Red is for Remembrance (9 page)

Shell and the campers work on setting up their space. Lily is trading her services of hair braiding and neck massaging, while Mason and Rain trade jewelry trinkets acquired from their nightly taking quests, and Daisy trades sweaters, coats, and any leftover household items that couldn't be hawked in a pawn shop.

Brick and Shell have been assigned to walk the rows, scoping out the trades so they can report back to the group about the deals of the day. Clay follows several yards behind them, well out of earshot.

"What's he doing?" Shell asks Brick.

Brick shrugs. "Mason probably ordered him to keep an eye on us. So we don't get into trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I don't know." He shrugs again. "So we don't run off or do anything weird, probably."

Shell looks back in Clay's direction. It appears as though Clay has slowed his pace a bit, giving them space.

"Just ignore him," Brick says. "That's what I try to do."

Shell nods, taking the advice. They turn down one of the longer rows, impressed the array of tradeables. This is Shell's second time at a trading field, Brick's umpteenth, and both marvel at the abundance of choices-- palm and card readings, offers for manicures and hair dyeing, handmade

92

quilts, wooden bowls, exotic seashells, and food staples of all types.

They pass by a group of young girls attaching sparkly white angel wings to each other's backs.

Are your wings broken?" one of the girls calls out to Shell.

Shell stops a moment, then approaches her, noticing how each set of wings is unique, all set apart by their shape-- some pointed, some bubbly, others wavy, a few with diamond-shaped cutouts. "I don't think so," he says, finally. He looks back at Clay, who watches them from a few tables away.

"May I?" She whirls him around to inspect his back, running her hand across his shoulders.

"What happened to you?" she asks, turning him back around.

Shell's face drops, confused.

"Your wings aren't just broken." She gasps. "They've collapsed." The other girls shake their heads with compassion. "Sometimes wings can break like that," she continues, "but it's usually only after something terrible happens-- a lost love, a near death, a sudden illness-- were you sick?"

"I believe so," She'll says.

The girl nods, unsurprised. "Well, you're still going to need some temporary wings until yours heal over. I think I have a pair that will be perfect." She turns to fish through a trunk behind her, pulling forth a simple, straight-lined, no-frills pair from the bottom of the heap. "These will be perfect," she says, holding them up to She'll. 'And what have
you
got to trade?"

"Maybe I'll come back later," She'll says, looking to Brick for backup, though Brick remains expressionless.

93

"Well, don't wait
too
long," the girl says. "It's dangerous out there without your wings."

Shell nods and he and Brick leave, Clay following several paces behind.

Are you sure you don't want a pair?" Brick asks.

Are you serious?" He checks Brick's expression to see if he's joking, but he remains as straight-faced as ever.

"Why not?" Brick explains. "Maybe she can see something about your past. Don't you believe some people have a sixth sense?"

Shell bites his bottom lip, knowing that he must believe it. Why else, in the car earlier, would he wonder if Lily could sense he was wearing the woolen scarf under his coat? "Can you sense things?"

Brick shrugs. "I try to."

"What do you mean?"

Brick glances back to check for Clay, who's suddenly stopped. He's talking to some people at one of the tables.

"Can you keep a secret?" Brick asks.

Shell nods.

"On the way over here," he whispers, "when Clay said he didn't take that platinum necklace, I sensed he was lying."

"Seriously?"

"Forget it," Brick says. "I've spoken out of turn. Please . . . forgive me."

"Sure," Shell says, his mind scrambling with questions.

"I've been working on developing my senses," Brick continues, "through meditation and spells and stuff. But sometimes it backfires and I just imagine things. I shouldn't have 94

said anything. Clay's a good person. Please, don't repeat any of this. Do you promise?"

Shell nods, growing more confused by the moment. They continue their walk back toward the group's trading spot, farther away from Clay, who's still talking away at the cheese-trading table.

When they get just a few yards shy of their group, Shell pulls Brick aside. "Do you really think there's a chance that girl might have been sensing something about my past?"

