Underneath (13 page)

I'm flattered, but I feel weird at the same time. Am I the token goody-goody friend? I try to change the subject.

“So Cody does this on a regular basis?”

“Yeah.” Mikaela says it sourly, like she's sick of talking about it already. “He's just lucky he didn't get caught this time.”

“This time? What happened before?”

“Oh, he ended up owing a big fine because he tried to steal an iPod.” She makes a derisive noise. “What an asshole.”

“That's … major.” I'm trying to picture him getting caught, but my mind's eye keeps replacing it with an image of him reaching out, brushing my hair back, that secret smile on his face.

“Not really. His mommy and daddy paid for it. They always bail him out. They must be in total denial.”

“You make him sound like a petty criminal.” I turn into the driveway of the school parking lot, swerving around a group of students congregating on the sidewalk.

“No, but he seems to attract trouble. Like on purpose. It's like he wants attention or something. I don't know. Last year his parents found out he'd been ditching school a lot and told him to clean up his act, but it just turned him into the cheerful bundle of joy you see today.”

“Oh.” He said his mom was a Martha Stewart clone, but I wonder if he's exaggerating. His parents are probably perfectly normal. I could see him being annoyed by that factor alone.

“And then over the summer he got drunk one night and got caught out in public by a cop, reeking of rum and peeing in an alley.”

“Where'd he get rum?” All too easily, I imagine Cody shoplifting from a liquor store, slipping a bottle into his pocket as effortlessly as the 8 Ball.

“He stole it out of his parents' liquor cabinet. They never notice.”

“That's weird.”

“Yeah, well, you'd understand if you met his parents.” She leaves it at that, since I've just pulled into a parking space. The bell rings as we walk past the art building, so I wave and head to my French class.

I feel a little better after talking to Mikaela. Even so, I can't help feeling a tiny bit guilty about what I didn't tell her. I didn't tell her about the almost-underhearing incident. And I didn't tell her about how Cody smiled at me, touched me.

I didn't tell her how he makes me feel. I wonder if I should have.

Thursday, the last day of classes before Winter Break, Mikaela is absent. She left early to visit her brother for a couple of days, despite what she'd said about not wanting to spend time at her dad's over the holidays.

I sit with David, Becca, and Cody at lunch. David opens up a little and talks about a painting he's working on, showing us a few drawings in his sketchbook. Becca goes on and on about music and clubbing and veganism and how her parents went “batshit” when they saw her tongue piercing. I space out after a while. I wonder how Auntie Mina is going to cope with Christmas this year. I hope she doesn't have to spend the holidays alone with Uncle Randall.

“Thinking deep thoughts?” Cody slides in next to me on the bench, mocking me with a sculpture-like “Thinker” pose.

“Nah. Just stressing about holiday family stuff.”

“I know all about that,” he says. Then he abruptly changes the subject. “Hey, I need some food. Come with me?”

“I already ate,” I say, poking my half-eaten turkey sandwich. “But I'll keep you company.” I don't want to seem over-eager, but I'm intrigued by Cody. Maybe even more so after finding out about his nasty little habits. I haven't forgotten that Spike warned me about him, but somehow it just makes him more compelling. Something completely different than what I'm used to.

We walk over to the cafeteria and I wait in line with him while he buys a Viking burger and fries. He grabs four tiny paper cups of ketchup, then we leave the crowded line and make our way outside again, threading through the sea of tables under the awning.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Cody says finally, toying with his burger, taking out the pickles and throwing them in the first garbage can we pass. He seems almost nervous. That must be a first for him. I get a little edgy, too, and look at the picnic tables, the groups of people, anywhere but at him. As we walk, I catch a glimpse of Cassie over by the pizza cart. I feel a twinge, and I'm not sure if it's anger or sadness. I hope she sees me with Cody. I hope she sees how I don't need her.

We're heading back toward the art-building patio, but before we turn the corner, Cody stops and looks at me.

“I don't know if you're into this kind of thing, but I have this group of Wiccan friends who are having a celebration for the winter solstice on Saturday.” He looks at me kind of weird.

“What's a winter solstice celebration?” I refrain from adding that it sounds like something my mom would go to.

“Well, it's really just a regular meeting of the local Wiccan group, but with food,” he admits. “They're into like, nature and being in touch with your inner energy. There's nobody too freaky, if that's what you're worried about.”

“Who said I was worried?” I feel like he's issued a challenge. What's with him and Mikaela thinking I'm so innocent, so easily shocked? “Sure, I'll go. Whatever.”

