The Book of Dares for Lost Friends (10 page)

“What is that?” Val said.

“A rare artifact from the Middle East. Most were made in the fifth or sixth century. They are inscribed with words that spiral down to the center of the bowl. The words are an incantation. An invocation. A kind of a prayer.”

“For what?” Val said.

“To trap the demon.”

“You think Lanora has a demon?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want the bowl?”

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Once, long ago, there was an archaeologist who journeyed to the Middle East.”

From the shadows, Mau crept closer as if to listen to the story.

“He didn't have as many camels and assistants as the men from the more prestigious universities, but he did have a more vivid imagination. That helped him find treasures other men could only envy.”

“He must be related to you.” Val playfully punched his shoulder.

Tasman glared at her accusingly. “What are you talking about?”

“It's a compliment. The man had a great imagination. And so do you.”

“Oh. That's what you meant.” He tried to smile. He couldn't. So he continued. “He found the typical scrolls and scarabs and shards and little blue faience hippopotami. He dutifully sent all those things back to his sponsors. All except one item that he found in the Desert of Nippur. A bowl.”

“
The
bowl?”

“He knew he shouldn't keep it. He knew he should leave it buried in the ground, so that it could continue to do its work to protect that family against their demons.” Tasman's face got very red. He picked up a stick and broke it.

“But he kept it?”

Tasman nodded. “He had a son who was very sick. Who saw what no one else could see. The son's visions were so frightening that he stayed in his room and refused to come out. There is medicine to sedate people like that. He was supposed to take the pills. Only he was afraid.”

“Of what? Didn't he want to be well?”

“He was afraid that if he ever took his eyes off those demons, they would get him.”

A wind rustled the leaves in a nearby tree. At least that was what they hoped made the sound.

“What happened next?” Val said.

“The archaeologist took the bowl and wrapped it in special cloth. He packed it in his trunk, careful to keep it upside down. It traveled by camel, by caravan, by ship, finally reaching the port of New York City. The archaeologist took it to his home on West 129th Street. His son was upstairs, shouting and cursing at the things that no one else could see. The archaeologist buried the bowl upside down in the yard. He said the incantation to trap the demons in the bowl. Then he waited. And waited. All night, he sat. But the words he repeated were drowned out by the shouts of his son as he wrestled with the demons.”

“Did it work?”

Tasman sadly shook his head.

“So why do you want the bowl?”

“Sometimes even the thing that doesn't work is better than nothing.”

 

Sixteen

On Wednesday Lanora appeared before the judge. She wore a white blouse and a navy blue skirt. Only her patterned tights reminded her that she was still Lanora. Unfortunately the tights itched. She kept her hands folded so she wouldn't scratch her legs as she sat between her mother and the lawyer.

Her father wasn't there. He had sent the lawyer in his place. The lawyer looked very much like her father. He wore a pale blue tie with his dark gray suit. His hair was cut as short as her father's. The back of his neck was shaved. Black dots showed where hair would have been, without the barber's razor. The lawyer's watch was slightly smaller than her father's. But the main difference between the men was that the lawyer smiled at Lanora. Once he even patted her shoulder, while the judge read out loud what Lanora had done.

It was strange to hear them discussing this Lanora, who had no previous offenses. Who had been tempted by a cute kitty. Who would never, ever do anything like this again. Who was sorry. Who would do community service. And never step inside that store for as long as she lived.

Well, at least that last part was true.

And then it was over. The lawyer shook hands with Lanora and then Emma. He closed his brown briefcase (it was the box kind with metal latches that snapped into place). He hurried from the room to his next appointment.

Lanora hurried, too. She had to wait outside the courtroom for her mom, who was saying an emotional thank-you to the judge.

Once they had escaped from the halls of justice and were standing on the sidewalk, Emma blew her nose and said, “I hope you learned your lesson.”

“Oh, sure,” Lanora said.

“Don't take that tone with me,” Emma said.

Lanora said nothing for the entire subway ride home.

Actually she
had
learned her lesson. Plenty of lessons. She reviewed them when she was safely in her room, as her mom searched the kitchen cupboards for Tension Tamer tea.

“I'm sure we still had some. How could it all be gone?” Emma said.

Lesson 1:
  Maintain Your Guard.

Don't get tempted by a cat, no matter how adorable and cuddly. Don't let sentiment stick its grubby little fingers in a crack in the door. Don't allow a crack in the door. Don't allow a door. Block it up with bricks.

“I guess it'll have to be black tea. We're probably out of honey, too,” Emma said.

Lesson 2:
  Be Prepared.

If she'd had a good lie, she would have gotten away with it. If she'd said, I only took the kitty for my poor little sister who is dying of cancer. No, that lie was too much. If she'd said, I wanted to cheer up my poor little sister because our parents are getting divorced, that would have totally worked.

“No, there's still a little in the jar. Of course it's as hard as a rock,” Emma said.

Lesson 3:
  Know Who to Blame.

Not Val. Lanora could never blame Val. Val was probably torn up by the whole situation. First that Lanora had lifted something. And second that Val had gotten Lanora caught. Well, Val shouldn't have followed Lanora. But that small misdemeanor was nothing compared to all the crimes committed by a certain individual. He was so guilty; he didn't dare come to court—the judge would have sent him straight to jail.

The tea kettle screamed. “Lanora? Sweetie? Come get your tea!” Emma said.

“In a minute!” Lanora called.

Lesson 4:
  Harden Your Heart.

She kind of thought she had done that. Wasn't that why she hung around the A Team? They helped her get to the level where she didn't even feel Val looking at her anymore. Oh, yes. Lanora had been untouchable as she walked through the halls of M.S. 10. She would be again. When she returned tomorrow.

She examined her face in the mirror. Her hair was still perfectly sleek. She had gotten up extra early that morning to have time to blow-dry it. But there was something unfortunate about her eyes.

