Mephisto Waltz

a novel by Bridgett Kay Specht

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Copyright  Bridgett Specht, 2012

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Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Sara, for all of your help and encouragement, and to Matt, for your unwavering support.

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Nada te turbe,
nada te espante;
todo se pasa,
Dios no se muda.
La pacientia todo lo alcanza.
Quien a Dios tiene nada la falta:
solo Dios basta.

Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things.
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.

-The Bookmark of St. Theresa of Avila

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Prologue

Even though I was only 16 when it happened, the * death of my brother, Mark, was the death of my childhood. 

The details of that night still invade my mind from time to time, as fresh and raw as yesterday.  If I’m careless enough to close my eyes, I’ll find myself transported back to the evening before it happened- to my old bedroom where I sat on my canopy bed and watched the sheer white curtains as they wafted back and forth in the light breeze of my ceiling fan.  I was trying, in vain, to soothe my mind, and get rid of the feeling of dread that had welled up in my stomach.

The feeling only intensified, though, when my mother came and stood in the doorway, with a haggard look on her usually serene face.

"I'm at my wits end.  Try to talk to him, Miranda; he likes you better than he likes anyone."

I had never seen my mother look that way. She was small and blonde, like Mark and I, and usually appeared to be much younger than her years, but that day I could see the strain on her face, and it aged her.           

She’d been standing in the hallway by Mark’s bedroom for most of the day, trying to get him to unlock the door. Coaxing and threatening in turns, she’d tried every method of dealing with his latest mood swing except the one method that always worked.

“Why don’t you call Aunt Elizabeth?”  I asked.

She shook her head.  “We need to start dealing with him on our own,” she said firmly.     

Aunt Elizabeth, my mother's sister, was a very accomplished pianist as well as a mentor and friend to Mark and me. We went to her house twice a week for piano lessons, but she also taught us about a myriad of other subjects, as well.  She was a temperate influence on Mark, who often experienced mood swings which could be sudden and dangerous.  Most of the time, he was a kind, if somewhat passionate, boy, as fierce in his loyalties as he was earnest in his affection.  Sadly, at other times he would be seized with sudden bouts of depression.  At these times he would retreat to the solace of his room, without speaking or attending school for days on end, and would lash out at anyone who tried to help him.  When he was in such a state, only Aunt Elizabeth was strong enough to handle him, and my parents would often send him to stay with her until the tempest had passed and he was himself again.                            

            I debated whether I should argue with Mother, and insist that we call Aunt Elizabeth, but the look on my mother’s face told me it would be of little use. I obeyed, and went to Mark’s door.

            I knocked.  "Mark, it's Miranda.  Can I talk to you?"

            For a few minutes, there was only silence.  Then, right when I was about to try again, I heard the click of the lock.

            I went inside and shut the door behind me.  The room was a mess, with empty food containers and dirty clothes littering the usually clean floor.  Mark sat on the bed, flipping idly through channels on his TV.

Mark and I were twins, and though we were only fraternal twins; as children, Mark and I looked very much alike, both with large, green eyes and wavy blonde hair.  Lately, however, our differences had become more pronounced.  Not only had maturity hardened the lines in Mark’s face, but there was a change in Mark’s eyes that had not occurred in mine.  The vibrancy of his eyes had faded, somehow, and the change unsettled me.

            For a while I sat on his desk chair and watched his pale, impassive eyes reflect the light of the TV.  Then I spoke.

            "Mother's really worried about you, this time.  Won't you at least clean up and come downstairs for dinner?"

            He flipped a few more channels, and then said, "What's the point?"

            "Well," I considered, "it would make Mother happy.  She doesn’t look very well; we should try to help her.  Plus, you must be hungry.  You haven't had a decent meal since Wednesday."

            He put turned the TV off and lay down, turning his back to me.

            "Besides," I continued, "I miss my brother."

            He sighed, and then said something in a muffled voice.

            "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that."

            He turned to face me.  "I said I'm sorry for hurting you.  I don't want to.  You and Mom and Dad and Aunt Lizzy- you all deserve better."

            "Don't worry about us, Mark.  We're fine.  You're the one who's hurting.  We just want to help you."

            "No one can help me," he said resolutely.

            "Are you willing to let us try?"

            He turned over and said nothing. 

            "We all love you, Mark.  Please do this little thing for Mother's sake.  I'm sure that after a bath, and a good dinner, you will feel a lot better."

            He sighed again and sat up, running his hand through his messy hair.

            Encouraged by this, I continued.  "It's summer vacation now. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to have some fun.  We'll do whatever you want to do tomorrow, so cheer up." 

            He managed a wry smile at this, and I left the room, hopeful that I'd succeeded.

#

            That evening, Mark came downstairs, freshly showered and wearing a clean shirt, and sat down with the family for dinner.  Mother had made Mark's favorite foods, and Daddy was lighthearted throughout the meal, telling jokes and being his usual funny, engaging self.  All signs of Mark's dolor seemed to have passed.  He ate his dinner eagerly, laughed at Dad's jokes, and was especially kind to me, helping me clear the table and wash the dishes with none of the usual nagging from Mother.  He and I talked and laughed together as we worked, and when the evening was over he gave me a warm smile and said "Thank you for caring about me, Miranda," before he went to his room for bed.

             I should have gone to sleep that night happy, and with a sense of satisfaction at the newly reclaimed familial peace, but I could not.  Something about Mark's sudden recovery seemed too easy, almost unnaturally so, and It weighed heavily on my mind.

            It was an especially hot night- oppressive and sticky with humidity.  It had been threatening to rain ever since school ended, and even though there were clouds overhead, and a distant rumble of thunder, no rain came.  I was wearing only a light cotton chemise, but my long hair stuck to my neck and I couldn't find a cool place on my pillow.  When my bedside clock read 11:30 I got up to pull my hair up off of my neck and get s. ome water, but it didn't help.  At 11:45 I opened my bedroom window to let in a breeze, but the hot air was maddeningly still.  I sat up, all pretense of trying to sleep gone, and fanned myself with a magazine as I gazed out of the window at the lightning in the distance.

              My window opened to our backyard, which was a lovely place in the daytime.  It sat under the shade of live oak trees and was filled with the fragrance of the honeysuckle that grew in a wild tangle over the fence. That night, however, the honeysuckle hung like a dark and heavy veil, and the trees were motionless in the breezeless night.  The clouds hung heavy and low, and the lightning cast strange shadows resembling ghastly, laughing faces among the clouds and trees.  The dark scene mingled with the troubles I already had on my mind, and I began to feel an oppressive sense of fear.

            Eventually, the lightning subsided, and the night became still.  I began to grow drowsy, but I tried to keep my eyes open, knowing that only nightmares would await me if I attempted sleep. Suddenly, there was a sound down the hall- a loud thump followed by a snap.  I tried to stand, but my vision was clouded with a red miasma as I suffered a bout of vertigo, and I fell back on the bed.  After I regained my senses, I sat frozen with terror. Then I heard a scream and I felt myself running, out of the door and down the hall to Mark's room. 

            My mother was already there- she was the one I'd heard scream.  Before I could enter the room, my father came and blocked the door.  His face was covered in sweat and tears, and his eyes were wide with horror.

            "Don't go in, Miranda.  Don't look.  It's Mark.  He's hung himself."

            He took me in his trembling arms and turned me gently away, but on the other side of the hall I saw a shadow, slowly swinging back and forth.

#

            My memories of the rest of that night are strange and scattered, lacking any cohesion.  My mind could only register vague images and feelings, like the bright red flashing lights of the ambulance, the ticking of the kitchen clock, the sound of voices, or the warmth of the mug of tea Aunt Elizabeth, whom I didn't even remember arriving, had made for me.  I was later told that I didn't speak that night, but merely sat and stared.  By the time my mind began processing things normally we had been left alone to our grief, and the sun had risen.

            The next few days passed in a haze.  I was unab>

            The evening before Mark's funeral I began to see how selfishly absorbed in my own grief I was becoming, so when Aunt Elizabeth left to do some last-minute shopping, and Mother and Daddy were upstairs resting, I went to the kitchen and started dinner.  I was almost finished, and was putting everything on "warm" so it would be hot when Mother and Daddy were ready to eat, when Aunt Elizabeth returned.  She looked approvingly at the finished food on the stove, and sat at the kitchen table with a sigh, betraying how tired the work and grief had really made her.

            "I made spaghetti," I said a bit lamely.  "It's not much, but it's all I really know how to make."

            "That’s just fine, Miranda.  By the way, this is for you."  She handed me one of her shopping bags.  Inside was a black skirt and blazer, cut simply and modestly, which I understood to be for the funeral.

            "I think I recalled correctly that the only suit you own is your school uniform."

            I nodded.  "Thank you for remembering."  I wanted to thank her for more than that, for taking care of the family and being our strength, but the words failed me.  I think she understood, because she gave me a weak smile and patted my hand.

            "Your Mother still has a strong desire to shield you from painful truths, but you aren't a child anymore.  You are a young woman, and you have the ability to handle a great deal more than you're given credit for."  She reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a piece of neatly folded white paper.  "This is addressed to you, too, and I think you have the right to read its contents."

            I took it from her and held it gingerly. "This is the note, isn't it?"

            She nodded, "You don't have to read it, if you don't think you're ready.  Your mother didn't want you to read it at all, until you are older, but I convinced her to let you make the choice. she It's up to you."

            I took a deep breath, and opened the letter.

            Dear Mother, Father, Miranda, and Aunt Lizzy,

            I know that what I am about to do may be incredibly selfish, but I want all of you know that I am thinking of you.  My problems have made me a terrible burden on the family, and I can see how much pain I cause all of you.  I try so hard, every day, to be a better son and a better brother, because I don't want to hurt any of you.  I sometimes feel as though there were a demon inside of me- an uncontrollable darkness- which at times takes control no matter how hard I fight it.  I'm too weak to keep fighting, and I'm too tired to continue, even for your sakes.  You have all fought for me for many years, but you all deserve a chance for normal, happy lives.  Don't cry for my sake, because I won't suffer anymore.  My only thoughts now are for you.  Mother, Dad, Miranda, Aunt Lizzy, I'm sorry for hurting you.  I love you.

            Goodbye,

            Mark

            With this piece of concrete reality in my hands, evidence of the pain Mark had suffered, I finally wept.  As I cried the numbness I'd been feeling faded, and a sharp pain flared up in its place. I could now feel the raw, gaping emptiness Mark's death had left. Aunt Lizzy sat quietly and let me cry a moment, then came and put her arm around me.  Eventually, my sobs subsided, and even though the raw pain was still present, I was left with a sense of relief. I handed Aunt Elizabeth the note again and thanked her.  She gave me another hug, and we got up to set the table.

            "I know you will grow tired of hearing this tomorrow, and what you believe is your choice, but I think you will find a great deal more comfort if you can believe you will be with him again in another life."

            A sudden, bitter thought seized me.  "How could I ever face him again?"  Tears came again, unbidden.  I put the plate I was holding down and covered my face with my hands.

            "Miranda, you can't possibly blame yourself.  How could you have stopped this?"

            "I could see how dangerous his mood swings were getting.  Why was I too stupid to talk to Mother and Daddy about it, and ask them to seek some sort of professional help?"

            "It would have done no good, Miranda. I asked them the same thing myself, and they refused."

            I looked up at Aunt Elizabeth.   I'm certain that shock and anger must have shown on my face, because Aunt Elizabeth quickly said, "You must not blame your parents for this, either.  They did what they thought was best for Mark and for the whole family, at the time.  We humans may know a lot now, but we are still basically ignorant creatures; we can never know all of the consequences of our actions."

