Текст книги " From Bad to Cursed"

Автор книги: Katie Alender

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

FARRIN STOPPED MOM and me on the way out. At her side was a tall woman in a pantsuit. “Alexis, I’ve been trying to catch you between conversations for an hour! I’d like you to meet a friend of mine—Barbara Draeger.”

The name sounded familiar. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

Mom’s eyes widened, and she brushed nonexistent dust off her blazer. “Senator Draeger!”

Oh, right. That Barbara Draeger.

Mom shook the woman’s hand like it was a water pump. She feels about female senators the way some preteen girls feel about boy bands. “What an honor!”

“Alexis, I really enjoyed looking at your pictures,” the senator said. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you know that the top-ranked university photography curriculum in America is in California?”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”

“The Skalaski School of Photography at Weatherly College,” Farrin said.

The senator gave Farrin a sparkling smile. “Our alma mater!”

“Alexis would be a great fit for Weatherly,” Farrin said. “She’s just the type.”

Senator Draeger was beaming at me so intensely that I couldn’t look away.

“Can you spare your daughter for one last thing?” Farrin asked. Mom’s enthusiastic nod made her look like a bobble-head doll.

When we were standing off by ourselves, Farrin smiled warmly at me. “It’s such a pleasure to have you in the competition.”

Shiny Happy Party Alexis was fading fast, but I dredged up an appropriate “Thank you.”

“When I said you were welcome to use my darkroom, I really meant it.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “I’m not sure if it’s a realistic option for me, but it’s such a generous offer.”

She frowned. “Not realistic?”

“I don’t have a car,” I said. “And I live twenty miles away.”

“Oh. Can’t you borrow your mother’s car?”

“After she’s home from work. But…that would have to be at night.”

That didn’t faze her in the least. “I can be here at night, if necessary.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s so generous, but…no, I really couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Alexis,” she said, her hands on my shoulders. “Anything for one of Aralt’s girls.”

It took every single bit of control I had not to stumble backward.

That’s when I saw, on the fourth finger of her right hand, a thin gold ring, covered in a lacy patina of scratches.

She squeezed my hands. “Go on. Your mother’s waiting.”

I nodded and turned around, running directly into Senator Draeger, who gave me a vigorous farewell handshake. I glanced at her right hand.

Another gold ring.

The night of the interview, Farrin wasn’t looking at my bone structure. She was looking at my ring.

I hardly noticed the walk to the car. I don’t even remember opening the door or sitting down or fastening my seat belt. I only snapped out of it when Mom started rejoicing over the night’s events.

“What a night!” she said, pulling the car out onto the road.

“Um, yeah,” I said.

“A Pulitzer prize–winning photographer?” Mom said. “A United States senator? And all you can say is ‘Um, yeah’?”

I decided not to mention Stuart Templeton. She might actually lose control of the car.

“That woman, Farrin McAllister, said you’re talented.” She sighed happily. “And Senator Draeger said Weatherly is very generous with merit-based scholarships! If she wrote you a recommendation letter—just think …”

Merit-based—or gold-ring-based?

“Weatherly is a small school, but it’s very highly regarded. It’s practically Ivy League. Honey, this could be huge for you. Are you worried that you can’t get in? Because—”

“No, I’m really not worried,” I said. My sparkling facade had melted like a chocolate off a peanut in a hot car. I didn’t want to talk about Farrin or Senator Draeger or Weatherly College. I wanted a ham sandwich, my pajamas, and my bed, in that order. “I’m exhausted. Can we talk about it later?”

She nodded, not taking her eyes off the road. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass and stared at the lights flashing by. My body was tired, but my brain was going a mile a minute.

If Farrin and Senator Draeger knew Aralt, that meant…the oath didn’t kill you. Not for a couple of decades, at least. They were both at least fifty, and neither of them seemed to be worried about dropping dead.

