Sage's Eyes (27 page)

What if Uncle Alexis or Aunt Suzume didn't like me? Could I be treated any worse? I didn't think the fear that I could be rejected and turned out of this family ever left me. Maybe it never would. Thinking
about it made me nervous, so I went right to my homework.

Just before dinner, Ginny called me. I answered the phone first, expecting it would be Summer, but I was happy to hear from Ginny.

“You were right,” she began, and then gave me one of her giddy little laughs. “Everyone's just a little jealous of you right now.”

“A little?”

“Well, Mia might have bought a voodoo doll with your name on it.”

“What?”

“I'm kidding. Anyway, I told them to back off. What happened in school isn't your fault, and you're really right about those boys anyway. They should be more mature and responsible. They were suspended for a week and put on probation. The Iron Lady didn't take them off the team, though. It's not fair. Why should they be treated like princes or something just because they can dribble and throw a basketball into some hoop?”

“Exactly,” I said, surprised. Could it be that I was having a good influence on at least one of them?

“Anyway, I just heard from Jason. His parents actually feel sorry for him. They're still leaving, but they didn't put up any resistance to his staying, and get this. They said he could have a small party if he made sure everyone behaved and there was no drinking or drugs.”

“What are they, ostriches?” I asked.

“What?”

“Do
they bury their heads in the sand? They really believe that he'll keep anyone from drinking or doing drugs?”

“What's the difference to us? Let them believe what they want. A party's a party,” she said. “Everything is set. We'll meet at the mall at six. We're going in two cars to Jason's, unless you're going to make other arrangements,” she added. “Will you?”

“I'm not sure,” I said.

“That you'll go to the party? Or go with us?”

“That I'll go with you or—”

“Summer? That's all right. Why shouldn't you? I know he's been invited. Are you going to have him pick you up?”

“No.”

“Well, are you going to tell your parents about the party now?”

“No,” I said firmly.

“What's with all this no? Why is it such a big deal suddenly? They let you go to my party, didn't they? And you were an obedient little girl coming home when they told you to. You didn't drink anything or take anything. Huh?”

“It's complicated,” I said. “For right now, I'd rather they didn't know.”

“See? Either they bury their heads in the sand or we make them deaf and dumb. What's the difference? Same results. Later,” she said, and hung up.

I held the receiver for a few moments. Should I wonder why it was so important to her that I was still going to the party?

It was as though I could still hear what was going on at the other end. She wasn't alone when she had called me. I could envision the other girls beside her, and I could feel dark vibes. She was just a little too nice and understanding. They were planning something, something that would make me quite unhappy.

All through dinner and afterward, I couldn't help but be nervous anticipating Summer's phone call. My mother didn't bring up anything more about him. I was sure she had told my father about the incident at school, but he didn't mention it. If anything, the two of them were quieter than usual. They had that look that told me they had made some decision concerning me. Neither spoke about it. It was like waiting for the second shoe to drop.

When dinner was finished, I began to help clean up, but my mother told me to leave it and go do my homework. This was unusual, too. I had the sense that they wanted to be alone as soon as they could. Something was definitely bothering them, or they were arguing about something, and they didn't want me to know what it was. I couldn't believe it had anything to do with what had occurred at school or my budding little romance with Summer, but I didn't know what else it could be. What I didn't anticipate was that it would have something to do with spirituality, their spirituality.

While we celebrated Christmas every year with a tree and presents, there was really nothing in our lives that resembled religious beliefs similar to those other kids and their families had. I never asked why not. For me, my parents'
religion appeared to be built around their superstitions, like Dad putting that knife under the front steps and my mother hanging the wreath of garlic on the front of our house. I never heard either of them mention going to any church when they were younger. Whenever my mother used the word
god
, I had the sense that she wasn't talking about the same sort of god my friends worshipped.

A little more than an hour after I had gone upstairs, my mother called to me to come down. When I appeared at the top of the stairs, she told me to come to my father's office. Nervously, I hurried after her. It was rare that we all gathered in his office, but whenever we did, it usually meant something very serious, like the time they announced I would be moving to another school.

“In anticipation of his visit, Uncle Alexis sent us a gift today,” my mother told me at the doorway. “Your father wanted to hang it and display it properly before we showed it to you and before Uncle Alexis arrived.”

She stepped back, and I entered the office. Dad had moved some of the paintings to create a wide available space for the gift. They both stood back to watch my reaction.

Hung on the wall behind my father's desk was a very large cast-iron circle with a five-pointed star in the center, also shaped with cast iron. I stared up at it, mesmerized. Suddenly, a beacon of images began flashing at me like some lighthouse on a rocky shore. Similar circles and stars appeared, some with candles burning around them. The visions became more and more intense.
One circle began to spin, and as it spun, it moved closer and then farther away, fading before coming closer again and once again fading. I felt dizzier and dizzier. I brought my right hand to my mouth after I uttered a desperate “Oh,” and then all went black.

I last remembered my body sinking into a pool of warm, sticky, muddy gook. I panicked as my head began to sink into it, and I woke on the floor, flailing about with my arms like someone submerged in quicksand, reaching out to grasp anything to prevent her fatal descent.

“Easy, easy,” I heard my father say. He grabbed my wrists and stopped my wild swinging.

Gradually, I calmed, and the room stopped spinning. I looked up at the two of them gaping down at me. “What happened?” I asked. I could feel the pounding in my heart begin to slow and my heartbeat becoming normal again.

“You fainted,” my mother said, but without sympathy or concern. She flung the words at me. It was more like I had done something forbidden or insulting.

