Nightmare (7 page)

Emily was surprised when the bell rang. She had actually enjoyed the class. She hadn’t had to hide behind her hair even once, and she hadn’t felt as if she had to explain why she couldn’t do as well as her sisters had. The teachers here didn’t even know her sisters.

Reluctantly, though, she walked to the first of the three-times-a-week sessions she’d have with Dr. Hampton, the camp’s psychologist and counselor. There was nothing she needed to talk about, nothing she wanted to say, and she dreaded Dr. Hampton’s deep, steady gaze.

Dr. Hampton’s office was clean and spare, like a
house someone had just moved into. Two testimonials and three framed diplomas hung on one of the walls, which were tinted a pale, restful blue. There was a nearly bare desk at one side of the room, but under the windows was a grouping of two chairs and a sofa, upholstered in a cheerful floral pattern, a low glass coffee table separating them. On the table was a bowl of wild pink summer roses mingled with white sprays of baby’s breath.

“Sit down, Emily,” Dr. Hampton said with a smile. “Would you like a soft drink? A glass of water?”

“A Coke, please,” Emily answered, and a frosty can of Coke appeared as if by magic.

Dr. Hampton sat on the sofa, across from Emily. The sun through the window backlit her hair, causing the red to glow.
She almost looks pretty
, Emily thought.

“Emily,” Dr. Hampton said, “how often have you been bribed by your parents to work harder on your studies?”

Emily blinked with surprise. “Bribed?”

“Yes, bribed. Offered rewards for grades. You know, five dollars for each A, season baseball tickets for a perfect report card. Or maybe lunch and a movie.”

Emily felt her cheeks grow hot and looked down, embarrassed that she was blushing. “They called them rewards, not bribery.”

“Rewards come as a happy surprise after the fact. Bribery involves promised rewards if something is accomplished.” Dr. Hampton didn’t wait for Emily to answer her original question but went on. “We—the staff at the Foxworth-Isaacson Educational Center—want to treat the cause, not the effect, of underachievement. We feel that a student’s low expectations of self are the root of the problem.

“You are a bright girl, Emily, with no reason not to excel in your studies. So let’s try to find out what has caused you to believe that you can’t succeed.”

“I
don’t
believe I can’t succeed,” Emily said, unable to keep a tone of resentment from sliding into her words. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? “My grades are okay.”

“Okay? Are you willing to settle for less than the best?”

“I do my homework. I study.”

“Granted. But the reports your parents received from your teachers mention that you avoid participating in class discussions, that you cling to seats in the back rows, that you try not to make eye contact with your teachers. Why is that, Emily?”

“Look, there are plenty of kids who like all the attention. I just don’t happen to be one of them.”

“Would your older sisters have anything to do with this feeling on your part?”

Here we go again
, Emily thought. It wasn’t the first time a well-meaning teacher had brought up her award-winning sisters. “I’m proud of Angela and Monica,” she said, “and I’m not jealous of them. I’m not trying to
be
them. Who they are and what they’re doing with their lives have nothing to do with me, and people shouldn’t tell me I should be like them when they know good and well I can’t be.”

Dr. Hampton nodded, as though she were agreeing. “We’ll discuss this later,” she said. “Would you like to talk about what happened at our group discussion yesterday evening?”

Emily sighed. “Not really,” she answered.

“You left when we began talking about our early memories,” Dr. Hampton went on, as if Emily had not
objected. “Is there something about delving into early memories that disturbs you?”

“Could we talk about something else?” Emily asked.

There was a long pause before Dr. Hampton answered, “Of course. If you’d rather. We want you to be comfortable here, Emily.”

Emily looked into Dr. Hampton’s deep brown eyes and surprised herself by thinking,
I don’t believe you. I really don’t think you do
.

This camp is a golden opportunity for success and recognition for our entire staff. When the results of our work are made public, there will be praise from educators across the country. I should have that praise. I deserve it. For years I’ve struggled to achieve it
.

I am not about to lose all I’ve worked for because of Emily Wood
.

Is she unable to remember her early childhood experiences? Or does she not want to remember?

