Sword Play Page 9

  “I left a note.”

  “You call that a note? Out with a friend? What friend? Out where? And no mention of when you planned to be back.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind. You could have tried my cell phone.”

  “I did.” Her eyes narrowed.

  Checking my purse, I found out my phone was dead. Oops. Guess I should have recharged it. But hardly anyone had my cell number; most of my friends preferred email.

  Mom strode over to my desk and set the orange folder down. She was all business and agitated. Her determined expression spelled out trouble as she grabbed a chair, turned it around, then sat down to face me.

  Instead of meeting her gaze, I noticed how her hands were folded, one elegantly overlapping the other. The diamond in her wedding ring was as large as her thumbnail, reflecting sunlight coming through my window, sending sparkles across my wall. Her nails were squared and manicured in a French style. Her skin was slightly darker and rougher than mine. And there was a tiny scar on her right knuckle, an injury from when she and Dad played couples tennis. But now they were more like two singles than a couple.

  “Sabine!” she said sternly. “Would you pay attention to me? It’s important we discuss your education.”

  Trapped, with no escape this time, I thought, fighting the panic rising in me. I eyed that thick orange folder and saw my own name scrawled across the flap. Enrollment papers, for my new school. (Or my old school?) I might as well find out what my mother had planned—even if she ended up ruining my entire life.

  “Okay, tell me,” I said in the same tone a death row inmate would use to find out how many days before execution. “Am I going to a private school?”

  Mom shook her head, the dark blond waves so carefully arranged they didn’t move. “I researched private schools, but found none of them adequate.”

  “Well I’m NOT going back to Arcadia High!” I exclaimed, jumping up and folding my arms across my chest. “No way. Not ever! If that’s what you’re going to tell me, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Would you sit down and act reasonably?” she asked in this calm voice that made me want to throw something at her. Didn’t she realize it was my life we were discussing? She couldn’t just make decisions without asking me. I wasn’t ten like my sisters, I was almost an adult. I had a right to choose my own school. I’d given up a lot to move back home for her, and this was how she repaid me? By sending me back to a school where I’d be shunned and insulted and ignored?

  I started to reach for my suitcase, when Mom put her hand on my arm. “Sabine, would you please listen without jumping to wrong conclusions?”

  “Wrong?” I sniffed. “You said it wasn’t a private school and the nearest public school is Arcadia High.”

  “I would never allow you to return to that narrow-minded school.”

  “You wouldn’t?” If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have fallen over. “So what school am I going to?”

  “None.”

  “What?” I stared at her in shock. “You’re home-schooling me?”

  “Me? Heaven forbid! Even if I had the time, I wouldn’t have the patience.” She chuckled. “I doubt either of us would survive that.”

  “Okay, so no Arcadia High,” I said counting off with my fingers. “No private school. No home school. Guess I’m dropping out.”

  “Ha, ha.” She frowned, not at all amused.

  “Then what? What’s left?”

  Mom handed the orange folder to me and said, “Open it.”

  Uneasily, I opened the folder and pulled out bundles of papers. Assignments for English, calculus, science, Spanish, etc, all from teachers with names I recognized.

  “These are my teachers! From Sheridan High.”

  “Exactly.” Mom nodded.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, wrinkling my brow.

  “You would if you’d simply listen.”

  “I am listening.”

  “I researched all options and concluded since it’s mid-semester, it would be too disruptive for you to change schools. So I made all the arrangements for independent study.”

  “Not a new school?”

  “You won’t attend school at all. Until the semester is over, and I can make better arrangements, you’re still a student of Sheridan High.”

  I celebrated Mom’s fantastic news by making phone calls.

  First Nona, but got her machine and left a message.

  Then I called Josh. We talked for over an hour. After I told him about my independent study program, he told me the latest in his life. Even small things like going to the mall to buy new sneakers sounded exciting coming from Josh. He had a natural skill for conversation and connecting with people. If he changed his mind about being a magician, he’d make a great politician. His sexy smile alone could win an election. As he described giving his dog (nicknamed Horse) a bath, I thought how lucky I was to have a boyfriend who was both funny and honest. It was silly to want anything more.