And not only did taking the oath not kill you, but there was a really, really good chance that it made your life totally wonderful.

I might book a photography job from one of the richest men in the world. If he liked the pictures I took of his cars, who’s to say he wouldn’t let me shoot an ad campaign for his company? In his company’s TV commercials he claimed to be big on innovation and young talent. If I said precisely the right thing and dropped precisely the right hints, I could turn this into something huge.

And then I’d go to Weatherly College, on full scholarship, and study photography with real teachers, people who knew what they were talking about. I’d be surrounded by other people—maybe like Jared—who really understood taking pictures.

After graduation, who knew? I could travel the world. See every continent. Photograph famous people and places. Meet my photography idols. Win awards. Have shows in New York galleries.

I could do it. I could do anything.

I felt a core of strength forming inside me and knew that tapping into it would mean achieving whatever I wanted.

All thanks to Aralt.

So…why were we trying to stop him?

* * *

Dad and Kasey were watching TV when we got home. Dad paused it and turned to me expectantly.

Mom took over. “How does it feel to be related to the most fabulous sixteen-year-old in Surrey?” she asked. Then, realizing she should tone it down in the interest of sibling equality, she lowered her voice. “Alexis did very well.”

“Wonderful, honey!” Dad said, beaming. “Come tell us about it.”

As I rounded the sofa, Kasey jumped up. “I have some homework to do.”

Mom watched her go, then turned to me with an apologetic frown. “I guess this might be a little hard for her.”

“Yeah,” I said, staring disapprovingly down the hall. It was totally un-sunshiny to be jealous and petty.

I tried to perk up and give my parents a good rundown of the night. When I was done, I stifled a huge yawn and excused myself.

Kasey was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. I waited until she’d rinsed her toothbrush before giving her a nudge.

“Want to hear about the party?”

She shrugged.

The gesture stung more than I would have thought. As she passed me on the way to her bedroom, I spoke to her back—keeping my voice low so our parents wouldn’t hear.

“Aren’t you happy for me?”

“Sure, Lexi. Why not,” said Kasey.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

She came closer. “But how much of this is really you, and how much of it is Aralt?”

“Why does that matter?” I asked. “I still made the effort.”

She gave me a flat frown.

“You know what? Fine. Don’t be happy for me. But if you don’t mind my saying so, you could stand to be a little sunnier.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you could stand to be a little less sunny, Lexi.”

I felt a swell of emotion so powerful that it made me turn away. It was like the moment a thundercloud opens up and soaks anything unlucky enough to be caught under it—only this storm was a hurricane of rage. I stared at the family portrait that hung across from Kasey’s bedroom door, trying to will myself not to turn around.

Then I surged toward my own room and slammed the door behind me, locking it.

I believed with all my heart that if I even looked at my sister, I might break her neck.

“ALEXIS? MEGAN’S ON THE PHONE.” Mom opened my door a crack and peered around. “Goodness, I think this is the messiest your room’s ever been.”

I scowled. It was Sunday, and I hadn’t so much as tidied up since Monday. The bed was unmade, and a week’s worth of clothing changes were draped on various surfaces, from the desk to the edge of the trash can. Shoes were scattered like abandoned cars after the zombie apocalypse.

“I’ve been busy,” I said. I grabbed the phone and waved her out.

“What’s up?” Megan asked. “We’re hanging out at Monika’s today.”

“Who?”

“Everybody,” she said. “Can you be ready in ten minutes?”

“Sure.” After my week, a day of doing nothing sounded wonderful.

“We’ll park,” she said. “Come out when you’re done.”

I took a quick shower, braided my wet hair, slapped on some makeup, and slipped on a summery skirt with a sleeveless top and a pair of sandals. I had a vague recollection that Monika had a pool, so I emptied a tote bag on the foot of my bed and stuffed a bathing suit and a towel inside it. At the last second, I grabbed my camera.

I was about to leave when a splash of color caught my eye.