            "But still," I whispered, "They knew how bad it was.  He needed help."

            "Your parents worried that a doctor would not understand Mark the way they did, and might criticize their parenting methods.  They also worried that, if they sought professional help, the doctors might put him on drugs that would make him more prone to suicide. There are always unforeseen consequences to any action, and the best any person can do is try to weigh their actions carefully, and, when they do act, to act out of love.  If you were to push away what little family you have left, you would hurt yourself as much as you would hurt them, and it wouldn’t enable you to turn back time and save Mark.  Act out of love, Miranda.  That what your parents do, and that's all I ask of you now."

            I sat at the table for a moment and let her words sink in.  Though they were devoid of comfort for me, I could see reason in them.  When my parents finally came downstairs for dinner, I was able to face them without showing my anger.  I could see the physical signs of their grief, how dark their eyes were from lack of sleep, and how deliberately they ate everything in front of them.  Still, Mother made a special point to praise my mediocre cooking, and Daddy was watching me carefully to make sure I ate enough.  My mind went from compassion, back to anger when I thought of how their pain might have been avoided, but the pain I saw now was too real to dismiss.  Even through their guilt and grief, they were still acting out of love for me.  I knew that the only thing I could do for them was to forgive them, even though I knew it would take time.  I did the dishes that night, even though I had been the one to cook, and let my parents go to bed early.

#

            The next morning was cloudy and hot, again.  The humidity filled me with a languid feeling which, when combined with ththe sadness I already felt, made it difficult to get out of bed.  I forced myself through my morning routine anyway, because it was the day of Mark's funeral.  Attending was the only way I had to honor him.

            I finally went downstairs, dressed and presentable, and quickly ate a small breakfast Aunt Elizabeth had prepared for us.  As we finished, friends and distant family members began to arrive, offering food, flowers, and words of condolence.  We sat quietly in the living room for a while, my mother getting up from time to time to greet some relative I hadn't seen since I was a small child.  At 10:00 we went out into the hot, sticky morning to proceed to the cemetery, to Mark's simple graveside service.

              We were sitting around the grave on metal folding chairs, listening to the pastor, when there was an almost deafening boom of thunder.  The skies opened up, and the rain which had threatened for the past week finally came.  For a moment the pastor was silent, and he looked up toward the tent canvas as if the pitter-patter of rain was the voice of God.  After a few moments, he seemed to remember himself and went on with his sermon.  I wept along with the heavens that day, and though the pastor's sermon was very good, and one of Mark's favorite teachers gave a moving elegy, all I could hear was the voice of the rain. 

            After we had made our way back to the car, I sat next to my mother and stared out of the window at the sky.  The sky was not gray anymore, but silver, and the sun shone through the clouds.  Light danced off of the water droplets and made them sparkle like crystal.

            "Mark always loved the rain."  I sighed under my breath.

            The clouds continued to break apart, and the sun grew brighter.  The raindrops no longer looked like crystal, but like bright, dazzling stars.  For a moment, I was breathless at all the beauty around me.  As I let the beauty sink in, I finally felt a small sense of peace.  The world was still the same as before; there was still beauty in spite of the horror. 

            "He's a part of it all still, isn't he Mother?  He's still a part of everything he once loved."

            I turned to look at her.  For a moment, she looked astonished, and I feared she may be angry with me, but then she grabbed me and held me and wept all the way back to the house.

#

            For the next few weeks, the house was like a mausoleum.  I drifted about aimlessly, not numb like I had been, but without the will or inclination to do anything.  I had never been so long without a companion, and the house was still so full of sadness that I couldn't even attempt to enjoy myself.  Sometimes I would drift to the piano and begin to practice, but my heart wasn't in it, and it depressed me to hear the result.  I could not open a book without remembering Mark's opinion on it, and he'd always had very strong, sometimes scathing opinions when it came to literature.  I hated to sit around and watch television, but I wasn't in the mood for thinking either, so I mostly took long walks and tried to keep my mind occupied by listening to music.   

            One afternoon, after several weeks of living in this maddening way, my parents called me into the living room for what was deemed a "family meeting."  I sat on the sofa between my parents as the setting sun cast its pale orange glow on the far wall.  The russet light gave my parent’s faces a grave look, and I feared that I had done something to make them angry, but Mother smiled wanly and patted my hand. 

            "Darling," she said, "Your Father and I have been talking, and we think that it's time for a bit of a change."

            "Are you firing me?" I asked as a weak attempt at lightening the mood.

            "Oh no, you haven't done anything wrong," she said with a fake laugh.  "I think you've noticed, just like we have, how empty this house feels now, and how full of sad memories."

            "So, we're moving?" I guessed.

            "I'm taking a job with that firm in Texas," Daddy said.  "It's a pretty nice pay raise." he added.

            "And the house is near the gulf.  You like the beach, don't you Miranda?"

            I nodded, not really sure what to say.

            "I know you probably don't want to leave all of your friends here-"

            "What friends?" I interrupted.

            "Don't be silly Miranda, you have friends," Mother said dismissingly. 

            "I really don't," I insisted, "but I don't want to leave Aunt Elizabeth."

            "You can call her any time you want when you have your new cell-phone," Daddy said.

            "We weren't going to tell her until later!" My mother cried.

            "I thought you said a cell phone would cause me to be careless in my schoolwork and rude in public. Is this a bribe to get me to go?" I asked unabashedly.

            My Mother looked sheepish.  "We thought it might soften the blow a little." She admitted.

            I shrugged.  "I don't know how to feel about it, to be honest.  On the one hand, I don't want to leave everything that Mark loved, or to abandon his memory.  But I have to admit that it gets harder to stay here every day.  I think I'd rather go."

#

            So, after the long and tearful goodbyes with Aunt Elizabeth, and a last look at all of the places Mark and I used to hold dear, we packed our belongings and drove south to the peaceful town of San Avila.  We moved into a spacious Victorian home with large bay windows which opened towards a view of the peaceful little avenue. 

            The beauty peace of San Avila seemed almost unreal to me after the ugliness of my loss, but something about walking along the boundless gulf, listening to the music of the gulls, and tasting the salt air, acted as salve on my wounded heart.  I spent all of my time at the beach for the rest of the summer.  I was, unknowingly, strengthening myself for what lay ahead.

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Chapter 1

Clara

The High Priestess

            When I stepped out of my mother’s car into the cool morning air, the circle drive, provided to parents dropping off their kids, was almost empty.  The sidewalk in front of the school’s entrance was filled with teens filing in from the student parking lots.  I almost regretted leaving my convertible at home.  The car had been a gift for Mark and me on our birthday, and I hadn’t touched it since Mark died.

I said goodbye to mother and approached the entrance, keeping my eyes on the sign that read St. Avila Preparatory Academy, and away from the curious stares of my new classmates.  I tugged at my skirt compulsively as I walked.  My new uniform was prettier than my old school uniform, light gray with white trim, with the school crest embroidered in silver and black on the blazer, but the skirt was much shorter than I was used to, and I was very conscious of any wind that happened along.

 The campus at St. Avila Prep was smaller than the one at my old school, but the architecture was much more elegant. It had a large main building which resembled a cathedral, and several smaller buildings built in a Spanish mission style surrounding a well-kept courtyard.  Already, I could see small groups of students sitting together under palm and oak trees, and a group of boys stood in a circle in the middle of the courtyard, kicking a hacky-sack back and forth.  I sat on a bench and opened a book- a rather nice collection of Lord Byron's poems Mark had given me for Christmas- and waited for the first bell.

            Very soon, I became immersed in the verses, and was startled when the bell rang.  I reluctantly put my book away, and made my way to my first class, which was English.  The other students around me were noisily shuffling into their seats, talking and laughing, but I opened my book again and continued reading.  I was just slipping back under the poetry’s spell, when I felt a tug on my hair.

            "Hey, Blondie, are you awake?"

            I looked up to see a smiling, good-natured face with two bright blue eyes framed with bright red hair.  I smiled back sheepishly and closed my book. 

            "I'm sorry, I tend to tune everything out when I read."

            "No problem.  What are you reading, anyway?"  Without asking, the girl took the book from me and looked at the cover.

            "Lord Byron?  I think I've heard of him.  Wasn't he that Nazi guy during WWII?" She asked.

            I suppressed a laugh.  "He was actually a poet- a gothic writer."

            She handed the book back to me.  "Funny, you don't look like a goth. I'll bet you're smart, and that's why you're reading it.  What's your name, anyway?"

            "I'm Miranda, Miranda Rothschild.  What's your name?"

            "I'm Summer Wilde.  I'm glad we’re friends, now.  I need someone smart to help me with English."  I was a bit surprised at the rapidity with which she declared her friendship, but she was a fun and engaging girl, and I enjoyed her company, so I kept talking with her until our teacher arrived and called the class to order.

#

            At lunch, I decided to take advantage of the warm weather and sit on one of the benches outside, but every bench I saw was full.  I was about to go back inside the cafeteria when I heard, "hey, new girl, over here!"

            I turned and saw Summer sitting under a tree and waving wildly at me to join her.  As I approached I saw another girl lounging with her back against the tree and her long, skinny legs sprawled casually out in front of her.  The girl had messy, black hair with bangs that hung carelessly in her wide, brown eyes.  Her face was uncommonly pretty, with its pale, pink rosebud mouth and porcelain complexion.  She smiled timidly as I approached.

            "Hi Miranda. It is Miranda, isn't it?" Summer asked brightly.  "I remember, because it's the name of the girl from that play we had to read last year.   Miranda, this is Clara.  Clara, this is the new girl I was telling you about."

            Clara smiled and murmured a hello.  I said a shy hello in return and sat down on the grass, opening my lunch.  I noticed that Clara was absent- mindedly picking at a slice of pizza in front of her.

            "I want you to eat all of that," Summer said in a motherly  tone. 

            "Yes Ma'am," Clara replied bemusedly.  She picked up the pizza and took a bite.

            "So, Miranda, when did you move here?" Summer asked.

            "This summer," I replied.  "We moved here after- “ I stopped myself, deciding that Mark’s death was too personal a topic for a first meeting, “when my dad got a new job." 

            "Do you like it here?"  Clara asked. 

            "I love it."  I replied.  "I love living near the ocean, and I love all of the quaint little shops downtown."

            "The tourist traps," Summer said, rolling her eyes.  "Their charms wear off very fast."

            "I like some of the shops in the winter, when the tourists are gone," Clara said.  "Everything is more peaceful here in the winter."

            "I've always been fond of the springtime, myself.  I love the rain," I replied.

            "But nothing compares to a quiet winter's day, when everything is covered in a grey mist.” Clara responded, leaning against the tree and closing her eyes as if she were seeing the image in her mind.   

            "Doesn't anyone like summer best?"  Summer asked with a pout. "Oh look, here come the guys," she said, suddenly distracted, and pointed to two boys who were approaching.

            One of the boys was tall, with dark hair and coal black eyes.  The other was shorter and somewhat pudgier, with sandy hair and a round face. 

            The shorter boy plopped down on the ground grinned at Clara.  "The beach house is officially available Friday night.  Will you come?"

            I was appalled at the thought that Clara and this boy might be dating.  She seemed to be completely out of his league.

"I don't know if I can go," she replied, looking down at tfonhe ground. 

