Spell Check (17 page)

Great. As if Mom needs to
be up all night making sure I don’t slip into a coma.

When we got home, I checked my phone. No blinking orange light. I thought for sure Parvani would have called and left a message, but she hadn’t. Obviously she didn’t care I had ended up in the hospital. You’d think she’d be worried, or at least grateful I had stopped Tommy from pulverizing her.

Maybe she was too busy checking on Jordan.

Not that I cared.

****

I spent Tuesday at home staring at my phone, which never rang. My mental worry meter buzzed all the way to Meltdown, thanks to the two make up quizzes I’d have to take on Wednesday. I worried about Jordan, and the possibility I didn’t have a friend left in the world.

By Wednesday, the gash in the back of my head felt like someone had rammed a screwdriver into my skull. I considered playing the concussion card to eke out another sick day, but the pages were due in Yearbook, and thanks to Tommy, I had yet to hand in the flash drive.

Mom arranged my hair into a short ponytail. “Did you cover up the stitches?” I asked.

“You can barely see them poking out,” Mom promised.

I considered wearing Dad’s cap, but figured it would press against the stitches and make them hurt more. Besides, the cap would be easier to spot at a distance. Not that Tommy would be at school. He must have been suspended, which would be ironic since he had actually told the truth for once. I reminded myself he would have plowed into Parvani instead if I hadn’t intervened. It eased my conscience.

“Mrs. Hyde-Smith called while you were in the shower,” Mom said. “Parvani isn’t feeling well. So I’ll be driving today.” Exhaustion etched Mom’s face. I think we both wanted to go back to bed. I certainly did, since the pain in the back of my head had kept me up most of the night.

English passed without incident. I took notes for Salem, and wondered how she was faring in Massachusetts.

It began to sprinkle after History. Not enough to cancel Capture the Flag, but enough to make me decide to sit out Gym in the nurse’s office. I didn’t care if the lights emitted a high pitched, mosquito-like buzz, or the cot mattress was about a half-inch thick and laid over a wood platform. My cheek hit the little airline-like pillow and I slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The bell shrilled, jarring me awake. My head pounded as I walked to Spanish.

Señora Allende clucked over me. “Evie. Espero que tu se sienta mejor pronto.”

“Gracias. I hope I get better soon, too.” I still faced two make up quizzes.

I had planned to study math during lunch, but instead I napped with my head down on a desk in Mr. Ross’s room.

“Evie?”

I opened one eye. “Zhù, what are you doing here? Don’t you have rehearsal?”

He gave me one of those lower-your-voice looks and glanced at Mr. Ross, who sat at his desk eating a turkey-and-cranberry sandwich.

“Mom is picking me up in five minutes. Parvani told me what happened in Gym the other day. You okay?”

I sat up. “Parvani is talking to you again?”

Zhù stared down at his feet. “Not exactly. She sent me a text message.”

“Still. It’s mondo progress.” Hope sparked like fireworks. “See, I told you she likes you.”

“So where is she?”

“Her mom said she wasn’t feeling well this morning.” I stifled a yawn. “You know what would cheer her up?”

“What?”

“Ask her to the Halloween dance.”

Zhù slid his thumbs under the straps of his backpack. “Yeah. Right.”

“I’m serious. Give her a call when you get home tonight.”

“I’ll think about it.” He glanced at the door. “I better split.”

“Okay. Later.”

Despite being on the outs with Jordan and Parvani, my optimism rallied. Then the bell rang, a death toll reminding me it was time for Algebra and the make up quiz. Time to plummet into Loserville.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The math classroom stank of damp wool. Several kids wore knitted caps, the kind from Peru that hide your hair and have two braided ties that hang down to your chest. Maybe at high altitude the alpacas, or llamas, or whatever the caps were made of, smelled okay in the rain. Not here.

My stomach grumbled from nerves and lack of food. I should have eaten my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or at least a protein bar.

Before I could slink off to the back row, Mr. Bentley slammed a quiz down on a desk in the front. “Sit down and take this, O’Reilly, before class gets going.”

A flush burned my cheeks. “But…”

“Hurry up.”

I slid into the chair, despair settling like cement into every muscle and vein. When I leaned over to pull a pencil out of my backpack, the gash in the back of my head throbbed. I managed to write my name and the date in the right hand corner of the paper. I tried to recall the note Jordan had left explaining about graphs, but the information must have seeped out before Dr. Cameron stitched me up. It was gone. All gone.

