Deadly Offer (7 page)

“No,” whispered Althea. “You don’t need fresh air. Stay here, Jennie.” I’ve got to hang on to her, thought Althea, keep her indoors. Keep her safe!

But she was too afraid. She hugged herself to keep from screaming again, and that left no hands free to reach out and hold Jennie.

Jennie’s hand fumbled for the back door and could not find the knob. It did not matter. The knob turned by itself. Jennie stumbled forward and could not find the step. But it did not matter. A hand appeared to help her. A hand with long, warped fingernails. A hand the color of mushrooms.

T
HE DEBRIS OF A
finished party filled the house: crushed napkins and empty paper plates, ice melting at the bottom of glasses and pizza crusts on coffee tables.

“What a success it was,” said the vampire. “You can be very pleased, Althea. And don’t worry about the little scene in the kitchen. I will see that nobody remembers it.”

Althea was screaming like a cheerleader, but throwing chairs and paintings and pieces of china instead of pom-poms.

“Jennie will not remember a thing,” protested the vampire. “You saw Celeste. It takes energy to have a memory. Jennie’s going to be very tired.”

The smile that had stayed on Althea’s face from Saturday’s football game all the way through Sunday’s party had exhausted her facial muscles. Now she had tics in both cheeks. Her face jumped and twitched. “That’s not what I meant!” screamed Althea. “I did not mean for you to touch Jennie! I yelled out the window. I told you to stop.”

“Once things are set in motion,” said the vampire, “they cannot necessarily be stopped.”

“It was necessary!” she shrieked. “I told you to stop! Stopping was necessary!”

“I thought you said popularity was necessary,” said the vampire. “You can’t have both, you know. And you made your choice very clear.”

“That’s not what I meant when I hugged Jennie!”

“That’s what you did, though,” said the vampire. In the dark he glowed, like a phosphorescent fungus.

Althea ricocheted off the walls, pounding them, kicking them. “You know perfectly well that I was hugging Jennie because I felt affection for her!” screamed Althea.

“We agreed that when you put your arm around a girl at your party, it would be the girl who did not matter. In any event, there’s no point in discussing it. It’s done. It’s over. There is no going back.”

Althea’s knees buckled. She tried to hang on to the wall, but the wall was flat and offered no support. She sank to the floor. The floor was filthy, where people had tracked in dirt and stepped on potato chips. “You—you—depraved—disgusting—horrible—” Althea could not think of enough words to fling at him. Jennie and I were going to be friends again! she thought. How dare he go ahead like that when he knew I didn’t mean it!

“Kindly stop placing blame on others. It’s
you
,” corrected the vampire. “I told you what the arrangement would be, and you accepted.
You
chose Jennie.
You
said this one doesn’t matter.”

Althea crushed a dreadful thought. That girl sitting on the counter, the one who crashed the party—why hadn’t Althea put her arm around
that
girl? Nobody even knew her name!
That
girl didn’t matter.

Althea’s hands and heart and spine turned cold and stony. I thought that, she thought. I am a terrible person. I must not have that thought again. “Everybody matters,” whispered Althea.

“Why didn’t you feel that way with Celeste?” asked the vampire. He seemed calm, ready to talk philosophy all night if necessary. Not that there was much night left.

She had no answer.

“Because you wanted to be popular,” the vampire told her. “It’s very reasonable. We all want to be popular. You made a good choice, Althea. Why, everybody at your party wanted to come again.”

She thought of the good-byes. So many hugs. She had been careful not to hug back, but nobody noticed. They said what a good time they’d had, what a cool house she had, what fun it was, how they must get together here all the time.

“What interesting people you had at this party,” said the vampire. His voice was full of admiration. It glowed, like a night-light in the hall. Safe and warm. “You have so many good friends now, Althea. Better friends than Jennie. How good a friend was she to you? Wasn’t she mean? Didn’t she abandon you? Didn’t she leave you to sit alone in the cafeteria?”

It was true. Jennie had been rotten and nasty. And Althea did have better friends now. Nobody could put Jennie in the same class with cheerleaders like Becky. Jennie hardly mattered when you compared her to Becky.

Althea felt somewhat better.

