“Lovely shapes, Juliet.” Miss Downey moved from one side of me to the other.
“They’re my family.”
She twisted one of the chunky rings on her hand then pointed to the stairs. “Tell me about that.”
“It’s about how my parents met.”
Miss Downey tucked two straight hanks of long, brown hair behind her ears. Copper peace symbols studded with chunks of turquoise hung from her earlobes.
I dipped my brush in charcoal grey and watered it down to soften the color, then stroked it over the steps and twisted the brush as I painted. “My dad worked his way through college doing landscaping. My grandparents hired his company to put in a path from the driveway to the front door. He was laying the front steps in place when my mom came out. She was late and forgot to use the side door. She tripped over my dad and knocked four bricks out of the mortar. One fell onto the walkway and cracked in half.”
“And they fell in love at first sight and lived happily ever after?”
“Not exactly.” I got a bit of kohl black on the tip of my brush and outlined the cracked steps. “He was furious and she sprained her ankle. Grandpa yelled at Dad about it and took Mom to the hospital. While they were gone Dad put the cracked brick back in place and mortared it in.”
Miss Downey sat down on the table next to my easel. “Why didn’t he use a new one?”
“He didn’t have any left and he was too mad to make a trip back to the hardware store.”
“After that auspicious meeting, how did they end up married?”
“They met up again a few years later at a party. They didn’t recognize each other till they’d been dating a couple of months and Mom invited him over for dinner to meet her parents. When he saw the house he put it together.” I finished off the steps with a fuzzy haze of moss. “They never actually get moss on them, but I like the way it looks here.”
“Me too. And that’s a funny story.”
“The funniest part of it is that now he lives in the house where he did the crummy job on the steps. The top one is practically missing and we hop over it. Dad keeps saying he’s going to fix it, but he never gets to it.”
The bell rang for third lunch and I hadn’t finished the piece.
“Leave it here and you can work on it tomorrow.” Miss Downey stood up. “It looks like everyone could use another day.”
Lula took off her smock and hung it next to the door. “Come on, Juliet. I’m starving.”
* * * * *
Tammy, Lula and Jimmy all packed their lunches, so I stood in line alone until Pam came up behind me.
She tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, Jules. Where are you sitting?”
“With Lula and Tammy. Over by the TV.”
“How’s Mark?” She always said his name with this little whimper.
My eyes rolled. “He’s fine.”
“It’s too bad he couldn’t come to the dance.”
“He’s a senior. Why would he come to a junior high dance?”
“You could ask him to chaperone next time.”
We shuffled forward. “He’s not old enough. You have to be eighteen, at least.”
“He’ll be eighteen soon.”
“Anyway, he’s too busy to chaperone dances. He dates. All the time.”
“Then he hasn’t found that special girl yet.”
I took a salmon-colored tray off the stack and put a half pint of chocolate milk in one of the squares. Macaroni and cheese. Mushy green beans. Peanut butter balls rolled in coconut. Gross.
“He’s four years older than you, Pam. It’s not going to happen.”
“That’s nothing. My mom is eight years younger than my dad.”
“Did they start dating when he was eighteen and she was ten?”
“I am almost fourteen. Mark is only three years older.”
“Almost four. Get over him.”
She followed me to the table and sat with her back to the television. The teachers hoped that showing us the news would make us interested in current events. Most kids ignored it, but it saved you if you couldn’t find someone to sit with.
Lucas Emberry sat at the table right in front of the screen and shoveled food into his mouth while he stared at the news.
“There he is.” Tammy looked past me with deer-in-the-headlights eyes.
My spine stiffened and a sort of sick, sort of excited feeling raced from my stomach to my knees and back again. The macaroni and cheese felt like a fist-sized wad of cotton in my mouth.
“Who?” Pam asked and leaned to look around me.
Lula looked, too.
“Don’t!” I spit bits of chewed-up noodle on her arm.
