “But this is for you.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t want it. Take it back. Please.”

  “Fine,” he said, heading toward his car, which he’d parked in the driveway. But he didn’t stop at the driver’s door. He went around the back and set the box on the ground behind one of the tires.

  “What are you doing?” I followed him down the driveway.

  “I don’t need a camera,” he said, climbing into the car and turning it on. “And now you won’t have to worry about it.”

  He was going to destroy it?

  “Come on, don’t,” I said, looking through his open window. “This is crazy!”

  He shifted into reverse.

  “Stop it, Carter!” I cried.

  He paused, then spoke to me as if I were a kid who needed to be taught a lesson. “Then go pick it up, Lex. I told you—it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

  I hesitated, then ran to the back of the car and swiped the box to safety. I held it, panting, as Carter backed smoothly out onto the road.

  He watched me walk to the front door, then blew me a kiss and drove away.

  I lay in bed, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling. I’d tucked the camera between the bed and the wall and tried to go back to sleep, but my ability to do so had apparently left the building with Carter. Not that I was tired.

  Except for all the obvious reasons why I knew I shouldn’t feel fine, I felt fine.

  Dad came to the door. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I said.
/>   “Do you have a meeting this morning or something?”

  “No,” I said. “Why?”

  “Because Carter’s parked out front, and I thought you might have forgotten. You know how he’s too polite to honk.”

  I glanced at the clock.

  It was 7:20. Twenty minutes earlier than when we usually left.

  I knocked on the bathroom door, and Kasey stuck her head out.

  “I have to go to school early,” I said. “Tell Megan, okay?”

  She nodded, curious but wordless.

  I couldn’t find my cell phone, but I didn’t have time to look for it. I grabbed my book bag and walked slowly across the street to Carter’s silent car. He hurried to open the door for me, then gave me a kiss on the cheek. He made happy small talk the whole ride to school, but I could hardly hear it over the commotion of my own thoughts.

  When we pulled into the parking lot, I reached for my door and unlocked it.

  He reached down and hit the lock button again.

  I didn’t want to make too big of a deal out of it, so I looked out the windshield at the school building.

  “I’m just curious,” he said. “Who’s Jared Elkins?”

  “What?”

  “Jared Elkins?” he said, taking my cell phone out of his pocket. “You talked to him Friday night for ten minutes. Which is weird, because…you wouldn’t answer when I called.”

  “You took my phone?”

  “Who is he, Lex?”

  Every muscle, every cell in my body was on high alert. “He’s from the photography contest,” I said. “He’s nobody.”

  “Nobody,” Carter said, pressing his lips together.

  We stared at each other for a few seconds, then Carter relaxed.

  “I believe you,” he said, smiling and unlocking the door.

  I grabbed my phone, half expecting him to close his hand over it. But he didn’t. He let it go easily.

  “Carter…what’s going on with you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fantastic, because I’m here with you.” I flinched as he reached his hand up to caress my cheek, smiling his relaxed smile. “It’s no big deal, Lex. I just wondered.”

  “Wow.” Megan had listened with wide, sympathetic eyes. Then she took a bite of her salad and gave me a half-cringing smile. “Well, Lex…you did kind of talk to that guy after blowing Carter off.”

  I sat back.

  “Think about it. He spends all that money to buy you this super-expensive gift. And you won’t answer the phone when he calls?” She stared at the veneer of the cafeteria table. “I think you might actually owe him an apology.”

  “That’s”—I tried to think of a word that was strong enough yet still within the boundaries of politeness—“nuts.”

  “Is it?” she asked, her voice cooling. She sat back and patted her hair. “Why don’t you think about it this way? What would Aralt want you to do?”

  What would Aralt want? “He would want me to not be totally freaked out by my boyfriend.”

  “Yes,” Megan said. “And how do you do that?”

  I stared at her. I had no idea—aside from breaking up with Carter. Talking hadn’t worked, although he had, at my request, sat with his guy friends at lunch that day.

  “Easy, Lex.” She poked the air with the tines of her fork. “You focus on making yourself a better girlfriend.”

  I blew a puff of air out of my nose.

  “Don’t be like that,” she said. “You don’t even know how lucky you are. He adores you. He’s, like, totally obsessed with you. Just look at him.”

  I swung my head around in the direction of Carter’s table.

  He was sitting in the very middle of the group. But all he was doing was staring directly at me.

  AT THE MONDAY afternoon meeting, I avoided eye contact with Tashi. I felt Kasey’s presence in the corner of the room like a splinter; suddenly I wondered how I’d never noticed how foreign she was, how different.

  As I expected, I got called out in Betterment for Friday night’s wardrobe malfunction. Megan got called out too, for speaking disrespectfully to her grandmother in public.

  As soon as we got home, I closed myself off in my bedroom while Kasey went to study—since she had to, obviously. I dodged a couple of phone calls from Carter and ate silently enough to attract my parents’ concerned attention. I mumbled an excuse about cramps, and hid out in my room afterward while they watched some lame reality show.