  “Horse raced down the hall lathered in soap and jumped in Dad’s lap,” Josh went on. “Mom doubled over laughing at Dad—until he ran to her and shook his fur, showering her with bubbles.”

  “Your parents must have freaked.”

  “Nah. They thought it was funny, too. Dad even helped me drag Horse back to the bathroom.”

  “You’re lucky your parents are so relaxed. My mother would have hit the roof. She doesn’t allow pets in her house except fish.”

  “Your mother’s not that bad. I liked her when we met at your sisters’ birthday party.”

  “She liked you, too.”

  “So she has good taste,” he said jokingly. “I know you don’t always get along with her—”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “But she cares about you. Give her credit for arranging independent study.”

  “Well … okay. That was cool.”

  “I got some cool news, too,” Josh added, lowering his voice. “A great opportunity with my mentor. I’d tell you more, but Arturo swore me to secrecy. And secrecy is the core of all stage magic.”

  The hint of mystery and excitement in his tone amped my curiosity. I didn’t mean to psychically “eavesdrop,” but I had this sudden flash of a room with a long table draped with a gold cloth. There were lit candles and guys in black suits passing out cards, but it wasn’t like the poker games Nona played with her friends. Maybe tarot cards, but not like any deck I’d ever seen. They were black with gold symbols of daggers, spiders, and gargoyles. Strange and creepy. I shivered, sensing dark forces. But that was silly, right? Josh only performed cheesy magic tricks.

  Shrugging this off, we talked for a while longer. Before Josh hung up, he promised to visit me on Saturday. “I swear on Horse’s big doggie feet that I won’t cancel,” he joked.

  I was still chuckling when I called Penny-Love, but she didn’t notice. Before I said more than “hi,” she congratulated me on the independent study problem. Was she psychic or something? I thought, then smiled to myself as she explained that she’d heard it from one of her brothers who had a girlfriend with a sister whose cousin worked in the school office.

  “Woo hoo!” Penny-Love rejoiced. “It’s like we’re still going to school together!”

  “Except you’ll hang out with friends while I study here by myself.”

  “So it’s not perfect, but at least you’ll get your work done on time,” she teased. “Besides, you won’t be that alone. We can do homework together.”

  “Right,” I said doubtfully. “I’ll just jump in Mom’s car and drive over a hundred miles to conjugate some verbs.”

  “I meant studying together online or the phone.”

  “Oh. That might work, although it won’t be the same.” I sighed. “I just want to move back.”

  “Will your parents let you?”

  “I’m working on it. Mom won’t want me around if I do something scandalous and embarrass her. Then she’ll kick me out again.”

  “So scandaliz
e ASAP and get your bad-ass back here,” Penny-Love joked. “Although I can’t imagine you doing anything really bad.”

  “You’d be surprised.” I couldn’t say more without revealing that I was psychic and recently talked to the ghost of the guy whose death I predicted. I liked having Penny-Love think I was normal.

  So I just said I’d hooked up with some friends from my old school that my mother didn’t approve of, which was mostly true. When I’d started high school, Mom had lectured me on the importance of participating in extracurricular activities. She’d suggested I join the school band (despite the fact that I couldn’t play an instrument). Then when I told her I’d joined the fencing club, she was not pleased. “Too violent,” she disapproved. I tried to explain the artistic and mental benefits of fencing, but she wasn’t interested.

  Whenever Dad and my sisters attended my Foils exhibitions, Mom was always busy. Coincidence? Doubtful. I’d never meet my mother’s expectations, so why even try?

  “Well I hope you move back soon,” Penny-Love was saying.

  “That’s my goal. I’ll embarrass Mom so badly, she’ll pack my bags for me.”

  Penny-Love laughed loudly. “I miss having you around and I know Nona does, too.”