“Think what a wonderful day Monday will be,” said the vampire. He was leaving. She could see him growing down, dividing away, letting himself be absorbed into the thick woolly air around him. “Friends clamoring for your attention. Friends begging to come to the next party. Friends hoping to sit with you.”

He was gone, and she was smiling. Friends. Oh, what a lovely, lovely word! She would have them like a bouquet of flowers in a bride’s arms: all shapes and colors and sizes of them, all beautiful and happy to be there.

Friends.

Althea straightened and looked around the house. She began cleaning. The mess extended to every corner. She swept, she mopped, she neatened. Plenty of friends had volunteered to help clean up, but she had turned everybody down. She didn’t want her first party to end with scrubbing and stacking. No, her first party had to finish with laughter, and the honking of horns, and the hugging of friends.

Friends, thought Althea. Her sweeping slowed down. Her energy evaporated. Jennie had once been a friend. Celeste had thought it was the act of a new friend to offer a ride.

Althea dropped down, becoming carpet, becoming rug, flat and thin.

Jennie would be like Celeste. Vibrance gone. Energy evaporated. Jennie would trudge.

And it will be my fault, thought Althea. I did it to her. My best friend. “No,” said Althea out loud, “I couldn’t have done that. Not me.” Her voice was all scratch and no sound, like the leftovers of a soul.

How would Althea ever sleep again, knowing what she had done?

She had destroyed Jennie, Jennie of childhood memories and childhood joy. This is how I repay her, thought Althea. I sell her to a vampire.

Althea had cleaned up to the bottom of the stairs. At the top of the stairs waited the locked entrance to the Shuttered Room.

All I have to do, thought Althea clearly, is shut the shutters. I have to close him back up. Bolt him back in.

I can’t save Celeste and Jennie now. It’s too late for them. But I can still stop
him.
I can prevent him from doing it again.

She lifted her chin. Took the first step up. She felt strong and full of resolution. She was the kind of woman who could conquer whole worlds.

The vampire said, from behind the door of the Shuttered Room, “Do you want the first party to be the last party?”

Althea held the broom tightly.

“Do you want to find out if Ryan will ask you on a real date? Do you want to know if Michael enjoyed himself tonight? Do you want to know if Michael was just accidentally everywhere that you were? Do you wonder why it is that Michael did not bring along the beautiful, perfect Constance?”

Althea trembled. The broom fell from her fingers and tipped against the wall.

The vampire’s voice was soft as cookie dough. “Do you want to see if Kimmie-Jo and Dusty will invite you to their parties? If Becky will?”

Althea slid to the bottom step and folded over on herself, like an old sheet in a musty linen closet.

“Of course you do,” he whispered. The vampire’s laugh was like old leaves on dying trees. “Now, get a good night’s rest, Althea. What’s done is done. And nothing has happened, really. Jennie’s just going to be a little tired. And you have better friends than that now, anyhow, don’t you?”

M
ONDAY.

Althea had dreaded Mondays for a year and a half. The terrible building into which she was forced to walk—alone.

That horrible cafeteria in which she was forced to sit—alone.

Each room so grim.

Whether the library or the gymnasium, the English class or the chemistry laboratory, each room seemed designed as a showcase for other people’s friends.

Monday.

And Jennie would not be coming to school.

Althea considered being absent herself. Staying in bed all day. Or perhaps the rest of her life.

But in the end she got up, dressed, drove to school, and parked.

Every move was heavy as lead. Putting the parking brake on left her weak and panting. Pushing down the door locks was like bench pressing. How could she move herself across the pavement? She felt as heavy as the car itself, except that she had no wheels. She had to pick up each foot, and set it down, and then pick up the next one.

Althea trudged forward. Never had the walk seemed longer, the steps higher, the doors heavier.

But the door handle was taken from her, and a larger, stronger hand pulled it open for her. “Hi there,” said a boy cheerfully. “How are you, Althea?”

She did not even recognize him. She did not even
know
him.

She murmured, “Thank you,” and walked into the gleaming marble foyer.

“Hi, Althea!” called a girl changing the Artwork of the Week exhibit.

