by Abigail Boyd
"Claire wants her necklace," I said from the doorway. I leaned against the frame, the latch biting my lower back. "The one you bought her last Christmas."
He dropped the sides of the tie and rummaged around in her jewelry box. He tossed me the glittery object, then resumed his place before the mirror.
"What's the big deal?" I asked. "Why do you guys look like you're going ballroom dancing?"
It must have been really important—Hugh hated wearing ties. The dog collar of the Man, in his opinion.
"You know how I've been trying to wrangle Deborah Strait for months?" he asked.
"Vaguely. She's the lady who paints sad dog faces, right?" I sat on the edge of their black and white bedspread.
"Spirit animals," Hugh said, rolling his eyes a little. "They're very popular. Anyway, Gwen worked her magic, and Deborah has finally agreed to have a few of her paintings shown at Erasmus."
Gwen Walls was his assistant at the gallery. She probably should have been co-owner, considering how much time and work she put into its success. She often put in longer hours than my father, traveling to different states to find unique, fresh pieces.
"That means press and attention," he continued. "Not to mention a little more money coming our way."
He had finally finished (or given up on) his tie, although it still hung unevenly. "We're going out to celebrate. Which means you have"—he shrugged his suit sleeve down and checked his watch—"Twenty minutes to get ready."
"Are we going anywhere fancy?"
"Just Blind Devil. If you behave yourself, I might even green light mozzarella sticks."
"I'll be on my best behavior," I said, propelling myself off of the bed before I got too comfortable.
"Wear your black dress, Claire likes that one," he coached.
"Too bad you got rid of that spiffy blue suit," I teased. He glared at me. "What? It would have been perfect for celebrating."
I brought the necklace back down to Claire, who was busy carefully applying an O of red lipstick in the bad light of the downstairs bathroom. I couldn't remember the last time we'd gone out as a family. Over a year ago, at least.
Taking the world's quickest shower, I fled down two flights with wet hair to get dressed. Blowing my hair as dry as I could in five minutes, I finally settled on throwing it up in an old butterfly clip. A few wisps escaped and frizzed around my face.
When I was finished and rejoined my mother, Claire was rummaging through her expensive leather purse. She looked up and studied my appearance, squinting when she noticed the frizzy halo.
"Why don't you put on Grandma's necklace? You haven't worn it once yet." She seemed hurt, like I had rejected her gift.
"I didn't want to lose it at school. The clasp seems a little flimsy." Both statements were true; I was frightened that if anything happened to the necklace, Claire would kick me out on the street.
I went down and retrieved the old chocolates box on top of my dresser where I kept my jewelry. A fine layer of dust had settled on top. Inside, the necklace lay in the white box I'd received it in. The green stone glittered, darker than I remembered it.
I put it around my neck and secured the tricky hook and eye clasp. It was heavier than it appeared, even with the delicate silver chain. The oblong pendant fell in a flattering way just above the cleavage I hoped to have someday.
Claire was sitting on the recliner, engrossed in the five o'clock news. She was playing with the rhinestones on her necklace, and I stood beside her to glimpse what was so interesting.
A pixelated photo of a little girl was splashed across the screen, her smile revealing a missing front tooth.
"Alyssa Chapman was last seen in a blue raincoat and galoshes outside of Three Fires Middle School on Monday," the reporter said. They showed a shot of people milling in front of the school, then one of the mother's scared face as she answered questions from reporters.
"I heard about that at Hawthorne," I murmured.
Claire ingested every word as the reporter spoke, hardly aware she was still jangling her rhinestones. "That's your old middle school."
"I know."
"It's just so sad," she said, her hand plucking at the skin of her throat. "Her mother must be so frightened."
Hugh appeared, swiftly aiming the remote at the screen and flicking it off. A ghost of the image remained for a second. Claire and I looked at Hugh. He was no longer wearing a tie.
"Dinner," he said. "I'm starving."
