Sage's Eyes (17 page)

One of the special gifts Uncle Wade had brought back for me after one of his magic tours was a quill pen he had found in another antiques store he had discovered. This time, it was when he had free time in London. He said the quill was from the early nineteenth century, and although there were no identifying letters, marks, or symbols on it, he claimed it had once belonged to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the famous poet. As with most everything he found in antiques stores, he also assured my parents and me that it was far more valuable than the store owner knew. It was another one of his rare finds.

“Use it only on a special occasion,” he told me. “It has magical qualities. Anything this old does.”

It didn't take me long to realize that he favored things from way in the past, whether it was furniture, clocks, knives, mirrors, anything, as long as it was at least a hundred years old. Time was full of mystery, and mysteries were full of magic.

Other girls my age probably would laugh at him and put whatever he had given them aside and rarely, if ever, look at it, much less use it. And when they were older and received these presents like I did, they would accept such gifts to be polite, but they would be full of skepticism about their origins and even feel disappointment, maybe even a little foolish. Who my age wanted to brag to her friends that she had a hand mirror once used by some important French baroness or one glove worn by Catherine the Great? What friends of mine would be impressed or even give it a second look, especially my new friends? If they didn't say it, they would certainly think it. “Couldn't your uncle have brought back something contemporary that was pretty to wear?”

But none of them had someone like Uncle Wade, who had an energy about him like no other man I had met, including my father. It was difficult to be skeptical about things he claimed when you could witness him performing acts that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The ability to do these things gave him a wisdom, a real power to convince anyone of anything, most of all me.

I had used the magic quill to write my parents birthday wishes. When I picked up the quill and dipped it in the ink, the right words did seem to come magically, words that impressed and pleased them. But this time, it was going to be very different. I was using it to write something terrible, something that would bring a lot of pain, trouble, and turmoil. Nevertheless, it felt right to use it for this purpose.

One of the magical things it did, I thought, was change my handwriting to such a dramatic extent that no one, no handwriting expert, could compare my regular handwriting with it and confirm that it was I who had written it. I wore the pair of white silk gloves Uncle Wade had given me years ago, too, gloves he also claimed were worn by an Italian countess in the eighteenth century. There would be no fingerprints on the paper or the envelope. For now, I wanted anonymity. Obviously, if my parents found out I had delivered this letter to the school nurse, they would be enraged. I had no doubt of that.

Dear Mrs. Mills
, I wrote to the school nurse.

I am writing to you as a friend of Cassie Marlowe. I know that anonymous letters like this immediately raise the suspicion that the author is just trying to cause someone else trouble and embarrassment, but please believe me when I tell you that I am not afraid for myself as much as I am for my family if I revealed my identity.

Nevertheless, I am even more terrified for Cassie Marlowe, because I believe she can't go on much longer suffering what she is suffering. I fear for her very life.

Cassie Marlowe is being sexually abused by her own father. You can begin by asking her about the black
-and-blue marks on her arms. If you can win her trust, she will tell you what is happening to her. I am sure she will reveal the truth. She is rarely permitted to have anything to do socially with kids her age, and when it is absolutely impossible to prevent it, she is severely restricted. She's
almost made to avoid having friends. There is an ugly reason for this, why she is practically a prisoner in her own home.

Please look into this before it is too late for her. I am sure you and the school authorities can help her. It won't take you long to see that I am right.

A worried friend.

I wrote Mrs. Mills's name on the envelope. I knew just when and how I could slip it under her office door at school. I put it into my book bag along with my gloves to wear when I took it out and delivered it. Even if nothing came of this, I thought, I would feel better having tried to help rather than doing what Ginny had suggested and forgetting about Cassie and thinking more of myself.

Besides, if Uncle Wade was right and I had the third eye, I had an obligation to use it. That thinking helped me persuade myself to go through with it. When I saw Cassie in school the next morning, I immediately realized she was even more standoffish and meeker than she had been before the party. Both Danny and Peter seemed to have the same impression and said so. She wouldn't talk very much and avoided the three of us before lunch hour. I noticed two additional black-and-blue marks on both her wrists, the marks I had seen on myself when I'd had that extraordinary vision experience.

Later, just at the start of lunch when I knew the hallway in front of the administration offices was emptier than at other times, I approached the nurse's office. Careful not to be seen, I put on my gloves, dug
into my purse to pluck out the envelope, and slipped it under Mrs. Mills's door. I fled instantly, my heart thumping. I almost forgot to take off my gloves before entering the cafeteria. I was a little behind everyone else in my class. Ginny and the girls were already seated, and they all looked up at me when I entered. I saw that Danny and Peter were sitting with Cassie, but she looked so afraid I thought she might burst into tears and charge out of the cafeteria.

It was very hard for me to do it, but I went to sit with the girls rather than with them. It occurred to me that the more I was seen with Cassie right now, the more chance there was that the nurse would be able to accuse me of writing the note. For a moment or two, I felt sorry for Danny and Peter. They would come under suspicion more than anyone else, just because they were befriending her, but their denials would be credible because they were truly innocent. What's more, unless Cassie was telling them the ugly truth, which I very much doubted, the entire idea would be shocking to them. Anyone would be able to see that they had no knowledge of anything similar to what was happening to her.

“Glad you're coming to your senses,” Ginny said when I brought my tray to the table with her and the other girls. Mia moved over quickly to make a place for me.

“We had a bet that you would go sit with the losers,” Darlene said. “I was the only one to have it right. See? I still believe in you.”

“Why did you
spend so much time with them at Ginny's party?” Kay asked.

“They're not so terrible,” I said, buttering my bread and then looking at Ginny. “Actually, Danny and Peter are pretty intelligent. I think some of you know that more than others,” I added. “Just ask Ginny.”

