“The Grapes of Wrath.”
“Favorite writer?”
“Jane Austen.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“What about you?”
“Not Edgar Allan Poe, much to everyone’s surprise.”
She chuckled. “I’ll remember that too.”
“Favorite song?”
She thought about all of the nights she’d spent on her porch listening to him practice old songs. “The Doors, ‘Waiting for the Sun.’”
He leaned closer to her.
“One last question,” he said.
“Okay.” She tried not to show her disappointment. She could easily sit here all night with him. “What?”
“Can I kiss you?”
She just stared at him for a moment. She resisted the urge to shake her head to make sure she’d heard right. Her stomach dipped into a full-fledged ballet routine complete with costumes.
“Beauty?” he asked nervously. Her eyes snapped back to his. He was close enough that his breath was warm on her cheek. His mouth was inches from hers as he waited for her to answer. Dream images flashed before her eyes, the way he held his head, the flickering of the candles. It was exactly as she’d dreamt. Even down to the feel of the hardwood floor under her and his hand on her knee.
She closed the distance between them and brushed her mouth against his. She felt him smile against her lips and his hand ran up her arm and tangled into her hair at the nape of her neck. He smelled like soap and leaves, like a jungle.
She was a candle, a torch, a flame.
10
Beauty met luna’s eyes
in the mirror of the school washroom on the second floor.
“I don’t know about this,” Beauty said. “Ever heard of baby steps?”
Luna applied another coat of glitter lip gloss and shook her head. “I firmly believe in jumping into the deep end. You learn to swim faster.”
Beauty snorted. “Or you drown.”
Sabrina, perched on the counter, swinging her feet, laughed. “You look great,” she said. “Weird, but great.”
Beauty rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
Sabrina rolled her eyes right back, grinning.
Beauty smoothed her hands over the dress she’d been convinced, or bullied rather, to wear. It was pale with long layers and cinched tightly at the waist. She wore several long strands of jet beads, and her red hair was wrapped into a messy bun. Luna stood next to her, in a similar dress of pale yellow. She wore a cameo at her throat and a large hat.
“We are going to be laughed at,” Beauty groaned. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
“Are you kidding?” Luna winked. “After you and Poe last night, I could do no wrong.”
Beauty blushed slightly.
Sabrina shook her head at Luna. “What have you done to our quiet little Beauty?”
They grinned at each other until Beauty poked them both in the arm. “Could we focus on my panicking, please? I still don’t know about this,” she swallowed audibly. “Poe’s in that class. What if he laughs at me?”
Luna rolled her eyes. “He would never. Besides, he’s gaga over you.”
“Gaga?”
She nodded firmly. “That’s what I said. Gaga. It’s a technical term.”
Beauty laughed and Luna linked her arm through hers. “Now come on, let’s go conquer English class. Kingsley will be wowed to his toes and give us As on the spot.”
Luna didn’t seem to notice the other students staring at them as they hurried down the hall to class. Beauty tried not to squirm. Regardless of what had happened, being gawked at was still not one of her favorite things. She nearly hid behind a door when they passed Clare.
Clare snickered. “Nice outfits.”
Luna rushed right past her without a single glance. Clare stared after them, slightly put off.
“That girl is way too high-maintenance,” Luna muttered as they ducked into the classroom. “She needs to do yoga or something.”
“Here goes nothing,” Beauty muttered back as the class fell silent, looking at them with widening eyes. Somebody whistled. Mr. Kingsley glanced up.
“Girls,” he said with a questioning smile. “I guess you’re ready for your presentation.”
Luna curtsied. Beauty just swallowed.
“This is Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal,” Luna introduced Beauty with a flourish before handing out copies of their journal entitled “The Seed.” When Beauty spoke, she tried not to rush her words.
“I was an artist’s model for several of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, such as John Millais, Willian Holman-Hunt and Dante Rossetti, who encouraged my painting and later became my husband.”
