The Hourglass Door (22 page)

“What are we going to do about Zo? He’s getting worse. Reckless.”

“Leave Lorenzo to me, Dante. After what he did to you . . . I don’t want something like that to happen again.” Leo paused for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, uncertain. “What have you seen lately?”

Frustration weighed down Dante’s words. “Nothing. It’s all a jumbled mess. It has been every time I’ve gone. I’m trying,
Papa,
I’m looking. But trying to pick out Zo or Tony or V is like trying to isolate a single raindrop in a hurricane. I don’t like being blind when it comes to him. The clearest thing I’ve seen all month was the three of them at the dance, but I couldn’t see downstream enough to know what kind of long-term repercussions were in store. Maybe trying to
stop
him was the worst thing I could have done.”

“What are you seeing now? Anything?”

“Just Abby.”

“Abby?”

I slipped off the bar stool and crept closer to the door. I didn’t understand half of what Dante and Leo were talking about, but the way Dante said my name . . . I had to hear the end of this part of the conversation.

Dante’s voice took on a new quality: urgency. “She’s everywhere, Leo. In all the paths I’m walking, she’s right there.” Dante’s footsteps stopped. I heard him take a deep breath. “I think I need to tell her—”

“No!” Leo’s voice cracked through Dante’s words. Even I flinched out in the other room and scampered back to my seat. “You know the rules, Dante. You must not break them. Ever. It was bad enough you bent them as far as you did at the poetry reading.”

“But when
Zo
does it, it’s within the rules?”

“Lorenzo is still angry, still unwilling to accept his circumstances—”

“And I’m not? I have more reason to be angry than any of them. At least he and his friends have had four years to get used to this.”

“I know it takes time—”

Dante’s harsh laugh felt like sandpaper on my skin.

“—and I’m not discounting your feelings. You have acclimated amazingly well,” Leo continued, “and I trust you in ways I’d never trust Lorenzo or Antonio or Vincenzio.”

“Do you approve of what they’re doing?”

“Of course not,” Leo snapped. “Of course not,” he repeated more softly. “I had hoped that by encouraging them to stay in town for a while, I would be able to reach them. Show them the error of their ways. Help them find a balance they can live with.” He sighed. “Maybe I was wrong to think I could help.”

“Maybe you’re wrong about Abby, too,” Dante said, a thin edge to his voice. “Maybe she can help.”

“Dante,” Leo warned. “No one can know.”

Silence from the back room.

Leo’s voice was kind but firm. “I know you want to. I know she means something special to you. But telling her will only endanger her more. Trust me; nothing good can come from it. Promise me you won’t tell her anything.”

Deeper silence.

“I know you don’t want to hurt her, Dante.”

I held my breath.

Then Dante’s voice, resigned and bitter, slid through the crack in the door:
“Prometto.”

~

Dante crashed through the door, scooping up his coat with one hand.

“Is everything okay?” I stumbled over the words.

“Fine.” Dante grabbed a set of keys from underneath the bar. “I’ll take you home now.”

“But I thought Leo—” I stopped. A cold mask descended over Dante’s face. Now was not the time to mention Leo or his rules. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

For being as angry as he was, Dante’s control was impressive. The Mustang growled, eager for speed, but Dante didn’t push it even a mile over the speed limit. He flipped the blinker at every lane change and crossroad. He checked the mirrors and his blind spot.

“Worried about getting a ticket?” I tried to lighten the mood with a small joke.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he said.

“I’m tough. I can take it.”

A muscle jumped in Dante’s jaw.

Pulling into my driveway, he got out, intending, I guessed, to open the door for me, but I’d already stepped out of the car. We stared at each other for an awkward moment; Dante’s eyes were metallic silver, a barrier as thick as steel. Then he got back into the car and drove away.

I raised my hand to wave, though he was already too far away to see it. Instead, I saw Jason standing by the mailbox on the corner of the sidewalk. He held a handful of envelopes up to his eyes, shading his face from the setting sun. He was far enough away that I couldn’t read his expression, but I knew he had seen the whole thing.

I sighed, feeling the slow roil of anxiety boil through me. I felt terrible at the way we had left our relationship after the dance. I felt like part of me was torn and jagged along one edge and I couldn’t figure out how to smooth it out or knit it back together even if I wanted to. Dante seemed to think everyone would be back to normal in a couple of days. If Jason’s anger at me was somehow Zo’s doing, then what would Jason be like at that time? Would he feel bad about what had happened at the dance? Would he want to get back together? Would I?

I glanced down the empty road, looking for the ghost of Leo’s Mustang.

Maybe what I wanted was to just slice all the ragged ends off—a clean break, a clean slate. A new beginning. Not for the first time I wished my acceptance letter from Emery had already arrived.

I watched Jason walk into his house.

I felt the edges of my heart tear a little more. Maybe all I really wanted was a friend I could count on.

~

I walked into the house, dropping my backpack and my jacket on the couch. I was exhausted, worn out and weary. I could hear my mom on the phone in the kitchen.

“Oh, Cindy, that’s wonderful!” Mom’s cheerful voice scraped my nerves raw. My stomach rumbled; I hadn’t eaten since lunch but I wasn’t sure I could face Mom and her boundless energy and good humor just then. Absently, I flipped through the stack of mail on the side table by the stairs, half-listening to Mom’s one-sided conversation, half-remembering the look on Dante’s face as he drove away.

My eyes fell on a slim, white envelope addressed to me. A quick glance at the return address: University of Southern California. I inhaled sharply, tasting the sweet hint of cocoa and roses, all that remained from Dante’s hot chocolate surprise. Somehow I knew this next surprise wouldn’t be quite so sweet.

“It’s no bother. I’m making cookies anyway. I’ll send Abby over with some in a little bit. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to Jason in person. I’m surprised she’s not over there already, actually.”