I wanted to cry. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t surreptitiously count on my fingers. Students walked past my desk, talking, distracting me. Chairs scraped. Books thudded open. Worse, the room quieted and I was sure all eyes were upon me.

I could already picture the scarlet F scrawled across the test. I had finished maybe half of the quiz when Mr. Bentley snapped his fingers in my face.

“Time’s up, O’Reilly. Hand it over.”

I hate math teachers.

When class ended, I blinked back tears and fled to Yearbook. Thirty-five of the first forty-one pages had already been set. Everyone huddled around me as I inserted the flash drive into the computer and brought up the photos Zhù had edited. Parvani’s fashion shot with the goth, the prep, and the pixie elicited lots of smiles. Good thing, since we were light on fashion photos.

When I clicked on my pictures of Nazario and Pilar, Mia squealed. “Awesome!”

Miss Roberts leaned forward. “Evie, did you take these?”

“Yeah.” Man, they were good. The loser slime from Algebra slid off me. I sat up straighter.

“Excellent,” Miss Roberts said. “Layout artists, get to it. You’ve got some great photos to work with. Copy editors, get writing. Forty minutes ‘til deadline.”

The time flew by in a happy rush. Afterward, walking to Biology, I wondered if Jordan would be there. I should have asked Zhù if he’d seen him in HG.

“There you are, Evie.” Mr. Esenberg seemed pleased to see me. “Feeling better?”

“A little.”

“Great.” He thrust a quiz in my hand. “Take this to the teacher’s lounge. I’ve arranged for a proctor to time you. You’ll have twenty minutes.”

“Okay.” At least I’d have quiet and some privacy. I glanced at Jordan’s empty chair. My worry meter pinged. If Jordan hadn’t shown up by the time I returned, I’d bury my pride and call him. What if something awful had happened?

What if Parvani screwed up the spell?

Halfway between the faculty restrooms and the cafeteria, I spotted a puke-green door marked Teacher’s Lounge. My heart beat a quick staccato. I was about to enter forbidden territory. Palms sweaty, I opened the door and crossed the threshold.

To my surprise, the place was empty. The room reeked of microwave sweet-and-sour chicken, reminding me I had skipped lunch. Two large windows let in plenty of light despite the overcast sky. An older model white refrigerator hummed next to a stainless steel counter. Dirty coffee mugs littered the sink.
I guess teachers can’t afford take-out lattés.

Three round tables took up most of the space. I wondered if teachers sat in cliques, with the cool teachers at one table, the nerdy, by-the-book teachers at another, and the loners huddled off to the side with their laptops. Speaking of teachers, where was my proctor?

The door flew open behind me. A sour, evil smell scythed the air and a bone-chilling draft whooshed in. The quiz paper slipped from my hand and skidded under a nearby chair.

“Better pick it up, Miss O’Reilly. The clock is ticking. You have twenty minutes.”

Maybe it was my low blood sugar. Maybe it was six years of failure and humiliation in math. Maybe I was just having a bad week and Miss Ravenwood had once tried to steal Dad from Mom. Whatever the reason, I rebelled.

I picked up my quiz and took a seat. A venomous entity rose within me and gave Miss Ravenwood a basilisk death stare. She blinked in surprise, then sat down at another table. I stared at her for a few more heartbeats. She returned my stare with her watery blue eyes and fiddled with the cuffs of her gray silk blouse. Her long, black skirt was so turn of the century—the nineteenth century.
She should hire Parvani to design some new clothes.

A long breath escaped my lips.
Okay, Jordan.
I pictured his smile, and thought about how much I loved his joy and athletic grace when he rode his board. I visualized the binder paper he had left for me on the coffee table. In my mind, I opened it and read his notes. Keys began to unlock. The questions on the quiz made sense.

Hope flushed the concrete from my muscles and veins.

****

“Time.” Miss Ravenwood rose from her chair, her back so straight I wondered if she had a broomstick for a spine. She thrust out her hand. Crumbs of dried wax had hardened beneath her fingernails.

Candle magic?

I handed over the quiz, praying Mom would forgive me for wrecking the family’s good name if I had blown it. Forcing my chin up and my shoulders back, I headed for the door. My hand touched the silver handle when a bony claw clasped my shoulder.

