Strange Girl (27 page)

Again, the auditorium fell silent.

I could have heard a pin drop. . . .

If not for the pounding of my heart.

“Your friends were worried about you. Dale was crying and Fred was struggling to figure out a way to make things better. . . . But I didn’t feel any motion in the Big Person. No big fish swam by. . . . It was then this body—no, it was then Aja thought to do something to fix you.”

Aja walked toward the pale, young girl who seemed to be clawing at the right side of her wheelchair. Yet Katie took note of Aja. She looked up as she approached. Maybe she saw something in her the rest of us couldn’t. Aja knelt at her shriveled feet, hidden in a pair of red slippers, and a wave of relaxation went through the girl. Her clawing motion stopped. Her fingers lengthened and straightened as Aja took her hands. But then I saw Aja wince, a momentary flash of pain.

I stood. “Aja! Stop!” I cried.

Aja turned her head in my direction.

“It will be okay,” I thought I heard her say. I was not reassured. I dashed onto the basketball court, wove around Principle Levitt’s stand. When I reached Aja, I literally ripped her hands off Katie. I heard a groan from the audience; I don’t think many approved. But I didn’t give a damn what they thought. I spoke to Mrs. Green, who stood nearby.

“Please, don’t ask this,” I said, my palms resting on Aja’s shoulders. “Whenever Aja heals, it has to happen automatically. If she does it because you begged her to do it—it’ll hurt her.”

Mrs. Green looked back and forth between Aja—who continued to kneel on the auditorium floor—and Katie. The woman sighed. “Fred’s right, Aja, you have to stop. Katie’s hurting you.”

Aja finally rose to her feet, her gaze still fixed on the girl in the wheelchair. “I can help her,” she whispered.

Mrs. Green approached and took Aja’s hands in hers. “I know you want to heal her, child. That’s enough—that you tried. Some things are meant to be.” Mrs. Green let go of Aja and touched her niece’s head. “This is God’s will.”

I took Aja by the arm, began to pull her away. Aja stumbled right then; I feared it was because she was drained. Katie appeared to understand that Aja had improved her condition. She managed a twisted smile and Aja smiled back. Mrs. Green wiped away a tear.

As far as I was concerned the evening was over. The meeting should have ended then. Mrs. Green had turned the tide of the inquisition. Aja was an angel, a kind soul at least, she wasn’t a demon. I felt Aja had proven that much. But then, I’d never understood how deeply true believers felt about their beliefs.

Macy Barnes, our student body president, raised her hand and Levitt quickly called on her. Wearing blue jeans and a thick, wool, white sweater, she stepped to the microphone on the floor, standing only a few feet off to our left. If Macy was nervous she didn’t show it.

“I’m grateful Mrs. Green quoted that portion of the Bible,” Macy began. “ ‘Beware of false prophets who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits.’ Those lines have guided me throughout my life. Because I’ve discovered that people can say anything—it doesn’t matter whether they’re young or old. They can promise you anything. Listening to Aja’s deeds, it sounds like she can promise a lot. A friend of hers hits a soldier over the head with a whiskey bottle. No problem, Aja is there to fix the man. The same friend gets caught in a drug bust—a bust where he was buying drugs to sell at our school. Again, no problem, Aja heals his head and he walks out of the hospital—and out of the courtroom—a few days later. Like he’s done nothing wrong.” Macy paused. “I’m sorry, I have a problem with that.”

“Why?” someone shouted from the top bleachers.

Macy nodded. “That’s a fair question. Most of what Aja has done has seemed—on the surface—to be wonderful. She’s healed the sick and she’s handed out sound life advice. But when I study how she conducts her own life I have to wonder if any of us should be listening to her. Let’s take the example of what happened at Benny’s a week ago. Benny’s is an expensive restaurant in Balen. Friends of my parents were dining there that night and told me what happened. I have a word-for-word transcript of what was said.” Macy held up a piece of paper. “A couple walked up to Aja and Fred—you all know Fred—while they were eating dessert. The woman was distraught. She tried to tell Aja about her sick daughter, Keko, who had leukemia. Fred got annoyed and told her to leave them alone. The woman persisted—she told them her daughter was dying. That she had only two or three months to live. Again, Fred told them to go away. Aja didn’t say anything. The woman pulled out a picture of her daughter and placed it on the table. She begged Aja to look at Keko. Finally, Aja picked up the picture and said, and I quote, ‘Her body is very tired. It will be okay.’ Instantly, the woman was overcome with relief. She thought Aja was giving her hope. She was so excited she cried, ‘Keko’s going to live?’ Then Aja said flatly, ‘No.’ Just no.”

