Transcendent (9 page)

“Holy. Shit.” Ethan cut me off. “Holy, holy shit.”

I started to quiet him again, wanting to finish now that I'd started and managed to get most of it out. But his next question made me freeze. “That was your
mom
?
Virgin Mina
was your
mom
?”

I felt my breath hitch, my heart skip a beat. “You've . . . you've heard about this?”

“Yeah . . .” he said, nodding his head slowly up and down, never taking his eyes off of me. “
Virgin Mina
. I read articles about her a few years ago when my parents were trying out their Buddhist phase, then their Kabbalah phase, et cetera, et cetera. I never could bring myself to care that much, except for when they got briefly into this one particularly creepy cultlike group and I was kind of horrified for them. The crackpot who headed it up claimed to be a god on earth, more or less. A modern-day deity. So I started
researching other people who had made crazy claims like that, and . . . there's a lot on the Internet, Iris. About Mina. About your
mom
.”

Somehow, in the last week and a half, the idea to research “Mina Dietrich” hadn't occurred to me. I hadn't felt the need to, I guess, not with my mom's book in my hand and more eyewitnesses than I was ready to face just waiting for their chance to chime in. But that seemed silly now, that I hadn't thought to dig in deeper, find out what people had not only said then, but had been saying in all the years in between.

“But if that's your mom, then . . .” His beady eyes widened behind his thick lenses. “Shit, Iris,
you're
the baby. All the people who suspected the miscarriage was fabricated were right this whole time. She went into hiding and she never came back out. Neither of you did. You've been in New York all along. And your
dad
 . . .” He looked too stunned to go on now, one realization after another dropping down on him like bricks, shattering through everything he'd ever known about me.

“I'm still confused as hell,” Ari said, her head spinning as she turned back and forth between us. Her purple eyes landed on me. “Let me try and get this straight. Iris, you're saying you're some miracle baby? Like your mom was some wild, modern-day Virgin Mary?” She looked over at Ethan, not waiting for me to respond. “And you're saying people
believed this back in the day? Do
you
believe it?”

“No,” he said, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “Or
yes
. Maybe. I don't know.
Damn
. It's crazy, Ari, but a lot of people ended up believing Mina. And when she was knocked down in a big protest that happened on her own front lawn, everyone thought that the baby died. Mina disappeared after that, fell off the grid entirely . . . and a lot of people ended up regretting the way they'd treated her. Regretted that they'd been so closed-minded about the impossible being possible—about actual, real-life miracles happening, here and now, in this world.”

“That's why he showed up at our door,” I said, finding courage—and maybe even a little pride—in Ethan's knowledge of my mom's history. She'd been important. Enough so that nearly eighteen years hadn't been enough to wash her away. “Kyle Bennett. He was an ass to my mom when everything happened in high school, and he claims he regrets it all now. He blames his . . . his losses on the way he treated her. His children's pain is his punishment. So he tracked my mom down and came up here thinking that she could help him and his family somehow. That
I
could help them somehow. Because I'm her baby. Because I must be . . .
special
in some way.” I blushed when I said it, because I could never believe that part of the story. I could never believe that I was different from anyone else. I was no more likely to lay my hand on a Disney victim and
magically cure them than anyone else on this planet.

“So you really believe this, Iris?” Ari asked, her volume cranking up with her increasing disbelief. “You believe that your mom got knocked up by some—by some divine force, and now . . . and now
what
? What are you supposed to do now?”

“I don't know,” I whispered. “None of us do. The woman who came to my mom . . . she said that she'd know more when the time came. My mom has no clue, which is why she kept this from me for so long. She claims that they were eventually going to tell me, but I think she was hoping she'd be able to keep it locked away forever. She's terrified for me.”

“Well, I don't know what to even say about any of it,” Ari huffed, scowling at her empty cup.

“It certainly seems like you have
plenty
to say about it already,” Delia said, the first words out of her mouth this entire time. Her voice was calm and steady, but there was a criticism in it, her narrowed eyes frowning at Ari.

This was Delia's role—the wise-beyond-her-years mediator that kept the rest of us in balance. I'm not sure we could have survived without her.

