He didn’t hesitate.
I’m glad he’s looking ahead and not moping around over Lillia and Reeve. He’s been texting me like crazy with lyric tweaks and chord changes, and he’s reworked all three of his songs according to my feedback. Everybody knows that the best music comes from bloodshed. Not one of those original Lillia love songs made the cut. It’s probably a good thing. He’s moving on.
“Well, that’s a wrap,” I say. “And now you can join me in the hell of waiting for an acceptance letter.” I’m about to shut his laptop screen, but Alex stops me.
“I’m going to upload them to the USC server right now.” Soberly he adds, “Hopefully they take me, because I can’t wait to get out of here. I don’t really see myself coming back after graduation.”
I let out a little snicker. “You sound like me. Anyway, what are you talking about? You’re coming back. Your parents live here.”
“For now they do. But my dad’s always talking about what a hassle it is to commute from the island to work. And, I mean, my mom loves California. She’s already talking about maybe getting a place in Santa Barbara while I’m at school.”
Okay, that I do believe. Alex’s mom is freaking obsessed with him. “What if you don’t get in?” I hate to say it, but I have to, because nothing is a guarantee. Shit, I can barely sleep at night, thinking about Oberlin. “Would they move to Boston?”
Alex isn’t hearing me. He keeps his eyes on the computer screen. “I’m not going to Boston. If I don’t get into USC, then I’ll go to Michigan. I want to be as far away as possible.”
I get it. He might not be singing about Lillia, but Alex is still hurting. But he’s being a bit dramatic with this whole I’m-running-away shtick. I ignore it and grab my bag. “All righty, dude. I better bounce. I was supposed to be at Lillia’s house hours ago.”
“Have fun,” he says sarcastically.
I should just go, but I can’t help it. “Dude, don’t be like that.”
“Be like what?”
“Look,” I say. “I know you probably feel like a dummy for sending those flowers on Valentine’s Day, but I still think it was a good move.”
Alex laughs dryly. “Yeah. I’m glad to know that I wasted my whole high school experience on people who don’t give a shit about me.”
I dig out my keys. I know Lil is trying to wait for the right time to talk to Alex, when he’s cooled down some. Unfortunately, he’s still white-hot. So instead I ask, “Has Reeve apologized?”
He gives me a look like I’m crazy. “Reeve doesn’t say ‘sorry.’ It’s not in his vocabulary.”
“Right.” That I can believe.
* * *
I’m at Lillia’s house, and there’s a movie on their big-ass TV, but we’re not really watching it. Lillia goes into the kitchen and comes back with chips and salsa and hummus. “I got your favorite kind of hummus,” she sings out.
“Thanks, Lil,” I say, and I grab a handful of chips.
Nadia comes wandering into the living room in leggings and a cheering hoodie. She sees me lying on the couch but doesn’t say anything. “What up, Nadi,” I say.
Nadia doesn’t answer me. She glares at Lil and snarks, “I didn’t know you were having friends over. I was going to invite people over.”
“Go ahead. We can hang up in my room.”
“Just forget it.”
“Easy, little girl,” I say. “That’s your big sister you’re talking to.”
Nadia rolls her eyes. If this were at school and not, say, Lillia’s living room, I’d knock Nadia on her ass. But I’m a guest here, so I just help myself to another delicious chip.
Turning to Lil, she asks, “Are there any tortilla chips left?”
Lillia shakes her head. “No, but there are pita chips.”
Nadia makes a huffy sound. Eyeing our Oranginas, she says, “Did you drink all the Orangina too?”
“I hope so,” I say, taking a big swig. I can’t help myself.
Lillia elbows me. “I think there’s one left.”
Nadia shuffles into the kitchen, and I hear her rustling around in the fridge. “I don’t see it!”
“Look behind the deli meats,” Lillia calls back. Nadia doesn’t answer. “Did you find it?”
“No.” Nadia comes back into the living room with a Diet Coke and a bag of pita chips. She snatches the hummus and stalks up to her room.
