The Face (7 page)

The two of us crying out, shouting now. Heaping snow on each other. Both of us moving frantically, furiously.

The shouts all angry now.

Our expressions angry, too.

And then, feeling hands tugging me back. Seeing Ivan and Aaron, pulling me away. Seeing Laura and Adriana stepping in front of Justine.

Hearing Justine's angry shouts. But I can't understand her words.

What is she shouting about? Why is she so angry at me?

Laura and Adriana having to hold on to her,
having to pull her to the cabin. While Aaron and Ivan are grabbing my shoulders, trying to keep me still.

All that happiness. Everyone so cheerful. It disappeared so quickly. And I felt as cold as the snowy wind.

The white fades. The scene darkens.

What is happening?

Lying in bed, I struggle to keep the picture bright. To keep the scene alive.

I want to see more. I want to remember. I need to remember.

Darker now. And later. I am inside a cabin. I see a fire dancing in the fireplace across the room.

I am back against a wall. In deep shadows.

I struggle to see through the shadows. I am sitting on a long, low bench. My back against the wall.

Someone leans against me. Someone sits next to me.

It's so dark back here. As if we're hiding.

I struggle to see his face as he kisses me.

It's Aaron. It has to be Aaron, I know.

Who else would I be kissing back here in the shadows, away from all the others?

Aaron.

I kiss him again.

It's so dark. I still can't see his face.

Aaron—why can't I see you?

Because it isn't Aaron.

I feel a strong shudder as I struggle to remember.
And see the boy lean forward in the darkness and press his mouth against mine.

I feel his lips. Pushing. Pushing against my lips. So hard. So insistent.

And it isn't Aaron.

I'm kissing another boy.

Not Aaron. But who?

He pulls back. Smiles at me.

And I see his dark, serious eyes.

See the turned-up nose. The tiny white scar across the dark eyebrow.

I'm kissing him. Kissing him in the shadows.

I see him clearly now.

I see his face.

The face I've been drawing again and again.

T
he next afternoon I gathered up my drawings of the boy. I shoved them into my backpack. And I sneaked out of the house.

Aaron, you've got to help me, I pleaded silently. My boots sank through the hard crust on the snow as I walked quickly to his house. I pulled my parka tighter, leaning into a steady, cold wind.

Mom and Dad wanted me to stay in bed another day. They hadn't been able to reach Dr. Sayles. He was out of town at a conference. They wanted to keep me home safe and sound.

But I didn't feel safe and sound, even in my own bed with the quilt pulled up to my chin. Hot soup and cups of tea wouldn't calm me, wouldn't help me to rest.

Only knowing the truth will help, I decided.

Only knowing what happened last November will help to calm me down.

And Aaron can tell me. Aaron can help me.

A strong gust of frozen wind blew open my parka. I pulled it closed. Shifted the backpack on my back. Leaned forward as I trudged over the deep, crusty snow.

Aaron's house came into view in the next block. Two tall evergreens, covered in white snow, stood guard over the driveway. The driveway and front walk had been shoveled, the snow piled up on the sloping lawn. A single icicle, thick as a carrot, hung down over the front storm door.

I tried to push the doorbell, but it felt frozen. Stuck. I jabbed my finger against it again. No bell ringing inside the house.

So I knocked. I had rushed out of the house without any gloves. My frozen hand ached as I pounded three times on the door. Then three more times.

I could see lights on inside. I heard a cough. Then footsteps.

Aaron's little brother Jake pulled open the door.

“Hi,” I said, my hand still raised, ready to knock again. “Is Aaron home?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Jake stared up at me. He had a Kit Kat bar in one hand. He didn't move out of the way or invite me in.

“Well, can I see him?” I asked impatiently.

Aaron appeared before Jake could answer. He
shoved Jake out of the way. Jake shoved him back, then disappeared.

“Martha—hi!” Aaron brushed back his brown hair with one hand. He was wearing baggy jeans and a maroon-and-gray Shadyside High sweatshirt. “I didn't expect—”

“I have to talk to you!” I blurted out. I didn't mean to sound so excited. So desperate. But I suddenly couldn't catch my breath.