"Maybe," Brick says. "If your past is as awful as Mason says . . . maybe she picked up on it.

Sometimes I feel like people can sense stuff about me, too."

"Like who?"

"I don't know, but I feel like I have a guardian angel out there somewhere."

Shell nods, somehow knowing exactly what Brick means. He looks back in the direction of the angel-wing booth, suddenly more than eager to go back and talk to that girl, to ask her about his past. But he can't seem to spot her
or
her booth now amidst all the other traders, and how could he explain it to Clay? He continues to look anxiously about, in all directions, finally catching the eyes of Lily, Daisy, and Mason. They wave him and Brick over to the camp's trading spot--

precisely where they belong.

95

I roll over in bed, reaching for the crystal cluster rock beneath my pillow. A few seconds later, the phone rings. Since I can't sleep anyway, I snatch the receiver from my night table, hoping that it's Drea on the other end. "Hello?"

"Stacey?" asks a female voice.

"Yes. Who's this?" I sit up in bed and click on the reading lamp, noticing that I'm alone, that Amber and Janie's beds are empty. The window on Janie's side of the room is open 96

partway causing the window shade to knock against the ledge.

"Hello?" I repeat, still waiting for an answer. I can hear her breathe on the other end of the line. I sit up farther in bed and glance at the clock-- it's 3 AM. "Who is this?" I repeat.

The shade continues to knock against the ledge, the frigid January air pushing its way into the room, giving me chills.

"I know you're alone," she whispers.

"Janie?" I ask, wondering if this is her, if she's playing some sort of prank because she was so ticked earlier about my restoration clay spell.

"You
are
alone, aren't you, Stacey?"

I scan the room, confident that the only view in is through the window-- when the wind pushes the shade away

"I'm waiting ..." she says.

"Tell me who this is, or I'm hanging up."

"You wouldn't do that," she whispers.

But that's exactly what I do. I slam the receiver down on its cradle, my heart pumping hard. I take a deep breath and chew at my bottom lip, wondering where Amber is, looking toward her bed for a note.

A few seconds later, the phone rings again.

I ignore it as best I can and climb out of bed to check the door. It's locked. I turn toward the window. The shade flaps into the room, making me jump. I take small steps toward it, wondering if someone's out there, if they can see me.

With trembling fingers, I reach for the window to pull it down, but it seems to be stuck. Using both hands, I anchor

97

myself in place and press downward as hard as I can. Still, it won't budge. So I try the window shade. I try yanking it down even farther, but the shade slips from my fingertips and rolls up to the top, revealing a girl's face. She stares right back at me.

I gasp and jump back before realizing that the reflection is mine.

"I know you're alone," a male voice whispers from just behind me.

I steel myself in place, my heart pounding hard. I strain my eyes, trying to see something else in the reflection, but there's only me. After several seconds, I peek over my shoulder into the room.

No one's there. But the closet door is open a crack.

The phone continues to ring. I pick up the receiver and hold it up to my ear, wondering if the voice was just my imagination, if maybe I'm just overtired. Surely the closet door could have been open like that all along.

But I'm almost positive that it wasn't.

"I know you're alone," the male voice whispers from the receiver.

"Who is this?" I demand.

No one answers.

I drop the receiver and move back to the door to leave. I unlock it and go to turn the knob. No go. I pull at the knob and try kicking at the door crack, but it's no use.

Someone's locked me in from the outside.

I grab the dangling receiver and go to call campus police. I press at the numbers but nothing happens. I can't get a dial tone-- it's just dead on the other end. I hang up and 98

move to the window, hoping I can crawl out, but there's not enough space. My arms shake, trying to pry the window open wider. But it's stuck in place.

I whirl around, hearing a whimper escape out my mouth. The closet door appears to be open even wider now. Slowly, I approach it, grabbing the tweezers off Amber's dresser and gripping them for protection.