I walked to the window and peered through the slats of the wooden blinds.

Megan’s car was parked across the street, and she and the girls she’d brought with her—Mimi and Emily—were leaning against it, faces to the sky, absorbing the sunshine.

There was something about them—some unquestioned sense of entitlement, the right to sun oneself wherever one chose. They were like a pack of lions lounging on the Serengeti Plain. These were the girls who would grow up to be senators, or movie stars, or best-selling novelists. They were beautiful and effortlessly powerful.

And I was one of them.

When I came outside, Megan tilted her sunglasses down her nose to look at me. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Where’s Kasey?” Emily asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Studying?”

“Studying?” Emily repeated. “Why? Doesn’t she trust Aralt?”

“Of course she does,” I said, but even as I said it, I began to wonder if it was true.

Monika lived in the older section of town—mostly rambling ranch houses on half-acre lots. In the tree-shaded backyard, a pool surrounded by lounge chairs reflected the aqua sky.

Everyone else scattered to change into their swimsuits, but I stood and let my toes dig into the grass. A shadow fell on the ground beside me.

“What’s wrong?” Megan asked.

“I miss having a yard,” I said.

“You can always come use mine,” Megan said. “You haven’t been over lately.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. We’re all busy.” She sighed. “How’s Carter?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to him since Friday.”

“You need to be careful.” She turned to me. “Lex, if he’s not willing to accept you the way you are, he doesn’t deserve you in the first place.”

For some reason, that made me think of Jared, who found the idea of Old Alexis and New Alexis interesting, not aggravating.

“I know he doesn’t like the Sunshine Club,” Megan said quietly. “He doesn’t talk about us with respect.”

I looked up, surprised at the undercurrent of heat in her voice, like a small, slow-burning flame. “It’s not that,” I said. “I think he’s really stressed out about the election.”

Her voice was cold. “If he thinks it’s going to be less stressful after he wins, he’s deluded.”

“Look,” I said. “I’ll deal with it.”

“This sisterhood isn’t a joke,” she said. “And you shouldn’t let Carter treat us like one.”

I was frustrated by the onslaught, when she knew I hadn’t even seen him since Friday. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Megan looked at me in surprise. She scowled, kicked her shoes off, and plopped to the ground at the edge of the pool, dunking her legs in the water like a debutante who’d wandered away from a fancy party to pout. Schlumpy but regal.

“Hang on,” I said, reaching into my camera bag.

“Oh, come on, Lex,” she said. “I’m so not in the mood.”

“Please?” I said. “I need four new pictures by next week. Can you take off your sunglasses?”

“Whatever,” she muttered, slipping them off and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

I clicked off a couple of shots.

“Chin down a little,” I said.

Megan shot me a dirty look through the camera.

“Don’t be mad at me,” I said, and then, almost as a joke: “Aralt wouldn’t want that.”

Instantly, her expression changed.

Her eyes went from petulant to misty—her lips relaxed, her cheekbones lifted.

These pictures were going to be pretty—really pretty. Never mind that I had no idea what to do with a pretty picture. “You look gorgeous,” I said.

“I know.” Her voice was dreamy.

We lay around all afternoon like a bunch of Roman empresses, trading magazines and compliments.

“Alexis, I saw your picture in the newspaper,” Lydia said. “Maybe you should invite Bailey Templeton to a meeting.”

“She doesn’t need Aralt,” I said. “She has a billion-dollar trust fund.”

It was like I’d pressed the “awkward silence” button. Scandalized looks greeted me from every angle.

Aralt was about more than money. I knew that. “If I see her again, I’ll invite her.”

Later, we went inside to bask in the air-conditioning. Tashi sat on the floor, painting her nails on a giant Oriental rug, not using a paper towel or anything.

“You think Carter’s going to win tomorrow?” she asked, glancing up at me.

I shrugged.

“That would be cool,” Emily said, her eyes dreamy. “It would be great for getting new members.”

