The ladies’ chatter over The Markem’s improved appearance had no sooner died down than her niece moved to town. The girl’s haggard appearance gave me the willies the first time I noticed her in the grocery parking lot. She was as thin as a Hangman game figure, and her hair was the shade of muddy tomato soup. The feeble colors dancing around her had me wondering if she was sick. But I sort of forgot about her in the excitement of getting ready for my senior year at the high school down the highway in Hardscrabble.
When the bus stopped at the Lost Mine Estates on the first-day of school to pick up the new kids, Brian Hendricks smirked when the niece climbed on board. “Hey, Chickie, you’re on the wrong bus. This is the high school bus.” Brian licked his lips, puckered, and blew her a kiss.
The comment disgusted me. Either he thought she was one of the brats or taunted her with fake interest. The Markem girl just blinked in response.
Up close she looked unfinished. She stood in the aisle like a startled deer, with her muddy-colored bangs hanging over her thick eyebrows and lizard thin lips. She appeared as fragile as a dried leaf, her translucent skin ready to flake away at a touch. Her eyes grew wider in her pale, bloodless face.
I ached for her. The last couple months of my junior year, Brian had made me the butt of many of his put-downs and tricks. Stupid me blushed a brilliant red, drawing more attention to myself and more of his taunts. The poor girl was sure to become one of Brian’s targets. I couldn’t imagine he’d resist tormenting her or her defending herself.
When one of Brian’s buddies pushed past her to change seats, he knocked her binder onto the floor. Giggles filled the bus as someone else kicked it under my seat. Though she clenched her fists, the girl’s eyes filled with tears.
The guys guffawed, but I picked the binder up. Against my better judgment, I scooted over and beckoned for her to sit by me.
“Hi, I’m Jamilla Markem,” she said as she slumped down besides me.
“Cassy Mae. My grandmother owns the beauty shop where your aunt gets her hair cut.”
So began my uneasy, tag-a-long friendship with Jamilla Markem. Jamilla stuck like a burr even when I tried to avoid her. Her eyes didn’t glow red, and she didn’t grow furry at the full moon. But she creeped me out more than her aunt did. Maybe because I felt like a target had been painted on my back. But I had nowhere to turn.
GrammyJo turned livid when she learned Jamilla ate lunch with me most days. “You think you’re safe just because she’s a young ‘un? I thought you wiser, child.”
I swallowed hard because I felt sorry for skinny Jamilla, thought of her as more defenseless me. Besides, I was sort of tired of eating lunch alone. The other kids had got the habit of avoiding me last year because of Brian’s teasing.
“There aren’t any other empty tables. I can’t stop her from eating lunch there.” The half-truth stuck in my throat. Still, just so she wouldn’t think I sought Jamilla’s company, I felt compelled to add, “How can I avoid her? We both take college prep classes. The school’s only big enough to have one class a subject.”
GrammyJo’s face grew paler as she grabbed my arm. “No matter what she promises, you never, ever go their house.” The colors around her flared, flushed with fear.
Truth be told, Jamilla made me mighty nervous. Bad things happened around her. Little accidents. A door closing on a finger. A scraped knee here. A cat fight among the girls’ gym lockers there. She grew taller, and I noticed Jamilla’s faint colors grew murkier and fainter. She kind of expanded whenever something bad happened, like she sucked up people’s pain. I began imagining a knight’s shield between me and her though Jamilla never tried to attack me.
GrammyJo’s got you imagining stuff. No one’s got teeth marks on their necks, I told myself. Vampires don’t exist. Besides the Markems walk under the sun.
Most of that year, Jamilla didn’t defend herself from Brian’s picking. Just smiled a superior little smirk like she knew something he didn’t. Her expression added to my unease.
Like, one lunch time -- just after Jamilla got an “A” on an assignment, and all the rest of us got a “B” or worse -- Brian’s foot shot out to trip her. She went sprawling with her face landing in her food tray. The cafeteria erupted into laughter.
I jumped in front of him before I thought. “Hey, jerk, keep your feet to yourself.”
Brian smirked. “What you goin’ to do about it? Assault me with your dog breath?”
I glared. “In your dreams.”
Then thinking better of my outburst, I shrank back into myself as everyone stared at me. If Brian complained to his grandmother, I’d never hear the end of it at the shop. GrammyJo might even get mad if old Mrs. Hendricks and his mother stopped coming to the shop to get their hair done. We needed the old bat’s money since GrammyJo was helping me save for college.
“Cassy don’t.” Jamilla pulled at my sleeve, and we were across the room before I knew it. “Only a stupid sheep pokes sticks at a wolf. Wait. He’ll get his comeuppance in time.”
Her comment mystified me. It sounded like a promise, but I couldn’t see how she could deliver. Brian’s shoulders had filled out like a lumberjack’s. Jamilla remained reed thin, more insubstantial than me.
Something dark began to peek out from behind Jamilla’s meek manner. The few times she managed to touch me, my skin’d tighten up as if holding onto something. My heart’d beat faster. Jamilla took to reaching out with an index finger just to watch me cringe away. Her sly smile gave me the cold heebies.
I started to get tired easily. GrammyJo offered me a necklace she jujued, but I refused. Her worried gaze followed me, haunting me almost as much as Jamilla.
As the school year grew to a close, Jamilla latched on to me harder. Wherever I turned at school, she seemed to be there ahead of me. I felt like a target and comforted myself with books -- but not GrammyJo’s juju ones. I was still afraid of them and what they’d do to me.
Yet, something in the back of my mind panicked.
I started keeping garlic from the garden in my pockets even though I felt like I’d betrayed my Ma. Jamilla smirked. She wrinkled her nose and sat further away from me as if I had B O. But she did stop poking at me.