CHAPTER FOURTEEN
S
unlight streamed through my curtains and I rolled away instinctively.
Just a few more minutes
. I slipped back into a shallow slumber, but something nagged at me. Was I late? I couldn’t even remember if it was a school day or not.
The nagging thoughts persisted, poking at my peace until I gave in and sat up. Fine. Obviously I was forgetting something very important. My thoughts felt wrapped in cotton, incoherent.
It was a school day—that much seemed to sink in. I checked the time and had plenty. I hadn’t overslept, so I went about my daily routine. As I scraped my curls back into some semblance of a ponytail, I gritted my teeth. As usual, I thought about a haircut, knowing it would please Father and probably make my life easier, with fewer headaches. Both from making him happy and not having to pull it back all the time.
The pestering feeling of unease returned. What was wrong with me? I tried to shake it off as I descended the stairs. Did I not finish my homework? Was there a test?
The sunshine had been replaced with fog outside—much like the inside of my head. I hated to think I was getting sick and hoped this wasn’t the precursor.
When I noticed an envelope with my name on it sitting on the polished table, it seemed as if time stopped. The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears. For some reason that card scared me. I swallowed hard. I was being ridiculous, of course. What could an envelope do to me? I scraped my bone-dry well of courage for enough to open it.
I touched the corner of the envelope and then waited to see if lightning would strike or the bottom of my world would fall out. Using one finger, I dragged it closer to me. The writing was my father’s. Why on earth would he leave me a card?
I pulled the envelope apart with shaky hands. Whatever was inside portended disaster, at least according to the state of my stomach. I opened the card.
Happy 17th Birthday, Theia.
Love, Father.
Surely it had to be a mistake. My birthday had come and gone months ago, hadn’t it? I was so puzzled. I couldn’t grasp the memory, yet I knew it was there. I dropped the card and stepped away from the table, hugging my arms to my chest. What in the world was going on? Why would my father put out a birthday card when I’d already turned seventeen?
It didn’t matter. I needed to get to school.
* * *
“Earth to Thei.”
I blinked at Donny across the cafeteria table. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
Donny rolled her eyes and stole another Tater Tot from my lunch tray. “I asked if you had figured out your prison-break plans for this weekend.”
There.
Again.
All morning long I’d been experiencing the strangest déjà vu. We’d had this conversation before. I knew everyone’s lines as if we were in a play.
“Ame, help me convince Theia that she needs to cut loose with us this weekend.” Donny bit the tip of her pizza, the cheese stretching a mile before breaking. Only Donny could make that sexy. When I ate pizza, I cut it into bite-size pieces.
Ame unpacked her lunch from the reusable tie-dyed sack she brought every day—she was very conscious of her carbon footprint. “Theia, if you don’t cut loose with us this weekend, I will have to listen to Donny bitch about you all night and it won’t be any fun at all.
And
I won’t have anyone to talk to when she ditches me for the first pretty boy that comes along. You have to come.”
On top of the strange sensation that this had happened before, another awareness of an intangible wrongness coated my brain, dulling my reactions. I blinked and saw the inside of a nightclub, the one Donny was always trying to get me to go to. I felt the music, its hard beat reverberating in my chest. My skirt was too short and I felt exposed. And his eyes . . . whose eyes were those that were so dark and saw right through me?
I stood up quickly, knocking over my milk.
“Theia? You okay?” Ame asked.
I shook my head. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. “I have to go.”
They were both wide-eyed at my unusual reaction. I always tried too hard not to be noticed or make a scene. Donny offered me a ride, but I was already running for the door. I left campus without a look behind me.
The house was empty, but it felt full of something that shouldn’t be there. Some kind of static, and it overwhelmed the inside of my head too. I tried to figure what was out of place, but it seemed that it was only me that didn’t belong.
I couldn’t shake the misplaced feelings. Nothing fit. My life was exactly the same as it should have been, yet it wasn’t.
I needed music.