Her eyes widened and brightened with indignation. “They have big mouths,” she said. Everyone looked at her and then at me. I continued to eat.

“What?” Darlene asked her.

“They helped me with some homework,” Ginny muttered. “Big deal.”

“And tests,” I added.

She sent fire at me through her eyes but then shrugged. “God helps those who help me,” she muttered, and laughed.

“Oh, so that's why you invited them,” Mia said. “We were all wondering.”

“One hand washes the other,” I muttered.

“What?” Darlene said. “Where do you come up with these expressions?”

I shrugged. “Reading, I guess. It's something you do with a thing called a book.”

“Very funny,” Mia said, but she was sincerely smiling. “I think I heard my grandmother say that,” she added.

“My grandmother is a fanatical Rolling Stones groupie,” Kay said. “She'd rather be caught dead than show her age.”

“The Rolling Stones aren't kids. She
is
showing her age,” I offered.

Mia laughed again.

“What's with Cassie Marlowe? You must know more about her than anyone in the school. You spent all that time with her. Why did her mother leave her and her father?” Ginny asked.

“I don't know all that much about her,” I said defensively. “I didn't get too personal with her. At your party, she looked like she would shatter if I did.”

“Second that,” Kay said.

“Have you ever seen her father?” Darlene offered. “He looks like Boris Karloff.”

“Who's Boris Karloff?” Kay asked her. I think she knew but was teasing her.

Everyone turned to Darlene.

“An actor who was in lots of old horror movies,” she replied.

“Showing your age!” we all cried together, and then everyone laughed.

It really was fun being with them. I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking they had almost given up on me right from the beginning. Would it always be this way for me? Would I always have to struggle more than anyone else to have friends? Could I blame it all on my parents? Or was there something about me, something I hadn't fully realized yet myself, that made close friendships impossible? I knew I was timid about looking too far into anyone's future, and maybe that was why I was always going to be just a little outside, a little too standoffish.

“Anyway,” Ginny said, “let's stop talking about them. There's more important news.”

“What?” Kay asked.

“Jason thinks he's going to have his house free this Friday night. His parents and his younger brother are going to Albany to his grandparents'.”

“Why isn't he going?” I asked.

“They think he is, but Friday afternoon, he's coming down with a head cold,” she said, smiling. “Look, we know you're on a tighter leash than the rest of us. We've all been through something like that, when we were younger. You tell your parents we're all meeting at the mall and going to a movie and then pizza afterward. We'll figure it out this week. Jason won't have the party unless you can come,” she added.

All the girls looked at me like I might spoil their fun.

“Unless I come? Why?”

“How come you are so smart about everything but yourself?” Kay asked. “He has a thing for you. You know what a thing is, right?”

Everyone was smiling at me.

“I'll try,” I said. “I mean, I'll really try.”

“Good.”

Everyone looked up when Mrs. Mills entered the cafeteria. I had forgotten that she sometimes ate her lunch in her office and not in the faculty room. I was lucky she hadn't seen the envelope slipped under her door instantly and seen me walking away. She panned the room. Some of the students quieted down, but most didn't pay much attention to her.

“What does she want?” Kay asked. “Someone need a tampon?”

“I hope someone else in this school isn't pregnant. When that happens, my mother goes ballistic every time I go out,” Darlene said. “And Todd isn't exactly Donnie Osmond.”

“Who?” Kay teased.

Everyone but me smiled, especially when Mrs. Mills's gaze fell on Cassie. It was clear that was who she was looking for. She started quickly toward her, Danny, and Peter. She was all smiles, but she said something to Cassie that made her nod and lower her head quickly.

“Maybe she has some contagious disease,” Ginny said. “We'll all have to be inoculated since I had to invite her to my party. Damn. I'll blame my mother.”

Mrs. Mills walked out. I watched Cassie carefully. She didn't finish what she had to eat, but Danny said something to her that pleased her, and she rose, gathered her books, and left the cafeteria.

“I forgot to tell you guys,” Mia said when everyone returned to eating. “I think we're getting a new student.”

“Boy or girl?” Kay asked.

“Definitely a boy. I only saw him for a few seconds, but he looked like he was auditioning for
GQ
or something. He was wearing a dark blue sports jacket and a light blue tie. He had ink-black hair as long as Jason's but not stringy and wild. It was styled. He had the cutest dimple in his left cheek and wore a very expensive-looking gold watch.”

“You saw all that in only a few seconds?” Kay asked her.

“When it comes to great-looking boys, I have a photographic memory,” she bragged.

“Well, how come he's not here?” Ginny asked, gesturing at the students in the cafeteria. “Maybe you didn't see that well. Maybe he's one of those student teachers we get sometimes from the teachers' college.”

“I don't think so,” Mia said, but I could see she wasn't positive, and the possibility was upsetting her.

“If he dresses like that and he's not a student teacher, he'll be persona non grata with the boys in this school,” Ginny said.

“Excuse me? Persona what?” Darlene asked her.

“Persona non grata. Someone not welcome.”

“Who taught you that expression?” Kay asked, turning her suspicious gaze on me.

I shook my head. “Sounds like something Peter Murphy might have taught her,” I offered. They all looked at her for confirmation.

She laughed. “One hand washes the other,” she said, winking at me. “See? I can come up with Granny expressions, too.”

Was that really how I sounded? How did I keep my unexplainable memories from shaping and coloring who I was? Or was that who I truly was, some combination of the old and the new, someone who would never fit in? Right now, I didn't want to think about it. There was a bigger concern.

On the way out, I caught up with Peter and Danny.

“Why did Mrs. Mills come looking for Cassie?” I asked them.

“Something about her health records that might not be correct. No big deal.”