The dark places were still there. She knew they were the pupils. She knew their purpose was to let in light and whatever images were out there in the world. She knew everything except why they had to look like such horrible, big black holes.

She turned away from her mirror, opened her window, and climbed out onto the fire escape.

The days were getting colder. That was a good thing. She liked the air to be brisk. She liked to feel invigorated. She looked up at the lights just starting to come on in the tall building. Soon there would be a sprinkle of stars beyond. She climbed up one step. Then another. And another.

She was in command. As long as she kept climbing. As long as she didn't look down. Or back. There was no point in that. Who would want to remember that moment when she had begged her father not to move away and he had patted her on the head or given her a lollipop or something. And she had crumpled to the floor. Like she had lost control of everything—even her own legs. Who would ever want to think about that except to remind herself.

Lesson 5:
Harden Your Heart Even Harder.

 

Seventeen

Starting school the second time was much more difficult than it had been the first.

Lanora felt too nervous to eat the breakfast her mom insisted upon. Then the cereal got soggy and her mom wouldn't let her dump it out and pour a new bowl.

She couldn't decide what to wear. The bold skirt and jagged top she had laid out so carefully the night before totally failed to express her defiance. Her old clothes were old. Her new ones reminded her too much of QXR. In the end, she had settled for black leggings and a black dress, even though it was the New York cliché.

As she hugged her mom good-bye, she saw her reflection in the mirror. She tried the smile. The one she would need to navigate the halls of M.S. 10. Yes, there it was. The curl of her lip. She still had it. She turned her head slightly to get a different angle. She saw the piece of her hair sticking out. One stray curl, as wispy as the feather of a baby robin.

Lanora ducked under her mom's hands. She selected a scissors from her desk organizer. She snipped off the offensive curl and let it fall to the floor. She faced the mirror again. She was ready now.

She really was. But she didn't want to have to stand around waiting for the door to open. She wanted to walk right in, without having time for conversations or explanations. She thought she planned it right, but she must have made a miscalculation.

By the time Lanora arrived, the door was already shut. The guard was gone. The kids were all inside—laughing, talking, probably about her.

She stared at the door. If it opened, she would walk in. It would be a sign. A message from the great beyond. She didn't believe in things like that. She certainly didn't believe that her bad luck had begun when she buried the lilac butterfly at the Bower. She wondered what would happen if she retrieved it. Nothing. Except that she would have in her possession a filthy bit of plush fabric.

The door stayed shut. Those who were in stayed in. Those who had been absent for the past two days (so they could tell a judge how sorry they were that they tried to take another insignificant bit of plush fabric) stayed out.

Lanora looped her fingers through the chain-link fence and stared at the brick walls. She had heard of a certain kind of bomb, invented by a diabolically clever person, that destroyed people and left the buildings intact.

“Boom,” she whispered.

She straightened the strap of her book bag and walked away, as briskly as if she knew exactly where she was going. She made sure her grim smile was in place. If she saw anyone, anyone at all, even the lamest of the losers, she would have to pretend she had recently been hit on the head by a rock and was enjoying amnesia.

She thought she would be safe until lunchtime. After all, she was outside. And every other kid in the city was stuck inside.

She tried to enjoy this freedom. She could go anywhere in New York City! Yippee! Anywhere except her apartment. Or Val's apartment. Or the Bower. In short, anywhere except places where she might have wanted to be.

She tossed her head, gripped her bag, squared her shoulders, and strode down the sidewalk. She turned away from each orange
DON'T
WALK
sign and crossed the street in the other direction. For the next few hours, she allowed fate to guide her. She shouldn't have.

*   *   *

The gang loitering outside the deli were drinking Cokes and eating chips. Lanora checked her phone in surprise. The hours seemed to be passing so slowly, and yet it was lunchtime. The kids might not recognize her. After all, she didn't really know them. When she was part of the A Team, she glided past kids like these. But she wasn't part of the A Team anymore.

The one with the Yankees baseball cap incorrectly colored red pointed at her with his can of Coke. “Look. It's Lanora the lifter,” he said.

“Lanora the lousy lifter,” another said.

She couldn't retreat. If she showed them she cared, she would never be able to go back to school. But she didn't feel able to walk past them. Her hair wasn't right. Her armpits were sweaty. She had no idea what had happened to her contemptuous smile.

“Hey, Lanora. They let you out of jail?”

“She wasn't in jail.”

“She was in the psych ward.”

She ducked through the nearest door and entered a hardware store. The shelves were crammed with pots, tools, paintbrushes, and a multitude of things she would never want. She slunk past a large woman sitting on a stool by the entrance. She wandered through the aisles until she found a secluded corner near the back of the store. She could wait there until lunch was over and it would be safe to leave.

Above her was a rack of shiny golden keys. The shiny bits of metal mesmerized her with their possibilities. What treasure chests could she open? She trailed her finger along the keys, keys, keys. The musical jingling brought back the thrill of that other day, in that other store, when she had felt so powerful.

It would be so much easier to go back to school with a golden key. She could wear it on a chain around her neck. Like a medal to show the world she didn't care that she got caught. She had persisted and won the game.

She stroked the keys. The shimmering sound was so magical. But she stopped the vibration so she could listen.

The store was silent. The woman at the front was probably keeping her eye on the things kids usually wanted—spray paint, glue, batteries. The woman at the front didn't know what really mattered. Keys could open doors. Keys could lock them. Keys were proof of ownership. Could there be anything more important?

Lanora glanced left and then right. No one was watching her. Val wasn't here to ruin everything. Lanora looked up to decide. At the very top was a dark gold key with an elegantly curved head. She stood on her tiptoes to take it off the hook. As usual, she knew exactly what she wanted.