Season of the Witch (20 page)

“Of course.”

“Do you ever get scared of her?”

I know exactly what Ella means. But all I say is “Cassandra has this tough-chick act. Yeah, it’s intimidating. But you can’t take it seriously.”

Ella watches me. I can tell she’s not buying it.

I ask, “What are you saying, Ella?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she picks up her Spanish textbook and says, “Can I tell you how much I hate the subjunctive?”

That night, I’m reading
The Grapes of Wrath
with my phone beside me on the bed. I’m supposed to have it off when I do homework. But uh, sometimes I forget.

I’m underlining a passage when I hear the
bloop
that tells me I have a message.

I check it out. It’s from Cassandra.

What is she saying?

I stare at the screen, feeling deeply annoyed. At least Ella tried not to pull me into this craziness. Cassandra just takes it for granted that I’m in it—and totally on her side. I want to say, Dude, you have the power here. Stop, already.

I text back,
Uh, big doings on
Hell’s Kitchen
?

I hesitate, then add,
Chill, okay? It’s not like she’s out to get you
.

A few minutes later, Cassandra answers,
Isn’t she?

THE NEXT WEEK, I’M ON eggshells, wondering when things will flare up between the cousins again. But Cassandra sends no more texts and Ella’s all caught up in her reality shows. Every Thursday morning, we talk
Top Chef
. Fridays, I get the
Project Runway
update, and of course, she tells me what’s up on her new fave,
Real Interventions
.

At last, I find myself actually having small conversations with people about … dumb, normal stuff. Things like papers on
As You Like It
, SATs, and how if Ricky Nunez wasn’t on our varsity soccer team, we wouldn’t
have
a varsity soccer team. I still get looks and there are still people I avoid. But I start to think it might be possible to get my wish from the beginning of the year: to become a different person, one who never messed with Oliver or fought with Chloe. To finally put this summer behind me.

Of course, that girl wasn’t friends with Cassandra. And I’m not sure how this girl will be. I miss her. I smile when I
see her in the hallway, but she doesn’t smile back. I can’t help thinking she’s freezing me out as a punishment for being friends with Ella.

One day, I spot Ella coming out of English class. It’s almost lunchtime, so I catch up with her and say, “What’s up, bubbeleh? What’s the scoop?”

She looks up, smiles. “Oh, hey—”

Then the smile vanishes. Puzzled, I look behind me.

And see Cassandra.

I’m about to say, “Okay, hussies, let’s play nice.” But something in Cassandra’s expression stops me. Her vibe is beyond cold, almost cruel. She doesn’t even seem aware of my presence. She’s staring straight at Ella. Who now looks like she’s going to cry.

Cassandra says, “What did you say, Ella?”

Ella makes a funny noise in her throat. “I didn’t say anything … I just …”

I look toward Cassandra, hoping for a clue as to what the hell’s going on. But Cassandra keeps her eyes on Ella, hard and fierce.

It’s a hex, I realize suddenly. She’s working a hex.

I say, “Guys.”

Cassandra glares at me. For a second, I hear her, just like I used to.
Whose side are you on?

Then she fixes her gaze back on Ella. Ella lets out a sob and runs down the hall, hugging her backpack for protection.

To Cassandra, I say, “What the hell?”

“Ask her,” she says, and walks away.

I race after Ella. It’s lunchtime so the hallways are crowded. Murmuring, “ ’Scuse me, coming through,” I catch up to Ella just before she reaches the stairwell.

I grab her arm. “Stop. Talk to me.”

“I can’t.” She twists, tries to get free.

“You have to,” I tell her. Ella’s so freaked it isn’t hard to guide her into the music room right down the hall. It’s empty now, just music stands and stacked scores piled high on folding chairs. I shut the door, hear the soundproofing cut off the outside noise.

“Okay.” I sit Ella on a folding chair. “What is going on?”

“N-n-nothing,” stammers Ella, her eyes wide with panic.

“Ella!” I jab a finger toward the hallway. “What is going on between you and Cassandra?”

She shrieks, “Nothing! She just hates my guts, okay?”

I shake my head, rejecting that. “Things have been deeply weird with you two ever since Chloe’s funeral.”

And, I think guiltily, ever since I told Cassandra that Ella was talking about Eamonn.

