Wildcat Fireflies (26 page)

A woman’s voice? I think it was the woman who let us use the phone. A headmistress who seemed more interested in her next drink than running this place. I didn’t think she was Nocti, but I felt like she had bad energy. Her heels clicked back up the stairs, with heavier footsteps following. Car doors?

A man spoke. Neither Tens nor I could catch his words, but we heard the response clearly.

His coworker said, “Sleeping like the dead I was. So freakin’ inconsiderate dying in the middle of the night.”

I wanted to bust out of the closet and scream at him until he understood the word
respect
. I just tightened my hold on Tens, whose expression said that he wanted to do the same thing. Only Tens would have used less words, more actions, to get his point across. Finally, the next wave of activity subsided. Engines started up and drove off. The heels clicked by and didn’t return.

I shifted my neck to ease a new cramp and wondered if I’d make it to a bathroom before things hit critical mass. For the umpteenth time, I wished my special powers were more practical, like not experiencing hunger or thirst, or never needing potty breaks. Seriously, those would come in handy, whereas these death powers, these just got in my way.

“Can you reach my midback?” Tens whispered.

I brought a hand up. “I think so.”

“Scratch between my shoulder blades.”

I scratched gently through his shirt.

“Harder.”

I felt his muscles ripple as he stretched against my hand.

“Thanks. Better.”

I stopped, but left my hand on his back.

“That was driving me nuts.” He smiled down at me, and for the first time I realized he lay on top of me, with his legs over mine. My heart sped up and even in this dangerous, crazy situation I wanted him to kiss me. We pressed together; parts of me were quite happy with the contact. He too was aroused by the proximity. Someone at school used to talk about fear and survival making for the best sex. Maybe they were right.

My desire must have changed my expression or muscle tension, because Tens began to lean down toward me. His tongue licked his lips and I mimicked him.

The door to the closet opened with a snick.

We leapt, tangling further, startled back to reality. It took a moment for me to regain my equilibrium, but Tens uncurled and moved between me and the door.

A face I’d only seen from a distance peered in. “I’m Nicole. It’s safe, but we must hurry.” We scooted out as quickly and quietly as possible. Transitioning those souls had left my legs rubbery and asleep.

I felt like a secret agent lurking around corners, following this girl toward our freedom.

Bodie poked his head out from under a table as we went by and gave us a thumbs-up.

I smiled in return, not sure what about this pleased him.

None of us spoke, relying solely on hand signals and head shakes. As the back door swung shut behind us, Nicole caught it and closed it without a sound breaking the night air.

She led the way toward the hedge along the side of the property. “Go around, not through.” She pointed.

“Why? That’s the way we came.” I gestured toward where Bodie brought us. It would be so much faster.

“There’s a terrible patch of poison ivy in there.”

That was the second time I’d heard warnings about ivy. Didn’t it just grow up old brick buildings? “What’s that?”

“How do you not know about poison ivy?” she asked, a shocked, horrified expression on her face.

O
n two hours of sleep, I’d made oatmeal and toast for the four of us kids. It was odd to have all the rooms unoccupied; I couldn’t remember that happening before.

I tasted ooey-gooey macaroni and cheese and rich, velvety chocolate cake on the back of my tongue. I hoped Mistress would leave the house again long enough for me to sneak those out of my head and onto our plates.

Exhaustion from the night’s events kept dragging at me
like wet winter clothes during a creek swim. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to resist the pull of a current I didn’t understand. What would happen if I laid down and refused to ever get up again?

“How are you feeling today?” Nicole put her hand on my forehead.

“A cold, maybe.” My face was aflame and I felt like I was running a fever. My throat was stripped raw.

“Are you getting sick?”

“Of course not.” Work didn’t stop for illness.

“Maybe you should go back to bed?”

“I can’t.”

“I think we need to talk about your birthday.”

“What about it?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do?”

“Next. When she asks you about what you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to think about it.”

“I can’t.” I bit off the words. “Please just stop.”

“I can’t stop time.” Nicole looked sad, then went to the pantry and pulled out a brown grocery bag. “Here are some clothes.”