            "You have to go, Clara.  Everyone important will be at the party. I'm going," Summer responded.  I felt relieved that the boy was talking about a party, instead of a tryst like I'd originally assumed.  I must have sighed at the thought, because the taller boy turned his attention to me.

            "I'm sorry, my friend is really rude for ignoring you like that,” he said.  "I'm Jason, and this is Chad.  What's your name?"

            "I'm not rude." Chad interrupted.  "She's invited to the party, too.  The more cute girls who show up, the better!"

            I blushed a little at this.  I'd never been called cute by anyone but my mother, before.

            "You're inviting her to a party, and you don't even know her name," Jason scolded, hitting Chad on the back of the head.  "I'm sorry," he said, turning back to me. "Please continue."

            "I'm Miranda."  I said.  "I moved here this summer."

            "I'm very pleased to meet you, Miranda."  Chad said in an exaggeratedly polite manner, bowing to me.  I laughed, and he seemed heartened by my response. "Are you coming, though?  Jason and I are in a band called Candy Mountain, and we'll be playing.  We rock. "

            "With a name like 'Candy Mountain' you'd pretty much have to."  I quipped.         

            "Miranda and Clara are both coming." Summer answered for me.  "Give me your phone number, Miranda, so I can call you later and tell you how to get to the beach house."

            I didn't have my number memorized yet, so I took out my phone to look up the number.  When I had given her my number, Summer took my phone from me and began to program her number into it.

            "You don't have a lot of numbers in here." she said.  "Here, Clara, put yours in, too."

            As Clara fiddled with the phone, Summer stood up and started brushing Clara's hair.  Clara didn't seem to mind her forwardness.  In fact, she said, "Can you braid it for me?"

            Summer played around with her hair a bit, and then sighed.  "I can't do anything with all of these layers."

            "I can braid pretty well."  I offered. 

            "Go ahead; I give up,” Summer said, standing and allowing me to take her place.

            Clara’s hair, as carelessly tangled as it was, was soft and healthy, and as I brushed it, It shone in the sunlight with an almost blue sheen.  I brushed her hair slowly, and tried my best not to pull. Clara sat very still, and even when I did pull, she did not complain.

            "Why do girls always groom each other?" Jason wondered out loud.

            "It almost makes me want to be a girl, if that meant I could brush Clara's hair," Chad sighed.

            "Or stand a chance with her at all, for that matter," Jason said.

            Summer caught the puzzled look on my face, and sighed.  "I guess you might as well tell her, Clara.  She'll find out soon anyway, especially with loudmouth Jason around."

            "I don't mind.  It isn’t a secret," Clara said, even though she looked a bit like she did mind. She tilted her head back slightly to look at me. "I'm gay."

            "Oh," I replied, not really knowing what else to say to such a revelation.  I bent over to look for a rubber band in my purse.

            "Is that a problem?"  Chad asked in a defensive tone.

            "No, it's isn't."  I said decidedly, and wrapped the rubber band around the end of Clara's braid.

            Clara turned around and smiled at me.  "Thanks- for braiding my hair, I mean."

            "No problem."  I replied, smiling back.  Clara seemed like a very sweet girl, and I resolved to judge her based on that fact, and nothing more.

< /> 

#

              It wasn't an extremely long walk, and the weather was mild, so I decided to walk home that afternoon.  When I got home and opened the kitchen door, I was greeted by the scent of freshly baked cookies.  I found my mother at the kitchen counter, carefully cutting out stars from cookie dough as the first batches cooled on the cooling racks.  She looked up and smiled.

            "Hello, Miranda.  You may have two cookies.  The rest are for the church choir fundraiser."  Mother said, gesturing toward the cooling rack.

            "How was your first day at school?" she asked.

            "It was fun."  I replied.  "I met some nice people.  A rather insane girl named Summer adopted me into her clique."

            "Insane?" my mother asked, laughing.

            "Well, she's a very nice girl, just very high energy.  She's insane in a good way.  She's supposed to call me later about a party on Friday."

            "I'm glad you've hit it off so well."  My mother said, looking relieved, which belied her conviction that I’d had friends at my old school.

            "I'm glad, too.  I was afraid I would be the school nerd again."

            "You aren't a nerd."  Mother retorted.  "You and Mark always did things your own way.  The kids at your old school just weren't very accepting."

            "This school definitely seems more accepting.  I even met one girl who is gay."  I blurted out.

            Mother looked up from the cookies, gaping. "Is she one of the seniors?"

            "No, she's a junior, like me."

            Mother narrowed her eyes and she shook her head in disapproval.  "She's probably just experimenting while she's in High School.  She's too young to make decisions like that about her sexuality."

            "Is 16 really too young to know?"  I wondered aloud.

            "You're 16, Miranda, and you've never even had a boyfriend," Mother answered.

            "You always say I’m a late bloomer," I said.  "Most kids my age have dated."

            "Even so," Mother said, "16 is too young to throw your life away on a destructive lifestyle like that.  This girl, if she continues down this path, will never be able to have children, or even get married.  The important thing when you're young is to learn to master your impulses and do what's right."

            "I thought you might say something like that."  I said, upset by her strong reaction.  "Well, in any case, my only point was that she seemed to have plenty of friends."

            "I just hope her friends care enough about her to encourage her to get out of that lifestyle," Mother said.

#

            That night, after I finished my homework, I went online and did some research about homosexuality, trying to determine whether Mother’s fears were justified. I tried to remain detached and intellectual with my research, but this was not an easy task.  I went to sleep early that night, but it was a fitful sleep.  My mind was whirling with all of the conflicting views I had studied that evening, and I felt as though I was lost in a fog.  At least, I must have been in a fog, since everywhere I looked was covered in a white, swirling mist.  I groped around myself, in all directions, but my hands were grasping at empty air.  I walked forward, afraid of what I might find, yet compelled to find something more substantial than mist. After a time, I became aware that Clarmesa was walking beside me, also lost in the mist.  She soon stopped and pointed.  "There's a light up ahead."

            We walked together toward the brightness, but the closer we got, the hotter the brightness became.  Suddenly I could see that Clara was not walking forward, but being dragged by a cord I could see wrapped around her neck.  I tried to grab the cord to untie it, but it burned as hot as the flames she was being dragged toward.

            Mark came out of the mist and grabbed my hand, "Save her, Miranda. I'm begging you."

            I reached out to touch Mark, but he burned too, and suddenly all I could see surrounding me was not mist, but fire.

            I woke in the cool air of my bedroom, covered in sweat.

#

            On Friday afternoon I was sitting at the kitchen table, starting on my weekend homework and waiting for Summer to call, when Daddy stuck his head from behind the door.  "A couple of supermodels are here to see you." 

            "Supermodels?" I asked, puzzled.

            "Yeah, a redhead and a tall, skinny brunette," he said, shrugging.

            "Oh, you must mean Summer and Clara." 

            "They're in high school?" he said incredulously.

            "Of course they are."  I said, and sighed.  "Not everyone is a munchkin like me."

 I had always been small for my age, and my face was round, freckled, and childish as well, but I’d never really grasped how much older the other girls at school looked.  I tried to push that thought from my head as I follo">

            Summer and Clara were both there, examining some of the family portraits on the wall.  My self-consciousness returned when I saw they had both already changed out of their school uniforms and were dressed for the party.  Summer was wearing a yellow gingham-print sundress, and Clara looked especially pretty in a white lace baby-doll top and jeans.  I was already beginning to feel unworthy to be in their presence when Summer turned around and said,         "You aren't going to wear your uniform to the beach-house, are you?"

            I could feel myself blush.  "Of course I’m not.  I thought you were going to call me before coming over.  I was going to ask you what I should wear."

            "You said you had already called," Clara said to Summer.

            "I must have forgotten."  Summer said brightly, completely unabashed.  She came over and grabbed my hand.  "Show me where your room is so we can pick out an outfit."

            As I led Summer and Clara up the winding staircase, I asked, "How did you get my address?"

            "I work as an office aide at school, seventh period," Summer said.

            "I don't think you're supposed to look at student records."  Clara said, with an air of amused tolerance.  Summer just shrugged.

            We stepped into my room, which was a large, airy bedroom decorated in white and light blue.  A queen-size canopy bed with white drapes stood in the far corner, close to a bay window through which you could barely make out a strip of blue sea behind the rows of houses.  I was glad I had cleaned my room that morning; Clara and Summer both looked impressed.

            "My clean clothes are in the armoire."  I said.  "The closet is mostly full of boxes I haven't unpacked."

            "Everything is so neat."  Summer said as she opened the doors on the armoire.  "I keep most of my clothes in several piles on the floor: clean, passable, and rank."

            We went through my clothes, all of which seemed to be childish and old-fashioned compared with what Summer and Clara were wearing.  Summer only had compliments for them, though, and declared almost every outfit she saw "cute."  She completely took over the task oTimf dressing me while Clara sat on the bed, looking at the pile of stuffed animals resting against the pillows.  She picked up one, a large, flop-eared bunny with a giant blue ribbon around his neck, and gave him a light kiss on the nose.

 "This one's my favorite.  He's adorable."

            My first impulse was to tell Clara that she could have him, but I couldn't quite make the words come out of my mouth.  I sat awkwardly, watching her smooth down the rabbit's ears and straighten his ribbon, until Summer squealed.

            "This one!" She held up a pink skirt, trimmed with white eyelet lace, and a white shirt with puffed sleeves and a peter-pan collar.  It was one of my favorites, but it looked extremely childish and I told Summer so, but Summer shook her head stubbornly.

            "I don't care.  It suits you perfectly."

            "So, you're saying I look childish, too?"  I asked, not quite keeping an edge of annoyance out of my voice.

            "Of course you do, but it's cute," she said cheerfully.  "Put this on, and I'll pick out a bathing suit for you."

            I sighed and took the outfit, vaguely wondering why I was obeying this girl as if she were my mother.  I went into the bathroom to change, and spent a few moments looking at myself in the full-length mirror which hung on the door.  The outfit was cute, but I couldn't help but notice that the way the skirt fell on my knee made me look even shorter than I was.  My nose had become extremely freckled over the summer, and I tried to cover it with loose powder, but I realized that the powder would just wash off if we went swimming.

            "Who are you kidding?"  I asked myself.  "You could be in elementary school."

            When I emerged from the bathroom, though, Summer gushed.  "Perfect!" she exclaimed.  "You are going to have a boyfriend within two weeks; I guarantee it."

            I looked to Clara, who was still sitting on the bed clutching the rabbit on her lap, for her approval.  She looked away as soon as my eyes met hers, placed the rabbit back against the pillows, her expression inscrutable.

            Summer handed me the bathing suit she'd picked out, and I stuffed it, along with a towel, in my beach bag, and then headed downstairs.

            My mother was waiting for us as we descended.  "You girls all look very nice.  Miranda, I want you to have fun, but be home by 10:30.  Call me if your plans change.  Will you need to borrow the car?"

            "If I may," I said, grateful she understood why I wasn't driving my own. 

            "Of course you may," she smiled.  "Have fun, girls."

            "Thanks, Mrs. Rothschild," Summer said politely, though when we were out of earshot I heard her mumble, "10:30 on a Friday?"

#

            I took my mother's tan sedan and followed Summer's tiny electric-blue convertible.  It wasn't a long before we pulled into a long driveway near a small penthouse nestled behind some dunes.  When I got nearer the faded blue house, I could see an old and broken sign reading, "The Lazy G_ ll inn."