“Does he think he’s going to win?” Mimi asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s kind of doing his own thing this weekend. We haven’t really talked.”

“Do you think he’s been with Zoe?” Paige asked, sitting up.

“No,” I said. “He told me there was nothing going on.”

“And you believe him?” Lydia asked.

“Yes!” I said, a little too snappily. “A hundred percent.”

“Then he needs you!” Emily said, her voice soft. “I mean, you’re in love. I’m sure he wants you there.”

“In love?” Megan repeated. “You’ve never actually said the words, have you?”

In fact, we hadn’t. And I can’t say I was thrilled with her for announcing it in public like it was some juicy piece of gossip, instead of one of the most intimate and private details of my existence.

But everyone was watching me, rapt.

“No,” I said. “Now can we please change the subject?”

Thankfully, they all got the message and found something else to talk about.

“Is something wrong with you guys?” Tashi asked.

She’d spoken so quietly that I was the only one who heard her. She wasn’t even looking at me. She was bent over, blowing on her toenails, which were a perfect sparkly pink.

From anyone else, I might have resented the question, but there was something about Tashi that was so nonchalant. The way she asked, it was like she didn’t really care if I answered or not.

“Something,” I said. “I just don’t know what.”

“People do grow apart, you know.” She gazed out the window. “My boyfriend can be distant sometimes.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening,” I said. “This is more sudden than growing apart. He’s really mad at me, but he won’t listen to my side of the story.”

She stuck the cap loosely onto the bottle and turned to look at me. “Do you want to save your relationship?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “But…I don’t know. What if Aralt doesn’t want us to have boyfriends?”

Tashi squinted. “No offense, Alexis, but that’s absurd. Love is a gift…when you find the right person. Aralt wouldn’t deprive anyone of that.”

“All right,” I said. “Then I guess Carter just hates the way I look now.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know what to think,” Tashi said.

“I guess he’s going to have to figure it out.”

“Have you ever thought of telling him what to think?” She tipped her head to one side and absently played with the ruffled hem of her dress. I looked at her ring: it was prettier than mine, more like an heirloom or antique, with a softer sheen and a carved braid encircling it.

Oh, sure, because Carter’s the type who’ll blindly go along with whatever anyone says to him. Even Aralt couldn’t pull that off.

“Sometimes you have to change people’s minds for them.” Tashi gave me a little smile as she turned back and pulled the brush out of the bottle, and then it happened:

The bottle tipped over.

One instant, I saw a giant drip of sparkly pink spreading into the carpet fibers, and the next instant, Tashi had reached her hand over it and closed her fingers.

When she opened them again, the bottle was in her hand, the cap neatly screwed on. There was no nail polish on the carpet, or her fingers, or anywhere except exactly where it was supposed to be.

MEET ME IN THE COURTYARD? I texted.

VERY BUSY TODAY, was Carter’s reply. A second later: BUT OKAY.

The election was that morning. He was staring at his watch when I got there, as if to remind me that he was taking time away from crucial Student Council activities to humor me.

“Still campaigning?” I asked.

“Yeah. By the bus loop.” He fidgeted with his cuffs, checked his watch. “What is it, Lex? This isn’t a great time.”

A word came into my head like it was written on a script: Listen.

I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Listen.”

Like magic, he stopped fidgeting and stood perfectly still.

I know this is a big change. “I know this is a big change.” But it’s not what you think. “But it’s not what you think.” I never saw the Sunshine Club as a long-term thing.

I repeated that, too, and saw his face muscles twitch.

“I joined for Kasey,” I said. “And I’m going to stick with it, for Kasey. Because she’s my sister, and she needs to know I’m there for her. I can’t just quit. But it’s not the kind of thing I’m going to be doing forever.”

Come on, Carter. “Come on, Carter.”

Do you really think some silly group of girls is more important to me than you are? More important than us?