I’m glad I don’t have a little sister. Pat can be a pain in the ass, but damn. As soon as she’s gone, I say, “Yo, why’s Nadia being such a bitch baby?”
“Sorry about that. It’s not you. It’s me.”
“You gotta get her in line,” I say, shaking my head. “Whup some ass if need be.”
“She’s still mad about the whole Reeve thing. She thinks it’s a betrayal of Rennie.” Quickly Lillia adds, “Which I know it is. Trust me, I know.”
I want to say that it’s a betrayal of Mary, too, but I keep that thought to myself because I’m here to make her feel better, not worse.
“So how is Alex? How are his songs? When will he hear something back from USC?”
“Um, which one of those do you want me to answer first?”
“Sorry. It’s just been a while since we’ve talked.”
“I know you’re trying to give him time, Lil, but I’m starting to think that time ain’t doing you any favors.”
“Ugh.” Lillia chews on her bottom lip. “Do you think I’m crazy for going through all this just to be with Reeve?”
“Look, I’m not saying I understand it.” I shudder, because God, Reeve can be such a dick. “But it’s your bag. I’m not gonna judge you for it.”
Lillia presses her foot up against mine and looks at me with big, grateful eyes. “I promise you, Kat, he’s not what you think he is.”
I snort. “How so?”
Her face goes all dreamy and soft, which makes me regret asking. Tipping her head back against the couch, she says, “He looks at me like I’m the only girl in the world.”
I roll my eyes. “Eww. Forget I asked.”
“Kat! Just listen for a minute. Please? I never get to talk about him like this.”
“Fine, I’ll listen. For a minute.”
Lillia looks around, then leans in close to me and whispers, “He’s an amazing kisser.”
I pick at my cuticles. “How far have you guys gone, anyway?”
She covers her mouth and giggles like crazy.
“I’ve heard the boy has skills,” I say.
Lil’s cheeks go pink. “We haven’t had sex or anything.” Then she whispers, “But . . . I think I maybe want to.”
I let out a whoop. “You hussy!”
Lillia swats at me, but I block her hand with a pillow. Then, suddenly, her face gets serious. “You’ve had sex with a lot of guys, right?”
I cut my eyes at her. “A few! Not a lot.”
“Right, sorry, sorry,” she says. She ducks her head, and her hair falls across her face. Worriedly she asks, “Do you think that Reeve minds? I mean, that we haven’t done it yet?”
“Nah. It’s like you said, the boy’s crazy about you. Any idiot can see that. He might get blue balls, but whatever, he can just jack off, no big deal.” Lillia makes a face at me. “What? I’m just being honest. There’s no rush, Lil.”
“I just wish Reeve was my first time and not that other guy.”
I grab her foot. Hard, because this shit is serious. I ain’t playing. “That other guy doesn’t count. You never said yes to that other guy, so he doesn’t count. Your first time is whoever you say it is. You got me?”
She nods.
The front door opens, and Lillia’s mom steps inside, wearing an ivory coat with a funnel neck, and studded black leather gloves. She looks like Jackie O but with some edge. She drops her black bag onto the entranceway table and slips out of her heels. “Girls, sorry I’m so late!” she calls out.
I stand up. “Hi, Mrs. Cho.”
“Kat!” Lillia’s mom rushes over to me wit
hout even taking her coat off. She puts her gloved hands on my cheeks and says, “My God, look how grown-up you are! I haven’t seen you in so long, honey.” She sweeps me into her arms for a long hug, and I lean into it. She still wears the same perfume, which is weirdly comforting.
Lillia says, “We were just watching a movie, Mommy.”
“Oh, that’s nice. You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you, Kat? I want to hear all about everything.” When I hesitate, she says, “We’ll order in from Red Hot! You always loved their Mongolian beef, right?”
“Stay,” Lillia urges me, tugging on my arm.
I grin. “I do love that Mongolian beef.”
Mrs. Cho claps her hands together. “Yes! Wonderful! And I have some really nice gelato, and this decadent salted caramel sauce. We’ll do sundaes!” Putting her arm around me, she says, “It’s good to see you girls together again. I’m glad you have each other to lean on.”