“Hey, Althea, you get that math homework?” yelled a voice.

She waved. She called. She answered. She even managed a smile or two. The entire school had learned her name. The power of Varsity Cheerleading! The publicity of standing in front of the entire school for two hours, yelling! These kids knew her; they felt loyalty and affection for her; they enjoyed seeing her cheer. She was theirs.

“Hi, Althea!”

“How are ya, Althea?”

“Sit with me, Althea.”

Her name was used aloud more times that Monday than in all the years of her life.

Althea.
The name rang in the cafeteria.

Althea.
The name bounced off the gym walls.

Althea.
The name was murmured in the library.

“Althea,” as a name, had always seemed both odd and stodgy. Now it sounded beloved and welcome.

Fellow cheerleaders called to her; classmates wanted to chat with her; unknown kids going down the hall actually congratulated Althea on a good game Saturday, as if her cheering had brought about the victory.

Everyone who had been at the party came up grinning and delighted to say what fun it had been, how they hoped she would have another one soon.

And everyone who had not been at the party came up shyly and hopefully, hinting that Althea might include them next time.

But Jennie was absent.

Childhood memories filled Althea like those doughnuts: heavy and lasting. Jennie and Althea going to the petting zoo; Jennie and Althea playing Chutes and Ladders; Jennie and Althea buying spring hats and being too shy to wear them; Jennie and Althea taking riding lessons and being in horse shows together; Jennie and Althea drawing up lists of cute boys, back in elementary school when there was no such thing, and giggling insanely all night long at each other’s houses, daring each other to phone a boy; Jennie and Althea cutting each other’s hair so badly one sleepover that Jennie’s mother escorted them to a mall hairdresser who was open evenings.

Jennie was absent.

Althea found herself behaving vaguely to all who spoke her name. Don’t be rude, she said to herself, pay attention! People are talking to you.

But curiously enough, her distracted manner made her more desirable.

She pondered this. The popular person who doesn’t have time for you becomes
more
popular! she thought.

She saved up the faces of all who spoke and laughed, thinking—did I earn this? Or did the vampire somehow migrate to each of them, and instruct them in their sleep:
Admire Althea today.

And tomorrow? Next month? Next year?

Will they forget me as quickly as weather? Will I vanish like last Monday’s sunshine, or yesterday’s snow flurry?

Jennie was absent.

Her mind returned continually to that.

The vampire will ask me for another one, she thought. Not right away. But soon.

Althea changed classes, ate lunch, went to the library, got books from her locker, and wondered who it would be.

Who?

Who will I give him?

Who will he take?

Like owls fluttering through the halls, their wings hitting her hair, the cry
who? who? who? who? who?
rang in her ears.

I cannot do that again, she said to herself. I cannot destroy another human being! I can’t participate in it anymore. That’s all there is to it.

“You know, Althea,” said Ryan’s voice, “you’re more daydreamy than I realized.”

She jumped, astonished to find she was sitting in a chair, and that Ryan was sitting in a chair next to her. He was smiling into her eyes, his hand resting on the chair back. “Hi, Ryan,” she said, blushing. His hand shifted from the back of the chair to the back of her neck.

His fingers were callused, but his touch was gentle. He touched her skin as if exploring new worlds, lightly tugged her hair, and watched what he was doing, fascinated by his skin against hers.

Althea swallowed, thinking of somebody else who liked the backs of necks.
Jennie is absent.

She took Ryan’s hand and held it in her lap instead. He was delighted and looked at their two hands together. He separated her fingers with his and intertwined them, making a row of ten knuckles: her smooth, small, pale knuckles alternating with his large, knobby, dark ones.

“The school day,” he said, managing a laugh, “has ended. Did you notice? You want to go for a drive? Maybe pizza. I can always eat pizza. I could eat yours if you’re not hungry.”

Michael appeared beside them. “Holding hands in public?” he teased. “I’m shocked, Ryan.”

“Get lost,” said Ryan cheerfully. “We’re going for pizza.”

Ryan pulled Althea to her feet. The library was full of kids doing research papers or homework. All were watching. She felt their eyes. The cheerleader and the football players. The popular girl and the handsome boys. The one you dream of being.