Someone giggled. Sabrina aimed a glare at them. The class stared at Beauty and Luna, awed, nervous and interested despite themselves. Beauty wiped her palms on her borrowed dress. She refused to look at Poe.
“I was very ill, but I had an exhibition of my work in 1857. I painted Lady Clare and Lady Affixing A Pennant To A Knight’s Spear. I also helped with the decoration of William Morris’s Red House. I loved to paint, but history would rather remember me as a silent artist’s model and a muse who died young. You won’t find me in a traditional textbook.”
She stepped back, blushing, when she was done. Luna threw a grin over her shoulder and then turned to face the class. “I am Christina Rossetti,” she said.
Unlike Beauty, Luna sounded confident, her pace slow and unhurried. Only Beauty saw the slight tremble in her fingers. It made her feel better somehow, less alone. “I was born in 1830 into a very artistic family,” continued Luna. “I have two brothers, William and Dante Rossetti. Poetry is my art and I wrote several verses for the prb journal The Germ. I also wrote ‘The Goblin Market.’”
As Luna read passages from “The Goblin Market,” Beauty picked up a piece of chalk and began to sketch on the blackboard. She brought the poem to life, drawing simple images of pomegranates, a goblin man with a basket, and two women holding hands. She could feel Poe’s eyes on her back, and when she glanced over her shoulder, he grinned at her. It was the first she’d seen of him since their kiss in Star’s studio. She wondered if he’d told his friends.
Luna continued to read from John Keats’ “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” and Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott.”
When they were finished, they curtsied briefly again. Mr. Kingsley nodded, unfolding himself from his chair.
“Very interesting, girls. Very original.”
Luna gave Beauty a knowing look. The bell rang. The classroom erupted into a cacophony of noise as twenty-odd students rushed the door at the same time. The hallway was already shaking with the pounding of footsteps. Luna drew Beauty into a corner and squealed. “We were amazing!” She poked Beauty. “Admit it, you loved it.”
Beauty tilted her head, tried not to grin. “We did okay.”
Luna rolled her eyes. “Give me a break.”
“Okay, okay, we were wonderful, divine. They will talk about us in these halls long after we’re dead.”
“Much better,” Luna approved.
“But this dress is really uncomfortable.”
Luna laughed. “I know.”
“Hey, Luna,” Paul sneered as he passed them. “You guys were really lame.”
Beauty’s face fell. She refused to turn around and let him see it. Luna glared at him over Beauty’s shoulder.
“Go away,” she said simply. She lowered her voice and whispered to Beauty. “I went out with him too. Apparently he thought he was going to get lucky.”
Beauty sighed. “He’s famous for it. Or thinks he is, anyway.”
Paul kept sneering. “Why don’t you and your freak mother go back to where you came from?”
Beauty tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned around very slowly. “Now who’s lame?” she asked lightly. She was not smiling. She was tired to death of the Clares and the Pauls of Briar High. She’d let them intimidate h
er for too long. Paul just stared at her. “Just because Luna has taste and you didn’t get any is no reason to be a jerk. Get a grip on yourself,” said Beauty. One of Paul’s friends laughed. Paul’s nostrils flared. Beauty just stared him down and then waved her hands. “Shoo.”
Luna waited until they were out of earshot before she burst into laughter. Sabrina emerged from the classroom behind them, clapping loudly. Beauty curtsied.
Beauty was smiling when she pushed open the front door. The roses crowded her on either side, blooms fading. Petals sprinkled the ground like rain. She’d only been gone for a day, but it felt like a year. She half-expected the house to look different. It didn’t.
She poured herself a glass of juice and sighed over the perfectly cubed cheese and sliced watermelon. Something had to be done. They couldn’t keep living like this. She ignored the plate her father had prepared for her and grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies instead.