Lillia and I look at each other. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but she’s right. We’re the only two people who really knew Rennie; we’re the only two people who understand that loss. And now Mary’s gone too, it truly is just me and Lil.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MARY
I VISIT REEVE NIGHT AFTER night. I meet him in his dreams. Every time, I say it’s the last time, that I need to end Reeve’s life once and for all. But when it’s morning I come back home, read some more of Aunt Bette’s books, and wait until the moon comes out again.
I’m startled by the jingling of keys in the front door, and then a stampede of high-heeled shoes crossing the threshold into the foyer.
In a flash I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs. It’s five women from the Preservation Society, dressed like they’ve just come from a fancy lunch, in fur-trimmed coats, heels and stockings, and quilted purses hanging from gold chains off their shoulders. They are huddled together like a pack, staring around, wide-eyed. One woman, the youngest, searches the wall for the light switch.
I stare at the switch as she clicks it on. Nothing happens. She tries again a few times.
“I guess they turned the electricity off already,” she says.
No, you idiot. The electricity is still on. I’m just not letting you use it.
Since my mother took Aunt Bette away, the Preservation Society has come by too many times to count. Usually they stick to the outside, circling the house, making notes in their notebooks, cupping their hands around their eyes to try to peer into the windows.
They’ve never come inside before.
“I can’t see a thing,” an older woman complains. She takes a step and almost trips over a pile of mail that was shoved through the front door slot. Another white-haired woman catches her.
“Ooh, I’ve got an idea!” the young woman says pertly. She pulls out her cell phone and uses the screen like a flashlight. The place is still a mess from when my mother dragged Aunt Bette away. The woman’s perky smile fades. “Oh my gosh.”
The eldest woman is also the shortest. Her chest is covered in a bib of pearls. “We’ll leave the front door open and just stick to the ground floor.” She steps over a buckled runner carpet. “I’m most anxious to see the state of the living room. I know the Zanes did some renovations, and I pray they were smart enough to leave the fireplace mantel intact.”
What do these women think they’re doing? I know they want to turn the place into some empty dollhouse with fake furniture that no one can live in, but this house has been in my family for more than a hundred years. There’s no way my mom or Aunt Bette would ever sell it. Which means that these women are trespassing.
They move as a group into the living room. It’s not in great shape. But Aunt Bette and Mom will clean it up when they come back this summer. I hope I’ll be in heaven, or wherever, by then. But it still makes me happy to think that my family will live on in this house, that Aunt Bette and my mom still have each other.
“Polly, make sure you take lots of pictures. This will definitely show the people at the benefit why we need to raise those funds.”
“We’ll have to get our interior guy on this straightaway. Danner, take some notes, and we’ll get a quote.”
“All right. We need to call the water company and the gas company and get the utilities shut off during renovation. As for that, all the lighting fixtures must go. I don’t think these built-in shelves are original, but we can look at the blueprints back in the office. We’ll need him to repair the crown moldings and . . . oh good Lord. This wallpaper is atrocious!” The lady with the pearls actually rips a piece off the wall and flicks it onto the floor.
I helped my mother pick out that wallpaper. We both loved the tiny birds on it and the flecks of foil. It was really expensive. It had to be special-ordered from overseas.
Another woman is staring at one of Aunt Bette’s paintings on the wall. She lifts it off and tosses it onto the floor, like it’s garbage. “Danner, have them bring two Dumpsters.”
They can keep dreaming. They can’t remove anything or renovate without an owner’s permission. I’ve heard my mother say that she’d rather sell a kidney than ever part with this house.
“Thank goodness Erica decided to donate the house. Another few months and this place would have to be condemned.”
What?
There’s no way. No.
“I’m surprised she wanted to hold on to it after her daughter killed herself in the room upstairs. If I were her, I’d never want to come back.”
Danner holds up her pencil. “Ooh! Actually, this may sound silly, but maybe we should look into having the place spiritually cleansed. I know a woman who does an excellent tarot reading in White Haven. She studied in India and—”
I feel like I’m about to burst out of my skin. And the house feels it too. Cracks bloom on the plaster walls; white dust sprinkles down like snowflakes. The women scream in unison.