“Mikaela already said she's up for it, so you guys can hang out if you're nervous.” The funny thing is,
he's
the one who looks nervous. He's being all ADD, eating fries one at a time and pacing back and forth in front of me, tugging on his eyebrow ring.

His fidgeting is kind of cute, though. Is he really that anxious about asking
me
to a party? I can't help a tiny smile. For once, I feel like the one who has the advantage.

“I said I'll go, jeez. Just stop doing that,” I say.

“Okay, cool.” He stops pacing and gives me a lopsided grin. It makes me a little wobbly, so I duck my head and start walking back to the picnic table.

“Wait a sec,” Cody says mushily, his mouth full of fries. “I just wanted to say … it's cool you can make it. I think you'll really enjoy it. “ He gives me another odd smile.

I'll get a kick out of the Wiccan winter solstice? I did tell him about our interfaith tree, but it still seems like a weird thing to say. He doesn't even really know me that well.

But then, he did ask me to a party. Maybe he wants to know me better.

I can live with that. Even if I do kind of wish we were going to be alone together instead.

From Shiri Langford's journal, April 20th

I called Mom on Thursday and started crying over the phone. I felt so stupid, but I couldn't help telling her everything, not about THAT but about my mediocre grades, about how I feel like such a failure and how I'm never going to be able to get into law school, about Brendan and how I'm confused about him and how I just don't know what I'm going to do.

She was giving me advice, and telling me I needed to do this, do that, keep taking my medication and just try to ride it out, that it'll all work out somehow. I wanted to laugh and weep at the same time, because she really doesn't understand that all I want is for all of it to just GO AWAY.

twelve

The pile of clothes on my bed is about a foot high and growing, but I have yet to find the perfect combination.

“So, what does one wear to a winter solstice party?” I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I toss possible shirts onto my bed from the dresser drawer.

“Black,” Mikaela says. I hear her switch on a faucet on the other end of the phone line, her voice muffled by running water. “With black shoes.”

“Figured.”

“And a pointy little witch hat.”

“Riiiight.” I smile. “Plus green makeup. You can't forget the green makeup.”

“I think I've got some of that green facial goop.” We both laugh. My mom walks up and stops just outside my open doorway.

“Sunny, honey, you're going to put those away before you go, right?” She glances pointedly at the pile of clothes on my bed, then sighs. She's still moping, but I don't want to spend every second of my seventeenth birthday hanging out with her and Dad. “I don't know why you can't just wear that nice blue blouse you had on at dinner.”

I resist groaning with disgust. “Mom! It's a party. I'm not wearing a ‘blouse' to a party.” I roll my eyes, then relent. “
Yes
, I'll put it all away.” Once she clears the doorway, I toss the clothes into the back of the closet.

“
Sunny honey
… ” Mikaela teases in a syrupy voice. “Sunny honey, can you please help me make a yoga scrapbook?”

“Shush,” I tell her with an embarrassed laugh. I switch the phone to my other ear. “It could be worse.”

“Sunny honey, you should wear something long and flowing, the better to dance euphorically around a bonfire with.”

“Okay, do you know something I don't?” I dig around in the closet, pushing some of my old trendy duds to the back. “Seriously. I hope there's not a bonfire. I'm not doing any naked frolicking in the forest.”

“Oh, jeez, can you imagine? Cody frolicking naked in the forest with a bunch of witch wanna-be's?”

“Hmm.” Take out the witch wanna-be's and it's not an entirely unappealing image. “Hey, I've got a long skirt here. It's black with a lacy edge at the bottom.”

“Sounds perfect,” Mikaela says. “Really. It's just a party. They aren't going to cavort around in capes or anything. Hurry up and put it on so you can pick me up. I have to go finish my eyeliner.”

It only takes me a few minutes to finish getting ready. I put on the black skirt, a tight dark-green sweater, and my black Converse hi-tops, and I leave my hair down except for a black beaded clip on one side. I check my phone. It's seven thirty, fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to pick up Mikaela. I put on dark-red lip gloss and a quick spritz of vanilla body spray, grab her Christmas present and Cody's—a snowman ornament that I “goth-ified” with black marker—and rush out the door.

The air is cool and perfect; the sky is clear and full of stars. Happy birthday to me—and it's my first night of being able to drive Mikaela around without technically breaking the law. No more worrying about every passing cop car whenever I have friends in the car. I'd always pictured this moment differently—Cassie in the front, maybe, with the rest of the swim crew in the back—but I'm glad it's not like that.

Still, I really should call Spike. Not tonight, but maybe later.