Chewing contentedly, she turned on her computer and decided to check her e-mails without even bothering to remove her coat. Sabrina had sent her a couple of messages.There was a chain letter forward, which she deleted immediately, and an advertisement promising to cure her male pattern baldness.
Her hands froze over the keyboard when she saw Poe's name. The subject of his e-mail had been left blank.
She smiled and jiggled her foot nervously. She opened the message and read it quickly. She felt self-conscious suddenly, as if he was watching her.
Hey Beauty, Just wanted to say hi. Great presentation today in class. You look cute in long dresses. I stopped by your locker after school, but I guess I just missed you. Had a great time yesterday. Want to do something maybe this weekend? Poe.
Beauty had never squealed before in her entire life. She made up for it now. She also jumped to her feet and did a dance of joy, which mostly consisted of flailing herself about until she got tired. She plopped back down into her chair, still grinning and panting.
She decided Luna had to see the e-mail directly, and she’d call Sabrina tonight and tell her everything. She hit forward and typed in a quick message, barely glancing at the screen as she tried to figure out what she would write in her e-mail to Poe. It would have to be casual and witty and, of course, perfect.
Luna, you are queen of the world. You have magic clothes. Can you believe it? Does he even know how beautiful he is? This is so unbelievably cool, I think I might throw up. Beauty.
She hit the send button and sat back in her chair. She wanted to sound casual but interested and definitely not like all the other girls who probably e-mailed Poe. She bit her lower lip and stared at the screen thoughtfully, focusing.
Something in the bottom of her belly turned over slowly and then began to spin around like pollen caught in a high wind. She grew very still except for the rapid blinking of her eyes as she focused.
“No,” she whispered. She touched the screen. “No, no, no.” Her e-mail service was telling her, clear as day, that she had not hit “forward” but “reply.” Her e-mail wasn’t whirling through cyberspace on its way to Luna’s mailbox. It was being shot straight toward Poe. “No!” she yelled and slapped the back button as many times as she could. She couldn’t cancel the e-mail or retrieve it or change it.
She couldn’t even crawl into a hole and die.
She jumped to her feet and began to pace back and forth, back and forth. Her hands flapped as she talked to herself.
“It’s okay,” she told herself in a falsely calm voice. “I’ll just leave town. People do it all the time. I’ll get a new identity. They’ve got to have some kind of witness protection program for idiots.” She groaned. “I hate computers.” She turned to glare at the offensive machine in question and then picked up the phone and dialed Luna’s number. “I really really hate computers,” she said without preamble.
“What?” Luna asked. “Beauty?”
“I’m running away. Wanna come with me?”
“What happened?”
Beauty paced again even though the phone cord only stretched about two feet.
“I just sent you an e-mail,” she said.
“Okay. Should I turn on my computer?”
“Don’t bother. I forwarded a message Poe sent me with a note. Only, instead of hitting forward, I hit reply.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. Beauty nodded sharply. “Exactly.”
Luna sucked in her breath. “Forwarding is a dangerous dangerous thing.”
Beauty laughed. The sound was too loud and slightly ragged at the edges.
“I’m never going to school again. This is probably the most mortifyingly embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me. Worse than the egg salad incident in grade three.”
“What egg salad incident?” Luna was trying not to giggle.
“Never mind.” Beauty dropped back into the chair. “Oh, Luna, what am I going to do?”
“Laugh at yourself and assume Poe has a sense of humor?”
Beauty snorted. “That’s no fun at all. Next.”
“That’s all I’ve got.”
“There’s got to be something else I can do. Things were going so well. This is so unfair.”
Luna sighed. “I know, but I really think it will be all right.”
“I’m going to go sulk.”
“Try not to hurt yourself.” She could hear Luna grinning into the phone. As she hung up, she heard her dad open the door and call out for her. She sighed. She really wanted to pout, but now she had to go and talk to her dad first. Then she’d consider setting her computer on fire.
Her father smiled and hugged her. “Hi, honey, did you have fun last night?”
