must stay open pretty late for the tourists because there were these big
yellow floodlights hidden in the breezeway's eaves, and pointed at various
objects of interest: the tallest of the palm trees, the one with the biggest
hibiscus bush at its base; the fountain, which was on even though the place
was closed; and of course the statue of Father Serra, with one light shining
on his bronze head and another on the heads of the Native American women at
his feet.
Geesh. It was a good thing Father Serra was good and dead. I had a feeling
that statue would have completely embarrassed him.
The breezeway was empty, as was the courtyard. No one was around. All I could
hear was the gentle splash of the water in the fountain and the chirping of
crickets hidden in the garden. It was a sort of restful place, actually, which
was surprising. I mean, none of my other schools had ever struck me as
restful. At least, this one did, until this hard voice behind me went, "What
areyou doing here?"
I spun around, and there she was. Just leaning up against her locker excuse
me,my locker and glaring at me, her arms folded across her chest. She was
wearing a pair of charcoal colored slacks nice ones and a grey cashmere
sweater set. She had an add-a-pearl necklace around her neck, one pearl for
every Christmas and birthday she'd been alive, given to her, no doubt, by a
set of doting grandparents. On her feet were a pair of shiny black loafers.
Her hair, as shiny as her shoes in the yellow light from the floodlamps,
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looked smooth and golden. She really was a beautiful girl.
Too bad she had blown her head off.
"Heather," I said, pushing the hood of my sweatshirt down. "Hi. I'm sorry to
bother you " It always helps at least to start out polite. " but I really
think we need to talk, you and I."
Heather didn't move. Well, that's not true. Her eyes narrowed. They were pale
eyes, grey, I think, though it was hard to tell, in spite of the flood-lamps.
The long eyelashes dark with mascara were tastefully ringed in charcoal
liner.
"Talk?" Heather echoed. "Oh, yeah. Like I really want to talk toyou . I know
about you,Suzie ."
I winced. I couldn't help it. "It's Suze," I said.
"Whatever. I know what you're doing here."
"Well, good," I said. "Then I don't have to explain. You want to go sit down,
so we can talk?"
"Talk? Why would I want to talk toyou ? What do you think I am, stupid? God,
you think you're so sly. You think you can just move right in, don't you?"
I blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Into my place." She straightened, and stepped away from the locker, and
walked toward the courtyard as if she were admiring the fountain. "You," she
said, tossing me a look over her shoulder. "The new girl. The new girl who
thinks she can just slip right into the place I left behind. You've already
got my locker. You're on your way to stealing my best friend. I know Kelly
called you and asked you to her stupid party. And now you think you can steal
my boyfriend."
I put my hands on my hips. "He's not your boyfriend, Heather, remember? He
broke up with you. That's why you're dead. You blew your brains out in front
of his mother."
Heather's eyes widened. "Shut up," she said.
"You blew your brains out in front of his mother because you were too stupid
to realize that no boy not even Bryce Martinson is worth dying for." I
strolled past her, out onto one of the gravel pathways between the garden
beds. I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself, but it was making me a
little nervous, standing under the breezeway after what had happened to Bryce.
"Boy, you must have been mad when you realized what you'd done. Killed
yourself. And over something so stupid. Because of a guy."
"Shut up!" This time she didn't just say it. She screamed it, so loud that
she had to ball her hands up into fists at her sides, close her eyes, and
hunch up her shoulders to do it. The scream was so loud, my ears were ringing
afterward. But no one came running from the rectory, where I saw a few lights
on. The mourning doves that I'd heard cooing in the eaves of the breezeway
hadn't uttered a peep since Heather had shown up, and the crickets had cut
short their midnight serenade.
People can't hear ghosts well, most people, anyway but the same can't be
said for animals and even insects. They are hyperalert to the presence of the
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paranormal. Max, the Ackermans' dog, won't go near my room thanks to Jesse.
"It's no use your screaming like that," I said. "No one but me can hear it."
"I'll scream all I want," she shrieked. And then she proceeded to do so.
Yawning, I went and sat down on one of the wooden benches by Father Serra's
statue. There was a plaque, I noticed, at the statue's base. I could read it
easily with the help of the flood-lamps and the moon.
The Venerable Father Junipero Sena, the plaque read,1713-1784. His righteous
ways and self-abnegation were a lesson to all who knew him and received his
teachings .
Huh. I was going to have to look up self-abnegation in the dictionary when I
got home. I wondered if it was the same as self-flagellation, something for
which Serra had also been known.
"Are you listening to me?" Heather screamed.
I looked at her. "Do you know what the wordabnegation means?" I asked.
She stopped screaming and just stared at me. Then she strode forward, her
face a mask of livid rage.
"Listen to me, you bitch," she said, stopping when she stood a foot away from
me. "I want you gone, do you understand? I want you out of this school. That
ismy locker. Kelly Prescott ismy best friend. And Bryce Martinson ismy
boyfriend! You get out, you go back to where you came from. Everything was
just fine before you got here "
I had to interrupt. "I'm sorry, Heather, but everything wasnot just fine
before I got here. You know how I know that? Because you're dead. Okay?You are
dead . Dead people don't have lockers, or best friends, or boyfriends. You
know why? Because they're dead."
Heather looked as if she was about to start screaming again, but I headed her
off at the pass. I said, smoothly and evenly, "Now, I know you made a mistake.
You made a horrible, terrible mistake "
"I'm not the one who made the mistake." Heather said, flatly. "Bryce made the
mistake. Bryce is the one who broke up with me."
I said, "Yeah, well, that wasn't the mistake I was talking about. I was
talking about you shooting yourself because a stupid boy broke up with "
"If you think he's so stupid," Heather said with a sneer, "why are you going
out with him on Saturday? That's right. I heard him ask you out. The rat. He
probably wasn't faithful a day the whole time we were going out."
"Oh," I said. "Well, that's just great. All the more reason for you to kill
yourself over him."
There were tears, sparkling like those rhine-stones you buy and glue to your [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]