At our noon staff meeting, when this was discussed, some felt one way, some the other. I’m the only one who thought it was essential to find out. Of course, I kept my opinion to myself. I’m determined that those memories will never be made public
.

I refuse to worry. I keep reminding myself, there is more than one way to blot out a memory
.

Emily’s group had beach activity scheduled before lunch, but before anyone could get into the water, Coach Jinks began to shout out camp rules through a megaphone. At first Emily tried to pay attention to the list of regulations, wincing at the pitiful jokes with which the coach tried to break up the monotony. But without so much as a wisp of breeze the hot sun toasted Emily’s bare shoulders and back, and she was eager to plunge into the chill of the lake.

“So that’s what the mama fish said to the baby fish,” Coach finished, and waited for laughter. It didn’t come.

Embarrassed for him, Emily thought eagerly about the small dock and rowboat she had discovered. The path would be shaded, the water would be sun-dappled and cool, and she’d be away from Coach and his awful jokes and rules in which she wasn’t the least bit interested. She edged away from the open beach and back toward the buildings.

Intent on explaining procedure during relay races, Coach didn’t seem to notice as she left. Neither did the
others on the beach. Within a few minutes Emily had slipped out of their sight, found the almost hidden path, and followed it.

It didn’t take long to reach the lake. Faintly, in the distance, she could hear Coach’s insistent voice through the megaphone, but the silence captured by the snug glen wrapped around her like a soft blanket. At the end of the dock the rowboat bobbed lightly over waves that lapped the rocks, and far across the water a bird skimmed the surface, then soared out of sight.

Emily stepped onto the dock, which creaked and rocked a little under her weight—but she stopped as she spotted a hand-printed sign posted on a nearby tree:
KEEP OFF
.

The sign hadn’t been there the day before. Emily knew she would have seen and remembered it. Who had put it there? And why? The dock seemed sturdy enough, and Emily was sick of rules. Deliberately, she walked onto the dock and stood at the end, curling her bare toes around the sanded plank as she stared down into the dark blue water.

Behind her the dock groaned, and it rolled under her feet. Emily whirled around, startled.

“Hey, this place you found—it’s cool,” Taylor said. Dressed like Emily in a two-piece swimsuit, she stood at the foot of the dock, a pleased smile on her face.

Trying not to treat Taylor as an intruder, Emily searched for the right thing to say, but before she could say anything, Taylor shrugged and explained, “I followed you. Okay?”

Emily nodded. “I got tired of listening to all those rules.”

“Me too.” Taylor walked gingerly until she was at Emily’s side. “The dock rocks,” she said, then giggled.

“It’s old,” Emily said, “but I don’t think there’s any problem with it.”

Taylor twisted to glance toward the sign. “That says to keep off.”

“It doesn’t mean us,” Emily said. “The dock seems safe enough. I think they just don’t want a whole bunch of kids on it at the same time.”

Taylor leaned over to examine the water. “It’s deep down there,” she said, “and there are a lot of rocks. Do you think there are snakes?”

“Not near the camp,” Emily said. “My dad told me once that cottonmouths try to avoid people.”

“Good,” Taylor said. “I like to swim, but not with snakes.” Emily noticed that Taylor’s pale skin was already glowing pink.

“Didn’t you put on sunblock?” Emily asked.

“I didn’t bring any,” Taylor said. She quickly straightened and turned to face Emily, defensive.

“I’ve got some sunblock in my room that hardly anybody else uses except doctors and their families,” Emily said quickly. “You can have some. You haven’t been out in the sun much. You’re going to get a bad burn if you don’t use anything.”

Taylor began to look interested. “How come hardly anybody uses it?”

“Because it’s a total block and terribly expensive,” Emily answered.

Taylor smiled. “Well, okay, then,” she said. “Lead me to it.”

A few minutes later, as Emily finished rubbing sunblock into Taylor’s back and shoulders, Taylor said, “I don’t care if some people say I look weird. I like to be different. Does it bother you?”

“No,” Emily said. “I think you should look any way you want to look.”

“Any way?”

“Sure,” Emily said. “Whatever makes you happy.” She thought about her older sisters and her parents’ disappointment that she wasn’t just like them. “People can’t be carbon copies of other people,” she said.