“Gross!” She flung it off and glared at me.
“He’s dreamy,” Tammy murmured. She reached across the table and grabbed Lula’s arm. “He looks dangerous, doesn’t he? I love that.”
Jimmy looked past me and scowled. “Who? Him?”
Pam nodded and propped her elbows on the table. She tapped her fingertips together and raised her eyebrows, as if she knew something the rest of us didn’t. “He’s the kind of guy who breaks girls hearts. I can tell.”
“His name is Damon.” Jimmy shook his head and went back to eating.
“You know him?” I blurted out.
Jimmy narrowed his eyes at me.
Tammy looked from Jimmy to me, and back again. “What do you know about him, Jimmy?”
Jimmy turned toward the TV and shoved a forkful of green beans in his mouth. “I know somebody was looking for him this morning.”
I could’ve kicked him. In both shins.
Tammy put her hand over her heart. “He’s coming this way! We should invite him to sit with us!”
Let him sit here!
My stomach twisted into a pretzel and threatened to make me hurl, like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.
No, make him go away!
Lula’s eyes rolled. “There goes Amica.”
I turned to look.
Damon stood just outside the serving line exit door. No leather jacket, and the Einstein T-shirt draped perfectly over his square shoulders and tanned arms. His scent filled my head and chest again as my mind plunged into its two memories of him like an Olympic swimmer off a high-dive.
Amica walked out of the food service door and stood next to him as she gazed around the cafeteria. She held her tray against her waist with one hand and twirled her diamond pendant with the other. She tipped up her chin and smiled at Bethany and Tori, as if she just noticed them at the table where they sit every single day. Then she leaned toward Damon and said something.
When her blond hair brushed against his forearm I wanted to tear a jagged chunk out of her perfect skin with my bare teeth.
He smiled at her and said something, but went to sit at a table by himself. He pulled a paperback out of his pocket and held it in one hand while he ate with the other.
“Whoa!” Lucas Emberry’s very loud yelp snapped my attention back to my side of the cafeteria. “Look at that!” He pointed to the TV screen.
The newscaster narrated over a shaky, grainy video.
“While filming a news segment on airport safety, a WAJE cameraman caught this astounding footage of a midair crash between two 737s. Six people are listed in critical condition at St. Martin’s hospital, but no casualties are reported at this time. Authorities are investigating the cause of the unprecedented breach of the planes’ respective airspace.”
On the TV screen two airplanes careened toward each other in slow motion. As one lifted off the runway another, coming in to land, slid in right behind the one taking off and clipped its tail on the way down.
When the video stopped at the airplanes’ point of impact, my head spun.
The very same picture hung on my bedroom wall.
CHAPTER 3
Mark heaped mashed potatoes on his plate and dropped the spoon into the bowl with a loud clank. AC/DC threaded out of his headphones and he bobbed his head in time with it.
&nb
sp; Mom and Dad didn’t used to allow music at the table.
The portable black and white TV from the den now perched on the edge of the sideboard. Mom never put it away anymore. She turned her chair toward it and watched the news while we ate.
“Pass the asparagus.” Dad reached out one open hand, eyes still fixed on the fat, hardbound book wedged between his plate and mine. When no one else responded I reached across the table and moved the bowl in front of Dad’s hand.
I tapped Mark’s arm to get his attention.
He slid one foam-padded earpiece back, but kept nodding his head to the rhythm. “What’s up?”
“Can you help me with algebra tonight? I totally bombed the homework.”
“Sorry, kiddo. I’ve got a term paper and I have to pick Ginger up after cheerleading.” He popped the headphones back in place and yelled over his music. “Just follow the example problems at the beginning of the chapter. It’s eighth-grade algebra, not rocket science.”
I swirled my potatoes around on the plate then looked closer when something stuck to my fork. I tried a bite.
“Mom, what’s up with this?”
She swiped her tongue along the inside of her lower lip, then took another bite of pork chop.