Macy stopped to glare at Aja. “I don’t know if any of us can imagine the agony that woman felt at that instant. It’s true she struck Aja right then. But let’s be honest—can any of us blame her?”

“The woman shouldn’t have hit her!” a student called out.

Macy nodded. “I agree. Aja was under no obligation to heal Keko. But couldn’t she have treated the woman with a modicum of compassion? And make no mistake—the woman didn’t really hurt Aja. I know because the friends of my parents who were at Benny’s were spending the night at the Hilton in Balen. Guess who happened to be in the room beside them? Aja and Fred. I’d rather not go into detail but from the noise the two of them made we can safely assume Aja was feeling no pain.”

The audience laughed. I forced a smile to show I got the joke. But I could feel my face burning. Did no one in the crowd stop and ask themselves what a coincidence it was that the couple who was watching at the restaurant just happened to be in the room next to us at the hotel? I wanted to step to the microphone and shout out that we’d been followed but the way Macy was watching me I could tell that was exactly what she was hoping I’d do.

“Like Principal Levitt, I’m a Christian,” Macy continued. “I know many of you here are. As I said at the start, I look to the Bible to guide me in life. I try to treat others the way I want to be treated. I do my best to live as I believe Christ would want me to live. That’s not to say I try to model my daily life after Christ. I know that would be impossible. I just do the best I can. But studying Aja from a distance I have to ask myself if she does the same. Why does she give so much help to a guy who deals in drugs? Why couldn’t she comfort Keko’s mother even a little bit? Did Keko mean nothing to her because she was Japanese? Or was Aja distracted because she was anxious to check into the hotel with Fred? I asked myself these questions when I was waiting in line in our courtyard for a chance to speak to Aja. After hearing so much about her power, I thought it only fair that I talk to her face-to-face.”

Macy turned and again glared at Aja. “But you know what Aja told me? Nothing. It didn’t matter what I asked. It didn’t matter how sincere my questions were. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. It was like I meant nothing to her.” Macy paused. “Admit it, Aja, you blew me off.”

Aja just stared at her, silent, unblinking.

The fact that she’d been unable to goad Aja appeared to annoy Macy. She pointed an angry finger at Aja, raised her voice. “I think the jury’s still out on you! Like Reverend Basken, I still have grave doubts about where your power comes from!”

Macy was a performer. That’s how she’d gotten elected student body president. She knew when to make her exit. She did it right then, stepping away from the microphone and striding triumphantly back to her seat. I was stunned, and depressed, to hear more than a few people applaud.

Principal Levitt spoke from the podium. “Thank you, Macy, for your insightful words. For my part I think you made more sense than anyone else who spoke tonight. Now I think it’s time we—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Levitt, I have something important to add,” Mrs. Billard called out. Levitt turned suspiciously in her direction.

“What is it?” he asked.

“My Aja story. I want to tell it.”

Levitt appeared uncertain. “Really, Nancy, it’s getting late and I think we should decide—”

“We’re not deciding anything until I speak,” Mrs. Billard interrupted, stepping past us, toward the podium. “And you’re not going to stop me.”

I wanted to stop her. And I would have if I didn’t fear it would make Aja and me look like we had something to hide. Yet I knew Mrs. Billard’s intentions were noble.

Bless her brave heart, she was going to tell the same story she had told me in the cemetery. The tale of how her two-year-old son, Barney, had died in a car accident and the lie she had spread that had eventually forced her husband, Stan, to leave Elder. I knew her story would serve as a powerful antidote to Macy’s big speech, especially when she came to the part where Aja gave her the eleven-worded line beside the grave of her son.

Yet I feared what the telling might do to Mrs. Billard.

I wasn’t alone.

Mrs. Green stepped forward and stopped her.