Ari pursed her lips as Delia turned to me and said, “I think you're brave, Iris, for telling us this. But I think we all need time to let it settle in. Before we say anything
rash
or hurtful. It's a lot to take in, even for your best friends.
Especially for your best friends, maybe.”

“Exactly,” Ethan said. “Very eloquent, Delia.”

I nodded. “Of course. You guys need time.”
But not too much time
, I wanted to say.
I need you right now. More than ever.

Ari crossed her arms over her
Meat Is Murder
shirt and let out a long sigh. “Fine. I'll reserve immediate judgment. Only because you've always been a little crazy, and that's part of why I love you so damn much, Iris Spero. But this is pretty out there, even for you.”

I gave her a weak smile, and then we finished our bubble teas in silence. They hugged me good-bye as we went our separate ways, but there was something off about it. Their touch was too light, too quick. They couldn't quite look me in the eye.

I climbed back onto my bike, my legs shaking.

Please. Please let the worst be over. Let us all move on from here.

I closed my eyes for a second and I wished. Not to a god, not to Iris, not to anyone.

I just wished.

“S
O I WATCHED t
he video last night,” Ethan said that Friday, his eyes meeting mine from across the round cafeteria table. “I watched the video that your dad made—that, er, Jesse made? Joey? Mr. Spero . . . ?”

“Ethan,” I said, cutting him off. I put my fork down, my appetite for the leftover tofu pad thai in front of me suddenly nonexistent. “He's still my dad. It's okay to call him that.”

“Right.” He nodded, his head jerking up and down harder and more enthusiastically than necessary. “Of course. Of course he is.” He stumbled on, muttering a stream of extended apologies under his breath.

For the last four days, in the aftermath of my epic reveal, Ethan had sweated and stuttered, Ari had snarled and snapped at everyone even more than usual, and Delia—Delia was quieter than ever, which was no easy accomplishment. They were all still there at least, sitting
next to me. I should have just been grateful for that. But they looked at me differently, talked to me differently. There was an uncertainty, a new awkwardness that had never been there before.

It was hard enough at home. Caleb had stopped acting like my personal servant, which was nice, but now he seemed to be avoiding me as much as possible—doing homework in his bedroom instead of at the kitchen table, going up to bed right after dinner. And my parents were mostly tiptoeing around me, trying, I supposed, to give me some space. But as much as I wanted to move on, I couldn't forget how long they'd kept this secret. I couldn't forget how long they'd lied.

I needed one place where I could feel normal again. One place where I could still just be me.

“Your
dad
did a good job on the film,” Ethan said, adding extra emphasis to the word, letting me know I'd gotten my point effectively across. I fought the urge to clench my teeth. He was trying. “Have you watched it yet?”

I shook my head, looking away. My dad had pulled it out for me a few nights back, an archaic-looking disc that was now resting conspicuously on the coffee table, waiting. I'd confessed to him and my mom that I'd told my friends the truth—that I'd known I could trust them to keep the secret—and while Mom just nodded silently, Dad had said
it was the right decision. That the one thing they'd learned for sure all those years ago was that you needed to be willing to trust the people you loved most. You had to take the chance. This video, he said, proved it.

But I wasn't ready yet to see it all so clearly with my own eyes. My parents' and grandparents' tears, the awful things people had said and done, evidence in living color that this had actually happened almost eighteen long years ago. I would, though, soon. I had to. I had to see what I could potentially be up against—now, again, present day—if Kyle didn't keep the news to himself. It was making me uneasy, his silence. Could he really have just given up so easily?

“It was pretty impressive,” Ethan said excitedly, taking a huge bite of his mom's blueberry pie—she owned a bakery here in Brooklyn, and Ethan had some delicious pie or pastry in his lunch bag every day—and continuing on, talking as he chewed. “I mean, obviously, any film your dad made would be good, seeing as he's a fancy director and all now. But they were so young then. It's so raw. You just feel it all. You feel Mina, her family, her friends, their world. You just get it—you get what they're really going through. And you . . . I don't know, Iris. You
believe
. You seriously fucking believe. You can't not when you see the truth on their faces like that.”