“Why?” I asked as my father helped me into a sitting position and then to my feet. He guided me to the small leather settee across from his desk. I was afraid to look up at the cast-iron circle and star and kept my eyes fixed on the floor.

“We're not sure,” my father said, sitting beside me and still holding my hand.

My mother didn't look at all unsure. In fact, she looked angry at me for fainting.

My father took my pulse and felt my forehead. “How are you feeling now? Nauseated, dizzy?”

I took a deep breath. Remarkably, I had no aftereffects. It was as though I had imagined fainting. It had come and gone so fast it felt like I had imagined it. “No,” I said. “What happened to me?”

“It doesn't necessarily mean something bad,” he replied, more for my mother than for me, I thought. She creased her lips and looked at me as though she was anticipating something more.

“I wasn't feeling sick at all before I came in here,” I said.

“We have no doubt that there's nothing physically wrong with you,” my mother said.

I took another deep breath. How could she be so sure? Shouldn't they take me to a doctor? “I don't understand what happened.”

“Don't think about it,” she said. “Just look at the pentacle again, and tell us if there is something about it that disturbs you.”

“The pentacle?”

“That's what it's called,” my father said. “Some believe it's a tool of great power and protection.”

“We do,” my mother said. “You might as well tell her straight off.”

“We do,” he admitted. “It's very special for us because of its religious significance.”

“Like a crucifix?”

“Exactly,” he said, finally smiling. “Go on. Look at it again.”

Slowly, I raised my eyes and, holding my breath, studied it.
I was frightened, but this time, nothing happened to me.

My father smiled and nodded. “She's all right with it,” he told my mother.

She shook her head. “I'm not sure,” she said.

“I am,” he insisted, and then turned to me and smiled again. “Let me explain it to you. Each of the corners of the star in the center means something, Sage,” he said. “At the top point, we have spirit, power, and on the right of it, we have air, love. Below that is fire, knowledge, and across from it is water, wisdom. And above that is earth, truth. It should be comforting to look at it and to understand it from now on,” he concluded.

I glanced at my mother. If she looked at me any more intensely, her eyes would be inside me. “Well?” she asked. “After hearing all that, is there anything about it that disturbs you now?”

I shook my head. “I don't know what would. Nothing sounds terrible to me.”

“Perhaps that there is only one point of the star at the top instead of two?”

My father looked at her and then at me, anticipating my answer.

“No. Why should it?”

The soft smile returned to his face, but my mother still didn't look satisfied.

“Why did I faint?” I asked. “I told you. There was nothing wrong with me before I came in here. I ate well at dinner, didn't I?”

“Yes, that's all true. So why did you faint?” my mother mumbled.

My father shot her a look of annoyance and turned back to me. “I've seen it happen before, and so has your mother. She knows very well what the reason probably is. You had a religious experience,” he said, “an epiphany. Do you know what that is?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. I knew the definition of the word, but I still didn't understand what it had to do with the pentacle.

“You had a realization, an awareness of something so powerful and wonderful and strong that for a moment, it overwhelmed you.”

“Or burned her,” my mother muttered.

This time, he just ignored her. “Here,” he said, reaching for a small box on his desk. “Your great-uncle sent this along with it for you.”

My fingers were trembling, but I managed to unwrap the box and open it to see a small pentacle made of gold on a gold chain.

“You can wear it now instead of the amber necklace. I mean, you could wear the amber necklace, too, if you want. Whatever pleases you,” he said, fumbling for the right way to say it.

I took it out of the box and held it up. “This is part of our religion?” I asked.

He smiled and nodded. “Yes, it's part of what your mother and I believe. Think of us as spiritualists. The pentacle tells us we have the ability to bring spirit to earth. We told you what the five points represent. The five-fold symmetry is uniquely part of life—the human hand, a starfish, flowers, plants—you find five everywhere. You'll discover more examples now
that we made you aware of it. We decided you're old enough to learn about it all, but slowly, of course. We don't want to overwhelm you with too many new ideas and thoughts.”

I looked at my mother. She was still studying me hard. What was she waiting for me to do? Refuse the necklace? I undid the clasp and started to put it on.

My father moved quickly to help. “There, now,” he said when it was fastened. The pentacle lay a few inches below the base of my throat. “How does it feel?”

I touched it. “Cool,” I said.

“It will warm up,” he assured me.

“Maybe it will become too warm,” my mother said. “Let us know if it does.”

“Why . . . how could it do that?” I asked.

“It won't,” my father said confidently. He stood and looked down at me. “We decided that you need spiritual protection now. You're traveling new roads, some of which will lead you deeper into yourself. You need more guidance, and that will give you more confidence and keep you from straying off the true and safe path. Okay?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You don't have to discuss our beliefs with your friends. Our spirituality is personal. We share that part of ourselves only with those we can trust to know us well. Understand?” my mother said.

“Yes.”

“She's fine,” my father said, looking at me. “She understands.”

“We'll see soon enough,” my mother said. “Go on and finish your homework.”

I rose and started out. When I looked back, they were both staring at me, and it seemed as though they were holding their breath. I went upstairs quickly to look at myself in the mirror. Maybe because my mother had put the thought in my head, the pentacle seemed to grow warmer, but it never felt hot. For a few moments, I was mesmerized by it, by the way the gold twinkled. I even thought I saw it spin. I was so hypnotized by it that I didn't hear the telephone ring, so I was surprised when my father called up to tell me it was for me. This time, it was Summer.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry I had to run off at the end of the day, but I just remembered I had to meet my father for something. Any news about the combatants?”

“Suspended and put on probation, but they weren't removed from the basketball team. I'm sure missing practice time won't go over too well with Mr. Jacobs. We'd better be prepared to see him depressed and cranky in chorus class.”