Unlocked (15 page)

“Get comfortable in your chair,” Rose said. “Uncross your legs and plant your feet on the floor. On your thighs, set your palms up.”

Plug and I followed Rose's instructions. He closed his eyes again and so did I. He was right next to me. I recalled how calm he'd remained in the warehouse when the lights went out, and I knew everything would be fine.

“Focus on the sound of my voice. Inhale deeply and hold it for five seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Release it through your mouth. Take in another breath and feel your lungs expand. Relax. Let the breath out through your mouth. Keep your breathing steady. When you decide the time is right for you, create your art, but remember to keep your eyes closed and trust your instincts.

“Now, imagine you are in a chaotic hotel lobby. People are rushing with their luggage and talking loudly, but you are peaceful. You slowly inhale, and you refuse to let their chaos influence you. You move through the crowd with a purpose. You find the elevators and press the down button. The crowded lobby is behind you and has no influence over you. The elevator opens, and you step inside. Alone. Press the button for the basement level, because you want to descend deeper—”

“Into the depths of the underworld,” a man interrupted.

I opened my eyes wide, but there was no man in the room, and Rose continued speaking. Everyone else created their art with their eyes closed. No one else reacted to the deep, husky voice. Only I had heard it.

Kyla began to sprinkle sand over the page in her book. Plug lightly sketched a large oval that extended off the top of the page. Nick sat still, with his pencils untouched.

I pulled in a long breath and focused on Rose's voice. I'd be fine. I squirted a blob of paint onto my right index finger and then swiped some of it onto my left one. I rested my forearms against the edge of the table and closed my eyes.

“The walls of the elevator are mirrors,” Rose said. “Study your reflection. You're tired, and your shoulders sag. A soft bell dings, and the doors open. The elevator has brought you to a safe level. You step into the comfort of this place and relax even more. The sense of happiness floods over you. The lush grass beneath your feet comforts you.

“Under a large shade tree you see an ornate box. Touch it, and trace the intricate design. When you lift the lid, you find a paper and a pencil. Write your concerns and your worries. Only you will see the list. Once you have finished, set the list back inside the box and close it. Your troubles are secure inside. They will be there when you return, but you do not need to carry them with you now. When you move away, you feel lighter than ever before. Float if you want. Fly if you want. Enjoy the sensation of being free.

“Beyond the rise of grass is your ideal place. Possibly a bed next to a river, or a couch near a rose garden, or a cloud in the sky, whatever it is, create tranquility and joy in your safe place. Once you've created it, you can revisit it whenever you want and build upon it, add details, and smooth the edges. Today is the basic creation. We're staying a short time today, but you can come back whenever you please. Commit your details to memory. The colors. The textures. Travel toward the tree where you left the box. Continue to breathe deeply. Kneel in front of the box, but before you open the lid, know that you have the power within you to overcome the items on your list. No problem is too great for you to handle.

“Return to the elevator and step inside. Face yourself in the mirror. You stand taller. Your eyes shine brighter. Your smile is larger. You are confident, strong, and sure. The elevator rises, and you inhale deliberately. The bell dings, and the doors open. The lobby isn't as chaotic as it was before. People move slower, talk softer, and carry lighter loads. You greet people with kindness, and they are happy to see you. As you move toward the hotel exit, you feel refreshed and energized. Ready to conquer the day. When I count to five you will open your eyes and be fully alert. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Open your eyes.”

All my fingertips were covered in paint now, and in my sketchbook I had drawn a sloppy outline of a small square cabin that I'd pictured in my safe place. It sat near the rise of a hill. My clumsy artwork was worse than the stick drawings of a five-year-old, the roof disjointed from the body of the cabin. Smoke swirls extended and flourished across the remainder of the page and carried over onto the opposing page. In the lower corner was a crude box—my representation of the ornate one Rose had described. Red pooled beneath it. I laughed at my ridiculous effort.

