Look Both Ways (15 page)

Neely got into her big “limo,” waving.

Merry zipped up her jacket and shoved her hands into the pockets. It was then that she saw Kim Jellico, in the corner made by the last of the eight school entrance doors and the huge circular wall of the theater. Kim wore her hoodie up and had her face turned into the wind.

“Kim,” Merry said softly. Kim didn’t look at her. “You made it! I’m so proud of you. You must be so excited.” Kim didn’t look excited. Merry decided to try an idea. “You know, I just found out the stupidest thing. I’m totally embarrassed because of some of the stuff we say about Coach Everson and guys and stuff in the outfitting room. Did you know there’s a video camera in the ceiling in there? I guess they put it in years ago when someone was stealing someone else’s stuff out of her locker!”

The face Kim turned to Merry was so pale, her blue eyes so streaked with black mascara tears, that Merry nearly jumped back inside the building.

Softly, Kim said, “There’s film of us putting on our uniforms?”

“Out where we put our vests and shoes!”

“That’s on film?” Kim repeated, the wind whipping her honey hair, so like David’s, in blades across her face. “I think that’s illegal.”

“No, it’s public school,” Merry said. “It’s a safety issue. Like in the art room, maybe there’s one where somebody set that fire.”

She was lying, but Kim didn’t know that. And everything Kim had done was plain on her face. Merry softened. “Wait, Kim. What if I said that wasn’t true? What if I said it just because I suspected someone did something bad to Crystal? And maybe you knew about it.”

Kim stared at Meredith. “What do you want me to say?”

“We always told the truth.”

“When we were best friends, Meredith. Now who’s my friend, Merry? Who wants to be friends with the dead boy’s sister? Everyone was so sorry then. Now they treat me like . . . I’m defective. Like I have missing parts.”

“You have new friends,” Merry said weakly.

“Oh yeah. Real friends. They think any girl’s beautiful if her jeans are low enough. And their girlfriends? They’re so stoned that . . .”

“No, Kim!” Involuntarily, Merry reached up and covered her mouth, as if by doing that, she could stop Kim from saying anything more, anything worse. But there was no stopping her.

“Do you think my mom doesn’t know that Campbell took that job in the ER just because she couldn’t stand the sight of my mom suffering? Well, you’re right. She doesn’t know! She doesn’t know anything!” Kim said. “She’s like a zombie! But I know. It’s like we smell. Remember your mother saying it’s just biology? Remember her giving us deodorant? And telling us never to shave our legs above the knees? Remember when she let me sleep over for two weeks, when Mom had her tonsils out? And . . .”

“And how your mom gave us the single pearls on our twelfth birthday and said, now your real life begins? The pearl comes out . . .”

“Of the oyster? And your mom’s French toast!” Kim said.

“And my dad’s horrible omelets?” Merry put her arms out. “Oh, Kimmie,” Merry said. “I’m so sorry. I’m really happy for you about varsity. You didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Maybe it’ll take away . . .” Kim’s face had softened into its former sweetness, but now toughened again. She was so much thinner since David died. Thinner and sharper, hard as an arrowhead.

“Nothing will take anything away. And as for varsity, I don’t deserve it! So don’t worry about it. Don’t even think about it!”

Tim pulled up then. Rolling down the window, he called out, “Do you want a ride, Kim?”

But Kim ran, into the darkness, across the football field toward the thin necklace of lights, more than a mile away, that was Orchard Street, where the Jellicos lived.

Merry called, “Kimmie, wait! It’s dark and getting cold!”

But Kim vanished.

Two hours later, as she lay in bed studying, Meredith’s telephone made the little waterfall sound that signaled a text message. When she opened it, she saw: I QUIT. HAPPY? KIM J.

NO. CL M! Merry texted back, but her phone was already ringing. And it wasn’t Kim.

“Well, hi!” said Coach Everson.

“Hi,” Merry replied, terrified that Coach would grill her about the so-called “hidden cameras.” But she said something else. “We’ve had something unexpected happen, Meredith. I’d like you to consider joining varsity. How would you like that?”

“I . . . don’t know,” Merry said. The dream she had dared to dream came true. Did she even want it? “I know Kim quit.”

