White is for Magic (3 page)

"You weren't down there earlier, were you?"

"Who wants to know?" PJ asks, puckering up at me.

"We just got here a few minutes ago," Chad says. "Calm down. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that people shouldn't be allowed to just break into campus buildings whenever they feel like it. How were you guys even able to make it over here from your dorm? Isn't campus police doing their job?"

"Puh-leeze,"
PJ says. "When the Dunkies shuts down at midnight, so do they."

"Relax." Chad rubs my back to soothe me. "You're gonna wake everybody up."

"It's just way too easy for people to sneak into this place. You'd think at a prep school dorm there'd be a lot more . . . safety"

"I've got some safety right here." PJ rustles in his jacket pocket.

"Look," Chad begins, "I'm sorry we scared you. I wasn't thinking.
Obviously
I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to see you." He pries the umbrella from my fingers and deposits it in the holder by the entrance.

21

"I think I'm going crazy," I say.

"Crazy for me, I hope." He smiles and wraps me up in his arms. And he smells so good, like cinnamon mixed in hot apple cider, making it way too difficult to sustain anger. I run my fingers though his sandy-blond hair and burrow my nose into the collar of his jacket.

"I think I'm gonna puke," PJ says. "This is way too sweet tart for me. Where's
my
squeeze?" PJ

thumps his hand over his heart, enabling me to catch a glimpse of the tiny ladybugs he's got painted across his black-polished fingernails.

"She's not exactly your squeeze anymore," I say, breaking the embrace.

"Don't let her snooty, standoffish routine pull the fleece over your eyes, little one. The girl absolutely gummies me." PJ runs his palm over the three-inch plum-purple spikes of his hair and then saunters off to prey on Amber in our room.

Meanwhile, Chad and I move into the common area and squeeze into the cushy love seat.

"You shouldn't be here, you know," I say. "We're gonna get suspended."

"Only if we get caught." He nuzzles his forehead against mine, making me almost forget that Keegan's door is just down the hall. It's just that he looks so good. His greenyblue eyes are framed by wire-rimmed glasses. A cuddly cotton sweatshirt fits snugly across his chest. An off-center smile curls up to the left.

"What are you even doing up?" I ask.

"Drea called me."

22

"She
did?
When?"

"Yeah," he says.
"A
little while ago. It's no big deal. She was just calling to ask me a question abouit the pre-calc test we're having today, and then she told rne how you got spooked earlier--

something about someone scaring you in the boiler room?. . . Anyway, I thought I'd just come by to check on you--surprise you. Is that okay?'"

I feign a nod, even though I hate surprises. Even though it irks me that he hasn't figured this out yet. And what's worse is the idea that Drea called him in the first place-- that as soon as I step out of the room she decides to go behind my back with some bogus excuse about studying for a test.

The girl hasn't opened a book since before dinner last night, for god's sake.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"It's okay," I say, taking a deep breath, reminding myself that it's a brand new year.

Chad leans me into his chest and kisses the top of my head. "You need to relax. It's safe here.

Everything's gonna be fine."

"I know," I say, biting my lower lip.

"Donovan's gone. It's time to let it go."

"This has nothing to do with Donovan," I say, sitting up.

"I think it might."

'And J think you're missing the point."

The door to our room opens. It's Drea, her paisley-printed pillow clutched under her arm and her comforter trailing out behind her.

23

"Oh, sorry," she says. "Did I interrupt something? I was just gonna sleep out here. Amber and PJ

won't stop arguing."

"Sorry we woke you," Chad says. "PJ and I should probably get going anyway. I just wanted to check on your roommate here--surprise her with a little after-hours visit."

"That's
so
sweet," Drea squeals.

"I
thought so," he says. "Anyway, I don't want you guys to get in trouble."