She stopped Mrs. Billard in front of the microphone. They spoke fast and furiously but they kept their voices low and I wasn’t able to hear a word. I don’t know if anyone did. But it was apparent to me that Mrs. Green knew of Mrs. Billard’s deep dark secret and wanted it kept secret. I felt a wave of relief when Billard finally stopped arguing with her old friend and allowed Mrs. Green to escort her back to her seat. Levitt himself looked relieved.

“All right,” Levitt said. “It’s time we decide what to do with Aja. The choice is a simple one. Do we allow her to remain a student here at Elder High, and put up with police and reporters and guards at our door for the remainder of the year? Or do we expel her and go back to the way things were before she moved here? The members of the PTA will now vote on this matter. And I promise you the way they vote will guide me as I make my final decision.”

So much for democracy in America, I thought.

Principal Levitt had already decided to expel her.

“No,” Aja said firmly, standing beside me.

“What did you say, young lady?” Levitt said.

Aja strode to the microphone stand beneath the podium. “There’ll be no vote until I’ve had a chance to defend myself,” she said.

“What do you think you’ve been doing all night?”

“Answering other people’s questions,” Aja said.

“Let her speak!” someone shouted from the top of the bleachers. He was soon joined by others, tons of students, all shouting for Aja to be given a chance to speak. Levitt shrugged and said, “All right, I’ll give you a few minutes. Talk away.”

“Come down from the podium and join me,” Aja said.

“Why?” Levitt asked.

“The Big Person wishes to heal you. Come.”

Levitt grinned. “It’d be a waste of time. Like I told you at the start, I’m healthy as a horse.”

“Then you have nothing to fear. Come.”

“Fine,” Levitt said, acting as though he was indulging a difficult child. He stepped down from the podium and stood beside Aja and the microphone stand. “Are you going to put a spell on me?” he joked.

“Let me see your palms,” Aja said, offering her own hands.

The suggestion shook him, more than it should have.

“Why?” he asked.

“Give them to me,” she said.

Levitt resisted, for a moment, then gave in. I wasn’t sure if he had a choice. “What are you doing?” he asked as she began to trace the lines on his palms with her nails. I was perhaps a dozen feet away.

“Helping you remember,” she said.

“Remember what? I don’t need your help.”

“Shh. You’ve done this before. It works for you. It worked for her.”

“Who?”

“You remember.” Aja caught his eye. “Now close your eyes.”

“No. I don’t want—”

“Close them.”

Levitt closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

Aja continued to stroke his palms and stare at his face. “Tell me about May,” she said.

Levitt shook; the tremor went through his whole body. But he didn’t take back his hands or open his eyes. “Last May? Why? Nothing special happened then.”

“I’m not talking about the month. I’m talking about May.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“It’s hard, I know. It hurts to talk about her. But you’ll feel better if you do.” Aja added, “It’s your choice.”

He kept trembling. “No! You’re not giving me a choice.”

“But I am. You can let go of my hands right now.”

“How do you know about May? Why do you bring her up?”

“Because thinking about her is hurting you.”

“I don’t care. I can live with it.”

“Yes, you can. That’s one choice. Or you can make another choice. One that will stop the pain.”

“I can’t talk about her in front of all these people!”

Aja let go of his hands; they continued to hang in midair.

“Okay,” she said. “We don’t have to talk about her.”

Aja turned her back on him. For his part, Levitt looked as if he’d been hit with a train. His eyes were still closed and he was shaking badly.

Aja stood silent for several seconds, her head bowed. Then she turned toward Levitt again. She took a step closer, went up on her toes, and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, Levitt nodded, and Aja reached out and turned off the microphone. The sound system went dead. The audience stirred restlessly. They didn’t like being excluded. Neither did I, actually; I stepped closer.

Aja turned and faced our principal. “Let us begin,” she said softly. Except for me and Levitt, I doubted another person in the auditorium could have heard her.

Levitt suddenly looked weary, confused. In the space of two minutes she had disarmed him. “I don’t understand how this can help me.”

What was
this
? I wondered.

Was it Aja’s healing? Or was it May?

Aja took back his hands and returned to tracing the lines on his palms. No surprise, I knew exactly how her nails felt as they dug into his skin. Aja spoke in a gentle tone.