“This is an honor, Meredith,” Coach Everson said, an unmistakable filament of steel springing into her voice.

Merry paused. She said, “Thank you. I’m happy. I’m just sorry for Kim.”

“Kim is a very sad young lady right now,” said Coach Everson.

A moment later, Neely called. “I heard! We’re both on varsity! It’s like fate!”

It was just like fate.

In fact, it was fate truly, more than Neely would ever know. But all she could see was Kim’s bone-white face. Mallory was subdued, connecting the dots, and even their parents couldn’t quite celebrate Meredith’s victory, at the expense of Kim’s despair.

“I should call Bonnie,” Campbell said.

“Would you, Mom?” Merry pleaded.

“You have enough on your plate right now,” Tim said. “Later.” Campbell sighed.

Mallory had a boy to dream of and Merry literally was on top of the pyramid. They should have been happy. But as they lay in their room, their secrets seemed to circle them like great black birds.

T
hat Friday evening, Eden and Mallory got into Eden’s old truck and headed for the Deptford Mall for the annual pre-holiday sale. Mallory had decided to buy a black skirt, leggings, and a black sweater.

This was unprecedented.

Even Mally couldn’t believe she was about to spend hard-earned money on clothes. Other girls did this all the time, but Mallory?

As if she could read her mind—and by now, Mally wouldn’t have put that past her—Eden said, “Black’s going to make you look like a widow from Sicily. Or with that freckle face, a widow from Ireland.”

“But I don’t know what colors I like,” Mallory said. “I’ve never bought a skirt and I figured you had to have one black one. I only like maroon and white because it’s the Eighty-Niners colors. And red and green because of Christmas!”

“A little limited, Mally! Did you think about whether you’re a warm or cool-tone person?”

“Huh?”

“Like, you’re a winter color person, but so am I.”

“I so have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I read it in art. You dress yourself like you would compose a painting. Like, you have gray eyes but they’re really dark gray and you have black hair and really fair skin. You don’t have pink skin or blue eyes. And I’m a winter person too because I have dark hair and really dark eyes and dark skin. It’s an intensity thing. Like, I would look really lousy, semi-dead, in orange and brown. I look good in red and white and black and bright emerald green. Not pastel colors. Rich colors.”

“And that’s all there is to it?”

“Kind of.”

“So . . . say . . . Trevor . . .” Mallory began, referring to the blond forward on their team who had butter-colored hair and eyes—pale, nearly violet.

“She would be a spring. She would wear lemony yellow and pale pink, and it would look good on her and like crap on you. Power colors!”

“Well, let’s go for it, then. I’ve been saving money for two hundred years.”

“Then go crazy. Two skirts. Make one, like, purple,” Eden suggested.

“You’re one to talk,” Mallory said.

Eden said cheerfully, “I only get to keep half, for my own clothes. And my dates don’t require a long skirt or even a mini. They require waffle boots and a fleece.”

“Yeah, you’d look weird hiding in the brush in a miniskirt.”

Eden now spoke openly about James, but in cautious crumbs of information about how they met (she’d been chasing one of her little sisters and literally ran into him) and what he did. What she said made Mallory feel hopeful. In spring, Mallory learned, James left the coppery hills and traveled across the country for his work.

His job was wilderness therapy. He led troubled teenagers on wilderness treks, one or two at a time. If he had girls, he took a girl assistant, sort of an intern. Eden said, “They’re not really, like, criminals. That’s what James says. Maybe they smoke dope or get lousy grades. But the big thing is their parents don’t know what to do with them, so they spend ten thousand dollars to send them to spend six weeks with James. Only a couple of them have been really bad, and he’s been doing this for three years. But he’s seen a lot of grief for being only twenty-one,” Eden said softly. “He started after one year of college. He’ll know just what to do and what not to do when he’s a father. In a few years, even in a year, the age thing will be like nothing between us. It’s just that I’m in high school.” Mallory ignored that comment.

“What does he actually do with them? It must be a lot for ten thousand bucks.”

“He doesn’t get to keep it all! The company gets a bunch of it! And actually, Mal,” Eden said, “he mostly listens. Most of these kids are used to being treated like they’re in the way. In their own homes. Why do some people have kids? And why do some people who want kids not get to have them?”

