Unraveling Isobel (11 page)

“People at school telling you stories?”

“So it's just a story?” I felt a band of tension around my chest loosen up.

“Things weren't quite right with the first Mrs. Wickham. Let's see, she would have been your stepdad's great-great-grandmother, I think. Of course, it isn't clear what exactly the issue was, but she was mentally ill.”

“So they locked her in an attic?” My voice sounded panicked to my ears.

“It was the 1800s. Mental illness was something deeply shameful at that time. The kind of thing you locked away, so it didn't contaminate everything else. I suspect the family thought they were doing the right thing, even if it must have been terrible for her.”

The way she was looking at me made me wonder if she somehow knew about my dad. As soon as the thought came into my head, I knew it was paranoid. At this rate I'd soon start thinking that the government was tapping my phone and start wearing foil wrapped around my head to repel the gamma waves from Planet Nine. I felt my phone vibrate.

“I should get going.” I started to grab my things and shove them into the bag. Suddenly I wanted—no, I needed—to get out of the library.

“Don't be a stranger!” The bangles on her wrist jingled as she waved good-bye.

I wove my way back through the stacks. The older librarian was standing near the door, her hands twisting back and forth. She looked startled when she saw me, scared almost.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

I knew she was really asking about me, if I was okay. She could tell something was wrong. But I didn't feel like lying. “No,” I replied as I slipped past her and into the night.

Chapter 13

M
y mom and I were never close. We never stayed up late into the night watching girly movies in our pj's and giving each other manicures. We never had heart-to-heart conversations where she shared her embarrassing childhood moments as a way to provide me with meaningful lessons on what I should do with my life. On the positive side, we also didn't hate each other. We didn't slam a lot of doors and have screaming matches that ended with someone yelling out “I hate you!” Neither of us ever slapped the other or threw anything. I knew she loved me, but I also knew, even without her saying anything, that she thought her life would have been easier without me. My mom and I were more like roommates. Generally we liked each other, but we preferred to keep our distance. My mom never said anything to confirm my suspicions, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't the daughter she had
in mind. She would have preferred a bubbly cheerleader type, someone who would want to shop with her and swap beauty tips. We didn't like the same things. She didn't understand my worldview, and I didn't have a clue about how her mind worked either.

Take, for example, our current situation. I would assume that most people would want to know if they were living in a house that could be considered cursed, or at the very least, a house that met the minimum standards for unlucky. My mom didn't see things that way at all.

“Is this a joke?” She crossed her arms and glared at me from the living room doorway. I folded my legs underneath me on the sofa.

“Um. No.” What sort of sense of humor did she think I have?

“I don't believe you, Isobel.”

“Mom, this isn't the kind of thing I'd ever make up. The documents are in the library. They're a matter of public record. Seriously. You can look them up yourself.”

“That's not what I meant. I meant I can't believe you would stoop this low.”

“Low? Library research is low?”

“You better zip up that attitude right now.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything. I love how when you have an opinion different from your parent's it's an “attitude.”

“How much do you even know about these people?” I asked.

“These people? These people are your new family.”

“This isn't my family! This is the guy you married and his kid. Call me picky, but I like to have a higher threshold on who I consider family. You married Dick after three months! How well can you know someone in three months?” I took a deep breath and let it out. “Look, all I'm trying to do is point out that there's a lot more going on in this house. I thought you'd
want
to know all this history.”

“What is going on, Isobel? What is it that you're trying to say? That Richard did something unsavory? He told me all about the suspicions and gossip people were throwing around. Do you know how much that hurt him? That was his wife and child who died. This is a small town. When there isn't enough drama to gossip about, people make it up, and they don't care who it hurts.”

“They don't have to make much up, Mom. Dick's wife and daughter are dead. That's not gossip, that's a fact. Then you add in all the other weird stuff about this house, and it's suspicious.”

“Weird stuff about the house. So the ghost you think you saw makes you think it's haunted.”

“I'm not saying I saw a ghost and I don't know if it's haunted. I'm just saying …” My voice trailed off.

“You realize how crazy that sounds, don't you?”

I sucked in a deep lungful of air. I couldn't believe she'd said that, and the hurt must have shown on my face, because she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, for crying out loud. It's an expression. If it stings, it's because it's true. It does sound crazy. I know you didn't want to move here, and believe me, you've made it very clear what you think of Richard. Either you're dragging all this stuff out to try to upset me or you're doing it on a subconscious level. I certainly hope this isn't on purpose, but either way, I want you to drop it.”

“Fine. Consider it dropped, but don't say I didn't try warning you.” I brushed past her and ran up the stairs. I yanked open the door to my room, and that's when I noticed it. I ran my hand across the doorjamb outside my room. There were four holes in the wood. I shut the door with a quiet click and took a closer look. There were two additional screw holes in the door that lined up with the other four on the frame. I let my fingers trail over the holes as if I could read them like braille. No doubt about it. There had been a lock on the door at one point. A lock on the outside, meant to keep someone in.