“Oh, please,
enough
. You're sounding like a crazy
sycophant now,” Ari said, tossing a crumpled napkin that hit Ethan dead center on his chest. “Take a breath before you pass out.”

Ethan and Delia both glared, but I ignored her and this latest jab in the nonstop barrage she'd been hurling since the news had dropped. No one was safe from her lashing, not even inanimate objects. I'd seen her stomping on a sparkly Homecoming poster that very morning, for no other reason than that school dances “promoted and proliferated archaic assumptions about gender norms.” She was frustrated, I assumed, because for once she wasn't sure what she believed. Ari was used to having a set opinion—she was used to being firmly pro or con. This strange middle ground, though . . . it seemed to be throwing her off entirely.

“Maybe both of you could just talk a little more quietly?” I said, peering out around both sides of our table. “I don't exactly want this spreading around the school.”

“Since when do you care what these people think?” Ari asked. “Remember the time Carolina Matthews made sure the whole entire class knew that she'd seen you playing Monopoly at the park with some homeless women? She warned everyone to stay away from you for weeks, said you'd probably caught some crazy bird flu. And you just gave her that damn magic smile of yours and said, ‘I'd
choose sweet homeless women over cruel rich girls any day.' That shut her up.”

“Oh, man, did I love that moment,” Ethan said, grinning as he rolled up his blueberry-goo-covered tinfoil. “I am dying for some milk. I need to grab some before the bell and—” He stood up too quickly and lost his balance as his foot slid against the shiny linoleum floor. He grabbed at his chair with one hand, the dirty pie wrapper flying from his other as he toppled down to the ground. The foil ball, unfortunately, crashed directly into the forehead of a very unhappy-looking Bryce Peters, the reigning king at the end of the basketball team's table. The wrapper stuck there for a second, fused by the blueberry goo, until it slowly peeled back and dropped to the table. At Bryce's right was Noah Kennedy from our English class, who looked torn between laughing at Bryce's misfortune and kicking Ethan's ass.

Delia immediately jumped up, grabbing Ethan's hands and pulling him back into his seat.

“Are you okay?” I asked, leaning in closer. Ethan nodded, but his head was down, so low it was nearly resting on the table. The tips of his ears were flaming, and one side of his glasses dangled to his chin.

“God, that fat kid is always such a damn klutz,” Noah said, loudly enough to make sure we heard it. “Do we teach him a lesson?”

“He's a total loser,” Bryce said, wiping the dots of blueberry jam from his face. He picked up the wrapper and whipped it at Ethan, hitting him straight on the lips. “Not even sure it's worth my time to show him what's up. Besides, sitting with those three weird bitches is punishment enough . . .”

Ari's face turned instantly, shockingly red. She pushed back from the table to face Bryce, the legs of her chair making a hideous screech as they skidded against the floor. “Listen. I couldn't care less that you called
me
a bitch. Because you're right, I am. But my friends are the best people I know, and they'll be ruling this world after high school. You'll be lucky to get a job mopping the floors at your dad's coffee shop, and I highly doubt even he would want to spend that much quality time with you. So maybe you should focus the rest of your senior year on, I don't know, actually trying to be a
decent
human being before your whole life goes to shit.”

“Ari,” I said, reaching out to pull her back. Bryce and Noah and the rest of the kids at their table were laughing hysterically now, knocking their fists together and ranting about “that crazy bitch.”

Ari shook me off as she sat down in her chair, those purple eyes dulled. Furious, I looked over at Bryce and Noah, shooting them what I hoped was my most disapproving glare. They caught my eye, the laughter
sputtering out into silence. They looked disoriented for a few seconds, and then went back to their food and their previous conversations.

I turned to see Delia watching us, her brows twisted together as she glanced from me to Bryce and Noah.

“Sorry,” Ari said quietly behind me. “I know you hate when I go off on people like that, but I can't stand to hear anyone talking shit about Ethan or—”

The buzz of the school intercom speakers interrupted her.

