Read Online White is for Magic by Laurie Faria Stolarz - Free Book Online
Authors: Laurie Faria Stolarz
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"It's just that today in the cafeteria when Chad came by,
71
even the other morning when he came to visit, I felt that you were sort of . . ."
"What?"
"I don't know. I guess sort of upset or something."
"I'm not jealous about Chad, if that's what you're thinking."
"Okay," I say. "I mean, I'm glad. Because I think if it were me, I might be jealous." I catch myself squeezing and resqueezing the lime wedges into my empty mug for no apparent reason.
"I was trying to imagine how it would be, you know, to have a best friend date your ex."
"It doesn't bother me," she says, twisting a strand of blond hair around her finger. "Me and Chad were over ages ago."
'Are you sure?"
Drea lowers her eyes to look at me finally, and, for just a second, I think she might cry, but instead she nods--a slight, less-than-believable up-and-down shake to the head. Our eyes stay locked on one another until we're interrupted by Amber.
She slams the door shut behind her. "You'll never believe what just happened to me." She's liplinered two pink ghosts to her cheeks with big Xs over them.
"What?" Drea lets out a relieved sigh, perhaps grateful for the interruption.
"Well," Amber begins, "I was on my way back from the mailboxes and this guy who I've never even seen before, probably some transfer dork--one of the ghost groupies-- crashes right into me, making me drop all my mail. So, then, as he's helping me pick it back up, he tells me to have a happy anniversary and asks me how I'll be celebrating."
72
I lock eyes with Drea, catching sight of her trembling lip. She bites it and looks away again.
"So, what did you say?" I ask.
"I asked him what he was talking about," Amber says. "I mean, I know it's the anniversary, I just wasn't thinking . . . and then he tells me that he and his friend are going to try and break into O'Brian and perform some seance or something."
O'Brian is the academic building where Veronica was killed. It happened in Madame Lenore's French room, on the first floor. The administration ended up boarding up the room and closing off that part of the building right after it happened. But kids, convinced the place was haunted, refused to take classes anywhere near the building. And so for a while it just sort of sat there, like a constant reminder of what happened. But now, with much monetary support from rich parents and other donors, it's being renovated--new paint, new floors, a new computer facility--like a million-dollar makeover will wipe away the horrific events of the past and make the parents happy.
"I hate this school," Drea says. "I should have transferred when I had the chance."
I stand up and go to drape my arm around Drea's shoulder, but she tugs away slightly.
"Here's your mail." Amber extracts a thick wad from her stack and hands it to me.
"Why do you have my mail?"
"Why?" Amber snaps her blueberry gum. "Because I picked it up. Why else?"
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Even though I trust Amber, I hate the idea of anyone going through my stuff. I snatch the stack from her clutches, purposely neglecting to thank her for the gesture.
"You're welcome," she says anyway, as though reading my mind.
I thumb through the individual pieces--a telephone bill, a spell-supply catalog, this month's issue of Teen People, and a letter. The letter is in a business-sized envelope, with no return address. It just has my name and the school address typed in the middle.
My fingers tremble. I turn the letter over and press along the creases of the glued flap. The negative vibrations move down my palms and ice over my skin, like static of some sort. I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like it's full of paste, like I can't breathe, like I'm going to be sick.
The letter drops from my fingertips.
"Stacey--" Amber reaches out to me. "What is it?"
I shake my head.
Amber motions to pick the letter up.
"No!" I shout.
"Why?" she asks. "What is it?"
But I can't say it, don't want to admit it, what I'm sensing.
I grab the bowl of dried lavender
71
even the other morning when he came to visit, I felt that you were sort of . . ."
"What?"
"I don't know. I guess sort of upset or something."
"I'm not jealous about Chad, if that's what you're thinking."
"Okay," I say. "I mean, I'm glad. Because I think if it were me, I might be jealous." I catch myself squeezing and resqueezing the lime wedges into my empty mug for no apparent reason.
"I was trying to imagine how it would be, you know, to have a best friend date your ex."
"It doesn't bother me," she says, twisting a strand of blond hair around her finger. "Me and Chad were over ages ago."
'Are you sure?"
Drea lowers her eyes to look at me finally, and, for just a second, I think she might cry, but instead she nods--a slight, less-than-believable up-and-down shake to the head. Our eyes stay locked on one another until we're interrupted by Amber.
She slams the door shut behind her. "You'll never believe what just happened to me." She's liplinered two pink ghosts to her cheeks with big Xs over them.
"What?" Drea lets out a relieved sigh, perhaps grateful for the interruption.
"Well," Amber begins, "I was on my way back from the mailboxes and this guy who I've never even seen before, probably some transfer dork--one of the ghost groupies-- crashes right into me, making me drop all my mail. So, then, as he's helping me pick it back up, he tells me to have a happy anniversary and asks me how I'll be celebrating."
72
I lock eyes with Drea, catching sight of her trembling lip. She bites it and looks away again.
"So, what did you say?" I ask.
"I asked him what he was talking about," Amber says. "I mean, I know it's the anniversary, I just wasn't thinking . . . and then he tells me that he and his friend are going to try and break into O'Brian and perform some seance or something."
O'Brian is the academic building where Veronica was killed. It happened in Madame Lenore's French room, on the first floor. The administration ended up boarding up the room and closing off that part of the building right after it happened. But kids, convinced the place was haunted, refused to take classes anywhere near the building. And so for a while it just sort of sat there, like a constant reminder of what happened. But now, with much monetary support from rich parents and other donors, it's being renovated--new paint, new floors, a new computer facility--like a million-dollar makeover will wipe away the horrific events of the past and make the parents happy.
"I hate this school," Drea says. "I should have transferred when I had the chance."
I stand up and go to drape my arm around Drea's shoulder, but she tugs away slightly.
"Here's your mail." Amber extracts a thick wad from her stack and hands it to me.
"Why do you have my mail?"
"Why?" Amber snaps her blueberry gum. "Because I picked it up. Why else?"
73
Even though I trust Amber, I hate the idea of anyone going through my stuff. I snatch the stack from her clutches, purposely neglecting to thank her for the gesture.
"You're welcome," she says anyway, as though reading my mind.
I thumb through the individual pieces--a telephone bill, a spell-supply catalog, this month's issue of Teen People, and a letter. The letter is in a business-sized envelope, with no return address. It just has my name and the school address typed in the middle.
My fingers tremble. I turn the letter over and press along the creases of the glued flap. The negative vibrations move down my palms and ice over my skin, like static of some sort. I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like it's full of paste, like I can't breathe, like I'm going to be sick.
The letter drops from my fingertips.
"Stacey--" Amber reaches out to me. "What is it?"
I shake my head.
Amber motions to pick the letter up.
"No!" I shout.
"Why?" she asks. "What is it?"
But I can't say it, don't want to admit it, what I'm sensing.
I grab the bowl of dried lavender
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