###
Blind Devil was Hugh's favorite restaurant, casual and greasy. It was always packed on the weekends, but it wasn't too bad this evening. There were actually empty parking spaces in the small lot.
"Since I only have this one dress, can we finally go shopping?" I asked Claire as Hugh navigated into a narrow space. I didn't bring up my need for fashionable gym attire.
Claire's attention seemed to be miles away. She stared out of the window at other cars. "Of course."
It was the usual someday way she spoke in when she didn't want to deal with the issue at hand.
"I'm just saying, I can't sew. And I can't exactly make new clothes out of notebook paper and tape."
"Speaking of which, how is art class going?" Hugh asked, looking at me in the rear view mirror as the engine cut off. His seat belt clicked open.
"Oh, delightfully," I said flatly.
"Don't get too excited, Ariel," Hugh said sarcastically.
"You know me, the born artiste."
"And I have the candy dishes to prove it." The problem was, I didn't know if he was entirely kidding.
Blind Devil took being in Hell as seriously as the next small business. A child-sized red imp wearing a waiter's costume was positioned in the front window, holding up a tray of neon flames. Red lights shaped like chili peppers hung around the frame, offering a warning about spicy dishes.
All the waitresses wore shiny red horns and pointed triangle tails poked out of their black pants.
"I always forget how classy this place is," Claire said. "I hope I'm not under dressed."
"Oh, shush," Hugh said, squeezing her hand fondly. "You know you like their food. It's better than that awful French place."
"Andiamo is not awful," Claire argued, squeezing his hand back. "It's haute cuisine."
"It is a guaranteed trip to the bathroom," Hugh said.
"Ew." I wrinkled my nose.
In the waiting area, red wallpaper was crowded with photos of people posing in Blind Devil bibs. A wall of shame, really. I sat down and watched a few mammoth black koi swimming around in the ceiling-tall fish tank.
Soon we were seated at a booth, where the bubbly blonde waitress distributed our menus, replete with orange foil flames.
"I'll be back when you guys have decided," she said cheerfully, ponytail swishing. "Take your time."
As I skimmed down the list, I read off the Halloween-themed titles that were much like the offerings in the Hawthorne cafeteria line. I decided on banshee hair, a safe bet since I knew it was plain fettuccine alfredo. After the waitress had returned and taken our orders and menus, Hugh and Claire exchanged stories about work.
Hugh mentioned how sales at the gallery were up the last few months. Claire started grilling him about who was doing their taxes next year. The same boring stuff they always talked about. I wondered how adults got through the day without falling asleep.
The waitress delivered our steaming plates of food. For a while, we made ourselves busy eating, Claire picking like a bird as usual and Hugh and me shoveling in forkfuls. The conversation flitted to the upcoming holiday.
"So many people already have decorations up," Hugh said, looking genuinely distraught. "I'm running behind this year."
For someone with artistic sensibilities, Hugh had a strange devotion to tacky lawn decorations, especially in celebration of Halloween and Christmas. Boxes upon boxes cluttered the shed and the basement, and he spent countless, dedicated hours every year adjusting ligh
ts and hanging skeletons.
"Just remember, no fog machine this year," Claire said, pointing her fork at him. "The neighborhood moms said it gave their kids allergy symptoms."
"Wimps," Hugh muttered. "I want first prize this year."
"The trees haven't even started to change yet," I groaned, making a line of artificial sweetener packets next to my plate.
"And yet everyone else is getting a foothold," Hugh countered.
"Don't any of these people realize how much they're acting like kids?" I asked.
"It's not like we instantly go gray and can only watch public television when we hit twenty," Claire said in a grouchy tone.
"Acting ridiculous is part of the fun," Hugh said. "Kids and adults aren't so different, hon. You'll see when you get there."
I was waiting, biding my time, until I finally felt like I had enough courage to ask them about the— gasp—boy who wanted to be my tutor. I hadn't told them a thing about Henry Rhodes up until now.
"I got my second math quiz back," I began.
Claire looked worried. "And...? How did you do?"
"Not great. D."