            Summer led us through the front door and we found ourselves in a spacious lobby, littered with ancient looking sofas and chairs, and with an assortment of musical instruments and amplifiers against the far wall.  Jason was sitting on a particularly old and duct-taped sofa, tuning a guitar, while Chad sat at a dilapidated bar drinking a coke.

            "Great, you came early!"  Chad said to us, though looking only at Clara.  "Sit down, have a drink, chill."

            Summer and Clara sat on the only other available barstools, leaving me to sit on one of the couches.  I sat primly on the edge of one of the least threadbare, which was quite near Jason.  He smiled as I sat, and began to play a few notes in a blues tune, looking me in the eyes and moving his head as if he were speaking.  I didn’t know what to say, but Summer spared me the need.

            "I'm bored.  Let's go swimming.  No one else is coming until after 7:00," She sighed.

            Everyone agreed, and Summer, Clara and I went into the girl's bathroom to change.  "No peeking," Summer told Chad quite seriously as we went.

            "Is it likely he’ll peek?" I asked Clara in a low voice.

            "Not really," she shrugged.  "Summer caught him once and gave him a bloody nose.  He won’t try again."

            I didn't feel very reassured, but the bathroom had several stalls, and I chose one that was close to the wall and had no visible cracks or holes.  I changed quickly, threw on a sarong, and braided my hair as quickly as I could.  Clara threw an oversized t-shirt over her bathing suit, but Summer went out in nothing but a small bikini and flip-flops, looking completely at ease with herself.

            "You aren't going to swim in that, are you?"  Chad asked me, frowning at my sarong.  I felt myself blush.

            "It's just a cover-up," Summer told him. "Stop being such a perv."

            "It's bad enough that Clara always wears that t-shirt.  I don't know what I'd do without you, Summer."

            "You'd survive," she replied, rolling her eyes. 

            Chad and Jason grabbed a couple of boogie boards from the back porch, and then we all made our way down a small, overgrown path through the dunes.  As we passed the last of the tangled scrub, the path opened up to a pristine stretch of sand, which shone in the afternoon sun.  The sky above was light blue, and filled with clouds which billowed into a huge tower of white.  The sea was a much deeper blue, and cream-colored foam adorned the dancing waves.   I didn't have much time to drink in the beauty, because Jason grabbed my hand and dragged me forward, after the others.

 "Come on, Miranda.  I'll teach you how to boogie board."

            Boogie boarding was easier than it looked.  As soon as I caught my first wave, I was flying, skimming over the water with ease.  Jason kept giving me tips even after I'd gotten the hang of it, and held the board for me as we waited for a suitable wave.  Summer caught my eye and gave me a knowing wink.

            We hadn't been in the water long before the sky began to darked an, and I looked up to see that the billowing white clouds had become dark and ominous.  We swam to shore, but sat on the beach for a while, watching the storm build.  Everything at first was quiet and still, but soon a small gust of wind came along, followed by stronger, more sudden gusts that whipped my hair back from my face.  The wind eventually overcame the stillness and whipped the waves into white froth, dancing madly against the grey sea.

            A low rumble of thunder drew my attention to the sky, and I looked up to see lightning crackle and leap within the clouds.  On my right side, Clara sighed, and when I looked at her, she seemed completely enrapt, her wide eyes greedily drinking in every detail of the scene before us. 

            "It's like all of those old stories.  While the sea is whipped into a frenzy, the beautiful sirens sit on the shore, luring men to their deaths."  Chad gestured to Clara, Summer and I.  

            "They do make a rather complete picture," Jason replied, "a fiery redhead, a statuesque brunette, and an alluring blonde, sitting together like the three graces."

            "The three graces?" asked Summer.

            "Alluring?"  I asked incredulously at the same time.

            Jason ignored Summer and answered me.  "You are very alluring."

            I laughed.  "Don't make fun of me.  I know what I am."

            "Then, what are you?"  Clara asked, laying back on the sand and looking up at the clouds.

            "I'm cute."  I said, echoing Summer from earlier.  "I’m not exactly hideous, but certainly not alluring.  I’m not a dangerous siren or one of the graces.  I'm a short schoolgirl."

            Everyone laughed.  Then Jason said, "You can be both cute and alluring.  Not many people can pull it off, but you can."

            I didn't like the way the conversation was going, or how forward Jason was being with me, and was about to say so when Summer said, "you guys only think of girls.  I want to watch the storm.  Can't you just sit back and appreciate the view?"

            "We are." Jason and Cha="3d said at the same time, and Clara laughed while Summer pretended to pout.

            The skies finally opened up, and we had to run back to the beach house.

#

            When we got back, the other band members had arrived and were tuning their instruments, and a few girls were sitting on one of the couches, talking and giggling together.  Summer introduced me to the band; Brad was the bassist, who was a senior at the public high school, and Chase was the singer and keyboardist, who had also gone to the public high school but had recently graduated.  Summer threw her sundress back over her swimsuit and sat talking with the girls on the couch, who were the band mates' girlfriends, while Clara and I went to the bathroom to change and brush our hair.  When we returned, the whole band had assembled and other people, some I recognized from school and some that must have been from the public high school, began to arrive.  I was about to say hello to a rather tall boy I knew from my Latin class when Clara pulled me aside.

            "Can we go back into the front hallway?  The band is about to start and they can get really loud."

            I nodded- I already could barely hear over all of the people anyway- and we went back into the hallway.  

            Clara was right about the volume.  The band was very loud, and had an industrial sound which I liked, despite my usually conservative musical tastes.  It wasn't the type of music I would listen to at home, but at a party on a Friday night they were enjoyable. They played two songs very well, but just as people were starting to dance Brad lost the rhythm and stopped playing.  He accused Chad of making him mess up, and as they argued people began to wander off in groups.

            Summer stopped dancing and came over to Clara and me. "Don't worry, they do this all the time.  People will come back when they start playing again."

            "Summer, I'm not feeling very well, can you take me home?"  Clara asked.  She did indeed look pale, and she bit her lip as she looked pleadingly at Summer.

            "But it's so early, and that guy I've had my eye on from the public school is here.  I think he finally broke up with that little-"

            "Yes, but he's here."  Clara said cryptically.

            "I can take you home, if you like."  I said.

            "Really, you don't mind?" Clara sighed with relief.

            "Don't you want to stay and listen?"  Summer asked, looking disappointed.

            "I like the music, but I'm not used to large groups of people.  If you're having fun, you should stay, though," I replied.

            Summer sighed.  "Well, I guess you weren't going to stay very late anyway, with that 10:30 curfew of yours.  I guess I'll see you later." 

Summer didn't seem to be too lost without Clara and me.  When I looked back she was already the center of attention in a nice sized group, telling some funny story.

            Outside the rain had become a light drizzle, and it was warm and humid inside the car.  Clara ran her hands through her still-damp hair.  "Thanks for rescuing me.  I hate parties anyway, but I especially couldn't stand being at the same one as David."  She said the name with utter contempt.

            "Do you mean David Andersen, from Latin?" I asked, remembering the boy I'd been about to talk to when she'd pulled me into the hallway.  "He seems nice enough."

            "Yes, he does seem nice.  It's too bad he's an evil bastard in reality," she said, with more spite than I would have believed someone like her capable of.  Then she stopped and smiled in a sad, tentative way.  "I'm sorry; you don't know what happened between us.  It's a long and boring story, and I've already ruined your evening."

            "Don't be sorry.  I don't really like parties that much, either," I lied.  "Do you want to go home?"

            "Not really, but I don't want to stay there.  Do you want to go to the bookstore downtown?  I'd like to see if they have an art book I’ve been waiting for."

            I smiled, "that sounds nice.  I'll call my mother before we go.  She's really strict about knowing where I am."

            I called Mother, and she laughed.  “Miranda, you’re the only teenager I know who would leave a party to go to a bookstore.”

#

            The bookstore was a little nook downtown crammed with books, and with a late-night cafe in front called "Le Chat Jolie."  We spent a while looking at the books; she was in the art section while I perused the classics, and then we took our collected spoils into the café to read.

            We chose a table in the far corner of the café, next to the window and away from the noise of a caffeine-fueled argument which was brewing in the midst of a group of college students.  We ordered tea and sandwiches, and sat in companionable silence as we waited for them to arrive.

 Clara stared out of the window, watching the rain splatter against the glass.  The corner in which we sat was dark, but light from the streetlamp outside shone through the window and onto Clara’s face, bathing her serene countenance in pale light, making her seem like a Madonna.  

              I was content to sit and watch Clara, but after a time, she turned to me and spoke.

            “You’ve survived your first week at St. Avila prep.  What do you think, so far?” 

            "So far, it's nice," I replied.  "I'm glad I'm actually making friends this term.  I was a total pariah at my last school."

            Clara raised her eyebrows, looking genuinely surprised.  "Why would that be?  I mean, you're nice, you seem relatively normal, and- even though it shouldn’t matter- you're pretty.  You should have had plenty of friends."

I decided not to argue with her assessment of my looks, though I could feel myself blush.

"I guess I'm just a nerd.  I'm a bookworm, I'm short enough to be in junior high, and people thought-" I stopped myself before I said people had thought my brother was odd, "people thought I was odd."

            Clara gave me a knowing smirk.  "You are a tiny bit odd, but Summer uses her considerable power to protect us oddballs."

            "I know that I fall under the ‘oddball’ category," I said, “but why do you include yourself?”

            "You mean, aside from the fact that I’m the only openly gay student in a conservative Texas prep school?" she laughed.

            “I see your point, but no one at school seems to mind that you’re gay,” I said.

            “Summer’s my friend, so they wouldn’t dare to say anything,” Clara said.  “Plus, they’ve had time to get used to me, since I was outed my freshman year.”   

            "Your freshman year?" I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.  “I’m sorry.  I know it’s none of my business.”

            “Don’t worry,” she said indulgently.  “I had only just turned 15, and you’re right; I wasn’t ready to handle everything that happened to me.

                        "After spring break, that year, everyone in the group Summer and I ran around with started pairing off.  David and I started dating, not because I liked David or wanted to date him, but because he liked me and all of our friends seemed to think we were perfect together.  I was trying to be normal, so I went along.  He was fun to be with, so everything went well until David decided he wanted to get more physical."

            We were interrupted, then, by the waitress, who brought our tea and sandwiches.  When the waitress left, I could see Clara watching my face intently, as though gaging whether it was safe to continue.  I gave a small, encouraging smile, and she smiled back and continued.

            "Well, of course I kept putting him off, saying that I was too young, and that I wasn't ready.  He backed off at first, but he started to become jealous and possessive.  He thought I liked another guy, and wouldn't believe that there was any other reason I wasn't interested in having sex.  He started pressuring me again, and one night he became frightening- you might even say abusive.  He started yelling at me, demanding to know who the other guy was.  I was scared, anyead I let it slip that I did like someone else.  He hit me. It was just a slap across the face, but it woke me out of my fear, and made me angry.  I blurted out that I liked Amber Cooper, that I was gay, and that I never wanted to see him again."

I could feel my face go warm with anger, and part of me wished David had been present, so I could slap him.  I took a deep breath to calm myself and let her go on.

            "Needless to say, he didn't take this news very well.  The next day at school, everyone knew what I'd told him.  It was awful. Someone took a magic marker and wrote "dyke" all over my locker and my gym clothes- that took weeks to come out- and people I didn't even know would come up to me and tell me I was going to hell.  A couple of idiots asked me if they could 'watch.'  Amber wouldn't even speak to me anymore, and she had been one of my best friends.  Summer surprised me, though.  She sat with me at lunch, and acted like nothing had ever happened.  Summer had always been more popular than Amber and David put together, so eventually people stopped picking on me. 

