Authors: Anyta Sunday
rhyolite
I hold the stone all the way home. It’s a strange stone, this one. I have others of similar shape, size and sediment, but this one feels glassier and heavier as though it’s laden with one-thousand-year-old secrets.
I whip out a magnifying glass and study the stone at our dining table.
It’s an igneous rock, I think. Rhyolite, maybe? Could this stone have been born from the eruption of Mt. Taupo 27,000 years ago?
Maybe, but how did it end up on the side of the road at a bus stop of all places? Unless Jace picked it up somewhere else?
But why would he do that? Why lie about it if he did? Why am I still picturing his hopeful expression when I said I’d go to Dad’s party?
I rub the stone until Mum asks me what’s up. She knows I’m imbuing the stone with my memories, letting it soak up all the day’s events, the highs and lows. I relax as the stone releases my tight knots and settles the fluttering in my belly.
Mum is hovering over the fruit bowl that’s on the dining table. Annie isn’t home yet. She got off the bus a few stops earlier with Mr. Thinks-He’s-Getting-Lucky-But-Hopefully-He-Isn’t.
“Are you still angry with Dad?” I ask quietly.
Mum leans back in her chair and sighs. “Yes. No, not really. I wish things could have been different, but they weren’t. It might not seem fair to you, but for him and me, it is. We tried to make it work for you kids, but it wasn’t working.”
“He cheated on you. He made you look like a fool.”
“Well, thanks for that.” Mum hops off the chair and rounds the kitchen island to put on the tea kettle. She shakes her head. “I thought Dad talked to you about what happened. He didn’t cheat.”
“He had a whole other life, Mum! Five years with
them
.”
“Lila and your father have been friends forever. But, yes, I suppose five years is when things broke down and couldn’t be repaired.” Steam curtains her expression, but her words are softly spoken. “Look, Cooper, we had an arrangement that we thought would work until you and Annie finished school, but like I said, it wasn’t working. Your father was right to break it up. Right to go and live with the woman he’s probably always loved. Right to let me have a chance to find someone of my own.”
“Well that’s . . . that’s . . .
an arrangement?
That’s fucked up.”
“Cooper, watch your tongue!”
I laugh, squeezing my stone as if I might be able to juice it. “They’re not better than us, Mum. They’re not . . .” I wish Mum would rush over and wrap me into a hug, but hugs have always been Dad’s thing.
Mum places a cup of tea before me. “Drink up, love,” she says. “He misses you, and I think it’s time you and Annie went to your dad’s.”
Relief overwhelms me. Someone else making the decision to see Dad for me? Perfect. Because the truth is I miss him too. So much. But I don’t want anyone to think I’m taking his side over Mum’s.
“I don’t want to,” I say pitifully. But it’s a lie, meant only to comfort her.
And maybe my mum does know me the best, because she smiles and says, “You have to.”
citrine
Halloween.
Mum drops me off. Annie is in the back seat, muttering under her breath. She’s refusing to attend the party.
I open my visor to check my face paint—zombie face like always—and dip a finger into a thicker splotch of fake blood to draw it down as if it’s dribbling from my mouth. The rest of my face is pale, except for my eyes, which Mum thought should be darkened with eyeliner. Disconcertingly, my eyes look brighter than normal, especially the one on the left. Then again, it’s Halloween so I can get away with anything.
I angle the visor and look at my sister’s reflection. She’s staring toward the mansion much like I did the first time. She blinks and lifts a finger to dab her eyes.
I avert my gaze and snap the visor away.
My belly gurgles as I take in the haunted manor. Tens of jack-o’-lanterns with eyes like citrine gemstones line the path toward the flickering light at the front porch. I gulp.
It looks scarier than our house used to be. Scarier, better.
But their house is big—it has the advantage of looking creepy all on its lonesome. Inside will be the real test.
I crack open the car door. Faint, eerie music leaks from the manor and the moat glimmers as if being resurrected by it.
We’re better than you.
I hesitate. Do I really need to put myself through this?