Mikaela's ready and waiting when I pull up in front of her apartment complex. She gets in, wearing a long black velvet dress and knee-high burgundy Doc Martens and smelling faintly of sandalwood. Her eyes look huge, lined thickly with black eyeliner and some kind of smoky gray shadow.

“I've got something for you, Sunny honey,” she ann-ounces, plopping a little package in my lap. It's wrapped in the Sunday comics. “It's your birthday
and
your Christmas present. Two for the price of one.”

“Thanks!” I'm embarrassed and pleased at the same time. I'd told her not to worry about my birthday. “Your present's on the back seat.”

“Well, I'm greedy. I want it now.” She grins and unbuckles her seat belt so she can turn around and fumble in the back seat for her gift. I focus on driving and try to imagine Cody's reaction to my goth snowman.

Mikaela picks at the elaborate ribbon, which my mom tied artistically around the little package. “It's too pretty,” she complains. “I'm going to wreck it.”

“Just open it.” I turn the car down a side street next to the Orangebrook shopping center, following Cody's directions to a strip mall I've been to a few times with my parents.

“Oh!” Mikaela draws a sharp breath. “Oh, Sunny, you jerk.”

I smile. I can hear her tearing off the plastic backing attached to the bracelet I found at a funky import store. It couldn't be more perfect for Mikaela: a silver chain, inset with bits of onyx and burgundy-colored stone in jagged, irregular shapes.

“It's no big deal.” I pull into the strip mall parking lot, maneuver the car into a spot under a bright lamppost, and kill the engine.

“It is. I love it. But I thought we agreed—no more than fifteen bucks.” She glares at me.

“I got a discount.”

She keeps looking at me. “You can't buy my love with a bracelet. I don't swing that way, anyway.”

I laugh. “It was cheap. I promise. One of my dad's friends owns the store. Khan's Bazaar on Seventh, okay? Jeez. Can I open my present now?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mikaela says. I can see her eyeing the bracelet, now glinting off her right wrist. “Just get it over with.”

“Shut up.” I tear off the newsprint wrapper. Inside, I find a small blank book with an intricately filigreed cover design, all silver spirals and knots on the black cloth cover. I turn it this way and that. The patterns glitter and twist in the dim light of the streetlamp.

“Mikaela. You drew these yourself, didn't you?”

“Little old me,” she says. “And my silver marker.”

“It's gorgeous!” I run one hand over the notebook reverently. She put so much thought and care into her gift. Meanwhile, I just got her some store-bought bracelet.

“It's no big deal,” she says, and smiles at me. She always seems to know what to say when I freeze up. She doesn't even need to read my mind. I smile back, relaxing a little.

“Oh,” she says, like an afterthought. “Cody asked me to give this to you.” She rummages in her purse and throws a small paper bag in my lap, folded down at the top and stapled. “I told him it was your birthday.”

I open it, curious, my stomach doing a little flip. Inside is a necklace, a slender silver chain with a tiny sun-shaped charm dangling on it.

“I pointed it out to him, but I didn't know he went back and bought it. It's cute.”

It's beautiful. Too beautiful. My stomach flips over again. He probably didn't pay for it. At the same time … he was thinking about me. I fold it back inside the little bag, and slip it into my purse.

“So where's the party again? Cody didn't specify.”

There's only one business still open besides the Vietnamese noodle house, and Mikaela points at it.

I look. Immediately, I cringe.

“What?” She swats my arm gently. “Let's go.”

I sigh and get out of the car. “Krishna Bookstore?
Really?
”

“What's wrong with Krishna Bookstore?” She smiles at me wickedly and gestures at the hand-painted sign, complete with the Sanskrit “om” symbol in gold paint. “C'mon. It's
groovy
.”

“I know it's ‘groovy.' I've been here with my parents. They bought a batik wall hanging.” Not to mention the ceramic bong that my dad keeps insisting is a vase, as if I have no idea what goes on when they're laughing in his study late at night. It's horrifying. They think they're still in college.

I lock up the car and we head for the square of light spilling out of the shop window. The window display has all these crystals and geodes artistically arranged around a bunch of books with titles like
Today's Witchcraft
and
Your Psychic Potential
, and CDs of whale songs and sitar music. My dad always makes fun of that kind of crap. Never mind the fact that he's been known to shop here.

I hesitate outside for a moment. Mikaela turns back and puts her arm through mine.

“No need to be shy. I'm sure they're perfectly nice people. Even if they are friends with Cody,” she says with a smirk. “Besides, you never know. You might actually like them.”