            "Chad surprised me, too.  I’d known he’d had a crush on me since elementary school, but he remained friends with me, and I was grateful to have him as my friend.  Summer found out that he could play drums, and introduced him to Jason, who used to just sit around by himself, and they started the band.  Now no one is really left out at school, anymore.  If they are, Summer either finds out where they'd fit in best, or befriends them herself."

            I was able to fill in the rest of the story.  Summer probably saw me on the first day- the new girl with her nose buried in a book of old poetry- and decided I would need her friendship. I didn't mind.  In fact, I was fonder of Summer because of the revelation.  It showed the kindness behind her flighty facade.

            Clara stopped speaking, and looked outside at the rain again.  Her expression had become dark, so I steered the conversation toward more cheerful topics.  I asked Clara if she had found the art book she’d been looking for, and her eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she discussed it.

            She flipped to a page and pushed the book toward me.  It was a drawing of a fantasy setting, with a girl, eyes closed, sitting under a crescent moon.  Despite the fact that it was a black-and-white drawing, the image seemed to almost shimmer. The trees in the background, the girl's hair, and her dress all had airy sense of movement.

            "I love this artist.  I love how she makes everything seem so light and ethereal.  I hope to be able to do that, some day."

            "You're an artist, too."  I wasn’t surprised at all by the revelation.

"I hope to be.  I love art and photography.  I think my love of art is what got me through the difficult times my freshman year."

 She took the book back and looked at mine.  "Robespierre?"

            "The French Revolution," I said.  "I love History."

            "There’s a new movie on DVD, about the French revolution.  It’s gotten good reviews.  I’ve wanted to see it forever.”  Clara said.

            “We should rent it, then.” I said.  “Come over to my house, tomorrow.  I should be done with my piano lesson at 11:00.”

            “I’d like that,” she said.

facageb

Chapter 2

Pictures

Temperance

            The next morning, I sat at the piano, and for the first time since Mark died, I didn’t feel out of place. All of my petty thoughts were gone and all I thought of was the music.  I felt it flow though my body as I slowly rocked to the rhythm, let it flow out of my fingers which still moved with agility, and felt it reverberate through the metal and wood, where it vibrated pleasantly.  I was so completely absorbed in the feel and the sound that I gasped and almost fell off the bench when Mr. Boscov, my new piano teacher, tapped my shoulder.

            "I think that's enough for me to get a general idea of your level," he said with a serious voice, but a pleased look in his eye.

            I could feel myself blush.  "That's one of my favorite pieces."

            "It's one of mine, as well," He said.  "You are a very technical pianist.  Chopin's Etudes suit you."

            I smiled at the compliment, but he frowned.  "You play a lghtittle too technically.  You play like quite a talented child with the brains to learn and the patience to practice, but you lack depth and maturity."

            He ruffled through a notebook for a moment, and then placed some sheet music in front of me.  "Are you up for a challenge?"

            I cringed, "on our first day?"

            He laughed and shook his head.  "You like to play it safe, don't you?  In that case, I should definitely shake things up."  He pointed at the title, which read Mephisto Waltz no.1, Franz Liszt.

            "It's all about Madness and seduction.  It's a very challenging piece, even for the most advanced pianists."

            I laughed.  "There's no way I can play this.  I don't know anything about madness or seduction."

            "Your Aunt told me you were 16.  I thought that's all there was at your age."

            I shrugged.

            "Play," he commanded.

            I muddled my way through the first few bars before he stopped me.

            "Take the tempo a bit faster, and be more aggressive.  Like this," he demonstrated.

            I tried again, but I felt like I was just banging my way through the notes; they refused to find any fluidity.  After some more fumbling I got frustrated.  "Maybe I should just stick to the Chopin."

            "It isn't as bad as all that.  Perhaps we should ask your friend what she thinks."

            I spun around and was very surprised to see Clara sitting on the couch behind me.  She was sitting with her feet curled underneath her, as though she’d been settled there for quite a while.

            "When did you come in?"  I wondered, bewildered.

ld j fa           "When you were banging on the keys, earlier," Mr. Boscov answered.

            I laughed.  "I did warn you."

            "You should be able to play this, as long as you keep practicing, and try for a little of the madness we discussed," he said.

            "I prefer temperance," I murmured.

            "Temperance is what I teach," he said.  "Tell me, is relying too heavily on logic less excessive than relying too heavily on passion?  The latter leads to madness, certainly, but the former leads to the death of the soul.  You don't want to let the soul die before it's been born- musically speaking of course."

            His words were, in themselves, passionate, but his demeanor was far from serious.  His eyes sparkled, and he laughed heartily.

            "I'll see you Wednesday.  Muddle through this, somehow."  He turned then to Clara.  "It was good to meet you, my dear.  You girls enjoy yourselves; that’s the purpose of youth."

            Clara laughed as he left.  "He's a very interesting person."

            "That's an understatement."  I replied, laughing along with her.  "I'm sorry you had to hear that, in any case.  I'd much rather you heard me play the Chopin piece, earlier.  The man's insane if he ever expects me to play Mephisto Waltz."

            She shook her head, her eyes twinkling with the same bemusement she usually reserved for Summer, and said, "Could you play the Chopin for me?"

            I turned to the piano again, without replying, and began to play.  I let myself become absorbed in the music once again, and soon I forgot that Clara was listening.  I thought of nothing but the notes I played, which blended together, becoming streaks of dancing color in the bright morning light.

            When I finished, there was no response, only awkward silence.  I turned to Clara and saw her sitting with her eyes closed.

            "Um, I'm sorry if that was boring..." I stammered awkwardly.

            Clara opened her eyes, and I could see they weren’t dull with sleep, but were sparkling excitedly.  "It wasn't at all boring. Your piano teacher was full of it.  That was really beautiful- filled with emotion."

            I tried not to smile too widely.  "Thank you, but I still can't play that Liszt."  I made a face.

            "You are too self-deprecating," Clara said.  She turned and opened her purse, pulling a DVD out.  "I brought the movie, in any case."

            She looked around the living room with a confused look and it took me a second to realize why.  Then I laughed.  "We don't have a TV in the living room.  We can watch upstairs in the game-room."

#

            The game-room was as spacious, but less formal than the living room.  It had a folded futon, several old but comfortable chairs, and an entertainment center filled with different game systems, DVDs, and some knick-knacks which mother didn't like well enough to put downstairs.  The room had a very lived-in feel to it, even though none of us had been in it much since we’d moved.  Clara and I quickly made ourselves comfortable, set the DVD to play, and soon I was wrapped up in a world of politics, intrigue, and gruesome beheadings.

            After we had watched the first hour, we decided to take a break for lunch.  While I rummaged through the fridge for soda, Clara walked around the kitchen, admiring some of the art on the walls.  When I turned from the fridge to give her the soda, I saw she had stopped in front of a collage of family photos.

            "When was this one taken?" she asked, pointing to a picture of Mark and me standing in front of our Christmas tree, dressed like a pair of porcelain dolls and posing with new bicycles.

            "That was taken when I was seven.  That was the year we got out first 'grown-up' bikes," I responded.  Nostalgia swept over me, and the tenderness I felt at the memory almost brought tears to my eyes.

            "Your hair was so curly there... you are the one with long hair, right?"

            I nodded.  "Mother used to make me sleep on curlers every night before a holiday.  I have since rebelled against that practice."

            Clara smiled appreciatively.  "Who's this, then?" she pointed at Mark.  "He could be your twin."

            "That's because he is my twin."  I said.  "His name is Mark."

            "Where is he now?  Does he go to school somewhere else?"

            "He died at the beginning of the summer."  I said, resigning myself to the questions I knew would follow.  I felt comfortable enough with Clara to allow them to follow.

            "I'm so sorry," she said. She looked up from the picture, her eyes wide with surprise and sympathy.  "It must be a really difficult subject.  I'm sorry I brought it up."

            "It's difficult," I admitted, "but people here will find out eventually.  I don't mind telling you first."

            "Do you mind if I ask how he died?"

            I shook my head.  "It's ok.  He committed suicide.  He hung himself.  He was severely depressed for a long time."  I looked at his picture, smiling so happily up at me, and touched it tenderly.

            "I might have told people about him before now, but with suicide, people tend to judge."

            "They just don't understand.  Depression is a sickness, just like any other.  She took her soda from me, which I had almost forgotten, then turned back to the photo.  "If he had died from any other illness, people would be more sympathetic."

            I nodded.  "If I hear one more person call suicide 'selfish,' I may slap them.  The will to  survive is one of the strongest and most basic instincts a person has.  When it goes away, the pain that person must be in is something I can't even comprehend."

            "I can unde rstand why someone who is grieving might say suicide is selfish.  They might not understand how someone could put them through such grief.  Most people, though, just blame the victim of suicide out of ignorance."  She said the word with contempt in her voice.

            "I haven't decided whether or not ignorance is something I should excuse in people," I said.  "I suppose one can't help being ignorant, but it can be very hurtful."

            "Willful ignorance can be helped.  Willful ignorance is a choice."

            "A choice usually made out of fear."

            We started to walk out of the dining room and up the stairs.

            "Shouldn't people fight to overcome their fears?"  Clara asked.

            "I don't know; fear can be scary..." I countered.

            And just like that, the conversation took a turn to lighter topics.  I was glad, not only to have finally confided in someone about Mark, but also that Clara had understood so well.  We made a pretense of watching the movie, but for the rest of the afternoon we talked about our likes and dislikes, and a lot of silly, random topics as well.  Clara had a way of asking questions which made me feel at ease to answer, and an ironic sense of humor that, when couple with her free and easy laugh, lacked the bite of sarcasm.

            When we finished watching, she asked, "what did you think of the movie?"

            "It was wonderful,” I said enthusiastically.  "It was so melodramatic."

            "It's nice to be able to suspend reality with a bit of melodrama for a while, especially considering the way that this semester has going."

            "It's going badly so soon?"  I asked.  "Are your classes too hard?"

            "Well, I did take on a little too much, but I can handle that.  What I can't handle is the fact that David Andersen is in my Latin class, and Amber Cooper has been voted as president of the art club.  Amber's turning the other art club members against me by spreading nasty rumors, and I think I might have to quit."

at

            "Don't let her keep you from doing what you want," I said.

            "You sound like Summer," Clara replied.  "She told me that if David or Amber gave me any trouble, I should just 'kick their butts.'"

            I laughed.  "You wouldn't have to do it yourself, if you don't want.  Any of us would be glad to do it for you- especially Chad."

            "Yes, Chad can't stand to see a maiden in distress."  Clara rolled her eyes.

            "He would fight for you purely out of the goodness of his heart, of course," I teased.

            "Who says chivalry is dead?" she laughed.  "But, really, I rely on the others too often.  I need to learn to take care of myself."          

            Clara had gotten up to put the disk back in the box, when my mother came in.

            "I hope you girls have been having fun.  Clara, we're about to start dinner, and you're welcome to stay, if you like."

            "Thanks for the offer, but my mom expects me to come home, soon.  I'll see you at school, Miranda."

            "Thanks for coming over."  I said. 

            "Come back anytime."  My mother added.  She seemed to have taken a liking to Clara, or perhaps was just happy that I had made a friend at school.  I was glad I hadn't mentioned names when I told her about the gay girl at school.