Staring deeply into his eyes, I said it all, every last word. When I stopped speaking, he didn’t seem to know what to say.

I need you, said the voice. “I need you,” I said, “to support me while I’m supporting Kasey, and then this will all be behind us, and we’ll be back to the way we were. Most of all, I need you…” —to forgive me.

Inside, everything came screeching to a halt.

Forgive me? Why? What was I guilty of?

Carter was waiting, holding his breath. This was it, the moment that determined how things would be with us.

It’s not like you’ve done a brilliant job of maintaining this relationship on your own, said the voice inside me.

Only I knew better than to repeat that.

“I need you…to forgive me,” I said, looking at the ground.

“Lex,” Carter whispered, taking my hand and pressing it to his chest. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a jerk. You’re trying to help Kasey, and I’m acting like a spoiled little kid.”

I felt washed clean, utterly renewed and reassured.

It was everything I’d wanted to hear him say.

“We’re okay?” I asked.

“We’re better than okay,” he said into my ear. He closed his eyes and kissed me.

We pulled apart and I gave him a tiny smile, my sudden happiness only momentarily shadowed by the fact that it felt like I was kissing a stranger.

“LET’S HEAR IT FOR ALEXIS!” Adrienne said. “Girlfriend of the Student Council President!”

Everyone golf-clapped as if Carter’s win weren’t his achievement, but mine, somehow—and therefore the property of the whole club.

It was our Wednesday meeting, and I was antsy.

I was driving over to Farrin’s office that night, to use her darkroom for the first time.

But before that, I had something important to do.

“Now,” Adrienne said. “Betterment?”

A couple of girls got called out for minor offenses—chewing gum, swearing, switching from heels to flip-flops after school.

Finally, collecting all of my courage into a ball inside my chest, I stood up.

“I think we’re all doing really well, actually,” I said. “I look around and everyone looks just as Aralt would hope.”

Complacent smiles and murmurs crossed the room.

“But…” I said. “Looks aren’t everything.”

I turned to my sister.

“Kasey, listen,” I said. “Yes, academics are important, but if you don’t act the part, you’re not being a good representative of this organization.”

Kasey stared up at me, drawing shaky breaths. On the surface, she was every inch a Sunshine Club girl—a pretty linen skirt, a soft blue shirt, tasteful makeup, and neat hair. It was hard to pinpoint what was missing. But there was definitely a difference between her and us.

Next to me, Lydia shot to her feet. “What do people see when they look at us?” she asked. “They don’t see smart girls.”

Kasey flushed to a fiery shade of pink.

“They see charisma,” Lydia said. “Charisma and physical beauty. Now, every kind of beauty is important to Aralt, but why would someone even bother getting to know you if you aren’t pretty enough to approach? If they admire you for this,” she paused and gestured to her whole body, “then they’ll stick around enough to see what’s in your head. But it doesn’t work the other way.”

“I know,” Kasey said, nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“The thing is,” Lydia said, her voice breaking oddly, “I’ve tried to talk to you about this before. And you make excuse after excuse. So do you really know? Are you really sorry?” She inhaled and then let her hardest hit fly: “Are you truly committed to Aralt?”

“Of course I am!” Kasey cried. She shot me a helpless look, but I averted my eyes.

“Then you need to make the effort,” Lydia said shortly. “Because to some of us, it doesn’t seem like you care at all.”

This set the whole room buzzing.

“I’m sorry!” Kasey said, not to anyone in particular. “I—I didn’t mean to let anybody down.”

She was petted and cooed over like an injured kitten for the rest of the meeting. In the car on the way home, she kept her head tucked down, staring at her folded hands. She didn’t even give me an angry look.

I was annoyed with myself for feeling a stab of sympathy. She was the one choosing to ignore Aralt. So she had to live with the consequences.

Nobody liked to be ganged up on, but sometimes you have to break something down so you can build it up stronger.

And if Aralt thought Kasey needed breaking, who was I to question him?