“Have you even
met
them?”

She gives me a worried look. “No, but … give it a chance, huh? Cody's going to be there. I'm sure he's already here.”

“Okay, okay.” I slip through the door as she holds it open. A sign in elaborate loopy handwriting, taped to the glass, says “If you are here for our special event, proceed to the Gathering Room.” The shop is empty, but I can hear voices wafting from an open door at the back.

“Must be where the party is,” Mikaela says, gesturing toward the rear of the shop. “After you.”

I start walking, see who's standing behind the counter, and stop dead. I can't believe I forgot this crucial piece of information.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter. “Antonia.”

“Huh?” Mikaela is distracted, fingering a crystal of smoky quartz. “Who's that?”

“She's friends with my mom,” I whisper. “She works here. I totally forgot.” I try to duck behind a shelf and sneak by.

It doesn't work.

“
Sun
shine! Well, look who it is! Are you here for the solstice? I never knew you were interested in witchcraft! Have you heard about our Mother Goddess Group?” She has a huge smile on her face, and, oh god, she's wearing
glitter eyeshadow
.

“Hi, Antonia,” I mutter. I have to get out of here. I don't know what a Mother Goddess Group is and I don't want to. There's glitter all over her red hair, too, and she's wearing a silver sweater that clings too tightly to her ample bosom.

“We're just here because a friend invited us,” I say, trying to cross the room as quickly as possible.

“Well, it's a lively little group; you'll love it. I have to mind the store during the party, but you go right on in! Have a glass of champagne—I promise not to tell your mom!” She winks at me. Mikaela gives me this cross-eyed look and I almost lose it, so I grab her arm and we flee for the back room.

We stop in the doorway. About twenty people are standing in little groups around the room, and they're all staring at us like we have horns. Or maybe like we
don't
have horns—who knows what these people are into. Most of them are older than we are, in their twenties or thirties. The walls are painted an unnerving orangey-red color, with posters of nature and diagrams of people's chakras. I recognize one of the chakra diagrams from my mom's weekend yoga sessions. Thick white candles are burning here and there throughout the room.

I feel like I'm having a very surreal dream.

There's a folding table against the wall to our left, laden with chips, vegetables, and store-bought iced Christmas cookies. Mikaela heads straight for the food, ignoring a few lingering stares. Her eyebrows are mildly raised as if she's the one in charge, as if everyone else is beneath her notice. I envy her for that; I feel like diving under the table.

Then Cody saunters in.

“Sunny, Mikaela. Hey,” he says casually, as if this is all completely normal.

“Hi,” I say. He flashes a sly smile in my direction and I get a not-unpleasant lurch in the pit of my stomach. Still, I'm not sure what I'm expected to do, so I join Mikaela at the food table and pour myself that glass of champagne.

“Hey, people,” I hear Cody say in a louder voice, “these are the friends I was telling you about. You know, Mikaela and Sunny?” I'm not sure if it's my imagination, but it seems like he puts a little more emphasis on my name. He meets my eyes, and my mouth goes a little dry. I search his face; I want to know what he's thinking. But his expression is mild, unreadable.

Mikaela strides confidently over to one of the groups. I follow more slowly, and sip my drink. People shuffle around on the threadbare, institutional-gray carpet, making room for us.

A thirtyish woman in a dark-blue gauzy dress introduces herself as Rennie. “Welcome to the Canyon Wiccan Circle's annual solstice party,” she says. “We're just chatting and enjoying the food before we officially get started.” Her gaze lingers on me for a second, her eyes the artificial dark green of specialty contact lenses, and I fidget uncomfortably. Cody hangs his black raincoat on a chair in the corner and stands next to me. The soft, dark fabric of his button-down shirt brushes the bare skin of my wrist. I can smell his clove cigarettes.

I take a bigger swig of champagne.

There are a few perfunctory introductions, and then people start talking again. Obviously they all know each other, and Cody is nodding and smiling at whatever Rennie's saying like he totally gets it. I wonder if he hangs out with these people a lot.

I wonder if he hangs out with
Antonia
. The thought makes my brain want to implode. Rather than pondering the Cody-Antonia connection, I tune back in to the conversation.

“I know, I
know
, I saw him on Saturday. He totally gave me the brush-off,” says this tall guy—Jake? Jeff?—in a loud voice. He's wearing a purple cloak, pinned at the neck with a silver pentagram. Underneath, he's wearing a T-shirt and jeans, an ensemble that strikes me as goofy. Nobody else is dressed that way, not even Head Witch Rennie, or whatever her official title is.