She clucked her tongue, letting out a sound between a grunt and a groan. "Ariel, that's far too low..."
"But!" I said, trying to stop the lecture before it got rolling, "Mr. Vanderlip, my teacher, suggested a tutor. And I've already found somebody willing to help."
"What's her name? How are her marks? Is she a senior?" Claire fired rapidly.
"You have the mouth of a cannon, woman," Hugh said, staring at her in bewilderment. "How about you give her a chance to answer a question before you ask another one?"
Both of them looked at me expectantly. "Uh, his name is Henry. He's in my grade. But he's really smart, and he offered...."
"You want a boy to come over and tutor?" Claire asked, surprised. She dabbed her lips with her napkin.
I was prepared for that reaction. "Yes. It is a coed school, believe it or not."
"I just meant, this isn't some cover-up for a date, is it?"
"Is he your boyfriend, Ariel?" Hugh asked, smirking in a condescending way that irritated me. I shoved my fork back into the twisted mass of noodles.
"No. He's just a boy. Kind of a friend. And I would prefer not to fail."
They exchanged a glance, the sort of soundless communication that passed between them often and drove me nuts. As if they spoke on a higher frequency that I was not allowed to hear.
"He's in all my Honors classes," I continued. I found myself a little desperate to get their approval. "So I know he's intelligent. And like I said, he offered."
I realized I hadn't asked Henry about whether or not he wanted to be paid, but I decided to gloss over that part. "And he said he'd do it for free," I finished.
"Well, if you really feel like you need the help," Hugh said.
"Hugh..." Claire started, but my dad put his hand on her shoulder. More wordless conversing.
"As long as your father meets him first," Claire amended.
I nodded. Distracted now by their reaction and my own thoughts, I raised a fork to my mouth but spilled the contents on the front of my dress.
"Crap." I dipped my napkin in my water glass and started to pat it on the stain, but I could already tell it was setting into an oily splotch.
I excused myself to go scrub it off. Claire almost stood up to go with me, but I gave her a stern no look.
"I can handle going to the potty by myself, thank you." She lowered herself back down to the seat and resumed picking at her plate.
In the dimly lit restroom, I wet a handful of paper towels and scrubbed the stain vigorously. I couldn't tell if I'd gotten the grease out, since now the entire front of my dress was wet.
A burst of heat erupted from my necklace. It was so sudden and unexpected that I gasped, wrapping my hand around the stone. It heated up again, less warm this time, but still noticeable against my palm. Definitely a weird sensation for a piece of jewelry.
I heard something out in the hall. A shadow glided past in the crack beneath the door. Gently inching the door open, I peered into the dark wood-paneled hallway, which was lit only by small, red lamps above. A figure cloaked in shadow was rounding the corner at the end of the hall. It was a man, I could tell by his shape beneath the bulky coat, but I couldn't see his face.
I could have gone right, back into the dining area towards my parents' table. But it was like some force was pulling me the other way, telling me to follow the mysterious man in the coat.
Creeping down the hall, careful to keep quiet, I navigated around the corner. I saw another, narrower hallway with doors down the right side and a door at the end. I couldn't stop walking, even though I was fearful of being caught. The pulling sensation was palpable, like I could reach out and grab the invisible rope that had ensnared me. The person in the coat had disappeared, but I knew he was behind the last door.
Voices spoke in a low register beyond the door. I peered behind my shoulder to make sure I was alone, my heart speeding up. I put my ear to the wood, thinking of the odd whispers behind the basement access door at school. At least there were people here and not just my imagination.
"Were you followed?" A gravely voice whispered on the other side. My heart skipped a beat. Whoever these people were, they might have already found me out. I forced my breathing to slow so they wouldn't hear it.
"No. I made sure." That must have been the voice of the shadow man I followed.
"You're absolutely certain?"
"I'm not an idiot," the shadow man growled, and I realized with a chill that it was Principal McPherson's voice. I recognized it from the morning announcements.