"No," Drea says. "It's fine. I'll just sleep out in the lobby." She lets out a long-winded sigh and then makes her way in that direction, her perfect pout matching her even more perfect Victoria's Secret supermodel legs, making me want to shove her out the door completely. I know she knows what she's doing. And I also know it's no mistake that she came out here dressed like
that.

"I'll call you later." Chad kisses my cheek granny-style before nabbing PJ from our room.

"Ciao for now, my little brown cow," PJ says to me. 'And, next time, ix-nay on the scary oovies-may"

"Huh?"

"The scary movies . . ." he clarifies, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Just say no." He hums a few notes from the theme song to
Halloween,
blows me a kiss, and then makes his exit with Chad.

"Well, I guess I can go back to bed now," Drea says. She smiles at me, making me almost want to pick out her teeth one by one. But since my fuming is still focused on 24

Chad--and on campus security's inability to do its job after everything that's happened at this stupid campus--I decide to spare her and, instead, check out the window in the boiler room for myself.

25

The door to the boiler room is open a crack--most likely from Chad and PJ's visit. I leave it open completely and click on the stairwell light. The sudden burst from the light-bulb, dangling just overhead, stings my eyes and causes my head to start throbbing again. I make my way down the creaky stairs, telling myself that I'm not afraid, that if the window is open, I'll simply close it and lock it back up.

26

I reach the bottom of the stairs and take a deep breath. That's when I sense it, when I feel it.

Something isn't right. I reach for the pull chain overhead and tug it firmly to click on the lights.

The long and narrow fluorescent strips glare down from the unfinished ceiling, lighting the entire boiler room.

The back of my neck turns cold and a chill runs down my shoulders. I look around, in all corners of the room, to be sure I'm alone. There are several desks stacked up against the wall. I move closer, trying to angle my glance to see if someone might be hiding behind them. I ball my hands into fists in an effort to prepare myself for the worst. But it's just empty behind there--no one. I let out a breath, loosening the binds in my chest, and move toward the water tank--toward the window.

As I get closer, I can feel a coolness, a subtle breeze that pats along my arms and over my shoulders. It's the breeze filtering in through the window crack. I move behind the water tank and feel my entire body freeze over. The open window is in full view now. But even more alarming is what's painted across it--the letter M, crudely splattered against the glass in a dark-red color.

Just like in my nightmare.

I feel the door in my heart slam closed, but quickly realize that it's really the door upstairs, the one I entered, the one to the boiler room. And that the stairwell light has been clicked off. I steel myself in place and silently count to ten, mentally preparing myself for what comes next. After several seconds I feel myself take a few steps backward, just staring at the M, fearing I know exactly what it means.

Somehow I'm able to turn away from it, to grab hold of myself and scurry as fast as I can up the stairs, tripping up a couple steps along the way. I fling the door open, hear it bang against the wall, and I run back to the room, slamming and locking the door shut behind me.

"What's going on?" Drea clicks on the light beside her bed.

"Something's happening." My body is trembling all over. I cross my arms in an effort to stop the quake.

"Stace, you're as pale as my ass," Amber says. "What happened?"

"Downstairs," I choke. "On the window--the letter M."

"WhatY'
Amber asks.

"M?" Drea sits up and moves to the edge of her bed.

I nod.

"M-wkflt?" Amber asks. "What are you talking about?"

"M," I say, my voice rising up. "For Maura. For
Murder."

"What?" Drea gasps.

"Why were you down in the boiler room again?" Amber asks.

'Aren't you listening to me?" I grab at the ache in my head.

"Wait," Drea says. She springs from her bed and stands in front of me. "Go slower. Start from the beginning."

"Just come down to the boiler room with me. See for yourself."

Drea wraps an arm around my shoulder and a whimper escapes from my throat. Amber hops out of bed as well and joins us on our trip downstairs.

28

I flick the stairwell light back on--the lights in the downstairs part are still on--and lead Drea and Amber across the cement floor and behind the water tank. And I almost can't believe what I'm seeing--or not seeing. The M is gone.