“You didn’t stop her.”

Chills zigzagged like lightning bolts down my spine. “Stop who?”

“Miss Hyde-Smith. I warned her not to fool with matters she knows nothing about.” Acid crept into Miss Ravenwood’s voice.

I wrenched free and faced her. A wispy lock of frizzy black hair had fallen across her cheek.

“You’d better check on your friend. I believe he is most unwell.” Miss Ravenwood’s long skirt swished as she swept past me. The door shut behind her with an ominous click.

I blinked at the puke-green portal. He. Miss Ravenwood had said, “I believe he is most unwell.”

Oh no. Jordan.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I ran across the wet field after class and threw myself into the front seat of the Volvo.

Mom lowered her romance novel. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

I drew air into my lungs. “Sorry. Can we stop by Jordan’s house on the way home?”

Mom crinkled her forehead. “Why? What’s up?”

“He missed school, and I’m worried he’s in trouble.”

Mom switched on the ignition. “Why do you think he’s in trouble?”

I wanted to say, “Because I think Parvani did a spell on him and something went wrong.” Or, “Miss Ravenwood might have put a hex on him to spite us.” Instead, I said, “Because he was supposed to come over on Sunday and he never showed. I think he’s been absent all week.”

She reached for her cell phone. “Maybe we should call him.”

“Please, Mom.” I yanked the scrunchie from my hair. “Can’t we go to his house?”

Mom sighed. “Okay.” She pulled out into traffic and did a U-turn at the next cross street. Jordan lived two blocks from Mr. Ross, in a tree-lined neighborhood not far from our old elementary school. When we reached his street, my heart revved like I’d been mainlining caffeine. Bright yellow leaves littered the lawn and the plywood skateboard ramp on the driveway. Mom parked next to the sidewalk, barely pulling to a stop before I jumped out.

“Be right back,” I called over my shoulder.

The engine cut. I sprinted to the maroon-painted front door. In case Jordan was sick and trying to sleep, I knocked instead of ringing the bell. Rocking on my heels, I inhaled the spicy scent of rain-bathed cypress.

As I debated whether to knock again or leave, faint footsteps sounded within the house. The door swung open, and I came face to face with Jordan. The smell of day-old perspiration assaulted my nose. Not regular boy sweat. Fever sweat.

“Evie? What are you doing here?” He made a weak attempt to finger-comb his tangled hair, then lowered his arm as if he hadn’t the strength to keep it aloft.

“Checking on you.” My gaze worried across his glassy eyes and gaunt, ashen face, then dropped to his white tee and navy flannel pants. “Did I wake you?”

A faint hint of color bloomed on his cheeks. “Nah. Parvani woke me when she called around noon.”

My brain stuttered. Parvani had called?

“I was worried when you didn’t show up on Sunday.”

“You didn’t call me,” he said.

“You stood me up. Shouldn’t you have been the one to call?”

Jordan sighed like I had blown it. “I gotta go.” He reached for the door and started to close it.

I blocked his way. “I’m sorry. But for all I knew, you had gone off to see Bucky What’s-his-face again.”

Jordan sagged against the doorjamb as if he were too weak to stand without support. “I had food poisoning.”

“From the VFW breakfast?”

“Guess so.”

“Wow. From pancakes and sausages? Is your grandfather okay?”

“He didn’t get it. No one got it but me.”

“Maybe it wasn’t food poisoning.” Maybe it’s your body fighting Parvani’s spell.

“Something sure hit me. The doctor said it isn’t the flu.”

It was Parvani. Or maybe Miss Ravenwood. No, Parvani. I felt like someone had piled the Guardian Stones upon my chest. “I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I should have called you.”

“Thanks.” Fatigue shadowed his lake blue eyes. “Like, it isn’t always about you, Evie.”

I winced at the disappointment in his voice. Now I wanted to vomit. I swung around.

“Hey. What happened to your head?”

My fingers flew to my stitches. “An accident in Gym. Didn’t Parvani tell you? I ended up in the hospital.”

“Man, Evie. Parvani didn’t say a word. She just called to check on me, then asked about the dance.”

The Guardian Stones tumbled to my stomach, making room for the knife piercing my heart. “The dance?”

“Evie…”

“I’ll email you my science notes.” I dashed to the Volvo, fighting back tears.