I ate an early dinner and borrowed Mom’s car so I could be at Farrin’s studio by seven. All the doors had been left unlocked for me. I looked around the workroom for Farrin, but there was no sign of her. Next to the conference room was another door, marked PRIVATE OFFICE. It was closed—but not locked.

Parking tickets, dress code, spilled nail polish—these things ran through my brain like a flip book labeled “Things We Get Away With.” I pushed the door open and added barging into people’s private offices to the list.

The office was a perfect reflection of its owner—graceful, spotless, and decorated in clean, modern lines. There were so few objects lying around that I was able to make a quick visual sweep of the room. Perfectly normal, no creepy talismans or other dark supernatural things.

The only thing that didn’t seem to fit was a framed photograph on top of the bookshelves. It was old—from the seventies, judging by how faded the colors were—and it was a posed group picture of about twelve or thirteen girls who looked a little older than me—college, maybe? There was a unity to them that resonated deep inside me.

Aralt’s girls.

I leaned closer and found Farrin—young and intense-looking. Next to her, with a square jaw and ruler-straight posture, was a girl who had to be Barbara Draeger.

Before I could look at the rest of the girls, I heard a click behind me and turned around, ready to apologize.

“Alexis,” Farrin said. “It’s a real pleasure to have you here. Did you bring something to work on?”

Not a word about snooping around her private office.

“Yes, film,” I said. “But I can just develop…I don’t need to print tonight. I don’t want to keep you too late.”

She smiled. “I can stay as late as you need. I don’t require much sleep.”

That didn’t surprise me.

“Come along,” she said, leading me through the workroom.

We stepped into a black cylinder about three feet in diameter with a two-foot-wide door cut into it. Farrin grabbed a handle inside the cylinder and rotated the whole thing so the opening was on the other side, releasing us into the darkroom.

“Everything you need is in here,” she said, indicating a giant wall of shelves. The dim red light was bright enough for me to see package after package of different types of paper, filters, and tools. An entire section of shelves was dedicated to immaculately labeled bottles of chemicals. Across the room were the enlargers. There were five of them, in different sizes.

“Changing bags and processing canisters are over here,” she said. “And there are timers all over the place.” She scooped one off the counter and handed it to me. “Smocks and aprons by the door, but I think you’ll find that we don’t tend to spill.”

We.

“Go ahead and get started.” In the dark, her eyes looked black. “Call if you need me.”

The cylinder closed around her, and I was alone.

The darkroom was so airy and clean that I felt like I was on some sort of spaceship.

As the film processed, I set the timer and wandered around, enjoying the way the rubber mats absorbed the sound of my footsteps, and wondering if I could ever stand the crowded, dirty community college darkroom again after working in this faultless place.

When the film was dry, I cut the negatives into rows of five and made a contact sheet.

Farrin came in without making a sound, picked it up, and motioned for me to follow her back to the workroom.

She set the contact sheet on the light box. Then she took a loupe—a small handheld magnifying glass—and began studying the pictures of Megan by the pool.

“Which of these would you print?” she asked, handing me the loupe.

I studied them, trying to get past the fact that I was basically getting a private photography class with Farrin McAllister.

Megan pouting. Megan glaring. Megan looking like a little girl who’s mad she didn’t get the last piece of cake.

“This one,” I said, pointing to the sulkiest photo.

“Why?”

“Because…it’s edgy, I guess.” And edgy was my kind of picture.

She stood back. “Any others?”

I’d missed something. I leaned forward and looked again, more carefully. On the first pass, I’d disregarded the ones where Megan was smiling. I looked over them again.…

“Here,” I said, putting my finger over one near the end of the roll.

“Why?”

I bent down again. Megan’s dark hair, carefully set in large, loose waves, whipped wildly out to the side where the wind had caught it. The rippling water in the foreground seemed to echo the pattern. Her skirt hung in smooth, graceful folds, the wet edges sticking to the tiled side of the pool. On her mouth was the tiniest touch of a smile, and her posture was relaxed, and her eyes…

“She looks like she has a secret.”