An overwhelming urge to play assailed me. It seemed an age since I’d picked up my violin, though I’m sure if I could remember correctly, it had likely only been since yesterday. I ran upstairs, pulling out the tight hair band. I didn’t bother with any of my usual preplaying rituals—no tuning, no scales. I needed to play, to immerse myself, to lose myself. With shaky hands I fumbled with my bow until it finally reached the note I was looking for.
I began playing a song that I’d never heard before, yet knew like my own heartbeat. As the music swelled, flashes of a handsome boy filtered through my mind’s eye. I didn’t know him, but I wanted to.
Wait. That wasn’t right. I
did
know him. It was like trying to remember a dream. I saw things in senseless pictures that wrought feelings from the bottom of my heart to the surface. Feelings of love, deep and true. And passion that I knew I’d never experienced yet inexplicably understood to belong to me.
Then, as I got closer to the kernel of truth that would answer it all, I woke up to the sunlight streaming through my curtains.
* * *
I couldn’t recall what had happened after I played the violin. I just awoke to the sunlight and a new day. I patrolled the house for signs of my father, but he’d already gone to work. We must have had dinner the night before—I would have asked about the card. Why couldn’t I remember?
I looked at my phone. The date read the day after my birthday . . . so I was wrong. I must have dreamt that I’d turned seventeen months ago. Why didn’t I check the date yesterday? My brain was fuzzy and clouded. Almost like I was dreaming that I was awake.
Not knowing what else to do, I went to school. I leaned against the lockers waiting for Amelia to fetch her binder. I was so tired they needed to make a new word for tired. Every time I blinked, I swore the backs of my eyelids were made of sandpaper.
“I have play practice after school tomorrow if you want to come over after.” Ame stopped. “You’re really pale. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Nodding, I pushed off the bank of lockers. “I just haven’t slept well the last two nights.”
She dug in her pocket and handed me a crystal. “This one restores energy. If you can keep it on your skin, it will work better.”
I nodded, pretending I believed her. Pretending that every word we traded didn’t feel like a program I’d already seen.
As we walked down the hall, I pulled the band out of my hair to ease my growing headache and finger-combed my curls. As we passed the windows of the admin office, time blurred into slow motion. I shivered and a rush of cold seeped into the marrow of my bones, as if someone had just stepped on my grave. And danced on it as well.
I looked up, expecting to see him.
Who?
A memory was almost in my reach, but then it was gone again, like the spent flame on a candle with no wax. He should have been there.
Where was he?
My heart began to crack, missing someone I had no memory of.
Ame grabbed my arm. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Please keep walking,” I squeaked.
She slung a protective arm around me and ushered me into the nearest bathroom. I slumped against the wall, trying to catch my breath, but my lungs didn’t want to work correctly and I exhaled when I should have inhaled.
“What is wrong with you? Do you need the nurse? Should I call your dad?”
I shook my head, which did nothing for my already poor balance. “No. I just need a minute.”
The door burst open and the surge of energy that always followed Donny came in with her. “Hey . . . what’s wrong?”
Amelia answered, “She just freaked out. It was the weirdest thing. We were walking down the hall and everything was fine. Then she—”
“Oh, God,” I cried. “There is something really wrong with me. I think I have a brain tumor or something.”
The conversation was still one I remembered, but different. A name flashed through my mind, crystal clear.
Madame
Varnie
.
A small piece of the puzzle finally fit. Sort of. The name was familiar—like a memory that I couldn’t exactly remember. “Amelia, do you have an appointment with someone named Madame Varnie this week?”
She knit her eyebrows together in concern. “How did you know that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I crossed to a sink and wet some paper towels to hold to my forehead. “But we all have to go.”
“Who is Madame Varnie?” Donny wanted to know.
Ame studied me while I answered. “He’s a psychic.”
“He?” Ame asked.
“Just trust me,” I said. “There is something going on. And somehow I know he’s the one who can help. We need to go today. I think . . . I think it’s a matter of life or death.”
I convinced them to leave right then. Donny was always up for skipping class, so it was Ame we had to drag out by her sleeves.