  I couldn’t get that thirty-year-old picture of Tashi out of my mind.

  Just as the stars were beginning to appear, I slipped on a pair of shoes and headed for the front door.

  My mother asked if it was safe to walk alone at night. I’ll be fine, said the voice. “I’ll be fine,” I said. And then no one tried to stop me. I headed down the front steps and farther into the white maw of Silver Sage Acres.

  A Sunshine Club girl would never hurt another Sunshine Club girl.

  I repeated that to myself, almost like a mantra, all the way to Tashi’s house.

  But as I walked up to the door of #133, my whole body thrummed with adrenaline.

  My heart sank in my chest. All the lights were off.

  I rang the doorbell anyway, just to be sure.

  After giving it another minute, I turned to go.

  Then I stopped. Tashi said her house had the same layout as mine.

  Which meant hers also had that one window in the back where you could knock the latch open by hip-checking it just right. We had it. The Munyons had it. In fact, Mrs. Munyon was the one who taught me how to do it, the time I locked myself out.

  I started for the side gate.

  My heart slammed against my rib cage, but I told myself, over and over: We don’t get caught. We don’t get caught. We don’t get caught. Fortunately, to give some semblance of privacy, the fences were tall and solid, so none of the neighbors would see me sneaking around.

  I gave the window a healthy bump, and the latch came unfastened. I opened it and hesitated.

  If there was an alarm system, I could end up in jail. And if Tashi really was some kind of supernatural being and found out I knew her secrets…it might mean something worse than jail. Sunshine Club rules or no.

  I swung my leg inside. But as soon as I got through the window, I felt the magnitude of my mistake.

  The house was empty.

  I mean, someone clearly lived there, but not in the conventional sense. Even the most basic situation would involve some type of furniture—a ratty La-Z-Boy, a mouse-infested couch.…But where my family had a couch and loveseat and entertainment center and coffee table and a couple of potted plants, here there was only a small piano against the far wall.

  Other than that…nothing.

  One of the kitchen lights was on, casting a dim glow on the counter. Sitting on the tile was Tashi’s red and white flag from the football game.

  Forget the lies about her mother holding dinner for her. Was she even paying to live here, or had she crawled in the back window and set up shop?

  I went farther into the room, flinching as my footsteps echoed off the bare walls. A quick trip around the kitchen revealed more of the same barrenness, which had a distinct air of transience—no garbage can, just a plastic grocery bag hooked over a drawer handle. No kitchen towels—just a roll of paper towels lying on the counter.

  I opened the fridge and recoiled. It was packed full of protein shakes, giant blocks of cheese, and meat—every imaginable kind of meat. Whole chickens, steaks, slabs of ribs, tubes of ground beef, a dozen bulk packages of hot dogs, half-full deli containers of tuna salad, all wedged in like Tetris blocks.

  More food than my family could eat in a month.

  I shut the door and wandered out of the kitchen toward the darkness of the hall.

  The first bedroom was empty. The second bedroom was empty.

  The master bedroom door was closed.

  I cranked the knob and pushed the door open.

  In a horror movie, this room would
have been draped in black velvet and lit by a thousand dripping, flickering candles. There would be an altar in the center of the room and shelves full of potions and evil talismans.

  But I was just looking at another empty room. In the far corner was a rumpled sleeping bag. No sheets. Not even a pillow.

  The bathroom counter held the bare essentials of a makeup kit. The shower door was open, revealing a bottle of shampoo, a disposable razor, and a bar of soap. A single towel was slung over the bar. There were no rugs or bath mats.

  The closet was open. Except for a neat row of still-price-tagged clothes, a pile of dirty laundry, and a tidy line of shoes, it was empty. I peeked around at the shelves that I knew were behind the door.

  On the third one from the bottom, just lying there in its blue wrapper, was the book.

  Before I could lose my nerve, I tucked it under my arm and stepped out of the closet. I carried it to the kitchen counter, where I unwrapped it.

  I cursed myself for not bringing my camera. Instead, I pulled out my cell phone and flipped the book open, using the edges of the blue velvet to touch the pages. They had an unsettling habit of falling open and staying that way, like they were weighted.

  I started taking pictures with my phone. They’d be blurry and low-res, but it was better than nothing.

  The end of the book was actually two pages that had been blank once, but were now covered in names—women’s names, handwritten in as many types of ink and styles of print and script as there were names.

  Almost like a sign-up sheet.

  I raised my phone and took a picture.

  One of the names, written in a flowery script, caught my eye: Suzette Skalaski.

  I set down my phone and stared at it for a moment, trying to remember why it sounded familiar.

  Suddenly, I heard a noise outside and saw the taillights of a car through the frosted glass of the foyer window. The high, happy sound of voices exchanging good-byes hit my ears.

  I slammed the book shut, threw the wrap around it, and ran for the hallway, smashing my shoulder into the wall as I went. I dashed into the master bedroom closet, shoved the book back on the shelf and looked around.