  I paused and asked, “How is Nona?”

  “Okay … well most of the time … oh, my other line’s beeping. It must be Jacques. Did I tell you how great he is?”

  “Only a zillion times. But what about Nona?”

  “Nothing to worry about. Anyone could mix up cherry tomatoes for strawberries. She’s fine, really. Gotta go!” Then the phone clicked off.

  I stared at the phone, worries mounting. Had Nona put cherry tomatoes in a pie or strawberries in a green salad? Were her memory lapses happening more often?

  Quickly, I punched Nona’s number, only I got her machine. Frustrated, I left a message, then knitted while I waited for her to call back.

  But she never did.

  *

  First thing in the morning, I tried Nona’s number again—and nearly dropped the phone with relief when she answered.

  “Nona! I was so worried, why didn’t you call me back?”

  “I did,” she replied.

  “When?” I thought back and drew a blank.

  “Don’t you remember, Sabine? You told me all about your sleepover.”

  “Sleepover?” I rubbed my forehead in confusion.” Am I missing something?”

  “A lot of sleep, I’d guess.” She chuckled. “It can’t be comfortable sleeping in a treehouse. But you and your friend seem to enjoy it.”

  “Friend? What friend?”

  “Are you pulling my leg? You only have one best friend—Brianne.”

  “Brianne?” My mouth went dry, and I felt sick inside.

  “Such a sweet girl and so spunky! Nothing that girl won’t try at least once, like the time she strung a rope from the house to the garage and tight-roped across it. Instead of screaming, she laughed when she fell and landed in the azalea bushes. Reminds me of myself at that age.”

  “But Nona … ” I took a deep breath. “Brianne isn’t my friend anymore.”

  “You girls have a spat?”

  “It’s been over six months since I went on a sleepover with her. Penny-Love is my closest friend now. And I didn’t talk with you yesterday. I left messages on your machine, only you never called back.”

  “I see.” The small words echoed shame.

  “It’s all right, Nona,” I assured.

  “No, it isn’t.” There was a painful pause. “My thoughts are a bit muddled. I think I’ll go lie down.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone,” I said firmly. “I’m going to tell Mom right now that you need me and I’m moving back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m far from alone. Through a window I can see Dominic carrying hay to the horses and Penny-Love will be here after school. Besides, isn’t this your first day of independent study?”

  “Yes,” I admitted, surprised how quickly she’d snapped back to her usual self. She even remembered Penny-Love.

  “Then you should start on your assignments,” she ordered. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye, dear.” The phone clicked in my ear.

  I just sat on my bed, staring around the room filled with pieces of my childhood. A bean bag pillow, a floppy stuffed unicorn that Dad won for me at a county fair, an embroidered satin jewelry box full of costume jewelry I used to share with Brianne, and a shelf of “Tea Cups Around the World” that my Grandma Rose gave me every birthday. Fragments of memories that made up who I was.

  Would Nona still be Nona when her memories faded?

  She’d put on a good front, waving away my worries, but it was clear she was getting worse. I was tempted to call Dominic or Penny-Love and tell them about Nona’s latest memory lapse. But I kept hearing the pride in my grandmother’s voice, and I had to respect her dignity.

  Besides, I also had to start school.

  *

  Getting ready for school had never been easier. I slipped into a comfy T-shirt, sweat pants, and fuzzy slippers. No makeup, fussing over my hair, deciding on clothes, or gulping down a rushed breakfast. No teachers or other students. Only me.

  My family was off early, so I was the only one home. In the kitchen, I turned on the radio to an energetic hip-hop station, spiked the volume high, and ate a breakfast of cold cereal. Then I tackled my packet of papers and textbooks.

  What to do first? I pondered. I looked at my list of assignments, deciding I’d pretend I was at Sheridan High and do them in the order of my actual classes. But English was first, and I wasn’t in the mood to read The Great Gatsby. So I poured another bowl of Cinnamon Crunch cereal and watched a game show on TV. This reminded me of being a little kid and staying home sick with Mom, before she got a social life and only worked part-time jobs. We’d watch game shows and guess the answers. A few times I knew the answers before the questions were even asked.