The front door opens, and Frankenstein’s monster steps out. Dad calls us over with a friendly, excited wave, one that hopes we’ll race up and leave the past in the dust.
Wouldn’t it be nice if life were that easy?
I smooth my ripped and dirtied shirt. It hangs out of my tattered jeans that are smeared with blood and ominous yellow ooze. “Pick me up in a couple of hours.”
I drag my feet the way Dad taught me to zombie walk last year. I cock my head and let my tongue loll. I’m rewarded with a deep laugh. Maybe forcing myself out of the car was worth it.
“Stay away from me,” Dad jokes, backing into the house. He shrugs and grabs me into a hug, whispering gruffly, “Thank you for coming. It’s good to see you again.”
My throat is tight. I swallow. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
I don’t have a gift for him this year. Does he notice? Does he care? Does he remember last year when I gave him opal cufflinks?
“Opals represent Zeus’s celebratory tears after he defeated the Titans.”
“Really?” he asked, putting them on despite being dressed for Halloween.
“It’s also believed that the owner of this stone has the power of foresight.”
He laughed. “See, it means I’m wise and you have to listen to me.”
But would a wise man have fractured his family?
Despite that, I don’t want him to let go. I want to stand on this cold porch with the light flickering above us for the rest of the night. Eventually, Dad pulls away. “Go on in. Take the tour. I’m going to scare this next lot.”
Over my shoulder, a group of teens strut giggling up the path.
I duck inside. It’s dark, the music’s loud, and cobwebs hang over the windows. Signs written in blood direct the guests.
I follow the bloody signs to the staircase, where giant wetas hang from the ceiling with antennae that seem to be moving. Mum would have freaked out; she hates cockroaches and spiders, and the weta is both creatures combined.
A few people at the top of the stairs discuss which path they should take. They decide on slinking to the right, so I go left. I turn into the first room. Ghosts and werewolves and vampires hide in the shadows. Most are props but the vampire is real. He lies in an open casket, wedged into the corner of a room. His eyes spring open when a witch passes him and she jumps, knocking into a pile of fake chainsaws.
I catch one as it falls. It’s made of rubber, but solid—
Something moves behind me. The hair at the back of my neck prickles. When I turn, though, it’s gone. So is the vampire.
I shrug it off. I’m pretty sure this is an act to freak us out.
Isn’t this whole thing ten times better than anything you and Annie ever did?
I drop the rubber chainsaw onto the table and leave the room. I wish I didn’t have to wait for Mum to pick me up. I want to leave.
A door creaks behind me. A narrow slit of green light spills from a partially opened door. Someone whispers my name over the music.
Cooper. Cooper. Cooper.
I slink toward it and pull on the handle—
I gasp. Inside the small closet, my name is glowing in the dark. Cooper. An illuminated arrow points to one corner. It takes me a moment to recognize the familiar shape—my old magnifying glass, laying on top of my journal.
I open the door wide and shuffle toward my name. It’s hard to see in here. Coats are heaped in the corner and a shelf above my head forces me to squat.
Just as I grab for my journal, the door slams shut. I jerk around and feel for the handle.
My breath hitches and I start to feel dizzy. “Open, please, open.”
I bang on the door, again and again. I need to get out of here—
I shut my eyes as the walls start to tilt and implode, ready to crush me. Instead of trying to escape, I fall onto my knees and frantically search the floor. If I can find a stone, the panic will ebb. The walls will stop moving. I will be able to breathe.
I find nothing.
I sweep my hand over the carpet until I hit the pile of coats. I graze something hard and grab it.
It moves, and a slow chuckle follows. Coats shift and drop to the floor. Jace. I can tell it’s him by his laugh. “Gotcha,” he says.
“You dickweed. Get me out of here,” I say through clenched teeth.
Jace laughs again and fiddles around with one of the coats.
Click
. A small beam of orange light flickers on and highlights the smug look on Jace’s face. His fake vampire teeth glow.
I snatch the pen torch out of his hand and use it to light the door. “How do we get out of here?” The panic is detectable in my voice but I don’t care.