“For what?”

“You’ll blend better in this stuff.” She pushed the bag toward me when I didn’t take it. “For coffee with Ms. Asura. Why don’t you go shower? It might make you feel better.”

I nodded, too achy to argue. “Thank you,” I said.

She nodded, turning back to the dishes immediately.

However much I wished I could spend the day in hot water, I showered quickly, not wanting Mistress to notice my absence. I tugged on crisp black jeans, a black T-shirt with constellations silk-screened on it, and a red hoodie.

Since all Nicole wore was dresses, I knew these weren’t her clothes. Besides, I would never fit my length and width into her stuff. My usual sneakers were falling off my feet and used to belong to Mrs. Kapowsky, who was here three weeks and taught me a French lullaby to sing to the kids. The shoes Nicole had given me were orthopedic and completely ugly, but black, so not as obvious as some others. I couldn’t pay attention to fashion—as if I even had time to. I didn’t ask Nicole where she’d found the clothes. They didn’t come from the closet or suitcase of one of the deceased—they fit too well and were too new.

Mistress called me to her office as I stepped out of the steamy upstairs bathroom. She was in her usual double-polyester floral-nightmare blouse and plum–puke brown pants. With her hair scraped back slickly and too much orange blush, her already fat face looked even rounder, drawing attention to her third chin. She was brimming, in full form, not a hint that she’d worn a V-neck dress and nonsensible heels last night. I tuned back into her words before she noticed and punished me for not paying better attention. There were such things as pop quizzes around here; they usually ended with one of us kids getting popped.

Mistress harangued me. “I know you’ll be on your best behavior. People have high expectations for kids from
Dunklebarger. So don’t get any ideas.” Her expression told me that the truth was one of those ideas I wasn’t supposed to get.

“Yes, ma’am.” I avoided eye contact, staring at the floor instead.

“Ms. Asura is one of my best friends.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I doubted that. But it might explain the way they always seemed to be in cahoots. I didn’t think Ms. Asura would be seen with someone as obese as Mistress since appearances seemed to matter so much to her.

“I’ll expect you to make up the work. No dawdling,” she barked.

“Yes, ma’am.” I peeked out from under my lashes. She’d turned toward the window with a softer, dreamier stance.

In a warm and fuzzy voice Mistress mused, “She’s such an optimistic person. She sees the good in everyone. I bet she’ll tell you about going after your dreams and ask you what you want to do with your life.”

I held my tongue because there didn’t seem to be a correct response. I had no idea what to say to this rumination.

With a snap, she turned back toward me. I dropped my eyes as quickly as I could. Mistress spit the next words with venom: “She’s lying. She’s paid to say nice things to you. It’s her job. We laugh about it later on the phone. All your stupid little wishes.” Mistress cackled, not requiring audience participation for her monologue. She settled into her desk chair and clicked on her computer screen. I had no idea what she spent so much time doing online; Nicole said it was something called FarmVille, and singles dating sites. But I’d also
seen banking records and tables of numbers and names. The dating-sites idea made me nauseous; I couldn’t imagine the man who would be desperate enough to take her to dinner.

I kept my shoulders back and my knees locked, even as a wave of wooziness washed over me. The throb in my temple grew worse with each passing day. I hadn’t been dismissed yet, and so close to my outing I dreaded losing the privilege.

Mistress glanced at me over the tops of tiny gold-rimmed reading glasses. “I’m not going to be here forever, you know. I’m not the first headmistress and I won’t be the last. I’m going to retire to Tampa and live on the beach and watch my shows, with Klaus, every day. You’re stupid, Juliet, there’s no hope for you, but I’m smart and I have a plan. I’ve worked my whole life in this hole with you retards and I’m almost there. I have my nest egg incubated and it’s almost ready to hatch. Then, I’m out of here and you can all rot in hell if you’re lucky enough to get there. You have no idea what’s in store for your birthday.”

We weren’t the ones going to hell. But I kept my silence.

