Furious (33 page)
Exit our control over Alix’s dad, Stephanie’s mom, and the Leech. They are back to being pretty much the way they were before we got involved.
Exit Ms. Pallas, who e-mailed the principal to say that she won’t be teaching anymore. No explanation why. No apology for leaving mid-year. A rumor goes around—who knows how these things get started?—that Ms. Pallas had been living a secret double life.
According to the Double Ds, who hold forth in the girls’ bathroom: “You only had to look at her fabulous clothes to know that she comes from money, big money,” says one. “She was totally slumming for the hell of it,” says the other.
I overhear a conversation between Mr. and Mrs. H, who agree that they were suspicious of their fellow teacher all along.
“She had this certain aura,” Mrs. H says.
Mr. H tries to dissect the mystery with a list of questions: “Why didn’t she ever hang out in the teachers’ lounge? Why did she act like she was so much better than everyone else?”
A permanent sub—a nervous middle-aged man who seems as clueless about the ancient past as he does about modern teenagers—takes over Western Civ class. Our group, minus Ambrosia, of course, volunteers to go first with final reports. Standing in front of the room, I explain classical theater structure, how the
exodos
“is the singing exit, the section of the play after the final stasimon. In the Aeschylus trilogy, the Furies renounce violence and are renamed the
Eumenides
, or ‘Kindly Ones’ because of their new personalities. To honor them, the citizens of Athens welcome them in a parade.”
I motion to my right. “Take it away, Raymond.”
On his violin he plays a light but haunting melody that he composed especially for this occasion. Alix, Stephanie, and I line up behind him as he leads us in a solemn procession up and down rows and in between desks. It’s not easy to take this seriously with all the snickering and snide remarks, but this is important to us. We want to do it right. As we pass Pox, he says loud enough for everyone to hear, “The Furies were hags, right? Good casting.”
Exit any hope that Hunter High is a newly enlightened Athens.
When we return to the front of the room, Raymond plays a final note, the vibration hanging long in the air. A few kids applaud, and I announce: “Exodos. The play ends.”
We wind up getting only a B for our report because when the sub quizzes us—“So when it comes down to it: these Furies, are they a good thing or a bad thing?”—none of us can give him a definite answer.
The B grade disappoints us, but Raymond agrees not to make a big deal out of it. A C would have been a different story.
Exit the fearful looks as we walk through the halls.
Exit Raymond as leader of the color guard.
Raymond’s mom goes through a pile of paperwork to qualify as a foster parent so I can move in with them. Exit the Leech from my life. I even get to take He-Cat with me since—on his own, with no interference from the Furies—the cat despises her.
“Good riddance to both of you,” she says.
I’m standing on the sidewalk with Raymond and everything I own in a suitcase. He-Cat is in my arms. When the Leech slams the door on us, I get a shudder of anger, that familiar feeling boiling up in me.
Raymond puts a hand on my shoulder to calm me. “She wasn’t born a leech, you know.”
“Meaning?’
“She came into this world waiting to be written upon,” he says. “What she lacked in inbred guilelessness she made up for as a sweet, adorable, tiny, innocent babe in arms who—”
“Raymond?” I interrupt.
“Over the top?” he asks.
“Way over.”
He laughs. “You get my point, though.”
I do. Now that the Leech no longer has any control over me, I can almost see into her past, how she, too, was probably hurt and unloved, and how it turned her ugly and cruel. Instead of despising her, I suddenly feel sad and sorry for her.
That’s a beginning. Because if I can feel that for the Leech, maybe someday I can begin to forgive others in my life. Even the nameless, faceless parents who have always been so hateful to me. I guess they weren’t born that way, either.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Raymond picks up my suitcase, and together we begin walking into my new life.
Exit my jealousy for the family that others have.
Exit the gossip about Brendon and me on Halloween night. That was
so
last month.
It’s taking Brendon longer to recover than all the others. He’s still pale and thin. I see him in class, in the cafeteria, and on the bus, but we both pretend that the other doesn’t exist. Of course, I notice things. He’s not hanging out with the same friends so much anymore; he doesn’t hang out with any particular group. I’m almost sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend, either. He’s back surfing, and I’m happy about that. I feel relieved when I spot him paddling hard into a wave. He’s definitely quieter—not unhappy, I think, just more thoughtful.
One afternoon after fifth period, I round a hallway corner and we practically bump into each other.
“Oh!” he says. I recognize the surprise, but
not
surprise, in his voice. We both knew that this was inevitable. Hunter High is too small a world to avoid someone forever. I wonder if, like me, he both dreaded this meeting and wanted it to happen.
With my head tucked, I step aside quickly but he steps in the same direction and then back again. Trapped. Neither of us is going to make that lame “care for a dance?” joke.
“Hey,” I say, hesitant.
His eyes lift, and I meet them with mine. The curtain rises for just a second, long enough for me to see so much in them. Hurt and confusion, sorrow and, yes, definitely some anger. I can’t blame him for that. I don’t think he remembers all the details, but what we did to him—what
I
did—cut deep and terribly, and he won’t be free of it for a long time.
“See ya,” he says quickly and takes off down the hall.
Brendon and I are not going to fall into each other’s arms anytime soon. We both remember too much. There are too many questions left unanswered, too much broken trust.
But I can’t help wondering: Does Brendon ever think about that afternoon in the cave? And that other time, the amazing way that our bodies spooned together right before the light snapped on?
