From Bad to Cursed (5 page)

I waited for a reaction, but she wordlessly turned the page.

The next photo was a close-up of two naked wrists, lit sharply from one side, causing the crisscrossed scar tissue to stand out in vivid relief. I had to fight the urge to hold my hands over the image, to hide it.

They were Carter’s wrists. His wounds, from when he tried to kill himself during his freshman year at All Saints. I remembered the day we shot that picture, how Carter’s arms shook as he held them under the lights. And how I wondered why he was okay with my taking a picture when he never showed his scars to anyone but me and his parents. He’d worn nothing but long-sleeved shirts since the day I met him.

The one after that was Megan, sitting on her mother’s grave, the first time she was ever allowed to visit it. She slumped against the tombstone, her eyes closed, her face turned toward the sun. She’d forgotten about me, about everything except her grief.

And the last one was my sister in her Harmony Valley loungewear, smiling wanly over her fourteenth birthday cake in the visitors’ lounge. Except we weren’t allowed to light the candles, and we weren’t allowed to have knives, so the cake was an uneven grid of presliced pieces with unlit candles sticking out at crooked angles. The scene was drab, joyless. The bite came when you looked into Kasey’s eyes—which were like the eyes of a caged animal.

I’d betrayed myself and the people I loved most, letting those photographs be seen. It was almost as if I’d posted their naked pictures on the Internet or some-thing—only this was worse, because these moments were more private and painful than being caught naked.

“I’m sorry,” I said, picking the book up—more gently this time. “I can’t.”

“If you take those pictures out, you won’t win,” the woman said. “If you leave them in, you have a chance. They’re excellent. You’re very talented.”

I turned to look at her. “Excuse me—who
are
you?”

She switched off the work light. “I’m Farrin McAllister. This is my studio.”

I took an involuntary step backward.

Farrin McAllister?

The
Farrin McAllister? The photographer who’d shot every major celebrity and half the rest of the important people and events in the world? Who had thirteen
Vogue
covers and who knows how many Pulitzers?

And she’d said my photos were…excellent.

I felt a little queasy.

“I’m closing up for the night,” she said. “You’d better make your decision.”

I hugged the portfolio to my chest. “But…if I enter, who will see these pictures?”

“Quite a few people.”

“But I don’t know if it’s okay with my”—I gestured at the book—“for other people to see them.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “What did they think you were doing—bird-watching?”

I swallowed hard.

“Am I even still eligible?” My last escape hatch. I wasn’t sure which answer I wanted. “Since we’ve talked?”

“This is a competition based on talent,” she said, grabbing her purse from the counter. “Not a bingo game. You have until I reach the door to decide whether you’re in or out.”

But she was walking so fast!

Without thinking, I stuffed the book into the blue envelope and set it on the table.

Farrin—
Farrin McAllister—
held the door open for me and gave me a little wave as she stayed behind to lock up.

I’m not sure I exhaled once, the entire drive home.

T
HE WEEK WORE ON
. Miss Nagesh and I cleared the 000s and were most of the way through the 100s—philosophy and psychology. She was young and cool, and while we worked, she told me all about the novel she was writing. I told her about the photography contest, even though I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else. Not my parents—not even Megan or Carter.

Kasey and Adrienne continued to eat with the Doom Squad, but Lydia didn’t seem to be outright mocking them, so I didn’t interfere.

Friday night, Mom and Dad were going to dinner with Mom’s regional managers. Mom put on her swishiest dress, with her blond hair in a low bun; Dad wore his only suit and gelled his hair back. Mom kept calling him her trophy husband. I thought it was sweet, but Kasey huffed back to her room, muttering about having embarrassing parents.

I wiped down the kitchen while I waited for her to finish packing her overnight bag. Finally she came out and sank onto a barstool.

“Almost ready?” I asked.

“I think I’m going to tell Adrienne I can’t come,” she said, dragging her fingertip along the countertop.

“But you said you’d go.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah, but…I don’t
feel
like it.”

“Kasey, you can’t do that to people—back out when you say you’re going to do something.” I wrung out the sponge and set it on the edge of the sink. “This probably means so much to Adrienne. If you had a party, how would you feel if everybody canceled?”

“Ugh, fine! Quit nagging!” She heaved an enormous, woe-is-me sigh and went back to her room.

To be perfectly honest, my reaction was probably as much about me as it was about Adrienne. If Kasey didn’t go to the sleepover, I’d have to figure out what to do with her. Leaving her home alone wasn’t an option, and—selfishly, I’ll admit—I didn’t want her at Megan’s house. I just wanted to relax with my friends, and having my sister around virtually guaranteed that wouldn’t happen.

A few minutes later, she came silently back to the great room, dragging her duffel across the floor by its strap.

I made a mental note to remind her of that next time she made fun of me for sweeping every two days.