I paused, my fingers brushing the flap of the envelope. Talk to Jason about what? I thought we’d said it all on Valentine’s Day.

“No, Abby hasn’t heard back yet, but I’m sure something will come soon. She applied just about everywhere, after all.”

Crushing the letter in my fist, I dropped the rest of the mail on the table and darted upstairs. I didn’t want to be in the hallway when Mom finished her phone call. And the last thing I wanted to do was go over to Jason’s house. Not before I’d read the letter from USC. Maybe not after, either, come to think of it.

I pushed open the door to my room. The door had barely closed before I’d torn open the envelope, allowing a single sheet of paper to flutter into my trembling hands. I knew what it said without even reading it. Fat envelopes contained letters of welcome acceptance, glossy photographs of campus and students, pages and pages of class schedules and calendars; thin envelopes contained a meager handful of painful words:
sorry, apologize, regret.

When I finished reading the letter, a hard rock thunked in my belly, sending shock waves through my fingers and toes. They didn’t want me. I didn’t get in. I’d been denied. Rejected. Turned away. Passed over. The rock rumbled through my hollow insides. How was it possible? What was wrong with me that USC didn’t want me? And if USC didn’t want me, would Emery? I sat down on my bed. Would any college? What would I do then?

A knock rattled my door.

“Go away,” I called, crumpling the letter into a jagged ball.

Hannah opened the door and leaned against the doorjamb. She tilted her head to one side as though considering an important decision. “Mmmm, no.” She waltzed inside and sat down at my vanity table.

Groaning, I dropped my head in my hands. “Not in the mood, Hannah,” I warned.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be.” Her fingers danced lightly over the rows of nail polish lined up by the mirror. “Ah-ha!” She selected a bottle of bright pink polish and settled in to paint her nails.

“Hannah!” I snapped. “I’d like to be alone, okay?”

She barely glanced at me, lifting her hand and blowing on her nails. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Take your pick. Right now it’s because my bratty little sister can’t seem to take a hint.”

“I’m not little. I’m almost as tall as you.”

I sighed through gritted teeth. “Get. Out.”

Hannah’s pout deepened to a wounded frown. “Fine.” She rose to her feet like a queen, gliding toward the door.

I cleared my throat. “My polish?”

She scowled and dropped the bottle onto the tabletop. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. It’s not like you even wanted to go to USC.”

“What are you talking about?” Cold stabbed through my heart. I shoved the horrible rejection letter under my pillow. How did Hannah know already? Had she told Mom or Dad yet? I couldn’t bear the thought that everyone knew of my failure.

“So Jason goes to USC without you. Big deal. I thought you were holding out for Emery College anyway.”

“Jason? At USC?” I stumbled over my thoughts, trying to arrange them into some semblance of order or meaning. “And what do you know about Emery?”

She shrugged.

Pressing my lips together, I crossed the room in three short strides and shut the door. I pointed to the chair.

She wavered. “My polish?” She held out her hand with a small grin.

I slapped the bottle in her palm. “Now sit down and start talking.”

“There’s not much to say. Jason got his acceptance letter from USC today. Apparently there was some mention of a scholarship, too.” Hannah regarded her nails objectively, then brushed on another layer of pink.

“How do you know I didn’t get
my
acceptance letter today too?” I was proud that my voice held steady over the dangerous words.

“Because I got the mail.” Her voice softened a little and she suddenly looked younger than eleven.

I felt tears pool in my eyes and furiously blinked them away. It seemed like I was spending most of my time lately trying not to cry. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

Hannah shook her head. “Not until you tell them.”

“Thanks,” I croaked, the tears thick in my throat. “Thanks for not telling.”

She shrugged again, a sly smile flashing across her pixie-thin face. “I can keep a secret. I haven’t told them about the fact you applied to Emery College, or that you broke up with Jason on Valentine’s, or that you’re dating Dante from your drama class, have I?” She ticked the points on freshly painted nails.

My jaw dropped open. “How do you know about all that?”

Hannah looked at me with pity. “I may be eleven, Abby, but I’m not stupid.”

Chapter

14

I managed to avoid delivering a plate of celebration cookies to Jason that night. In fact, I managed to avoid Jason altogether for almost ten days. I tried valiantly to keep my life as normal as possible. School. Rehearsal. Homework. Repeat.

I should have known better. I should have known chaos would catch up with me eventually.

Jason caught up with me one night during rehearsal. Dave had been in a bad mood since the beginning of rehearsal when he announced he had a pounding migraine. I offered to take over, but Dave wouldn’t hear of it. Tomorrow was opening night; this would be our last full run-through. Dave micromanaged every detail, so thankfully all I had to do was sit halfway back in the auditorium and watch the play.

By the end of Act Two, I had flipped off the spare headset mike and tossed it onto the chair next to me. Doodling on the clipboard, I watched as Hero and Claudio fell in love. I scowled. They made it look so easy. Lately my relationships seemed more like Beatrice and Benedick: all spar and spat. I drew a lopsided heart and struck a jagged lightning bolt through it.

Lately, I’d been avoiding Valerie as studiously as I’d been avoiding Jason, but for different reasons. The guys from Zero Hour seemed to be everywhere. They had invited Valerie into their inner circle, and she spent all her time making out with V or laughing at one of Tony’s stories or listening rapturously to Zo’s latest lyrics. I saw her at the Dungeon a couple of times and I thought she looked different—older somehow. There seemed to be a sharper edge around her now. Groupie-Valerie hardly resembled friend-Valerie anymore. I missed hanging out with my friend, but it was clear she wasn’t missing me. Zero Hour had written some new songs, and she obviously preferred to stay with them during their practices rather than do anything else.