“Mom.”
“What, Juliet?”
I moved into her line of vision. “What happened to real potatoes?”
She swiveled toward me and stared. Her expression shriveled my lungs into two quivery knots.
“Never mind.”
“I regret that dinner doesn’t meet with your expectations.”
“I was just joking.”
“And where were you when I was cooking? I didn’t see anybody else in the kitchen. No, that’s my job, isn’t it? I’m the maid and the cook and the chauffeur and the all-around Girl Friday, aren’t I?”
Some questions have no right answers.
Mark shot a quick glance at Mom and then at me before he closed his eyes and played an air guitar solo.
Mom turned back to the TV. “There’s nothing wrong with reconstituted potatoes.”
* * * * *
I closed my bedroom door, leaned back against it and stared at the sketches of Damon and the airplanes.
So weird.
Damon Sheppard. I whispered his name several times because I liked the way it rolled around in my mouth. Damon and Juliet. Juliet and Damon.
Right. Juliet never worked with anything but Romeo. Fat chance of meeting one of those this century.
Down the hall the shower started. Only Mark took showers in the afternoon and evening. And morning and mid-day and before bed.
I sat down at my vanity and looked in the mirror. “You are no Amica Aldridge.” I picked up my brush and tried to stroke more length into my hair, but just made it frizzy. How far would I have to tip my head to the side to get the ends to flutter against Damon’s forearm?
Far enough to look more crippled than captivating.
What does Lucas even see in me?
Math. I had to do math.
I pulled my bag up onto the bed and flopped onto my stomach with my notebook and Elementary Algebra.
Damon still had that sketch of Mr. Hirschman. If Hirsch ever got hold of it I’d be dead. Maybe Damon threw it away. Hopefully he didn’t lose it. Or show it to anyone. At least it didn’t have my name on it.
Like anyone would wonder who did it.
He stuck it inside that awesome leather jacket, against the warmth of his body.
My sketch, nestled against his chest.
Homework. Two-variable equations.
Lucas would tutor me. He’d sit beside me at the kitchen table, then scootch closer and closer and slide his arm around the back of my chair. He’d move his mouth right next to my cheek and whisper linear equations into my ear.
I’d fail math first.
A rock hit my window with a loud crack. I rolled off the bed. Before I got there another one struck.
I opened the window. “You’re going to break the glass!”
Pam climbed up the sun porch roof. “Open the screen!”
“Why don’t you just use the front door?” I squeezed the screen latches between my thumbs and pried it up.
“Your dad doesn’t like me.” She slipped through and landed with a thud.
“That’s because he keeps finding shingles on the ground.” I went back to my bed and Pam sat on the vanity chair.
“Guess what?”
I propped my head on one wrist and tried to focus on the first math problem. “What?”
“This is so cool!” She tapped her feet and wiggled in the chair.
I copied the problem into my notebook.
“My parents are going out to dinner the Saturday after next.”
“Yippee.”
She grinned that big, gum-baring smile of hers that made her buck teeth press into her lower lip. “I’m not going to have a babysitter!”
“Good for you.” I filled in the first line of calculation below the problem. At least I can get this far.
Pam slid off the chair and kneeled on the floor in front of me. “I’m going to throw a party,” she whispered.
I looked up. “Are you crazy?”
“It’ll be great! In two weeks I’ll be the coolest girl at Parnell Junior High.” She did a happy dance on her knees.
“Your parents will kill you.” I sat up and crossed my legs. “How can you possibly throw a party in the couple of hours they’ll be at dinner?”
“It’s a thing with my dad’s company. There’s an award ceremony and everything. They’ll be gone at least four hours.”
“You are crazy.”
“Will you come?”
“No.” I pulled my notebook onto my lap.
“I’ll invite Damon.”
My blood chilled. “So? Why should I care?”