Ella mumbles, “Ask her. Nothing’s changed with me.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “You’ve been obsessing about Cassandra and your family. Like when you said your family didn’t act like Chloe’s family, what did you mean by that?”

“Nothing.”

“Why were you so hung up on whether Cassandra cried or not at Eamonn’s funeral?”

“I don’t remember.”

I feel evil, like some awful lawyer beating up a little old lady witness. But I have to know.

“What were you talking about when you said everybody in your family was thinking the same thing but no one was saying it?”

Ella suddenly folds in on herself and wraps her arms around her head. For a few moments, she rests there. Then she sits up and says, “Just … I can’t figure out what happened.”

“When?”

“That night.” She looks at me. “Why did Cassandra leave Eamonn alone that night?”

“She was there.…”

“No, in the bathtub. Why did she leave him in the bathroom?”

I pull up a chair next to her. “From the beginning.”

She takes a deep breath. “Eamonn had a seizure, right?”

I nod.

“Well, that was their worst fear—my aunt and uncle. They were terrified that Eamonn would seize when they weren’t there to help him. So you never left Eamonn alone. Not
ever
. Once, I went to the bathroom while he was watching television. My uncle went totally berserker on me.
You don’t leave him alone! Don’t you know what could happen? Never, ever leave him!
Like I’d handed Eamonn a box of matches and said, ‘Get your groove on.’ ”

“What are you saying, Ella?”

“I’m saying … you can’t leave him alone in front of the TV, but Cassandra lets him take a
bath
by himself? Brilliant Cassandra who never makes mistakes?”

She stares at me like, Do you get it now?

I do. She’s accusing Cassandra of murdering her brother.

My dad would say this is what people do when tragedies happen: they look for a reason, someone to blame. But I know Cassandra feels terrible about Eamonn.

However—have I ever heard Cassandra say so? What has she actually said?

I was good at knowing what he needed.… In a way, I gave him what he needed
.

My parents just left us alone one too many times
.

No, I think, Ella is just scared of her powerful cousin—and maybe, just maybe, wants to get back at her for treating her like caca all these years. Ella thinks she’s sincere, but really, she’s just stirring up trouble. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. And I have had way too much of that.

“Ella, Cassandra feels horrible about Eamonn’s death. I know this.”

Ella shuts down. “Okay.”

“I’m not saying you’re crazy.”

“No, I get it,” she says distantly.

This is not agreement, it’s interruption:
You don’t know anything. Shut up
.

But I can’t shut up.

“Ella, have you mentioned this to anyone else?”

Ella hesitates. “Not really.” I wait.

Then Ella sighs and says, “Okay. A few days ago, I watched that show I like—
Real Interventions
. And I thought, Well, you know, maybe it’s time I stop being such a wimp and do an intervention with my own screwed-up family. I should let them know the truth for once. So later that night, I went to my mom—”

She breaks off, swallows hard.

“And?” I ask.

“And I said to her, ‘Isn’t it kind of weird Cassandra wasn’t
in the bathroom with Eamonn?’ ” Ella’s voice is scared, but defiant.

“And?”

“Oh, she totally freaked out. At
me
—just like I knew she would. Started yelling, like, What are you saying and why would you think that? Did Cassandra say something?”

“What did you say?”

Ella bites her lip. “Nothing. When my mom freaked, I lost what little guts I had and totally backed down. I told her, Cassandra didn’t say anything, it’s just me being crazy, forget it.”

“And did your mom forget it?”

Ella doesn’t say anything.

“Or did she maybe talk to your aunt?”

Her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, God, do you think she did?”

It kind of seems like Cassandra wants to destroy you, I think. So, yeah, I think so. But I say nothing.

“I never thought she’d do
that
,” Ella wails. “I thought she’d just … tell me what happened, you know? Oh, God, if she did that … Cass must seriously hate me.”

I would like to tell Ella she’s wrong, but I can’t.

“What do you think she’ll do?” whispers Ella.

I have no answer to that question. At least, none that would make Ella feel better.

As I’m leaving school, someone grabs me by the arm.

“Hello, madame,” says Cassandra. “We’re doing a survey on the subject of bilious blabbermouths and we’d like your opinion. Would you care to participate?”

I wouldn’t—not at all. But I know Cassandra will destroy Ella if I don’t talk her out of it.