"The window," I whisper.

"Yeah?" Amber snaps. "You're right, there
is
a window there."

"No," I say, staring at the clear glass.

Amber runs her hands over the window and checks the lock. "It's even locked . . . imagine that."

She turns around to face me.

"No," I say. "It was there--the letter M. And the window was open a crack."

'Are you sure?" Drea asks. She rests her hands on my shoulders, in an effort to calm me, maybe--

to look into my eyes and understand.

I nod, my jaw trembling slightly. It just doesn't make sense.

'And so what if it
was
there?" Amber says. "It's probably been there for months."

"No," I say, taking a step closer to the window. "I would have noticed it before."

"What difference does it make," she says. "It's gone now and, in case you've forgotten,
your
name starts with an
S."

"You don't understand."

"Well, then, make me understand--because right now I'm starting to think you're completely funkified."

I look to Drea. I can see she wants to believe me, and maybe a part of her already does.

29

p

"Forget it," I say, maybe as much for my sake as for hers. I'm not sure she could handle what's been going on inside my head, what I feel in my heart might be happening again--not after last year. "Maybe I just need some sleep."

"That's
it?" Amber's face drops. "What about 'M for Maura? M for Murder?' Have you completely wigged on us?"

"I'm sorry," I say, even though I know the M was there, that it was real. That my nightmare predicted it. I take one last look at the window before turning away to go back upstairs.

30

My day goes by in an absolute blur. After a night packed with enough chaos and conflict to fill up an entire season of daytime drama, my classes seem almost incidental. I mean, how am I supposed to focus on French and astronomy when everything seems to be crumbling to pieces all around me? And yet, if I don't start buckling down, the chances of me getting into a halfway-decent college will be slim to none.

31

That's why I've decided to make an actual attempt at studying tonight. That
and
because I've managed to find myself sleepless once again. It's not that I
can't
sleep; I just don't want to. Every time I feel myself nodding off, I get that sour feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'm going to be sick. So, while Drea and Amber snooze soundly in their beds, I sit out here in the common room, pounding away at my bio notes, hoping the words in bold will somehow cosmically soak into my brain.

Except I can't stop thinking about last night.

My grandmother's white candle resting in my lap, I close my eyes and picture the letter M--red and splattered--the way it appeared against the window glass. I realize that someone could have been playing yet another stupid prank, or maybe it was meant for someone else--some sort of private joke that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Or, per Amber's theory, maybe I really
was
funkified. It's true I was beyond the point of exhaustion last night--or, should I say, the wee hours of this morning. I could have imagined the whole thing. And I know I sometimes dream about things that have little or no relevance to real life.

But I know in my heart none of that is true. I know that marking was there--I felt it; I saw it.

And I know it was meant for me.

I bring the candle up to my nose and whisper the letter M over and over again, hoping the magical elements of the whiteness will help lead me in the right direction. It feels good just holding the candle, having it close to me--its mystery, its mysticism. Almost as if my coming across it so

32

suddenly was my grandmother's way of showing or telling me something.

I reach into my pencil case for a red marker and dip the tip into my mug of water. The red ink begins to filter across the surface in puffy cloudlike shapes, turning the water a slight pinkish color. I move into the pantry and stand in front of the sink. The window above the faucet is similar to the one downstairs in the boiler room. I draw a giant M across it, trying my best to make it look messy, the way it appeared downstairs. The water helps, causing the bright red lines to bleed down the glass. I stare at it--hard-- trying my best to concentrate, hoping the duplication will promote some sort of insight. And still, the words that flash across my mind are the ones I fear the most: "Maura" and "Murder."

I feel my chin quiver. I grab a paper towel to wipe up my mess. The marker lifts quite easily, leaving the glass completely clear. All except for a face--reflecting right at me. I gasp and turn around.

It's Drea.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asks.

I let out my breath. "You scared me."

"Sorry," she says. "What are you doing?"

"Studying."