“Can’t.”
I swing the torch back on Jace. He blinks and takes out his fake teeth.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“Can’t open it from this side.”
My breathing quickens again. “Get me out of here, Jace.”
He frowns and leans forward. “Jesus, Cooper. Are you flipping out or something?”
I can barely nod. I rub my sweaty hands together and blink hard to restore my vision, which seems to be playing tricks on me. Is Jace coming closer? Closer? Bringing the walls with him? I slam my eyes shut and press my hands against my forehead.
It’s going to be fine. This is all in your head.
I hate Jace. I hate him for doing this to me.
“Th—this is payback for the soc—soccer ball thing?” I concentrate on my anger instead of panicking.
He rests his hand firmly on my shoulder. “Cooper?” Jace’s breath hits my face but surprisingly it doesn’t bother me. The smirk is gone from his voice and is replaced with concern. “Cooper, it’s only a closet. I told my mate Darren to let us out in ten minutes.”
“Wh—why?”
Jace shifts on his knees and leans closer. His hand lifts from my shoulder and wraps around my back. “Just concentrate on my voice, okay?”
“That’s the la—last thing I want to h—hear.”
He rubs my back. “Joking already. Knew it would work.”
The truth is, the calm tone of his voice is soothing me. One point for Jace.
“It was meant to give you a little scare,” he says softly, “not a huge one.”
“Come on. You—you’re going to piss yourself laughing about this later.”
Jace freezes, his body tight at my side. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”
“Wh—what else am I supposed to think if you shut me up in a closet?”
He doesn’t respond with words, but he rubs circles on my back like I might start purring and fall asleep. “I’ve wanted to return your journal for months. I’ve been waiting for you to ask for it.”
I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I read it.”
“I thought so,” I say. “I’d have done the same.”
“So you want to be a geologist, huh?”
“Surprised?”
“Not really.” He chuckles. “It’s cool that you know what you want to be.”
It’s quiet for a long time, until Jace asks, “Do you really feel like you have to choose a side? Can’t you be happy for both of them?”
A whoosh of air pushes Jace’s question away, and I scramble out of the closet. Darren grins at me. After a few deep breaths, my sight clears and I recognize him as the big Maori fella who thinks he’s getting lucky with my sister.
He better not!
“You treat Annie with respect!” I say to him. I swing to Jace, who cannot look at me for long. I want to say something about him treating me right, but the memory of blood running down his nose stops me. “I guess we’re even.”
feldspar crystal
Annie slumps through the door and asks Dad where her room is. She doesn’t look at him, nor come back when he returns from escorting her to safety. Today begins our first week with Dad, the Sunday after Dad’s Halloween birthday.
Piano music loops and titters and darkens like grey clouds charging in for a summer storm.
I leave my bag in the entrance and follow Dad through the arched doorway into the dining room, where the table is set with jams and maple syrup and a stack of thin, flat waffles that resemble the pancake rocks in South Island.
“Your favorite,” he says, rubbing his hands like he did when I was a kid. I’m not about to yell
Yippee
and lunge for the first waffle, but his effort lightens the heaviness in my belly. I sit across from him and glance toward the patio doors. Outside, darkness swirls like a brewing storm. “Lila will be down any moment.”
I nod and stuff my hand into my pocket, where I’m stashing a feldspar crystal Mum gifted me this morning. Could she foresee my future? Why didn’t she give me this crystal sooner?
I rub the stone and stare at the doorway to the side of the kitchen, waiting for Lila to appear. Lila, the love of my dad’s life. Lila, the one who tore my family apart.
For a second I think of ducking under the table and hiding, but I can’t avoid her forever. Instead, I count the plates. It looks like Lila won’t be the only one joining us—
Dickweed.
He waltzes into the room with swagger, grinning at my Dad. When he sees me, his step falters but he quickly regains control. A hurried nod before he focuses on the table. The plates, the jam, the waffles, the vase of roses, the doilies.
He’s going to play the game like this? Avoid me? Pretend nothing happened at Halloween?