  Somehow two hours passed, and I still hadn’t completed any of my many assignments. Independent study wouldn’t be as easy as I thought. I had to get serious and stop wasting time.

  So I flipped through the assignments again. I even did a few math equations, only I wasn’t sure I was doing them properly, and put them aside for later. I still wasn’t ready to tackle Gatsby and my science assignment involved collecting dead bug specimens.

  “I know what I can do!” I snapped my fingers and slammed the textbooks shut. “This is supposed to be like actual school, and every Monday I help Manny with his Mystic Manny column.”

  Then I realized I was talking to myself. Talking to spirits and even ghosts was okay, but talking to myself was one step on the road to crazy.

  A short time later I’d come up with a few predictions for Manny.

  Left-handed people will meet someone right for them.

  Monday is a good day for money-making opportunities.

  Purple is the lucky color of the week, and ten and two are lucky numbers.

  Then I randomly picked someone from the yearbook for the “Ten Years in the Future” column. A junior named Austin Charles. He’d get a scholarship to an East Coast college, but would change his major midway, take an internship at an architect firm, and meet his future wife at an office party. I saw a shadow of a health problem ahead for him, but didn’t include this when I emailed the column to Manny.

  “Hey, Sis! Wait till you hear what I did today!” Amy exclaimed, holding her backpack as she appeared in my bedroom doorway. “And why are you still wearing slippers and a nightie? Didn’t you get dressed?”

  “Oops. Guess I forgot.” I glanced down. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing homework?”

  “Well … sort of.” I avoided looking at my packet of assignments. Except for a few math problems, I hadn’t done anything. And I doubted “making up” psychic predictions for the school newspaper would impress my teachers.

  “Wait till you hear about my day.” Grinning, Amy flopped in a chair beside me. “Guess wher
e I’m going this evening?”

  I shrugged. “Where?”

  “I said guess.”

  “I have no idea. Just tell me.”

  “Leanna’s house.”

  “Kip’s sister! But I thought she never invited anyone over.” I wrinkled my brow. “How did you get her to change her mind?”

  “She didn’t. Her mother invited me.”

  Amy went on to explain that while Leanna’s mother was volunteering to be a room mother, they got to talking. “I knew Leanna only got a C in spelling and I got an A, so I said I’d help her study. Next thing I know, Mrs. Hurst invites me over and even offers to pay me like a real tutor.”

  “Cool.” I gestured a thumbs-up. “So when do you start?”

  “After dinner. I’ll help her like Kip asked.”

  “It’s Aileen who needs help,” I corrected. “Not Leanna.”

  Amy’s long dark hair swished as she shook her head. “That’s what you think.”

  “That’s what I know. Kip didn’t use all his energy to come here just to help his sister do better in school.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just the way spirits work.”

  “Why do you always act like you know everything and I don’t know anything?” Amy demanded, her blue eyes blazing. “You’re just like Ashley and Mom, never taking anything I say seriously. Don’t you care what I think?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you don’t believe anything I say.”

  “I know you wouldn’t lie. I just think differently.”

  “Differently means you think I’m wrong. Well you’re the one who’s wrong.” She glared at me. “And I’m going to prove it!”

  Bad moods are toxic and spread like noxious mold.

  About an hour later, I was nuking a frozen lasagna in the microwave when hurricane Ashley stormed into the kitchen. Amy trailed after her, looking miserable.

  “Sabine, where’s Mom?” Ashley asked, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder and looking around. “I want to tell her what’s going on. Amy just told me she was invited to Leanna’s house. It’s not fair!”

  I shrugged, gesturing that my mouth was full of lasagna. I chewed slowly to avoid getting involved. I pretended not to notice the “help me” look Amy tossed in my direction.