Adrienne lived a couple of miles away in a neighborhood called Lakewood, which was built in the 1970s and filled with bizarre, asymmetrical wooden tract houses. Near the entrance was a small man-made lake and a few acres of woods.

As we pulled into the driveway, my phone rang. It was Megan.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m ten minutes away.”

“Don’t bother.” She sounded drained. “The party’s canceled.”

“What? Why? Is everything okay?”

A huge sigh. “No.”

Kasey was poised, her fingers on the door handle. I gave her a little wave, but she stayed put.

“Hang on, Megan.” I covered the mouthpiece and turned to Kasey. “Bye. Have fun.
Hint hint.
”

Kasey’s frightened expression made her look about ten years old. “But—I don’t know—what am I supposed to do? What if I don’t like the games?”

“Games? You’re not in sixth grade anymore. It’s a slumber party,” I said. “Just don’t fall asleep first, and you’ll be fine.”

She shook her head, faster and faster, working herself up into a panic. “No, no, I changed my mind. Take me home.”

“Kasey, go inside. You’ll have fun. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

She gave me a desperate look.

“See you at noon,” I said.

She took her time getting out of the car and walked up the driveway at quarter-speed.

I went back to my phone. “Megan?”

There was a pause, and for a second I thought she’d hung up. Then she spoke. “At cheer practice today, I demonstrated a back handspring.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. “Not at
all
. But Coach Neidorf called my grandmother. Apparently they had some secret agreement to keep an eye on me.” She was quiet for a long few seconds. “Grandma was
spying
on me, Lex.”

“Only because she cares about you,” I said, but I knew it was a weak excuse.

“So I’m grounded for a week, and the party’s canceled. Can you call a few people? I’m phone-grounded, too.” Then there was a muffled voice in the background and bumping and shuffling. “
I’m almost done!”

“Sure,” I said. “Text me the names.”

“Lex?” she asked, her voice suddenly small. “Don’t have a party without me, okay?”

I imagined Megan sitting in a jail cell, her grandmother—the warden—pacing outside. “Never,” I said. “I swear.”

Carter and I ended up back at my house, watching a
Twilight Zone
marathon on TV. We were halfway through the one where Captain Kirk finds a magic fortune-telling machine when Carter jostled me. “My foot’s buzzing,” he said.

My purse was under the blanket. He tossed it to me, and I pulled out my phone. Kasey’s name popped up on-screen.

“Kase?” I asked.

“Lexi?”

She sounded upset. I sat up. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. “Barney ran away.”

“Who’s Barney?” I asked, mentally running through the roster of Adrienne’s siblings. Weren’t her brothers in college?

“The dog,” she said, and I exhaled a giant breath. “Can you come help us find him?”

“Can’t Mrs. Streeter help you?”

“No. We think he’s in the woods, and she can’t go there in her chair,” my sister said. “Please? Adrienne’s about to lose it.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be right over.”

“For real?”

I was taken aback. “Of course, Kasey.”

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

I hung up the phone, wondering why she found it so shocking that I was willing to help her. Wasn’t I
always
the one who helped her?

As we pulled into the Streeters’ driveway, the girls converged on us. Adrienne was in tears. Kasey hugged herself tightly and looked warily around the dark neighborhood.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

“No problem,” I said. There were four girls there: Kasey, Adrienne, a pretty girl I didn’t know, and Lydia, who saw me looking at her and turned away to kick at the loose gravel in the driveway.

What was
Lydia
doing at a lame slumber party?

To my surprise, my sister had a plan. “I’ll go into the woods with Lexi. Adrienne, go in the car with Carter,” Kasey said. “Tashi and Lydia, go on foot. Call everybody if you see him.”

We all fanned out, carrying flashlights and bags of dog treats. Kasey and I started down the street, shining the flashlight between houses and shrubs.

“What kind of dog is it?”

“A Westie,” she said. “He’s white, luckily.”

Or not-so-luckily. Sure, a white dog was easier for us to see, but that also meant he was easier for coyotes and other predators to see, too. I quickened my pace.

“How’d he get out?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” Kasey exhaled. “Something scared him.”

“Mrs. Streeter must be going crazy,” I said. “Not being able to help.”

“Yeah.” Kasey shined the light under a car.

“Why is she in a wheelchair?”

“It’s a degenerating disease,” Kasey said. “Adrienne has it, too.”

“Degenerative?” I caught a glimpse of something white, but it was a trash bag by someone’s side door.

Kasey fidgeted with the treats. “Alexis, if we find Barney, you should probably get him.”

“Why?” As far as I could recall, the lengthy list of things that scared my sister didn’t include dogs.

She turned the light over in her hands, trying to decide what to say next. “I don’t know if he likes me very much.”

“What we should probably do, if we see him, is call Adrienne and let
her
come call him.”

“No,” Kasey said. “He won’t go to her, either.”

“But she’s his
owner
.”

She sighed. “It’s a long story.”