I tried to explain my déjà vu lapses on the way there, but I knew I wasn’t making any sense. I rambled on and on, knowing that only Amelia was taking any stock in my story.
When we reached the bungalow belonging to Madame Varnie, I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. I bounded up the steps and punched the doorbell, knowing this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Amelia was the one who should have been racing for the door, not me.
I gestured for the girls to hurry up. Somehow I knew that the person who opened the door would know how to help me. I’d never believed in psychic readings before—that was Amelia’s hobby, not mine. While we waited for someone to open the door, I tried to picture what Madame Varnie might look like. Why was I so certain that someone who went by “Madame” was a male?
Since I had no expectations of what Madame Varnie looked like, I have no idea why I was so very surprised at his appearance. To say that he stunned the three of us into silence when he opened the door would be an understatement.
I suppose the first thing that stood out was his lilac turban, which matched the shapeless shift he wore. The shiny fabric formed a large beehive on his head, and in the middle of it was a glass eye the color of peacock feathers and surrounded by fake jeweled beads. It was about twenty-four inches of nonsense, but unfortunately it was not the oddest thing about him.
Madame Varnie’s face was overly made up. Too much powder, too much shadow, and too much lipstick were spackled onto a face that was distinctly neither middle-aged nor female, as the costume seemed to suggest. Instead, Madame Varnie was very clearly a younger man in drag.
And I had somehow known it.
“Well, hello,” he said, in a breathy, effeminate voice. Then his mouth formed a surprised O. He didn’t want to let me in. I could tell. He smelled like fear.
Wait a minute . . . he smelled like fear? How would I know what fear smelled like? Did fear even smell?
It must be a tumor
. That would explain the way my brain was misfiring and that I was imagining scents for things like emotions.
We held a wordless gaze for a few moments, Madame Varnie and I. “You have to help me,” I whispered.
His face somehow paled even more under the makeup, but he stepped aside and let us in. He gestured to the living room area but went into the kitchen and came back with a handful of soft drinks and a bottle of beer for himself. And no turban.
He told us to sit on the couch and he flopped onto a chair and took a swig. A pretty big one, actually.
We made hasty introductions while Donny and I sat down, but Ame stood in front of his chair, studying him. “Are you old enough to be drinking beer?”
All three of us snapped our heads to look at her.
“What?” she asked defensively.
Varnie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing his lipstick. “Sugar, we’ve got a few more important things to discuss than California liquor laws.”
Ame crossed her arms over her chest. “That means no, you’re not. How old are you anyway? It’s hard to tell with all the . . .”
“Maybelline?” Donny finished for her. “Ame, focus.”
“I’m nineteen,” Varnie answered.
Ame leaned over and peered into his eyes like she was looking into the windows of an empty house. “There’s something strange about you,” she murmured.
“There’s something strange about everyone, Miss Amelia,” Varnie said quietly. “Look, girls . . .” When Varnie had our attention, he looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t know what to do with it now that he had it.
I rubbed my temples, but it did nothing to soothe my headache. “Let me guess,” I began. “
This town is changing. There’s a bad juju and it’s getting worse.
That’s what you were going to say, weren’t you?”
“How did you know that?” he asked me.
I laughed one of those derisive grown-up laughs. The ones you hear right before they say,
Who said life is fair?
or
You’ll wish you hadn’t been in such a hurry to grow up someday
. I finally understood why people became cynical. “For the last two days, everything has been a replay. The problem is, I don’t remember my lines right—it’s all off-kilter and disjointed. I need you to help me get back on track, Varnie.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” he said.
“Please.”
He shook his head.
“I know you’re a part of this, Varnie. You can see through it. I think . . . I know this is going to sound crazy, but it feels like this is all fake somehow . . . manufactured.” Despite Varnie’s unkempt appearance, I trusted him. “Please.”
“I don’t know why you think I can help you. I’m just a guy who sees too much of what nobody else can see. The best thing I can do for you is to warn you to go while you still can.” He tipped his beer. “That’s what I’m going to do.”