“Looks de-lish,” Jace says, skimming over me to Dad. “But I’m not hungry, so can I—”
Dad narrows his eyes into the familiar
stay right where you are
look.
The wind crumples Jace’s sails; he sags into his seat and picks at the cushion.
“I want this to be a civilized morning,” Dad says, pouring a carafe of orange juice. He continues quietly. “Be good to Lila, please.”
As if his words started a countdown, Lila barges through the door not ten seconds later.
Spooky. Not as broad in the shoulders and not as tall, but the dark brown hair is his, and the blue eyes, and the straight nose that points up slightly at the end. She looks like she could be Jace’s twin.
She smiles Jace’s smile.
“Cooper,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She kisses my cheek and ruffles my hair. She smells like potpourri.
Dad winces and holds his breath. I don’t want to say anything nice or pretend I’m happy with this situation, but Jace is watching me, and even after what he did to me on Halloween, I can’t simply grunt and play a moody thirteen year old.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Thanks for the waffles. They’re my fave.”
Dad passes me the pancake rocks replica, a proud smile on his face. For that look, my choice to swallow my anger was worth the sacrifice.
The rest of breakfast involves Lila firing questions at me and dad sharing embarrassing stories. Jace listens quietly, frowning at me every few seconds. When we’re all finished eating, Lila begins cleaning up with Jace. Again, I’m stunned at their resemblance.
Dad clicks his fingers in front of my eyes and I focus on what he’s saying. “Shall I show you your room?”
He leads me up a white-banister staircase that splits off in two directions. We take the left turn. “Lila and I are at the other end of the house,” he says. “You kids have a bathroom down at this end, and a balcony.” He slows as we pass the first room. A shadow falls over his face. “That’s Annie’s room,” he whispers.
We pass a bathroom opposite my sister’s room and a gaming room with a couch, bean bags, a stereo, a massive television, a piano, brass instruments, and music stands. A smaller version of the dining table fills up the corner of the room overlooking the backyard. Dad gestures to it. “That’s where Jace practices piano and does his homework, but you have a desk in your room if you prefer.”
“It looks completely different than two nights ago.” I look down the hall to the next door. “Let me guess, the broom closet.” I knock, but it’s not a guess. I know. I also know it doesn’t have a handle from the inside.
I hurry past it. Three doors are on my left but one of them is the balcony door. The other two face each other, with a few feet of cream carpet separating them.
“Yours and Jace’s rooms.”
Of course.
Dad braces the handle on the door to the left. “This is your space, Cooper. You can decorate it however you like.” He pauses, glancing toward Annie’s room. “You’re always welcome here. I hope you will consider this your home, too.”
I draw in a breath when he opens the door.
A double bed fit with a dark blue bedspread faces me. A desk rests by the windows, and a set of drawers with a mirror is perched on top of it. The walls are covered in square cubbyholes a couple of inches deep. They are empty, but for seven.
I recognize the stones inside them. They’re the ones I left behind when I ran away the first time.
“Th—thanks, Dad.”
He clasps my shoulder. “There’s a port for your iPod by the bed.”
I want to hug him. I want to turn around and
squee
like I’m small again, but I give him a nod instead.
“Right,” he says. “I’ll let you get settled in.” He leaves, but it’s slow, like he’s reluctant to turn away in case I shut myself in my room like Annie does.
“I’ll come down soon,” I say, but my volume drops as I spot Jace shuffling down the hall. He doesn’t see me. Ha! One point for me. He glances at the broom closet and bows his head the rest of the way to his room. I lean against the doorjamb.
He sighs, opens his door, and faces me. I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t know what to say.
He rests against his doorframe and folds his arms. “It was a dickweed thing to do.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “I’m sorry.”
“I said we’re even.”
I close the door and collapse onto my bed. A brilliant flash of orange lightning flashes across the ceiling, reminding me of citrine and Halloween. The first sounds of thunder crack the sky. Shivering, I worm underneath my covers and wonder when the storm will end.