“I want to show you something, Aaron. I want you to tell me some things. I need some answers.”

“Well …” He glanced back into the house. He frowned. He seemed tense.

What's his problem? I wondered, studying his face.

First Jake won't let me in. Now Aaron is making me stand out here in the cold.

“Can I come in?” I asked finally.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” His cheeks turned pink. He stepped back.

I stamped my boots on the welcome mat and stepped into the warmth of the house. I could feel the cold follow me in. I pulled off the backpack, then the parka and tossed them onto the floor beside the living room couch.

“I'm just here watching Jake,” Aaron offered.

“Your parents aren't home?”

He shook his head.

“I had to see you,” I said.

“I—I heard about yesterday,” Aaron stammered. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets
and turned his blue eyes to the front window. “I'm sorry. I …” His voice trailed off.

He's never this tense around me, I thought. What is his problem?

I rubbed my hands, trying to warm them. I could hear a TV on down the hall. Funny voices. A cartoon show. I heard Jake laughing.

“Aaron—” I started. “I want to show you these drawings I made.” I bent down, reaching for the backpack—and heard a crash in the kitchen.

He gasped.

I stood up. “Is someone else here?”

His face reddened. “No. I—”

I crossed the room quickly. Made my way down the short hallway. Pushed open the kitchen door.

“Justine—!” I cried. “What are
you
doing here?”

J
ustine stood hunched over the sink, picking up pieces of the glass she had just dropped. I saw a puddle of spilled water on the floor.

She spun around as I burst in, and her mouth dropped open as if she wanted to scream.

“Justine came over to borrow my graphing calculator,” Aaron explained, stepping up behind me. “The batteries wore down on hers.”

“That's right,” Justine agreed quickly. She pushed a tangle of red hair off her forehead. And turned to Aaron. “I'm sorry. I was getting a glass of water. I dropped it, and—”

“But you were
hiding
back here!” I exclaimed. My voice came out shrill and angry. “Justine—why were you hiding in the kitchen?”

“I—I wasn't!” she insisted. “Martha, really—I—”

“I told her to,” Aaron broke in. He stepped between us. He scratched his wavy, brown hair tensely with one hand and kept gazing from Justine to me.

“You what?” I demanded.

“I told her to wait in the kitchen,” Aaron explained. “I thought you would get the wrong idea.”

“Excuse me?” I cried.

Justine dropped a jagged shard of glass onto the counter. “Calm down, Martha. Everything is okay,” she said softly.

Aaron stepped up close behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Yeah. Everything is okay,” he echoed.

“We both heard about yesterday,” Justine said. “We heard about how you lost it on Miller Hill. When you knocked on the door, we saw you through the front window. Aaron said I should go in the kitchen. We didn't want to get you upset again or anything.”

Aaron turned me around. His blue eyes burned into mine. “It was stupid. I'm sorry, Martha. It was totally dumb. But I did it for you.”

“We didn't want you to get upset again,” Justine added. “I just stopped by for the calculator. That's the truth.”

I lowered my eyes to the floor. The black and gray dots on the linoleum flashed and shimmered. I
shut my eyes. “Sorry,” I murmured. “I didn't mean to sound so suspicious. So … crazy.”

Aaron slid his arm around my waist. Justine said some more comforting things. Aaron gave her the graphing calculator. She apologized again. Then she pulled on her coat and hurried out the front door.

I watched her through the living room window. She strode quickly down the driveway, her head lowered, biting her bottom lip. As I watched her, I tried to decide whether to believe them or not.

Aaron had been so great this whole time. He'd been so wonderful to me. So caring.

I decided I
had
to believe them.

I could feel Aaron's eyes on me. I turned to find him on the couch, tapping his fingers on the arm.

I hurried over and sat down at the other end of the couch.

“Sorry about the … mix-up,” he murmured, tapping the couch arm a little faster.

“My memory is slowly coming back,” I told him.