They make for the front door, running through a gauntlet of spark and sizzle as I send bolts of electric current flashing out of outlets and light switches. Danner is the last one to the door, and I slam it and trap her inside before she can cross the threshold.
The other women outside are calling for her. Danner drops her notepad, grabs at the doorknob, and frantically tries to turn it to escape. I pucker my lips and blow some of the electrical sparks down onto the pages, making them catch fire. Their precious notes and measurements crackle into ash.
Shrieking, Danner peels off her fur coat, lays it down on the fire, and stamps the flames out. Then she picks her smoking coat up off the floor, and I finally let her open the door. She runs like mad down the walkway.
They might want this house, but they’re not going to get it. Not while I’m still here.
* * *
Suddenly I’m standing in front of a beautiful old building. There’s a bronze plaque next to the door.
JAR ISLAND PRESERVATION SOCIETY
I wonder if I’ve appeared here because I’m supposed to get back at these ladies. At Danner. I am here for a reason. I just need to find out what the reason is.
The office is closed up; there aren’t any lights on inside. I guess the whole staff was over scoping out my house. I pass through the locked door and look around inside. Every detail is beautifully restored. The place must have been an old bank or some kind of store. The ceilings are high, and the place glows with the pink setting sun.
I feel myself pulled down the hallway, and I go with the current. Hanging along the walls are black-and-white photographs of Jar Island from long ago. It’s like a museum. I stop at one photo, of a group of elected officials seated at a table covered in documents. Five men and one woman. She has to be my great-aunt, the first female alderman of Middlebury. She fought for the rights of the migrant workers on the island, to see that they were paid fairly and treated well by their employers. My family did such great things. I could have done great things too, if I hadn’t . . .
No. Wait. I am doing great things.
I am avenging the lost, th
e downtrodden. I am punishing those who deserve it.
I pass by an open office door and see a picture of my house up on an easel. On the desk there are contractor plans, beautiful plans, no doubt, but it’s not their right. The Preservation Society must have preyed on my mother, knowing she was so vulnerable.
They stole my house.
I snoop around on the desk. There’s a seating chart from last year’s fund-raiser. There’s an X over the date, and someone’s changed it to this year’s date. I scan the table assignments. I see Alex, his parents. Lillia and her parents at the same table with the Linds. I remember Lillia once telling me how much fun she and Alex had together at the fund-raiser. But someone has put a Post-it next to Lillia’s seat. It says available.
Well, that shouldn’t be. If Reeve is so intimidated by Alex Lind, if he’s so worried that Alex is going to steal Lillia away from him, then Lillia should definitely be at the benefit with Alex. I use my hand to lift that Post-it note off, and then I peel off the very top ticket in the pile.
Okay. Time to go make mischief.
But when I try to go, I can’t. I’m still in the office.
There must be something else I need to find.
It takes some searching, but I finally spot a creamy white envelope in the outbox. I can see through it to the letter inside, like the envelope is glass.
To Whom It May Concern:
I am writing to highly recommend acceptance of Katherine DeBrassio to Oberlin College. I have worked with Katherine for the last several months on a preservation project here on the island and am so impressed with the character . . .
It goes on and on, full of praise, glowing praise, detailing what a hard and motivated worker Katherine DeBrassio is. How she’d be an asset to any college.
Ah. Yes. I get it.
It makes me extra mad, knowing that she’s helped the place that basically stole our family house.
I pick the letter up between two fingers, blink, and the thing goes up in flames.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LILLIA
EVENTUALLY EVERYONE COMES BACK TO one lunch table but Alex. I don’t know where he eats. I tried to ask PJ about it once, but he just gave me a vague nonanswer, and I gave up. Ash isn’t exactly warm to me, but she isn’t outright ignoring me anymore either. I’ll take what I can get. Alex is the one I can’t stop thinking about. He’s the one I have to make things right with. And Kat’s right. Letting more and more time go by is only going to make a hard conversation even harder.