Chapter 14

T
he next morning passed uneventfully, but I still wasn't sure what to expect at lunchtime. I stood at the door to the cafeteria with my brown paper bag in hand. Say what you like about me, but at least I was smart enough to learn I should pack my own lunch. Scanning the sea of teenagers, I tried to spot Nicole among the tables. I wasn't sure if the invitation to sit with her at lunch was still on or if she had made the offer in haste as a result of volleyball-induced hysteria and now was going to pretend it never happened.

“Hey! Isobel! Over here.” Nicole stood up so I could see her. She was waving madly like she was part of the ground crew of Chicago O'Hare airport. I could see a few people look over in surprise. I pulled my shoulders back and tried to exude the aura of someone who was used to being the
center of attention. I wove through the tables. I paused when I passed Nathaniel's table. He glanced up from his book and then over at Nicole.

“Well, well. Look who's managed to upgrade herself to the inner reindeer circle her first week.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Nope. Just didn't picture you as the cheerleader type. Are they going to get you a set of black pom-poms?”

“Ha-ha. I'm not becoming a cheerleader.”

“Never say never, Blitzen.” He looked back down at his book. Clearly the conversation was over.

I walked away without saying anything else, mostly because I couldn't think of a really good comeback. Nicole pulled out a chair next to her to make room for me.

“What did Nathaniel say?”

“Uh, just telling me some stuff for our history class.”

“He can join us too if he wants.”

I peeked over at Nathaniel. I couldn't picture him surrounded by all this estrogen. Most of Nicole's friends were heavy on the girly girl look. There wasn't a single shade of pink not represented at the table. I pulled down my black T-shirt. “I'm not sure he would want to. He and I aren't really close friends or anything.”

“He doesn't have any friends,” the girl across the table said.

“Don't be such a snot. Nathaniel's her brother.”

“Stepbrother,” I clarified.

“See that, even his stepsister can tell he's a freak and doesn't want to be related to him.” The girl looked at me. “I'm Brittany. Everyone calls me Brit.” She pointed around the table. “This is Samantha, but we call her Sam, and Jenni, with an
i
, not a
y
.”

“I'm Isobel, also with an
i
.” No one laughed.

“Don't call him a freak. God, just because he isn't like everyone else,” Nicole grumped, stabbing at her salad. I felt like I should be the one defending him.

“Isn't that the definition of ‘freak'? They don't fit in?” Brit flipped the top of her sandwich off and began picking through the contents. She left the bread and ate some of the turkey lunch meat. She raised a hand to stop Nicole before she could speak. I could see a glob of mayonnaise on the side of one finger. “I'm joking.”

“Don't you think it's hard enough for Isobel to be new without you slagging her family?”

“I'm fine,” I said, but no one seemed to hear me.

“I didn't slag anyone. I made one flip comment. Maybe Isobel shouldn't be so high-strung that she can't take a joke.”

“I can take a joke,” I said, but again no one was listening to me.

“Maybe you should think about what you say before it comes out of your mouth.”

“Don't worry about me. It's no big deal.” I wondered if
I was only thinking I was saying anything out loud, because as far as I could tell from the reactions around me, I wasn't making a sound.

“Whatever.” Brit's chair screeched as she pushed back from the table. Sam and Jenni both had their mouths open in perfect Os. Brit stomped out of the cafeteria. Nicole went back to harpooning her salad.

“I brought Cheetos. Anyone want one?” I offered, holding out my Ziploc baggie. It wasn't a great conversational opener, but it was all I had. Sam pulled back like I had held out a bag of steaming dog poop.

“Do you have any idea how much fat and salt are in those things?” Sam's nose wrinkled up.

I pulled out a Cheeto and looked it over. I wondered if she thought I didn't know that it was constructed completely of fat and salt. That's what made it taste so good. I popped it in my mouth and rubbed the orange cheese powder off on my pants.

“You're going to have to watch what you eat,” Nicole said. “It might seem like a small thing, but the wrong food can really slow you down.”

“Slow me down? Where am I going?”

“Cheerleading. We're all on the squad. I talked to Ms. Lancaster, and she says you can be an alternate.” Nicole smiled like she was announcing I had won the lottery.

“Me?”

“Don't worry about the alternate thing, it's just a formality. You'll have a uniform and everything, and there's no reason you can't cheer at most of the games. Ms. Lancaster can't make you officially on the squad because you weren't here for tryouts.”

“I can't be a cheerleader.”

“Of course you can. We've already fixed it all up. Our whole group is on the squad. You're going to love it.”

“I've never cheered in my life.” I looked around in confusion. I could see Nathaniel watching what was happening with a smirk on his face. “I'm not even sure I can do a cartwheel.”

“Tell you what, I'll give you a ride home today and I'll show you some of the routines. You'll pick them up in no time. I'm a great teacher.”

Nicole, Jenni, and Sam were all smiling at me as if they expected me to break into tears of joy like a newly crowned Miss America. I could tell they thought they had done me some sort of huge favor. How do you tell someone who thinks cheerleading is some sort of divine gift that you think it's stupid? Spelling things out in front of large crowds while wearing a short skirt was not remotely my idea of a good time. But I didn't want to offend the only girls who seemed interested in being my friends. If I insulted them, I had a feeling I'd be even less likely to befriend anyone else.