Plug passed me a wet paper towel. “Let's wash up,” he whispered. Other students returned supplies and washed their hands in the side basin. Before I stood, I gazed at the sketchbooks on the table. Nick had used his three colored pencils to create an abstract drawing. Kyla had created a windstorm of sand on her pages, and she now sprayed adhesive on a thin plastic sheet and pressed it over her art. Plug had drawn a portrait of a girl who looked a lot like me, using shadows and illuminations to play with the features. I leaned closer for a better view, but Plug closed the sketchbook and slipped it into his bag. He motioned me toward the side basin.

After the students had returned to their seats, Rose said, “This method of creating art allows you to explore your innermost being. Sometimes the art you create will match what you envisioned in your mind. Other times, it will have no resemblance to anything you saw. Perhaps it more closely resembles your emotions. Research has shown that colors influence and reflect our deepest feelings. For example, cool colors like blues and greens can have a relaxing and nurturing effect. That's why decorators use these colors in spas. It's also why people in positions of authority will wear these colors—to have a comforting influence over the individuals they manage. Warm colors like yellow, orange, and red convey more fervent emotions, not only rage and anger but also happiness, passion, and courage. And interestingly enough these warm colors can trigger hunger, and that's why you'll see red tones in a lot of fast-food company logos.”

Several students snickered and named the companies with red in their logos.

Rose lifted a hand to quiet them. “Remember, art is not necessarily about finding hidden meaning, but if you explore it closely, your art can be a mirror reflecting your soul.”

The bell rang.

“Thank you, everyone, for participating,” Rose said. “If your sketchbooks are wet, set them on the counter to dry.” I carried mine to the back of the room and set it among the others.

Plug and I walked together to our next class. “What'd you think of that?” he asked.

“I've never done anything like it,” I said.

“Neither have I.”

“Really? Everyone's art seemed as if they'd done this a million times before. Did you see Nick's drawing?”

Plug nodded.

“Did you have your eyes closed the whole time?” I asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Your charcoal drawing was amazing,” I said. “You must've had your eyes open.”

He quickened his pace toward statistics, but I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him to a stop in the hallway.

“Why did you draw a picture of me?”

Plug bit down on his lip ring.

The bell rang, and he motioned me into the classroom. We didn't have a chance to talk during class. So afterward, I asked him again.

“It was only a sketch,” he said.

“It was beyond incredible.”

“Rose said to create our art and trust our instincts. You were in my thoughts. I drew a picture of you.”

“Which means you stared at me when my eyes were closed.” That troubled me, even though I had stolen a glance at him during the exercise, too.

“It's a drawing, Hannah. Let it go. Especially if you still want me to drive you to your boyfriend's house after school.” Plug turned away, and we headed in separate directions.

• • •

After my last class, I met up with Plug in the parking lot. It seemed wrong to bum a ride to Manny's house from him, but Plug claimed to be my friend. So it shouldn't matter. “Do you want to meet Manny when we get there?”

“I already know who he is.” Plug got into the El Camino without opening my door for me.

“You're mad at me,” I said after we belted in.

“I've been thinking about the conversation at lunch. Kyla told you to take back your life, and it made me curious. If you could choose who to eat lunch with tomorrow, would you still hang with us, the outcasts, or would you return to the uptight rich clique?”

“They're not uptight,” I said.

Plug glared at me.

“And I never called you an outcast,” I said.

“That doesn't mean you want to be with us either.” Plug started the engine, but then he draped his forearm over the steering wheel. “Why do you care so much about what other people think of you?”

“Why do you care so much about your artwork?” I asked.

“What do you want from our group? From me?” Plug asked.

“I don't know,” I said.

“Right.” Plug shifted into reverse. “Where are we going?”

I explained how to get to Manny's house.

“You two live in the same neighborhood?” Plug asked. I nodded. We listened to a rock station on the radio and drove into the foothills. Neither of us said a word until he pulled to the curb in front of Manny's house.

“Please don't be mad at me,” I said. “You're my only friend. I'm sorry for the stupid things I said and did today.”