Beauty nodded and hugged him back. “Yeah, it was great. And I think Mr. Kingsley really liked our presentation.”
“I’m sure he did.” Her father frowned when she stepped back and sunlight poured through the windows like honey, catching sticky fingers over the brooch on her jacket. He grabbed her shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asked.
She blinked. “Oh, I dyed my hair.”
“Not that.” He sounded tense.
She frowned. “What?” His angry gaze burned at the brooch on the pocket of her jacket. She closed her eyes briefly. The sun glinted off the tarnished metal. “Oh.”
“You know the rules, Beauty.”
Her jaw clenched. It took a moment for her to realize she was mad, not scared or worried or invisible. Just mad. It felt good. She could still feel the weird dream around her, like a red veil over her skin. She thought of the little girl and her warnings and of her mother. Everything had changed in the last few days, and yet everything was still the same.
She shook her head and yanked at the pin, nearly ripping the denim.
“This is a brooch, Dad,” she explained snidely. She knew it was a tone that had “grounded” written all over it. “Girls wear them. It’s jewelry.”
“Be careful with that.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a machete, it’s a brooch.” She flipped the pin out and jabbed it into her finger. Blood welled on the tip like a ruby. “See?” she shouted. “I pricked my finger and I’m still alive.”
Her dad paled until he was roughly the color of milk. She had a flash of guilt and worry that he might pass out. He looked like he was made of paper. He shook his head and she could see that he was trembling when he walked away, letting the back door slam behind him.
She watched him go and sucked on her finger and thought her blood tasted the same as it had in that first dream.
She stomped upstairs, wanting to cry. Everything had been going so well and now it was right back the way it had always been. She was alone and stupid to think she could have changed herself, could have grown stronger and freer. Luna had unleashed something inside her, and Poe had kissed her and brought bloom to a dead garden, but was it really worth it when everything just hurt so much? She had been better off when she couldn’t cry and couldn’t feel anything.
Surely being numb was better
than this? She crawled under her covers and pulled them over her head. She drifted off to sleep and, below her, her garden grew. Roses pushed their way out of the stems, elongating and gathering over the front door in dozens of colors: red, white, peach, pink, yellow.
The doorknob disappeared beneath a tangle of thorns.
11
I guess my mom was right.
There’s always a third dream.
I’m standing on the edge of that forest, between the dark trees and the warm glow of candles from the courtyard garden where I sat with my mother. It’s midnight and the moon is as full and white as a wedding veil above me. The stars are like pearls around a bride’s throat. The roses around the wall that separates the tower from the woods are red as rubies.
There’s no snow, but it’s cold; I can feel it in my bones. I’m shivering, and the air mists when I huff out a breath. I’m wearing black this time, a long dress with a formal train crackling in the dry leaves when I move. I rub my arms for warmth and stare into the woods. I’m not really sure if I want to go in there. I’m thinking of wolves and witches.
I bite my lip and look behind me, back at the tower, which is warm and welcoming. I turn, making my decision. Why wander alone in the forest and get lost if I don’t have to? I’d like to think that I’m more practical than the average horror-movie heroine or fairy-tale girl. It’s cold and the tower is warm. End of dilemma.
I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore when a figure steps out to block my way. It’s clearly a woman, but she’s standing far enough away that it takes me a minute to realize she looks familiar. And she’s wearing the same dress I am.
I look down at myself again, eyes widening. The train is beaded and the black black dress is long with rounded sleeves that narrow into points over my wrists under a corsage of small black roses. Strands of jet beads swing around my neck almost all the way to my waist. My hair is still rose-petal red, but it’s piled up on top of my head in a fancy knot I’d never be able to duplicate.
I stare back at the woman. It’s like staring at myself, only she’s thinner and paler and sadder. She lifts a hand toward me and I flinch, even though I know there’s no way she could touch me from over there. The gate is closed behind her. The roses are thick.