“Unless they want to be,” Taylor added.

Emily nodded and tried not to smile as she momentarily wondered what her parents would think if she came home with spiked pink-and-gold hair.

“Do you think the coach is finally through explaining all his rules and will let us go swimming now?” Taylor asked.

“Let’s find out,” Emily said. She threw open the bedroom door. “Race you!”

After a swim, beach volleyball, a shower, and lunch, Emily found herself captured by Haley and steered toward one of Camp Excel’s waiting vans. “I found the name and address of a
curandero
,” Haley said in a low voice, excitedly digging her fingers into Emily’s arm.

“Ouch,” Emily said, and tried to pull away.

“You could at least say thank you.” Haley shoved Emily into the backseat and squeezed in beside her.

“Okay, then, thank you,” Emily said. “How did you find him?”

“Computer room, Internet,” Haley said. “No problem. Did you bring any money?”

“Of course,” Emily told her. “It’s a sight-seeing and shopping trip, isn’t it?” She thought a moment, then confronted Haley. “How much is visiting this so-called folk healer going to cost?”

Haley looked pained. “Don’t be like that, Em. He’s a true healer. He doesn’t charge.”

Emily leaned back against the seat, relieved.

“He simply asks for donations,” Haley said. Quickly, she added, “Like a few dollars. I mean whatever you think his advice is worth. And he sells his special charms and candles. You understand he has to charge for those just to break even.”

Emily sighed and squeezed over even farther as at least a dozen Camp Excel campers climbed into the van. Taylor, getting into the front seat, smiled at Emily and waved.

Emily smiled back. “Why don’t we just visit antique shops or the local pizza place?” she asked Haley.

Haley fixed Emily with a firm gaze. “And take chances with your future? Absolutely not. I feel responsible for you because I introduced you to the runes in the first place. We’re going to keep the appointment I made with the
curandero
.”

Lampley’s picturesque brick courthouse and steeple towered over a square pocket park, complete with gazebo and historical marker. Facing the streets that surrounded it on three sides were wood-front shops that looked as if they came out of a small Western movie set. There was even a narrow, windowless building with a sign over the doorway:
LAMPLEY HISTORICAL MUSEUM
.

“We’ll meet back here in two hours. Don’t be late!” their driver cautioned.

The passengers scattered in every direction. “See you,” Taylor called to Emily as she jaywalked across the nearly empty street.

Haley hustled Emily halfway down the block before
she stopped, pulled a scrap of paper from the pocket of her shorts, and studied it. “We have to find South A Street,” she said.

Emily looked back. “Why don’t we ask our driver?”

“No.” Haley frowned at Emily. “We’re not going to tell anyone about the
curandero
, and we’re absolutely not going to tell them what advice he gives.”

“No one will know? Good. Then they won’t think we’re crazy,” Emily said.

“That’s not why we can’t tell.” Haley rolled her eyes and threw a look of impatience at Emily. “We can’t tell because we don’t know where the evil directed at you is coming from. We have to keep secret the help the
curandero
will give you. Understand?”

Emily nodded, not wanting another lecture.

“Promise you won’t tell?” Haley persisted.

“Promise,” Emily said, wishing she hadn’t given in to Haley so easily. The runes were silly, but the
curandero
was a person, and Emily was both embarrassed at what he might think and afraid of what he might tell her.

It took Haley only a minute to get directions from a salesperson in the nearest shop. “It’s just one street over and down a few blocks,” Haley repeated to Emily.

The picturesque part of Lampley vanished at the end of South A Street, where the pavement deteriorated into a rutted dirt road. Dust flew up with each step, and two small, yapping terriers, roaming free, sniffed at the girls’ heels until they seemed satisfied that they meant no harm. White painted clapboard houses decorated with big porches and boxes overflowing with red geraniums became small homes with cluttered open carports and an occasional rusting car without wheels resting on cement blocks.

Emily was nervous about going too much farther out
of town, but Haley finally stopped in front of a house with a chain-link fence. On it was a sign:
YERBERIA
.

“That means herb shop,” Haley explained happily. “This is the place.” She opened the gate and walked to the broken front step, reaching up to ring the doorbell. Emily followed.