We go to my house this time because it’s closer. Luckily, my dad has late classes today.

“So—how was your week?” says Cassandra the second I close the door. She’s pacing around the dining area, checking everything out.

“Uh, fine,” I say.

“Uh-huh. Want to hear how mine went?”

“Sure.”

“My parents and I had a little talk. Want to guess what it was about?”

“No.”

“Therapy!” She shouts it. “Yes, family therapy!”

Slowing down, she ticks off the rest like a recipe. “Mom’s suggestion. Dad agrees. We’re not sure yet: her shrink or his. Or maybe a third party. Oh, and I’m invited. In fact,
I
am the guest of honor.”

She grins manically, eyes shining. I say, “What, like grief counseling or something?”

“Hmmmm … sort of.”

I need time to think about what this means, so I say, “Let’s go to my room.”

Cassandra has never been to my lair, but she immediately plops herself down at my desk. She has no interest in what’s around her, she just focuses on me.

“She talked to her parents,” she says bluntly. “That’s what happened, I know it.”

I have to pretend I don’t have a clue. “Ella?”

“Yup.” She spins in the chair. “Yup, yup, yup, yup, yup.” Suddenly, she stops. “And then her mom called my mom and now—my mom can’t look me in the face.”

The chair spins again. “I’m going to kill her,” she adds pleasantly.

I have to slow things way down. Sitting on my bed, I settle several pillows behind my back before saying, “I can totally understand—”

Cassandra interrupts. “By the way,
do
you know? What she’s saying?” She peers at me.

I hesitate. “She has, in her goofy Ella way, been talking about Eamonn and your family. But I don’t really listen. You know Ella. Everything’s a drama.…”

“I knew it,” says Cassandra almost to herself. “I knew it was her. She went yapping to her mom. Who then went yapping to mine.”

I say, “Your mom just wants to see a shrink—”

“My mom sees a shrink every day. This is different.”

“But just because—”

“No!” Cassandra gets up. “No, do not. Try to convince me that this isn’t what this is. I know what that idiot is saying about me.”

Cassandra’s rage is so powerful it’s like a roaring fire. Anything I say is just going to fuel it. I shake my head.

“She’s saying I let Eamonn die, right? That I wanted him to die.”

“No—”

“Oh, sorry,” says Cassandra sarcastically. “She’s
implying
it. Doing her little ‘Gosh, isn’t it kind of weird?’ routine.”

Okay, that is what Ella’s doing. And I wish she weren’t. But Cassandra is scaring me. I do not believe she hurt Eamonn. But I do believe she will hurt Ella. Badly.

“I don’t think anybody takes Ella seriously,” I say.

“My mom does. Believe it.”

Your mom was worried before Ella, I think. I saw it in her face that day I met her. Maybe Ella’s the only one saying it out loud. But your mom wondered too.

I say, “Then maybe the best thing is that everyone gets in a room and a doctor tells your mom she’s crazy. She wants someone to blame, probably.”

“Yes, she does—me,” Cassandra rages. “Thanks, Mom.” She wheels around. “I bet she’s saying it all over school.”

“I really don’t think so,” I say. “And since when do you care what people think about you?”

Cassandra stops instantly. “Excuse me? People think I let my brother die and I’m not supposed to care?”

She pauses.

“Why don’t you talk to Ella?”

“About how she’d prefer to die?”

“Not funny, Cassandra. I don’t think Ella understands—”

“ ‘What she’s doing, blah, blah.’ You always think that.”

“Because that’s how most of us
are
,” I say. “We hurt people, but we don’t really know we’re doing it or we don’t know how bad it hurts.”

I remember Katherine the moment she realized she had completely shattered my life with a few words she barely knew she was saying out loud.

“You said that yourself,” I remind her. “That’s why we should use our power over others
wisely
.”

“And that’s how I’m deciding to use it now. Ella’s getting attention
with this,” says Cassandra harshly. “And the porky little blabbermouth won’t stop until we make her stop.”

There’s the word I was dreading: “we.”

“Just talk to her,” I say weakly.

“No. Talking time is done.”

I’m not going to hurt her
, I tell Cassandra in my head.
I won’t. Even if she tells everyone in school, spray-paints it on the gym floor, I’m not hurting her
.