#

             >

On Monday morning, when I walked into my Latin class, I could immediately tell something was amiss.  Clara and Jason, who were both in the class along with Chad and me, were standing at their desks, staring at each other with very cold expressions.  Neither of them said a word, but tension hung heavily in the air.  I was hesitant to approach them, even though my seat was behind Jason's and next to Clara's, but Chad burst into the room and said loudly;

            "What the hell is going on with you two?  Summer told me you had some kind of fight last night."

            "It wasn't a fight," Jason said, turning away from Clara and sitting down.  "Plus, it's none of your business."           

"Is that true?"  Chad asked Clara.

            "Frankly, I'm shocked that you think I would get into a fight on the Lord's day," she replied with a wry smile.

            Chad didn't let the matter go, however.  I saw him trying to get Clara's attention throughout class which, combined with the tension still lingering between Clara and Jason, made it very difficult to concentrate on my translation.  I wasn't the only one who noticed that something was amiss.  I saw David look over at our group from time to time with a satisfied look on his face.  When class was finally over, Jason jumped up and left quickly while Chad, Clara and I were still gathering our things.  While we were doing so, David approached me.

            "Hi," he said pleasantly.  "I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to introduce myself before.  I'm David.  Your name is Miranda, am I right?"

            "Yes," I said, trying to stay polite, yet reserved, after Clara's warnings about him.

            "Your friends have probably been telling you terrible things about me," he guessed.  "Don't let them scare you, though.  I'm not the bad guy."

            "Yes you are."  Chad said.

            "There are two sides to every story."  David said.  "I could tell you a lot of things about Clara, and her family, which might make things seem a little different."

            Clara, who had been steadfastly ignoring David up to this powe int, looked up.  Her eyes were panic-stricken.

            "There's no way I'm going to sit here and let you badmouth Clara."  Chad said menacingly.

            "You plan on stopping me?"  David seemed amused at this, and with good reason.  He was at least a head taller than Chad, and seemed very fit.  It wouldn't be a fair fight.  "If Miranda wants to know, it's her choice, isn't it?"  He turned to me.  "So, how about it?"

            David stared at me with his dark, piercing eyes, and I suddenly felt extremely aware of our difference in height as he towered above me.  I stood as tall as I could, though, and refused to be intimidated.  "I don't listen to gossip," I said.

            "You’re an ice queen, aren’t you?  You and Clara should get along very well.  She's totally frigid."  He winked at Clara, who looked furious, but said nothing.

            Chad, however, looked ready to say quite a lot.  His face was bright red, and I thought he may start shouting at any moment, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a very pretty girl, with curly auburn hair, who leaned in though the open door and said, "Are you coming?  We're going to be late for Math."

            David looked up and smiled at the girl.  "I'm just saying 'hi' to the new girl."

            "You must be Miranda!"  The girl came up to me and shook me warmly by the hand.  "I'm Amber."

            "Amber Cooper?"  I asked, remembering Clara's story.

            "Yes!" she said brighly, seeming delighted that I knew her name and not at all worried about what the others might have said about her.  "I hope you like it here, so far." 

            "It's... different," was all I could manage.

            "It must be stressful, moving to a new school, but I'm sure you'll grow to like it.  Everyone here is so friendly," she said.  Then she turned and addressed Clara.

            "Clara, I've been meaning to talk to you," she said with a sweet smile on her glossy lips.  "A few of us in the art club were talking about the regional art competition, and  even thoughont your work is really good, the others don't think it would be appropriate for someone like you to represent the school.  I mean, everyone knows what kind of girl you are, and though I don't have a problem with it personally, the others don't think it would put the school in the best light.  It would totally go against the values we stand for.  I hope you understand," she said.  

            She grabbed David’s hand and turned to go, leaving Clara, Chad and me in stunned silence.

#

            At lunch, Jason sat with the rest of us as usual, though he and Clara sat as far apart as possible.  The rest of us tried to ignore the tension, and Chad assisted us in this by giving a very animated and embellished account of our encounter with David and Amber.

            "I'm going to have a little talk with those two."  Summer said menacingly after Chad finished.

            "Don't bother."  Clara said.  "No amount of 'talking' or threatening is going to change them." 

            "I could just scare Amber a little bit, for my own amusement."  Summer said.

            Clara smiled wryly.  "That would only make things worse." 

            "Then there's really only one thing to do," I said.  “Enter the art competition, and kick her butt."

            "Hear- hear!" Chad seconded.

            "It's not that simple."  Clara said.  "The artwork has to be approved by the president of the art club before it is submitted, and Amber is the president."

            "We can find a way around that," Summer said dismissively.  "I'll get a copy of the competition rules and find a loophole.  Do you have anything you could entot;er?"

            Clara shrugged.  "Not really, but my Mom is taking Giselle and me  to Corpus Christi this weekend, and I thought I might go to the botanical gardens and do some sketching,"  she said.

            "Perfect, I'll go too!  I want to go shopping."  Summer casually invited herself along.

            Clara nodded and looked at me pointedly,  and I thought she was about to invite me along as well, but before she said anything, Jason stood up and said, "Remember what I told you," before walking away.

            "What was that all about?"  Chad demanded of Clara.

            "Nothing," Clara responded, but she picked up her bag and followed Jason, clearly not intending to let his comment pass.

            "I don't suppose you'll tell me what's going on," Chad said to Summer.

            "Later," she said, giving me a significant look.

            I pretended to be absorbed with packing up my things, but I had figured out that whatever had transpired, either Jason, Clara, or both wished for me to remain in the dark about it.  Even though I realized that what had happened was not any of my business, it hurt to think that, after all we had confided in each other, Clara might be the one wishing to keep secrets from me.  I told myself firmly that Clara had already proven herself to be a friend, and that she probably had good reasons for keeping whatever had transpired private.  I closed my eyes for a while and listened to the wind in the palm trees, trying to clear my mind of petty thoughts.

#

            That evening I sat at the piano, practicing scales.  The rhythmic repetition of notes and the familiar tick of the metronome helped, as they usually did, to set my mind in order.  Soon after I'd begun, I was able forget about the day’s strange events, and let go of my anxieties.       While I was practiciabong, my phone rang.  I ignored the phone and continued playing, but my mother, unable to let a ringing phone continue, picked up.  Over the sound of the scales, I could clearly make out the sound of her voice.

            "Hello?  Oh hi, how are you?  I'm afraid Miranda is practicing now, can I take a message?"

            "I have voice mail," I laughed to myself, missing a beat.

            "This weekend?   I'm sure Miranda will be delighted.  Ok, we'll see you then.  Goodbye."

            Mother walked into the living room and put my phone on top of the piano.  "I hope I was right when I said you would love to go to Corpus Christi with Summer and Clara," she said. "It's fine," I said, trying to keep my concentration.

            "They're coming over Saturday morning.  That way, you can spend the whole day there.  By the way, do you need any money?"

            "I still have the money from my birthday," I said, sighing and dropping my hands in my lap.

            "Really?  That was months ago."

            "Well, I haven't really had a chance to spend it.  I've only bought one book since then."

            Mother nodded, and quickly changed the subject.  "Why don't you practice the new Liszt piece?"

            "Daddy said it gave him a headache, and I should only play it when he's a work."

            "Don't be silly, Miranda, you need to practice," Mother said.  “Besides, your father’s not here now.  I sent him to pick up some things for dinner.”

            I nodded and shuffled through the sheet music.  I started to play, and had only gotten through the first few bars when Mother started to laugh.

            "What?"  I demanded, stopping.

            "I see your father's point," she said.  "Well, I’m going outside, so feel free to prellactice."

            "It wasn't my idea," I called after her as she left.  "Mr. Boscov is insane." 

            I persevered for the better part of the hour, but the frustration of trying to play Mephisto Waltz completely overcame the serenity I’d gained playing scales.  I was about to finally give up when my phone rang again.  This time, I picked up.

            "Hello?"

            "Hello, Miranda, this is Jason."  A deep voice said from the other end.

            "Oh, hello, how are you?"

            "Fine," he said.  There was a moment's pause, then he spoke again.  "I hope I'm not bothering you during dinner."

            "No, I was just finishing my piano practice.  We tend to eat dinner late."

            "Oh," he said.  Then there was another pause, followed by, "Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to do anything with me on Saturday."

            "I'm sorry, I can't.  I'm going to Corpus Christi with Clara and Summer," I said.

            I thought I heard a muffled swear word on the other end, and then he spoke again.  "That’s too bad.  Maybe we can go out some other time."

            I hadn't realized, until he said 'go out' that he was asking me on a date.  I was very glad we were speaking over the phone, so he couldn't see my face go red.  After an awkward and hurried goodbye, I hung up, and then by furiously banged my way through the first part of Mephisto Waltz one more time.

#

">

                        The rest of the week passed with excruciating slowness.  I tried to avoid Jason, knowing that he may try to ask me out again, and having no idea how I should reply.  Clara seemed more than happy to join me in avoiding Jason.  She switched seats with Chad in Latin, so we could sit together, but every once in a while, Jason would turn around in his seat to glare at her, and each time he did, she became more nervous and withdrawn.  I didn’t want to press Clara to talk about things she didn’t want to, but I felt helpless knowing that I could not help her with a situation which was causing her obvious distress.

                        Saturday morning I awoke early.  I had left my curtains open the night before, so as soon as the sun rose, my room was flooded with rosy light.  I got up, and sleepily made my way to the window, but as I was about to close the curtains, I stopped.  The sky outside my was a deep, brilliant blue, streaked with pink, orange, and gold clouds which drifted over the horizon.  Early as it was, the sun was already a bright gold, and it hit the windows and pavement in a striking way, until the houses and sidewalks in the sleepy village street below were sparkling.  I sat on my little window seat, mesmerized.  All of the week's anxieties seemed silly in the face of this sublimity.  The new day felt like a miracle.

            I watched the sun rise until the pink and orange clouds had turned white, and the dazzling, dancing sunlight settled into a happy glow.  Then I finally tore myself away from the window to get dressed.  I was still dressing, in fact, when the doorbell rang and I heard my mother's voice calling up the stairs. 

            "Aren't you up yet, Miranda?  Your friends are here."

            "I'm coming."  I said, zipping up my sundress.  I ran a brush through my hair, grabbed my purse, and ran downstairs. 

            I rushed outside to find my Mother standing by a large minivan, talking to Clara's mother.  I could see Clara’s mother though the minivan’s window, a thin, dark-haired woman, much like Clara in build but lacking the sweetness of her features.  She leaned her arm casually against the window, chatting with my mother as if they'd known each other for years.  When I approached the van, the side door swung open and Clara and Summer tumbled out, laughing. 

            "You can sit in the very back," Summer said.  "That way you won't have to deal with the hormonal little monsters."

            "Monsters?"  I asked, taken aback.

            "She means my sister, Giselle, and her friend, Laurie," Clara responded, rolling ht, er eyes in a very exasperated, big sisterly way.

            Before I got into the van, my mother stopped me.  "Remember to have fun, but mind your manners. Call me if you need anything."

            "I will," I said, and kissed her on the cheek before getting into the Van.

            I heard the sound of giggling as I entered the van, and saw two girls, about junior-high aged, staring at me and laughing quietly as I got in.  Clara's mother gave the dark-haired one a strict look, then said.  "I'm glad you could join us today, Miranda.  I'm Clara's mother.  You can call me Kathy."

            "I'm pleased to meet you.  Thanks for having me along," I said.

            There was more giggling at this, which was silenced by another look from Clara's mother.  "It's no trouble at all.  We're used to big groups," she said.