I could see the surprise on his face. Saw his jaw twitch. He swallowed.

“I keep seeing pictures,” I continued. “Whole scenes. It's all coming back to me, bit by bit.”

He sighed. Then he spoke in a soft, hushed tone just above a whisper. “When it does come back, it'll be hard for you.”

He took my hand and squeezed it. I wanted him to keep holding it. But he quickly let go.

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “Why will it be hard for me?”

He hesitated. “You know I can't tell you that,” he said, still in a whisper.

“Tell me,” I insisted. “Why will it be hard for me?”

“The doctor told us not to help you,” Aaron replied. He cleared his throat. “He told us that you had to get your memory back on your own. He made us promise not to tell you what happened that night.”

“But, Aaron—” I grabbed his arm. I tried to pull him close, but he kept his place on the other end of the couch. “Why will it be so hard for me when I get back my memory?” I demanded again. “Why will I be so upset?”

He uttered a hoarse cry. His blue eyes locked on mine. “Because—something terrible happened!” he cried. “Something terrible, Martha.”

He took a deep breath. His eyes remained on mine. “It changed us all.” A strange smile crossed his face. A bitter smile. A smile I had never seen there before. “In a way, you're lucky you don't remember,” he muttered.

“But, Aaron—”

His strange smile faded. He scratched his dark hair.

I let out a frustrated cry. I wanted him to tell me the whole story. Everything. But I knew he wouldn't. My friends were all being so good. All cooperating with Dr. Sayles.

The drawings.

How could I have forgotten about the drawings?

I reached over the couch and lifted my backpack. I struggled with the zipper. My hands were shaking. I pulled out the drawings.

“What are those?” Aaron demanded. He finally slid closer to me.

I held two of them up. “I've been drawing this face. Again and again.”

His eyes bulged. He gasped.

“Who is it?” I demanded.

He shook his head. “No.” Was that shock in his eyes? Was it fear?

“Tell me,” I insisted. “I can't stop drawing this face. Tell me who it is, Aaron.”

“No. No way,” he replied, shaking his head.

I shoved the drawings into his face. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!”

He pushed them away. And jumped to his feet. “I can't, Martha. You know what the doctor said. You know that I can't tell you.”

I jumped up beside Aaron. I wasn't going to let him get away. I wasn't going to give up.

The boy's face was driving me crazy.

I saw it everywhere I went. I couldn't erase it from my mind.

“Is he someone I know?” I demanded.

Aaron crossed his arms in front of him.

“Is he?” I repeated. I waved the drawings in Aaron's face.

He backed away. He made a zipper motion over
his mouth. “Stop it, Martha. I can't tell you. Stop making it hard for both of us. You know I can't say anything.”

I could feel my chest tighten, my temples throb. I had to know. I had to know
now.

“Do I know him, Aaron? Where is he? If I know him, why haven't I seen him in school? Why haven't I seen him?” I shrieked.

I guess I'd gone too far.

I could see Aaron start to lose it.

He balled his hands into fists. His face reddened. He gritted his teeth. Then he spit out an answer. “Know why you haven't seen him, Martha? Know why you haven't seen him?”

“Why?” I demanded. “Why?”

“Because he's dead!”

T
uesday night I finished my homework early. I sat down at my desk and opened my drawing pad.

A drawing of the dead boy's face slid out.

I held it between my hands, studying it.

Why am I drawing a dead boy? I asked myself.

I tilted the paper at one angle, then another. As if seeing it in a different way would bring me an answer.

The dark eyes stared out at me, revealing nothing.

Why am I drawing a dead boy?

Who is he?

Aaron refused to tell me any more about the boy.

He was furious at himself for losing control, for blurting out that the boy was dead.

I tried to apologize to Aaron in school. But he turned and hurried away. Whenever I called his house, Jake answered and said that Aaron wasn't home.

“I can't lose you, Aaron,” I murmured out loud. “You mean too much to me. I can't lose you.”

I stared at the face in the drawing. “Who are you?” I asked it. “And why was I kissing you in the cabin?”