Read Online Circle Nine by Anne Heltzel - Free Book Online

think he must imagine they are clasping Amanda tightly, not me. If he’d been here, Dream Girl may not have come to terrify me, so no matter how hard he tries to fool me, I can’t pretend to forgive him.

Today I remembered something important. Once, long ago, I had a mother. I was sitting outside reading when I remembered it. It may have been the feel of the pages under my fingers or the glossy plastic cover on the book, the kind of cover that looks like it belongs in a library. Then it came to me in a sickening, panicked flash. I only saw it for an instant, and even as my head fought against its surge of dull pain, I fought to hold on to it. The entire memory may have lasted one second, or maybe two. It was more like an experience than anything else. With it came the rush of feelings, good and bad. I half want to forget it; thinking of it makes my stomach clench. But it is mine, one of the few things that are mine alone, and it’s a treasure.
    She is reading to me; it’s my favorite book, selected from the same spot in the same library shelf each week. I have heard it a dozen times, but I love it. She pulls me onto her lap, and I lean back into the crook of her arm and the curve of her stomach and chest. Her big wool sweater tickles my cheek. I am small, three or four.
    It’s a fairy tale about a boy and a girl who love each other but are separated by an evil witch who wants the boy to marry her ugly daughter. The evil witch puts a spell on the girl, so the girl dies. The girl comes back as a ghost and watches as the ugly daughter impersonates her in an attempt to woo the prince. In the end, the evil witch and her daughter die in a horrible fire, and the girl comes back to life to be with her prince. I love the ending; it is my favorite part. As the woman reads, she conveys a message of love. I am hers and she is mine.
    The memory is brief but important because it’s a gift from my past. It left me shaking and nauseated, though intact. I never knew for sure whether I’d ever had a mother, and now I know that I had a good one who loved me. All of me is cold and hot and calm and provoked by this knowledge. It makes the pain easier to bear. I tuck it away because I can’t think of it, really think of what it means, just yet.

I’m watching them through the skylight. I’m standing on the chair, and I’ve pulled myself up to see and hear better. I have never seen them fight like this. I am thrilled; if they fight badly enough, he’ll be all mine again. I’ve hated sharing him. She’s clutching something in her hand. It looks like an old newspaper. It’s tattered with wear. She’s waving it at him, and now he’s approaching her and trying to touch her arm, but she brushes his off. He tries to grab the piece of paper she’s holding, but she grips it tight and it rips in half. Now they each have half of it. I wish I could know what it is, but I can’t hear much of anything at all. Just some muted shouting and the sounds of anger. And maybe, possibly . . . my name?
    I move closer to the skylight, poking my head partially outside and straining to hear. They don’t notice me; they’re too involved in their own furious words. Now I am able to catch some of them here and there.
    . . . is why,
says Amanda.
    No,
Sam says back.
No, give it to me.
He snatches at the scrap she still holds in her hand. I see printed words, a picture, what looks like half a headline in big bold letters, but I can’t make out any of it.
    It’s her, isn’t it?
Her voice is louder than before, accusing. She jabs at the newspaper with one finger. Then Sam whispers something, and they turn their backs to me and their words fade, become muffled. They move away a few steps, still facing the other direction. I hear nothing now, but I can still see their figures set in battle stance.
    Good. I hope they are fighting over me. I hope she’s making him choose. Because I know deep down that if he has to, he will choose me over her. It is