Her eyes rolled up at the ceiling. “Please, Jules. You turned about eight shades of red when he walked into the cafeteria.”
That Jimmy knew was bad enough. Now Pam? “Shut up.”
“Oh my gosh!”
Pam stared at my bulletin board.
“You do like him! That’s totally what he was wearing today!”
“Oh, crud.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. He’s a fox. And I’m not going to tell anyone.” She stood up and went over to the wall. “This is really good. Why didn’t you draw his face?”
“I’m not his groupie or anything.”
“Cool airplanes. I saw the news. Why’d you do those?”
I took a deep breath and shook my head.
“What?” she asked.
My eyes started to throb and I rubbed them.
“Jules?”
“I drew those yesterday. Both of them.”
She turned to look at me. “Yesterday?”
I nodded. “Yesterday.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” I stood up and went over to the cork board. “I met Damon at the dance on Friday, kind of. I didn’t really meet him.”
“Heard about it. Bloody nose. Ick for you.”
“I started sketching him last night. It was stupid.”
Pam tipped her head. “So why the airplanes?”
“It was something Damon said.”
“At the dance?”
“No. Today.”
“But you drew it before, and it happened today? Just like the other one?” She sat down on the bed, but didn’t take her eyes off the sketches. “You swear you did these yesterday.”
“Swear.”
She smiled. “Draw something else.”
The bed bounced as I flopped down. “I’ve got to do this math.”
“Do it later.” She took my notebook and turned the page. “Here. Draw something you want to have happen. See if it works again.”
“That’s mental.”
She pointed to the wall. “So’s that.”
We looked at each other and I bit my lip. “I draw stuff all the time. This is the first t
ime it’s been,” I searched for the right word, “predictive.”
“It’ll either work or it won’t. It doesn’t hurt to try.”
“What should I draw?”
She closed her eyes. “Draw Damon getting down on one knee to profess his undying love to you.”
“That’s stupid.” But maybe worth a try?
“Then do me and Mark that way.”
“Sorry. If I’m going to do this, I’ll do it with something that might actually happen.”
She lay on her side and propped her head up. “No. You should totally do it with something crazy, so if it comes true you’ll know you have the power.”
“The power?”
“The Power of Artistic Prophecy,” she said and waved one hand through the air.
The Power of Artistic Prophecy?
“Just try,” she pushed.
What could it hurt? “Okay,” I said, and I drew a line across the page. “Here goes.”
Pam scooted over beside me. “What are you doing?”
“Watch.” I did the outline of the school building, penciled in the windows and the letters on the front, and filled it in with the trees and bushes around the yard. Then I drew boards nailed over the front door in an X. I hung a sign beside the door, which read, “August 31: Closed for Repairs”.
“Awesome! No school tomorrow!”
I tore the picture out and tacked it to my board. “Don’t count on it.”
The bathroom door opened and Mark’s footsteps pounded down the hall. He knocked on my door as he went by and yelled, “See you later, kiddo!” then thundered down the stairs and out the door.
Pam dashed for the window. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” She threw open the glass and the screen and ducked outside.
“Where are you going?”
She called out to Mark as she slid down the sloped roof. “Can I have a ride?”
His back tires spun as he lurched out of the driveway.
Pam rode the roof to where the edge met the ground. Another shingle dropped off beside her. Her shoulders slumped as Mark got away, and she trudged home. I watched till she turned the corner and disappeared.
The morning paper still lay next to our front steps.
I squinted, leaned out through the open window, then climbed onto the roof.
No way.
I slid over to the edge and craned my neck to get a better look.
A greenish-gray tinge covered the top step, and spread over the edges of the others.
Moss.
CHAPTER 4
I dressed and redressed half a dozen times. Nothing in my closet worked. If not for the heat I’d have borrowed a flannel shirt from Mark to wear over stirrup pants. I finally settled on a knee-length, pleated navy skirt and a white short-sleeve, button-down blouse.