"That's still up for debate," said a female voice. It shocked me that anyone would talk to McPherson that way, without getting a detention. "Do we have clearance?"
"As much as I can manage," McPherson said.
Another of their voices sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't place it because it was so quiet. "That's not good enough," the person barked. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. "It has to be absolutely clean. No tracks."
They seemed to be talking in code, of a sort. It could have been my paranoia, too.
"It will be," McPherson said. "No one will know. No one knew before, did they?"
"Make sure that's the case this time. Go now."
I panicked, scrambling backwards down the hall. Turning around, I tripped over my feet as I ran. I heard the door creak open the second after I'd cleared the corner. I could only hope he hadn't seen me, but I knew I was cutting it close.
I arrived back at my family's table out of breath. Swinging into the seat, I sat on my damp napkin and groaned.
"You were gone a while. We were going to send out a search party," Hugh quipped. Claire, in the middle of texting, shot him a dirty look. The reference to Jenna completely sailed over my father's head, but I was too preoccupied to be offended. All of our food was already boxed up in a neat Styrofoam tower.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as McPherson went out the back exit, the dark trench coat he was wearing hunched up on his shoulders. The bell attached to the door dinged as he slipped outside. The restaurant was half-full of dinner patrons, but not one of them besides me noticed him.
"There was a line in the bathroom. For the bathroom," I lied clumsily. They seemed to accept it without question, however, and we slipped into our coats.
As we were gathering our things to leave, I realized the necklace had gone back to room temperature. It felt weightless now.
CHAPTER 9
THEO VISITED MY side of the fence the next day, coming in to meet Hugh. She was empty handed, even though I had pestered her to bring her portfolio or one of her rapidly-filling sketchbooks.
My dad had come home from the Halloween store with bags of skulls and tombstones. Skeletal lawn flamingos poked out of one sack. He was well on his way to outdoing himself this year, not to mention all the totes he h
ad dragged out on the yard. Currently, he was trying to untangle a strand of orange and black lights in the living room.
"Don't worry, I don't bite," Hugh said to a shy Theo. He shook the lights again, arms flapping up and down like a bird learning how to fly. He honestly didn't realize how ridiculous he looked. "I would really like to see your work, Theo. Ariel's been going on and on about your talent."
I shrugged, giving her a sheepish look.
"I hope she didn't brag me up too much," Theo said. She opened one of the bags of tiny plastic skulls and started making a circle of them on the dinner table.
"I bragged just enough," I said. Hugh smiled, distracted, and took the twisted lights out the front door, ignoring Claire's carpet rules. He started stringing them up on the front bushes.
"Did you talk to Henry yet?" Theo asked me. The circle had changed into a triangle.
"No. I don't think I'm going to." I had lost my nerve when I'd gotten home. It seemed more like a fantasy, even if I'd gotten my parents' okay. Henry's number had gone into the top drawer of my nightstand instead of into my phone.
"Why not?" she asked. "I thought you might jump on his offer. Or on him."
"Why did you think that?" I asked, taking other items out of their bags. I busied myself with crumpling the bags into little balls for the recycling bin.
"It just seems like you pay a lot of attention to him," Theo said, shrugging. "That's all. I know mom shouldn't have called you out, but she did have a point."
I winced in embarrassment, and pulled my sleeves over my hands self-consciously.
"No judgment here, though," Theo said quickly. "He's definitely hot. He's also definitely interested."
Hugh looked like he was struggling outside, trying to attach a blow up jack-o-lantern to an air pump. Theo and I went out to help him, abandoning the table graveyard.
After several minutes of struggling between the three of us, Hugh said, "I need to run back to the store. This hose is the wrong width. You girls hold down the fort, I'll be right back."
Backing the Mazda out of the driveway, he took off like a mad man. Theo and I sat in the grass amidst Hugh's boxes of decorations.
"Your dad really gets into Halloween, doesn't he?" Theo asked, studying pen doodles on her sneakers.
"It's pretty common around here."
"So I've noticed."
"I saw something strange last night," I told her.