            "Just ignore the brats," Summer whispered to me.  "They're always like that."

            "It's no big deal," I replied.

            The drive to Corpus Christi was short, and, with the lively conversation of my friends to pass the time, went very quickly by.   When we reached our first destination, a large shopping mall, the group separated and agreed to meet at the nearby Italian restaurant at noon for lunch.  This move was deemed unnecessary, however, when, after hours of clothes shopping, Summer finally agreed to tag along with Clara and I to the bookstore, where we spotted Clara's Mother sitting in one of the reading chairs while Giselle and Laurie sat whispering together in the Young Adults section.  Clara and Summer went to Clara's mother to show off their purchases, and I listened in on the conversation for a time before I was lured away by a title in the classics section, and wandered over to get a closer look.

            I pulled the book down from the shelf and looked over the first few pages, and soon I found myself so engrossed in the story that I leaned against the bookshelf and began to read in earnest, losing track of the time.  Before I knew it, I was being tapped on the shoulder, and it took me a few moments to recall where I was.  I looked up and saw Clara smiling at me patiently.

            "I didn't want to disturb you, because you seemed so content to sit and read, but the others have already left for lunch."

     y c       "Oh! I'm sorry; you should have said something sooner.   I forgot I was in Corpus Christi, and not on the pleasant banks of the Garonne, in the province of Gascony…"

             "Don't worry, you haven't been in Gascony long, but we should probably go, before Mom starts to worry.  Do you want to buy that?"

            “I think I do.  You don’t mind, do you?”  I asked.

            “Not at all.”

            Thankfully, the line at the register was short, so I was able to make my purchase quickly before we left to join the others.           

            "I think I should warn you that my sister and I have been fighting, lately, so she's been taking it out on my friends.”  Clara said as we were walking to the restaurant.  “Summer can handle anything, you know, but I worry she might start in on you."

            "Don't worry about it.   I don't mind.  I know how siblings can be, sometimes," I replied.

            "Were you and your brother close?"  Clara asked tentatively.

            "For the most part, he was my best friend.  When he was in one of his moods, though, we'd fight terribly."

            "Well, I think Giselle's been in a mood for the past two years. She's embarrassed by me, and she thinks she can make herself look better by being rude to me in front of her friends.    She takes after my dad, unfortunately.  He used to put down mom in front of his family, too, after they divorced."

            "That's awful," I murmured.

            "It's not a big deal.  It’s just the way he is.” She said, shrugging.  “He's from an old, wealthy family- he's the one who pays for Giselle and I to go to school- and he brought this poor dancer from a tiny corps de ballet home as a sort of rebellion.  It lasted a few years, and then he decided it was time to settle down with a proper wife and make his family proud again. 

            We stopped talking as we spotted the restaurant.  The others were seated at one of the outside tables, under the shade of an umbrella, sipping cold drinks.  Giselle spotted us, rolled her eyes, and groaned.  "mosFinally, they're here.  I'm starved."

            "Giselle, be nice," Clara's mother said, giving Giselle a warning look.

            "Why?  If Clara didn't have to wait for her girlfriend, we could have started eating by now."

            Lauren started to giggle again, and I could feel myself blush.

            "Stop it, Giselle," Clara said, "or I'll tell Mom about-"

            "I was just kidding!" Giselle said hastily.  "Can't you take a joke?"

            "That's enough kidding," Clara's mother said, firmly.

            The threat seemed to work, because Giselle didn't say anything else during lunch, and even kept silent on the way to the botanical gardens.

#

            When we arrived at the botanical gardens, I became unsociable again and walked a bit behind the group, lingering over the wild and exotic wetlands.  I stopped walking when I saw a crane standing alone at the center of a pond, and a poem that Mark had written flooded my memory.

            A white crane on the stagnant shore does stand.

             He's motionless, a prince upon the pond,

            A regal form on silent water, still,

            But for a feather ruffled by the wind.

            My eyelids pricked with tears, and I cursed my lack of control.  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and forced myself to think of something else.  After a few moments, my mind cleared, and I was able to reign in my emotions.  I was about to leave to search for the others when I heard a voice behind me.

            "No, Clara didn't ask her, I did... because people need to be able to make up their own minds.  No- that doesn't matter.  The girl isn't a plaything."

            I turned to see Summer talking into her cell-phone.  She rolled her eyes, closed the phone, and then noticed me watching.  She beckoned me to follow her.

            "The others have gone on to the rose gardens.  I just had to make a phone call."

            "I'm so behind, today.  I'm sorry," I said.

            "Don't worry about it.  You're the type who likes to daydream.  There's nothing wrong with that."

            We started down the path to the rose gardens.  Summer put her cell phone into her pocket, then sighed.  "I was just talking to Jason.  He's very into you, you know." 

            "Yes, he called me on Monday to ask me out."

            "And?" Summer prompted, grinning in anticipation.

            "Mother had already said I'd come to Corpus Christi with you today, so I couldn't go," I said, shrugging.

            "He didn't ask you to go out Friday instead?"

            "No, he just said he'd ask another time."

            "You don't seem very excited.  I'm sure he will call you back.  He likes you a lot," Summer said.

            "I believe you.  What do you think I should say when he calls?"  I asked.

            "Do you want to go out with him?" she countered.

            I frowned and thought for a moment.  "He seems nice, except for that fight he had with Clara- which is none of my business.  I don't know what to expect, though.  I don't know him very well, but I guess that's why someone would go out on a date- to get to know someone."

            "Do you think he's cute?"

            I hadn't thought about this.  "I guess he's what you could call attractive, in a conventional way," I said after a few moment's pondering.

            Summer laughed.  "'Attractive in a conventional way-' don't you have hormones, girl?  He's hot.  He's not at all my type- he's too emo for me- but he is definitely do-able."

            "Do-able?" I responded, giggling almost like Giselle.

            "You know what I mean.  He's-"

            "Attractive, in a conventional way,"  I finished for her.  "Tall, dark, and brooding, like a Byronic hero."

            "So you do like him." 

            "I honestly haven't thought about it.  I've been too busy being terrified by the idea of actually being asked on a date.  I've never done that sort of thing before, and I feel very behind."

            "It's not something you think about, you know.  You either feel something, or you don't.  Your problem is that you're too shy.  A lot of guys, like Jason, think that's cute, but they won't wait around forever for you to make up your mind."

            "I know," I said.  "I just don’t think I’m ready for that sort of thing, right now."

            Summer slung her arm around my shoulders.  "You really are a little kid, aren't you?  Don't worry; I'm here in case you need any advice from an older, worldlier woman."

            I laughed a little at the idea of Summer as an older and worldlier woman, but merely samesid, "thanks."

#

            The rose gardens were charming, and when we arrived, Clara had already found one or two blossoms she found interesting, and was sketching.  After a cursory look around, Clara's Mother, Summer, and the kids wanted to move on, but Clara wanted to stay and sketch.  I volunteered to stay behind with Clara, and we promised to meet the others in the parking lot later in the afternoon.  Summer didn’t seem to mind going ahead, and was chatting happily with Clara's mother as they left.  I heard Giselle say, "aren't the roses romantic," as she followed.

            "Little toad," Clara muttered under her breath, but she continued to sketch.

            I smiled at Clara to let her know I didn't mind, and opened my book to read.  We sat for a long time in companionable silence.  The only sounds were the scratches of Clara's pencil, and the occasional breeze as it rustled the blossoms and leaves.  It was very pleasant to read such a dramatic and descriptive novel while sitting outside on a late summer day, with the scent of roses drifting headily in the air.  Too soon, I became aware that the sun was falling lower in the sky, and the shadows were getting longer.  I put my book down and stood to stretch my legs, and Clara moved to put her sketchbook and pencils away as well.

            "Can I see your sketches, before you put them up?"  I asked.

            Clara blushed- the color was very becoming against her pale skin- and seemed reluctant to comply.  Then, after a moment or two, she held out the sketchbook with a sheepish grin.

            The first two sketches were of a single rose.  They were very detailed, highlighting each lovely imperfection, and elegantly executed. When I turned to the third page I was very surprised to see my own likeness in the pose I'd assumed earlier.  I was sitting on a low brick wall with the open book on my lap.  One long tendril of hair hung carelessly over my shoulder, and I had a serene, almost angelic, expression.  Everything in the picture, from my own form to the rose-filled background, conveyed a pleasant calm.

it

            I looked up to see Clara gazing at me, expectantly.

            "They're very beautiful.  You are incredibly talented."

            She blushed again.  "You don't mind that I sketched you?"

            "Not at all, even though I think you embellished me a lot."

            Clara shook her head.  "No, I didn't embellish at all.  That is how I see you."

            "I'm not that pretty," I said automatically.  "I think you might see me through rose-colored glasses- pardon the pun- because you're my friend."

            "You're being self-deprecating again," Clara said.  "I don't see you through rose-colored glasses.  The truth is, you aren't beautiful in a conventional way-" I smiled at her choice of words, "and you are in no danger of getting confused with a movie-star or a supermodel.   Even so, it's difficult not to be drawn to the symmetry of your features, and that wise, peaceful expression you always wear.  There's nothing fake about it, either, because you express your emotions so fully with your eyes.  It's so easy to tell, just by looking, the kind of person you are."

            I was almost speechless.  I handed her the sketchbook with another compliment for her work, but I remained silent as we walked out of the garden and toward the appointed meeting-place.  I felt, though, as if a light had gone on inside of me.  I was moved by Clara's words, which had inspired a warm, gentle happiness within me that I couldn’t express.  I had felt nothing so wonderful since before Mark died, and I clung to it like a talisman.

            Summer noticed my change in mood while we were driving back into town.  "Hey, Blondie, why so quiet?"

            "I'm sorry, Summer.  I guess I haven't been much fun today, have I?"  I apologized.

            "You don't have to say you're sorry.  You haven't been rude or anything, just thoughtful."

            "I have a lot on my mind," I said.

            "Nothing bad, I hope," Clara said.3"

            "Not at all," I replied.

            "Can I see your sketches?"  Summer asked, taking the book from Clara.   She thumbed through the drawings "Wow, these are really good.  You should totally enter the one of Miranda."

            "Well, that would be up to Miranda," Clara murmured.

            "I don't mind," I said, "as long as Summer can find a way."

            "I already did," Summer said dismissively.

            "Then thank you," Clara said with a shy smile.

            We pulled up to my house shortly afterward, and I said goodnight as I reluctantly left my friends.  I still felt, though, the little light that had gone on inside me, and I felt that nothing could make that light ever go out again.

facageb

Chapter 3

Secrets

The Moon

            The next morning, I sat at my vanity, getting ready for church in the early morning light which poured in through my open window.  I carefully studied the face which stared back at me from the mirror- a face which seemed different from the one I was accustomed to seeing there.  That morning, the eyes I saw reflected seemed to be a brighter shade of emerald green.  The usually pale, freckled cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower, and the features, while still unremarkable, bore the unmistakable marks of happiness; a smooth brow, dimpled cheeks, and lips turned upward ever so slightly at the corners.  It was not quite the serene face from Clara's portrait.  Instead, it was flush and abloom with something new.  I sighed happily, imagining I saw a glimpse of the beauty Clara saw in me, and determined to strive to be the sort of person she saw.

            I was awakened from these fancies by a sudden knock on the door.

            "Come in," I said, composing ligYmyself.

            Mother, already dressed and ready for church, peeked in.  "Miranda, I have a favor to ask of you.  Judy, the church pianist, has come down with a cold, and Pastor Browne was wondering if you would mind filling in for this morning's service."