Maybe one day in the future we’ll talk about everything. He’ll tell me again what I now know to be true—that he had no part in the plot and that when he whispered about love, he meant it. Who knows? We might even
have
a future. But before that can happen, I must say things to him that I’m not yet ready to say. Things like “I’m so, so sorry for what I did to you. I was wrong. Can you forgive me?”
Exit any hope of an easy reconciliation between us.
Exit Ambrosia. Word goes around that her wealthy and politically connected family decided to move to Greece, where Ambrosia is practically royalty. A couple of her former minions claim that she e-mailed them all the details, but I know better. What a pack of social-climbing liars.
One afternoon the four of us drive to her house, and we’re all expecting to see an ultra-dramatic 180-degree turnaround of the place. I imagine everything reverted to the old haunted-house days with peeling paint and broken windows. I picture gardens that have shriveled and turned brown overnight, the Secret Garden before the floral makeover.
But as soon as we pull into the long driveway, it’s clear that things are more or less the same. There are still flowers blossoming in the shape of tiny, silvery fairy bells, and a line of cactuses as big as men. The all-white garden is still stunning with its tulips, roses, and albino cabbage plants.
The only difference is the sharp, silvery spear from the strange red plant. It’s wilted, dying. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Things bloom and then go dormant. Who knows when this plant will blossom again. Two years? Two hundred years?
Inside the house everything’s the same, and we walk on the antique red carpets through rooms with rouge-red walls. We don’t spend much time downstairs because we have a destination in mind. It’s our mission.
When we get to the top of the stairs, I notice each of our reflections passing by the filigreed hall mirror.
Exit the tattoo of kelp that Ambrosia burned around Alix’s midriff.
Exit Stephanie’s fangs.
Exit Raymond’s strained expression when he was so worried about me.
My complexion is still a little sallow. But exit the sunken eyes and cracked lips. I’ll never have the shiny, stick-straight hair that I’ve always admired, but what’s wrong with thick, wild waves? I’m more like me, not anywhere near perfect, but I notice I’ve kept some of my Fury curves.
In Ambrosia’s bedroom there are only two things missing:
The Book of Furious
and the object that we specifically came to claim. We’re not surprised. The snow globe with its tortured figures—all those captured princes from the past, the prison where Brendon was almost lost—is gone from its place on the bookshelf. That sends a chill through us. There’s a ring of dust where it once sat.
Next, Alix picks up Simon and drives us all to the ocean. After being in that house, we want fresh air and the sun on our backs. With the Prince of the Waves statue behind us and Simon running happy circles around it, we look out to the sea. It’s a classic surf day with waves rolling in strong and steady. I can tell the others feel as grateful, hopeful, and alive as I do.
Exit Stephanie’s passion for protecting Mother Earth?
Exit Alix’s determination to defend her brother and herself?
Exit my ability to finally stand up for myself after a lifetime of being powerless?
Exit memories of Athena and Ambrosia and all the suffering souls?
Exit our anger, our outrage, our fury? Exit our ambition and confidence?
Enter a sweet, passive trio eager to please? Enter the Kindly Ones?
No! Never!
“There’s a line somewhere,” Raymond says. “I don’t know where it is yet. Neither do you. You have to find it.”
Alix, Stephanie, and I rest our bellies on the iron railing and, holding on, we bend forward until our feet leave the ground. We tilt gradually until we’re balanced on our hip bones, our legs and bodies parallel to the treacherous rocks below. Any farther and we’d tip over.
That’s when I hear music coming from nowhere and everywhere. Alix and Stephanie hear it, too. They tilt their heads to try to tune it in. It’s a faint sound. We can’t even hum along yet.
But still. A tune is a tune, and we recognize that it comes from us and belongs to us.
Carefully, we let go of the railing and join hands. We feel so light, almost as if we’re levitating.
Simon claps at our trick. Raymond snaps a photo with his cell phone.
Our feet settle back onto the earth.
That picture, it’s a keeper, evidence of one moment of perfect balance.
EXODOS
Acknowledgments
The Furies would not have risen without the support of—
My daughter, Gwen, who inspired and read every word;
My son, Alex, who offered great philosophy and counsel;
Kate Farrell and Rebecca Hahn, best editors ever;
Kendra Marcus and Minju Chang, best agents ever;
Aeschylus;
Micah, Lisa, Karen, and Melissa, my wonderful Santa Cruz writing group;
Readers and champions Carol Muller, Wendy McGarry, Sara Solovitch, Katherine Ellison, and Peggy Townsend of the Madame Ovary writing retreat;
And, of course, all the righteously pissed-off teens I’ve ever met.
About the Author
Jill Wolfson
has worked as a journalist for newspapers and magazines around the country. Her award-winning novels for young people include
What I Call Life
;
Home, and Other Big, Fat Lies
; and
Cold Hands, Warm Heart
. Jill has taught writing at several universities and is a longtime volunteer in a writing program for incarcerated teenagers. She lives by the ocean in Santa Cruz, California.
Text copyright © 2013 by Jill Wolfson
Henry Holt and Company, LLC
Publishers since 1866
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All rights reserved
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Wolfson, Jill.
Furious / Jill Wolfson.—First edition.
pages cm
Summary: After becoming the Furies of Greek mythology, three angry high school girls take revenge on everyone who deserves it.
ISBN 978-0-8050-8283-8 (hardcover) — ISBN 978-0-8050-9756-6 (e-book)
1. Erinyes (Greek mythology)—Juvenile fiction. [1. Erinyes (Greek mythology)—Fiction. 2. Mythology, Greek—Fiction. 3. Revenge—Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.W8332Fu 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2012027653
eISBN 9780805097566
First hardcover edition 2013
eBook edition April 2013