We came to the parking lot by the lake. There was a small log cabin with padlocked bathrooms and a water fountain. We stepped off the paved surface onto the clumpy grass of the picnic area, which led to a small stretch of beach dotted with dilapidated picnic tables and a barbecue grill covered in caution tape.

I scanned the lake. The fountain in the center sputtered irregular streams of water, illuminated by the few floodlights that hadn’t yet burned out.

“There he is! I see him!” Kasey said, pointing down toward the water’s edge.

The beam of the flashlight bounced off a small white dog trotting along the shoreline.

“Here,” Kasey said, handing me the bag of treats. “Call him. Make sure he sees that you have food. He’ll do anything for food.”

“What do I do if he comes to me?” I asked. “Do you have a leash?”

Her face fell.

“I’ll grab his collar,” I said. “Go back to the Streeters’ house and get his leash.”

“Okay,” she said. “And I’ll call Adrienne.”

There wasn’t time to say more. I started slowly toward the shore.

The dog heard me approach and looked up, his ears pricked at attention.

“Baaaaaaarney,” I called, keeping my voice as smooth as possible, “here, boy.”

He glanced at me through suspicious eyes and began to amble away, checking back over his shoulder.

I didn’t want to get too close, for fear that he’d run. So I stopped moving. The dog stood still and watched me.

“Hey, boy,” I said, dropping to my knees and landing in a puddle of wet dirt.
Great.

I reached into the bag for a treat.

Barney cocked his head.

“Yummy!” I said, holding it out. “Who wants one?”

I tossed it so it landed a couple of feet in front of him, and he pounced on it, tail wagging.

I tossed another one, and he came closer. Now we were only separated by a few yards. A third treat, and then a fourth, and I decided to go for it—instead of tossing the next one, I held it on the flat of my palm. “Come see what I have. Come on.”

Barney, by now pretty psyched about the goodie-throwing stranger, wagged his tail once and took a curious step toward me, his eyes trained on the bit of food in my hand. I raised it to my nose and took a sniff. It smelled pretty good, actually.

“Mmmm…maybe
I’ll
eat it,” I said. “Better hurry.”

He came closer, his gaze never leaving the food. I shifted my body so he’d have to come within grabbing distance of my left hand to reach the treat.

Almost there—

There was a loud clattering sound from behind the maintenance building on the far side of the picnic area. Barney’s ears shot straight up.

“No! Stay!” I said, making a grab for his collar. But he scrambled away from my grasp and stopped at the very edge of the tree line.

A second noise—this one louder.

Barney flattened his ears and took off, straight into the thick woods.

I ran after him, but was forced to slow down once I got past the outer layer of trees. There were low, scrubby plants and exposed roots everywhere, and the last thing I wanted was to face-plant in the middle of a forest.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Here, boy! Come back!”

I kept going until I saw a flash of white.

“Barney!” I called. “Who wants a cookie?”

I’d stumbled on the magic word. Twigs snapped furiously as the dog tumbled back through the trees and stopped directly in front of me, his stumpy tail wiggling madly.

“Okay,” I said. “We’re doing this my way.” I leaned over and grabbed his collar. He was too transfixed by the bag of treats sticking out of my pocket to notice.

“Cookie?” I offered him one. He gobbled it down and looked back up at me, hoping for more.

Since I didn’t have a leash, I reached down and scooped him up. For such a little dog, he was solid. He settled contentedly into my arms, licking my face and snuffling the air, evidently enjoying the ride.

I looked around for a way out, but there was no discernible path. I tried listening for the lapping of the water on the shore, but I couldn’t hear anything over Barney’s excited panting and the chirping of the crickets.

And of course my cell phone was in Carter’s car. Perfect.

“It’s a good thing your food smells so good,” I said to Barney. “We might be sharing it.”

He glanced at me, then went back to the business of sniffing, his nose quivering.

“Which way is home?” I asked. He probably knew—superior sense of smell and all that—but I couldn’t set him down and take the chance that he’d run off again. So I turned in what I figured was the approximate direction of the parking lot.

Then we reached a spot where the brush grew too thick to pass. Barney looked at it, twitched his ears, and yawned. I shifted him in my arms. He was getting heavy, fast.

I knelt down to study a bit of grass, wishing I’d lasted past the friendship-bracelet-making stage of Girl Scouts.

Suddenly, the dog tensed. He scrooched deeper into my arms, ears back, and showed his teeth for a moment. A low, menacing growl rumbled in his throat.

Then, through the brush:

Snap.

Barney snarled and whined, straining toward the sound. I had to wrap both of my arms around him to keep him from jumping to the ground. His dirty paws left black streaks all over my clothes.

“Are you crazy?” I hissed. “Stop that!”

What if it was a coyote? Or what if it’s not a coyote? I suddenly thought. What if it’s a mountain lion—or a bear? Did we even have bears in Surrey?