Mally decided not to make any comment at this juncture either.

Eden went on, “And sure, he teaches them how to be at home in the wilderness—as if the hills in Cole County are really the wilderness. They’re never more than a few miles from a major road. But they have to build their fires and cook their own food and hike for miles, even if it’s in a circle, and the stronger ones have to carry food for the weaker ones. They learn they can do more than play with their PlayStations and whine for bigger SUVs.”

“He sounds pretty great,” Mallory admitted.

“He is,” Eden said. “It’s not
just
that he looks like the prince in
Sleeping Beauty.
Though that doesn’t hurt.”

Both girls laughed.

James, Eden went on, never spent more than a few months in each place. Every date with Eden had been an arranged meeting after his fifteen- or sixteen-year-old “students” were bedded down. James was obliged to stay within hearing distance of his students, while giving them independence. But also, Eden confided, making love with a boy, even at her age, would be the same as marrying—breaking her tribal vows.

She wasn’t ready to do that before she finished high school. She hoped to get a soccer scholarship and an academic scholarship as well, and to attend a state university close enough so that she could come back and help out when soccer season was over at college.

“But that could change,” she told Mallory. “I’m not sure of anything.”

Mallory wasn’t either. For the first time since fifth grade, she wasn’t playing indoor soccer. She had decided to try out for the Cantabiles, the all-girls’ concert choir. Miss Yancy had praised her sweet contralto, calling it “a unique voice.”

Sometimes, when she looked into the mirror, Mallory didn’t know who she was.

“What do
you
get out of it?” Mally asked. “What do you get out of the way you are?”

Eden paused for a long time. She parked her old truck and they hurried through little spits of sleety rain into the Alexis Jones store. The whole first floor looked to Mallory like a display of her sister, except made of white plastic and headless. Dozens of little Merediths-in-shirts-and-vests, Merediths-in-long-tops-and-leggings, Merediths-in-oversize-sweaters sat on top of clear Lucite bins of folded Meredith clothes. Eden pulled out a pleated maroon mini paired with a gray-and-maroon checked shirt. “Try this,” she suggested to Mallory.

“It’s got those flippy things on the front. I’ll look like Meredith.”

“You could do a lot worse.”

“Thanks!”

“Don’t you think Meredith is pretty? Don’t you think she has a sense of style?”

“I think she has a wacko obsession with anything even vaguely related to any of her body parts or anything that touches them. She matches her underwear, Edes! Oh, wait, she probably doesn’t anymore. Matchy-matchy is out.”

“I think matching underwear is nice,” Eden said and laughed. “Not that I’ll ever have any!” She added softly, “Or that anyone will get to see it.” Eden went on, “What do I get out of my thing? Respect. Power. Even adults look up to me. It was fun when I was fifteen. But after I met James . . .”

Dutifully, Mallory tried on the next skirt Eden chose, a mid-calf ballet-type skirt made of light wool. It made Mally feel like a dark flower. She tried to keep her face calm and interested, as if she were really interested in a loose-knit black sweater and striped gray-and-red shirt Eden picked out to go with the skirt. But secretly, her heart was pounding with joy. If James were to leave, before Eden graduated, and Eden had the time to decide to go off to college, maybe their love would end. Her friend would be safe. For now. Lonely, but safe. And James would be safe too, from the bleak aura of menace that surrounded him when his protector, the white puma, crossed his path in Mallory’s dreams. Why did Eden take risks when she knew she could hurt James without ever laying a hand—or a paw—on him?

Did he know it would be bad luck for him even to see her? But Eden would never hurt James, even if he were to see her change.

She would . . . no. Mally wouldn’t think about that.

Mally turned to stare at the beautiful tall girl who walked so serenely beside her. Despite everything she knew, it was impossible to imagine Eden’s brown eyes contracting into golden orbs, her high cheekbones widening into a broad and sinister parody of her big, white smile. Her skin . . . Mallory’s mind rushed away from the image of the lion. James had to be a good person, simply by virtue of the fact that Eden loved him. There had to be more to it, more than the fact that James’s love for the Indian girl threatened the prosperity of her extended family. Perhaps James was just a vehicle for Eden, an escape.