“I know.” He tapped his rings against the steering wheel. Then he killed the engine, hopped out, and ran around to open my door.

Before I stepped out of the car, I said, “Thanks, Plug.”

I glanced across the street to Lily's house. I didn't even know if she had regained consciousness yet. I missed her.

Plug walked with me across Manny's lawn.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Walking you to the door.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

My heart beat faster at the thought of Manny opening the door and seeing me with Plug. He reached out and rang the doorbell.

Zeus—the Santos family's small half-breed beagle—howled inside. Mrs. Santos opened the door with Zeus cradled in her arm. She wore a cranberry blouse and a
KISS THE COOK
apron. She hugged me with her other arm, and Zeus sniffed my ear with his wet nose.

“How are you feeling, child?” she asked.

I shrugged.

She tilted her head to the side and said to Plug, “Hello.”

“Mrs. Santos, this is . . .” I hesitated, because now that I'd gotten used to calling him Plug, the name Eugene felt strange on my lips.

“Eugene,” Plug finished for me. Then he reached out and shook her hand.

“Well, come on in you two.” She motioned us in, but Plug hesitated.

“Actually, I can't stay.” He stepped away but then turned back to me and said, “I'll see you at seven tomorrow morning.”

I nodded and followed Mrs. Santos inside.

She closed the door, and Zeus squirmed. When she set him down, his tail wagged and he ran toward me. I squatted to scratch him behind the ears, but he tucked his tail between his legs, and he began to whimper.

“What's bothering you?” Mrs. Santos asked Zeus and picked him up.

I set my backpack by the door and followed Mrs. Santos down the hall to the family room off the kitchen. To my right, fresh homemade bread lined the counter on cooling racks. To my left, Manny lay sprawled out on the couch. He pushed up to a sitting position when he saw me and carefully moved his feet from the couch to the floor. Joy flowed through me, and I relaxed. Mrs. Santos set Zeus down, and he ran out of the room. She went back to baking in the kitchen.

I stooped in front of Manny. “How are you?”

“I'm better now.” He twined his fingers with mine. I peeked toward the kitchen to see if his mom was watching. She mixed something in a lime-green ceramic bowl. Manny lowered the volume on the television with the remote.

“Was someone at the door with you?” Manny asked.

“Eugene dropped me off.”

Manny's jaw clenched. “I thought you weren't hanging out with him anymore.”

“I don't have a car, and he offered me a ride. We're friends—”

“I don't care,” Manny said. “I don't trust him.”

“There's nothing to worry about with him.” I sidled up to Manny on the couch. “Do you still hurt?”

“Yes, but at least I've been able to cut back on the pain pills. Soon I won't need them at all.” He touched his torso. “It hurts to breathe because of the cracked ribs, but the doctors say it will take time to heal.”

“Have you heard any news about Lily?” I asked.

“Didn't her mom call you?”

“No. What's happened?” My chest tightened with fear.

Manny grabbed my hand. “She woke up this afternoon.”

Tears of relief flooded down my face. “Can she talk? Can I call her?”

“No, she's still in ICU, but Mrs. Sloane told us they plan to move her to a regular room tomorrow. So you should be able to talk to her then.”

I gazed downward.

Manny lifted my chin. “She'll get better. The accident was not your fault.”

“Of course it was. And I can't fix it. Our friends on the student council hate me. Chelsea's convinced them I'm to blame. And I'm being stalked by evil spirits or something.”

“Chelsea told me some weird stuff has happened at school, but she—”

“When did you talk to Chelsea?”

“She's called to check on me.”

“Chelsea is up to something. And I'm serious about the evil spirits. I know it's hard to believe, but remember that pink elephant you won at the fair? It burned in the fire. I know it did. But now it keeps reappearing in my room. I threw it out with the garbage this morning.”

Manny's face paled. “That sounds really crazy,” he said. “Have you been home to see if the trash men took it away?”