“Iris Spero to the main office, please. Iris Spero to the main office.” I froze, waiting for more. But the speaker just hummed and then clicked off into silence.

Had something happened? Was someone in my family hurt? Had Kyle . . . ?

No
.
Please no.

“What do you think that's about?” Ethan looked up at me, frowning as he pushed his glasses back into place. “Do you think it has to do with . . . ?”

He let the question dangle.

“No,” I lied, packing the rest of my food back into my lunch bag. “I'm sure it's nothing.”

I stood up, my legs wobbling, shaking at the knees, and I gripped the back of my chair for a moment to steady myself. “I'll keep you posted, okay?” I turned my back to
them, unable to last another second under the scrutiny of their anxious eyes.

The walk to the front office was a blur, the rows of lockers, the faces of students passing by, the feel of my feet hitting the tile floors all hazy and distant.

As I turned into the office entrance, I bumped hard into another student on his way out. I backed away, embarrassed that I'd plowed into someone in my daze. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking . . .”

I realized then just who the student was. Zane Davis, staring down at me from under the same big red hood he had been wearing at the soup kitchen.

“Hood down when you're in school, Mr. Davis,” a loud, grating voice trilled from the office. He smirked, shaking it back.

“Iris, right?” he asked, his eyes not moving from my face.

“Good memory.” I jammed my hands in my back pockets to calm my racing pulse. I was too nervous to deal with any more of his jabs, not right now.

“What's a girl like you getting called to the office for? Fancy award or something like that, I bet?”

“No,” I said, looking down at the floor. “I don't know why, actually. But there's a lot of stuff going on at home. So I don't know, but . . . I don't think it's good. I'm sorry I
bumped into you, but I kind of need to get into the office now.”

For a second, that smirk of his slipped—replaced by a wrinkle in his brow that I'd swear was
concern
. But then, just as quickly, the condescending little grin was back. He didn't say anything else, just stepped to the side and then swaggered off down the hallway.

I watched him for a few seconds before stepping into the office. I gave my name to the receptionist, whose severely browed, sharp eyes and tight-lipped fuchsia scowl seemed intentionally crafted to make any student, no matter how guilty or how innocent, squirm with paranoia.

“I've been notified that a parent will be picking you up here in a few minutes. For an eye doctor appointment. Last-minute scheduling.” She crooked one of those severe brows, as if she was suspicious about the nature of the pickup. I was suspicious, too, because I knew perfectly well that I'd just gone to the eye doctor two months before and, as always, was twenty-twenty. “You can be seated while you wait, Ms. Spero.” She pointed one long, red-tipped nail at the row of plastic orange chairs along the wall.

“Iris!”

My mom stepped into the office behind me, a fake smile plastered on her face.

“Mom, what's—”

“So sorry about that,” she said, cutting me off and
giving me a quick hug as she turned to the receptionist. “Completely forgot about this appointment. We're already running late, so let me just sign whatever you need, and we'll be on our way.”

My alarm rose as I watched Mom at the desk, my brain running through all the worst-case scenarios. She latched her arm around mine as we swept into the hallway.

I opened my mouth to ask, but she shook her head.

“Everyone's safe. I promise. Let's get home. Dad's there, and Nanny and Pop came in from Jersey, too.”

“But what . . . ?” I tried again.

“Not now, Iris. Home. And then . . . and then we'll tell you the plan.”

•   •   •

I pushed open the front door, and within seconds, Nanny and Pop were hovering on both sides of me, my dad standing just off behind them.

“Sweetheart,” Nanny whispered, squeezing the air out of me as she wrapped her arms tight around my chest. “It is so good to see you.” I smiled into her soft curly gray hair, which tickled my nose as she leaned into me closer. I was a good head taller than her now, but she felt so steady, so solid, I was certain she could still pick me up and cradle me, protect me from anything and anyone.

Pop was less physically effusive, but just as sturdy,
towering above both of us as he rested his palm gently on the top of my head. “My special girl,” he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

He'd always called me that, and I'd never, before now, wondered why. But now I knew. Now I knew why I was so
special
.

“Let's sit down,” Pop said, guiding me toward the sofa.