In one quick motion, I wrap my hand around the knob and whip the door open. There, scribbled in red across the wall, are the words I KNOW YOU'RE ALONE. There are splotches of blood all around it, trailing down the wall. My jaw quivers. My breath stops. I feel myself taking steps backwards, my hand clamped over my mouth.

The phone rings again a second later, making me jump. I move quickly to my night table to answer it. "Hello?"

"Stacey Brown?" says a female voice.

"Who's this?"

"This is Ms. McNeal from President Wallace's office."

"You need to help me," I say. "Please-- I need help-- "

"No," she says. "You need
to help."

"What?"

"Porsha needs your help," she explains.

"Who?"

"Porsha, President Wallace's daughter. Her mother wanted me to call you-- to tell you that Porsha needs help ... or else that boy will die."

"What boy?"

"Do you have your crystal?" she asks, ignoring the question.

"What?"

99

"Your crystal cluster rock . . . the one Jacob gave you for protection."

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. At the same moment, I feel it-- someone's breath on my neck.

"I know you're alone," the male voice whispers into my ear.

I drop the phone and shake my head, my heart beating faster. I turn to look. At the same moment, a hand reaches around my neck, cutting off my breath. The fingernails cut into my throat.

I go to step back, to kick at his shin, but he grabs tighter, cutting off my breath.

A moment later I hear a door slam shut-- hard. The sound wakes me up out of sound sleep.

I sit up in bed with a gasp.

Amber is there, at the door. "Hey, you," she says, dropping her bag to the floor. "Hungry for dinner? I hear it's burrito night in the caf."

But I'm still shaking.

"What's up with you?" she asks. "You look like you swallowed a cockroach-- maybe you've already
been
to burrito night."

"I have to go," I say, finally. I scramble from under my covers, pausing a moment to look at the clay bowl by my bed. I take and unfold the piece of paper inside, my question staring at me--

WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO GET ON WITH MY LIFE? At least now I have an answer.

100

I throw my coat on over my pajamas, pull on my boots, and slip my crystal cluster rock into my pocket.

"Time out," Amber says, still standing at the door of our room. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"I have to go out," I say, scrambling for a rubber band to tie my hair back.

The images of my nightmare are still alive in my head, causing my pulse to race, my heart to beat fast.

101

"Where are you going?"
Amber repeats.

"I had another nightmare."

About what?"

"Jacob."

"What
about
him?"

"It's a long story," I say, snatching a rubber band off the dresser, "but I have to get to the president's office before he leaves for the day" I glance at the clock-- it's just after four.

"Why? What's going on?"

"I have to help Porsha."

"Who?"

"She's obviously the girl-so-blue from my nightmare, the one I'm supposed to help or the boy will die."

"What?"

"I'll explain later." I pocket my keys and my campus ID card. "I'll call you if I'm going to be out late."

"Wait," Amber says, holding her head. "What does that have to do with Jacob?"

"I don't know, but I have to find out."

"You're not making any sense."

"I know." I give her a quick hug. "I'll call you if I'm going to be late."

"Stacey," she shouts.
"You're in your pjs."

"So?"

"Well, can I at least lend you a boa or something?" She nabs a big frilly pink one from beside her bed.

"It might be a little much," I say, eyeing her bright red Mary Jane Doc Martens. But, with her matching fuzzy headband and puffy winter vest, she
does
look pretty cute.

102

Amber tosses me one of Janie's Snapples from her fridge and stuffs my pockets full of tissues and Jucyfruits, mothering me a little more-- but in a good way, a way that feels comforting.

She tells me we need to have a long talk later and then I head out, rushing my way across campus, dodging ice patches and snowdrifts the whole way The entire campus is lit up since the sun starts going down around four. I finally make it to Ketcher Hall and bound up the stairs, two at a time, to find Ms. McNeal still sitting at her desk.

"I need to talk to Dr. Wallace," I say all out of breath.

"I'm sorry but that isn't possible," she says, her squinty eyes narrowing on me, on my flannel pjs sticking out from my coat maybe.

"Please," I say. "It's really important. Don't you remember me? I was here the other day . . .