“Knock knock!” Ms. Asura opened the office door with a flourish and a cloud of scent that smelled like I imagined a faraway sultan’s palace might smell. Exotic. Overpowering. Spicy. “Ready, Juliet?”

“She’s ready.” Mistress answered for me. “Mind your manners, Juliet.” She and Ms. Asura shared a look I couldn’t interpret.

I nodded and followed Ms. Asura to her Mercedes. When she came with kids she drove a big white van, but when it was just her, it was this boxy, expensive-looking sports car.

Ms. Asura turned up music full of angry yelling, loud drums, and screaming guitars. She tapped her polished nails on the steering wheel. I thought I might vomit from the pain in my head, so we didn’t talk. The scent that had seemed exotic in the house felt completely overwhelming in the small confines of the car. The sun shone like French vanilla ice cream. It was cold outside; I’d draw attention if I rolled down the window. I tried breathing through my mouth instead of my nose and that helped a little.

We found a parking place near the coffee shop. Parents with strollers and toddlers chatted and giggled up and down the sidewalks. The foster-kid hazard was that all we saw were happy families those few times we were out. I heard once that pregnant ladies always saw pregnant ladies, or people with a certain car only saw those kinds of cars. It was the same for us, only opposite: we didn’t have a family so we saw them everywhere.

This was the type of coffee shop I had walked by, peering from under my lashes at the people sitting at tables, laughing, talking, and sipping frothy drinks with no cares. I’d never been in one. I stuffed my hands deep into the pockets of my hoodie and shuffled my feet. Losing a shoe was not an option.

Ms. Asura kept smiling at me, her eyes twinkling, and if anything my continued discomfort only made her smile more. Maybe she was trying to reassure me with each twist of her lips?

The scent of fresh coffee, warm milk, yeasty doughnuts, and cakes reminded me that I’d skipped eating breakfast even though I’d cooked for everyone else. My stomach growled. It was so loud I clutched it in embarrassment.

Ms. Asura either didn’t hear it or pretended not to. “Do you know what you’d like?”

“I—” I read the menu boards, not understanding most of the words.
Is this English?
There were moments when I knew how sheltered I’d been, when I looked up and realized months had passed by without my leaving DG. Most of the time, I was too busy and too tired to notice. This was one of the times I felt every second I hadn’t been in school, or in a mall, or with a family of my own.

Ms. Asura patted my shoulder. Her face was patient, but the throats clearing behind us made me point at the larger-than-life sign standing by the counter. I didn’t even read the description. I just wanted everyone to stop staring at me.

“Are you sure?” she asked me.

I nodded. I didn’t have a clue what it was: a clear mug full of purple berries and chocolate swimming in coffee, smothered in whipped cream and drizzled with more chocolate. I wasn’t sure if it was a drink or a dessert.

“Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll get the drinks?” Ms. Asura sent me toward a table for two in the back corner. She chatted with a couple of men in business suits like she’d known them forever.

I tried not to let awe blanket my face, but I’m fairly certain I looked like a hick in the big city for the first time. This was what normal looked like—so very normal. The green monster burned in me when I watched a gaggle of girls my age prance by the windows giggling. After about ten minutes Ms. Asura joined me with a expectant gleam in her eyes.

“People in this town are so nice. It’s quaint enough to feel small and close enough to Indianapolis to offer anonymity if
desired.” Ms. Asura set down my drink and hers, glancing at the men, who smiled and winked.

“Do you know them?” I asked.

“Those men? No, that’s what I mean. Friendly, friendly, friendly.” She smiled and took a sip. The top of her coffee had a heart shape in the foam. She pointed it out to me. “Cute.”

The table we sat at had a glass top under which people put business cards and signs and notices. Smack in the middle was the flyer the glass man had brought by DG.

I must have gasped or made a noise, because Ms. Asura straightened immediately. “What is it?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.” But my pulse fluttered wildly.

She lost her smile and turned to get a better look at the signage. “An open house at a glass studio? Do you like glass art?”

“No, I d-don’t really know,” I stuttered, and started balling up the straw wrappers.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “It seemed like you recognized the sign. Have you met this man?”