Farrin smiled.

“Can I grab something?” I asked.

She made a gracious gesture, and I went past her to my backpack, where I kept a binder of all of my negatives, neatly filed in plastic sleeves. Behind each sleeve was its contact sheet. I flipped through them to find that first roll of self-portraits.

The disgruntled photo of me with my new camera, the one that had been blown up for the party, was the tenth one on the roll. But I kept scanning, past that one, past a dozen or so more. All the way to the final exposure.

I remembered that picture. I’d finally gotten a sense of the new camera, but I thought I was out of film. I’d been sitting there and accidentally squeezed the bulb.

My head was turned so you could see the full, scalded-off, jagged side of my hair. There was a haughty half-smile on my face. In a way, it was an edgier picture than the other one could ever hope to be, because who sits in front of a camera with burned hair and a broken collarbone and wrist—and smiles?

I stood up and found I’d been holding my breath. I took a gulp of air, like I’d been underwater.

“That one,” I said, and Farrin took the loupe from my hand.

A moment later, she stood up. Some strange light seemed to flicker behind her eyes as she turned her body squarely to me. “Brilliant,” she said.

For a moment, I saw stars.

“Let’s blow these two up,” she said, and I looked to find her tapping the photo of Megan.

She stood over my shoulder, mostly watching but occasionally offering a bit of advice, like recommending a high-contrast filter. We processed the print of Megan and hung it to dry. Even in the dim red light, I could tell it was extraordinary.

Then we printed the picture of me. Blown up, the image looked old-fashioned, gothic. Like something that would be hung in a haunted house—and when you walked past it, it would turn into something horrifying.

And all because I was smiling.

When we were finished, Farrin pointed to the corner of one of the shelves. “You can just set the timer right up there.”

When I reached up, something stabbed my finger, and I yelped and jerked away.

“Oh, dear. What happened?” Farrin asked. “Are you bleeding?”

In the low red light, my finger looked like it was dripping chocolate sauce. “I guess so,” I said. “There was something sharp.”

I blinked furiously to suppress the tears that came snapping up behind my eyes. Finally, the sting went away, and the danger had passed.

“How strange,” Farrin said, leading me to a sink, where I washed the wound, a deceptively deep little scrape. “I take a lot of care to make sure the broken bulbs get thrown away safely, but sometimes the assistants get careless.”

“Do you think it needs stitches?” I asked.

“No,” she said, handing me a piece of gauze to press against it. “I’m sure it doesn’t.”

While she taped the gauze to my finger, I watched her face, lit richly red. Her eyes were black dots rimmed by thick black lashes. Her lips were washed out, almost skin color.

But there was no reason for there to be a broken lightbulb on that shelf. And—what was more—I’d never said that was what had cut me.

It was almost like Farrin had known there was something up there. Something dangerous.

Was this a test? To see if I’d cry?

I jerked my eyes away just as she looked up at me. According to the clock, it was almost ten.

“I should go,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

“I’ll walk you out,” she said.

“No, that’s fine,” I said. “Thanks again. Tonight was an honor. Once-in-a-lifetime.”

“Well, that’s silly. It doesn’t have to be. I’m at your disposal,” she said, nodding in a way that was almost a bow. “You’ll call me in the morning and let me know how your finger is, won’t you?”

Good morning, Farrin. My finger is slightly less bloody today. I knew I wouldn’t call her, but I tried to smile, and said I would.

* * *

When I awoke the next day, my promise to Farrin was the first thing that popped into my head. Still groggy from sleep, I unpeeled the bandage from my finger.

Nothing. Not a cut, not a scratch, not a mark.

I sat up, checking my other fingers, thinking that maybe Farrin had somehow wrapped up the wrong finger.