            "Does she really have a cold, or is this part of your never-ending scheme to get me to join the choir?"

            "Don't be silly; of course she really has a cold.  You don't have to sing, anyway, just play."

            "In that case, I would be glad to play.  I'd better hurry, so we can get there early and I can look over the music."

            "Thank you, Miranda."

#

             I found myself, an hour later, in the church sanctuary, seated at the grand piano in front of the choir risers.  The sanctuary was large and open, with rib-vaulted ceilings adorned with dark mahogany.  The pews were also mahogany, and were high backed, ornate, and austere.  In the front there were three large stained-glass windows, each depicting a cross, with the cross in the center draped in white, and across the sanctuary there was a smaller, round stained-glass window adorned with a single, brilliantly colored butterfly.  The hymns I played were simple but solemn, and touched with that familiar, hopeful sort of melancholy most hymns contain.

            After the final hymn, the youth choir filed in front of the risers to sing a contemporary piece.  It was then I spotted Amber Cooper among them, dressed in white robes and wearing a cherubic smile.  At the end of the song, I looked up to see Amber glance in my direction.  She recognized me at once and smiled more brightly, and before filing back to the pews gave me a little wave.

            After the service, as I sat putting away the music, Amber walked over to the piano. 

            "Hi, Miranda!  I didn't know you went to my church.  You play piano really well.  How long have you been playing?"

            "I've been playing since I could sit up on a piano bench," I said.  I looked around for my parents, hoping for an excuse to escape, but they were nowhere to be seen.

            "That's really cool.  I've always wished I could play, but mother said I had enough to do, with art and choir, already."  She stopped talking and looked around, too.  I followed her gaze to see my own parents talking amiably to another couple near the back of the sanctuary, letting the other parishioners file past them.

            "My mom could stand there talking like that, forever," she said, and I understood that the couple my parents were talking with was Amber's parents.  Amber leaned over the piano with a bored expression.

            "Mine is the same way," I sighed, realizing I was trapped.

            Amber looked up at me with her clear, blue eyes sparkling.  "I have an idea.  While we're stuck here, do you think you could help me practice?  I'm singing a solo next week.  The music should be in that pile."  She pointed to the sheet music I'd finished arranging.

            I sighed and nodded.  We shuffled through the music until I finally found her piece, then I started to play.

            It was an unimpressive piece of music, and sounded like a hundred other devotional songs I'd heard in church before, but Amber sang with such pathos that the music seemed to hold a much deeper meaning behind the trite lyrics and simplistic tune.  Her voice was small, high, and childlike, but somehow very sweet.  Her countenance and the expression in her eyes betrayed a sadness that went beyond the music, and I was left with the impression that the song held a secret meaning for her.

            When she finished singing, the piano's last chords reverberated through the now empty sanctuary, and for a few seconds everything was silent.  Then I heard the sound of scattered applause.

            "That was beautiful, Amber.  You are becoming a wonderful singer," Amber's mother said, beaming.

            Amber, suddenly appearing very shy, blushed and nodded.

          or hnte "Are you ready to go, Miranda?"  Mother asked me. 

            I nodded and bounded down the steps toward her, grateful for the excuse to leave, but Daddy said, "I guess we'll see you guys in a few minutes."

            "A few minutes?" I whispered to mother when we were out of earshot.

            "Oh, yes, we invited the Coopers over for lunch," Mother said happily.

#

            Before lunch, I stayed in the kitchen, helping mother cook, to try and avoid Amber's continued attempts at friendship.  This, however, proved to be a failure when Amber and her mother wandered into the kitchen as well for what Amber's mother deemed "girl talk."  I didn't have to try and make conversation with Amber, though, because it was almost impossible to get a word in while our mothers were talking, so I busied myself with preparing the potato salad and let my mind wander while the conversation hummed in the background.

            After lunch, I ducked out into the backyard to escape the noise of conversation, but Amber followed me.

            "Your backyard is so pretty, Miranda," Amber sighed happily as she examined the rosebushes, the fishpond, and every leaf and petal in detail.  Then she flopped onto the porch swing and contented herself with pushing herself back and forth.  Her sandals slid off her feet into the grass, but she didn't seem to notice, and she let her bare toes skim along the ground carelessly. 

             I realized that I wouldn’t be able to get rid to her, and as I sat and watched her swing, I decided to stop avoiding her and instead speak to her frankly. 

            "I know we just met, and you don't know me very well, but I feel I ought to ask you to reconsider your decision to exclude my friend, Clara, from the upcoming art competition.  She's an excellent artist, and should be judged on that fact, and nothing more."

            "I do feel awful about that," she replied, "because Clara is a good artist.  She's the best artist in tiedhe school, in my opinion.  We used to be very good friends.  The art club voted, though."  She stared down at her bare feet, which were still pushing at the grass. 

            "Isn't it your decision, though?  Why put the matter up to a vote?"

            "David thought it would be best, so no one would be embarrassed if she entered." 

            "I think that barring someone from the competition based on prejudice is a worse embarrassment," I said.

            Amber bit her lip.  "I hadn't thought of it that way.  I don't agree with Clara's... lifestyle myself, but-" she stopped and wrinkled her forehead in thought.

            "-but it's not up to you to dictate other people's lifestyles, even if you put it to a vote."

            Amber sighed, then looked up at me and smiled.  "I guess I'll have to talk to the others, and try to explain that."

            I was very surprised Amber had agreed so quickly, enough to say; "if you don't begrudge Clara her right to live as she chooses, then why did you stop being friends?"

            I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth, but Amber didn't seem to take offense at my prying.  Instead she just knitted her brow and said, "well, that's complicated.  My mother never really approved of our friendship because of her family.  Her sister is really wild and has gotten into a lot of trouble, and everyone says that her mother is a gold-digger.  Sometimes, I got the impression she was hiding things about herself and her family that she wouldn't even tell me, and I was her best friend back then.  It's hard to stay close to someone when they won't talk to you about their problems.  Then, when she came out-"

            "-when she was outed," I reminded her.

            Amber nodded, but didn't continue.

            "If you'd rather not talk about it, it's okay."

            "No, I'm just trying to figure out how to put this tactfully.  You see, even though she never told me she was a lesbian," she said the word "lesbian" in a half-whisper, as if it were a dirty word, "I already kn; &ew she was.  I didn't tell anyone, but I tried to give David some clues, because they were dating.  I think he misunderstood, though."

            I remembered how Clara had described David's jealous abusiveness, and frowned to myself.

            Amber seemed to take my frown as disapproval, because she hastily said, "I thought that was the best thing to do, because they were dating, and I felt guilty."  She stopped and blushed scarlet, as if she suddenly realized that she'd said too much.

            "You had no reason to feel guilty," I said.  "That was between Clara and David."

            "But I was involved after she- after she kissed me," Amber blurted out.

            "I probably shouldn't be hearing this," I said.

            "But you should know what kind of girl your friend is.  She's the kind of person who goes around kissing people, when she is seeing someone else."  Amber's face was still red, but with anger now.  Her voice rose shrilly as she continued.  "She hangs around with that manipulative bully, Summer, so that she can always have her way.  Those friends of yours are nothing but-"

            I cut her off by standing up and walking toward the porch door, determined not to endure another moment of her petulant rant.  When I reached for the handle, though, the door opened suddenly and Amber's mother was standing in front of me.  She smiled at me, and then turned to look at Amber.

            "Are you ready to go yet, sweetie?"

            Amber composed herself even faster than she'd become upset.  "I'm ready, Mom."  She stood and smiled at me as she walked past.  "It was nice talking to you, Miranda.  I'll see you at school."

#

       yo      I wanted to speak with Clara the next day, to see if my talk with Amber had done more harm than good, but in class she seemed to be working frantically to keep up with her assignments, and she skipped lunch altogether.  This continued all week, though when I asked Summer about Clara's behavior she said that Clara was catching up on extra schoolwork at lunch, and refused to answer any more of my questions.  The week passed in much the same way, though Clara made a brief appearance at lunch on Thursday, and explained that she had gotten through most of her work before bolting down her lunch and leaving again in a hurry.

            Friday morning was cloudy and damp, and I had difficulty getting up in time for school, preferring to continue sleeping in the dark solace of my room.  I could tell, as I made my way to my English class, that I was not the only one who felt that way.  There was a sense of general moroseness as I made my way through the halls.  Most of the people I saw were hunched, rumpled, and seemed fatigued.  When I got to English, I was greeted by a very grumpy looking Summer.

            "Miranda, I want you to talk some sense into Clara for me," she growled.  

            "Good morning to you, too," I replied.  "Why does Clara need my good sense?"

            "She's being an idiot.  She refuses to enter the art competition after all the work I went through to get her in."

            "Why doesn't she want to enter?"

            "You ask her; I've given up."  Summer folded her arms and pouted in such a way that made me laugh.

            "Okay, I'll talk to her.  Happy?" I asked.

            "Not yet, but thank you," She said with a weak smile.

#

            At lunch it began to rain in earnest, pouring down in white-grey sheets that flooded the courtyard and forced my friends and me intopan the cafeteria.  I hadn't eaten in the cafeteria since school began, but it was a beautiful room, with none of the institutional feel that school cafeterias usually have, but rather with the feel of a large, comfortable dining-room.  My friends and I managed to find a table in the quietest corner of the room, near the large windows at the front.  Summer gave me a significant look as she sat herself nearest the window, at the far end of the table, so I sat at the other end where Clara was, apart from the others.

            "Summer has demanded that I talk some sense into you," I said.

            Clara looked surprised for a moment, and then she smiled.  "I see.  I guess I should have expected this.  Did she pout?"

            "Like a five year old," I confirmed.  "It was very effective."

            Clara laughed, and I heard Summer say from the other end of the table, "I heard that."

            "We love you, Summer," Clara called back.

            "She said you're refusing to enter the art competition," I continued.

            "I’m just refusing to cheat," Clara said.

            "It's not cheating," Summer chimed in again.  "It's just-"

            "Cheating," Clara said firmly.  "She wants me to enter under the 'homeschooled' category, even though I'm not homeschooled."

            "Well?  What's wrong with that?"  Summer demanded.

            "It's not fair to the actual homeschooled students for me to enter in their category.  Everyone should have a fair shot," Clara said.

            "Everyone but you?” Summer said, sounding exasperated. ”You're such a goody-goody, seriously.  Miranda, back me up on this."

            "Sorry, Summer.  I agree with Clara." 

            "Seconded," Jason put in.

            "For once, I agree with Summer," Chad supplied through a mouthful of pudding.

            Just then, a peal of thunder shook the cafeteria so that the windows we were sitting by rattled noisily.  I heard a girl near the back of the room squeal, followed by a general round of laughter.  The storm seemed to lift the general mood, and the cafeteria began to buzz with an excitement almost as electric as the lightning.

            "I should have known you'd side with Clara," Summer grumbled to me.

            "Have you talked to Amber at all this week?"  I asked Clara.

            "I try not to, but I have and art club meeting this afternoon, so I don't think I can avoid it."

            "I think you should speak with her, to see if she's changed her mind about letting you enter," I said.  "If she hasn’t, I think you should take the matter to your club’s sponsor."

            Before Clara could respond, a second peal of thunder rang out, and the lights flickered.  Then there was a clatter of hail against the window.   Mrs. Lewis, the teacher who was monitoring the cafeteria that day, came over to our table, looking worried.

            "I think all of you should find a table closer to the back, away from the windows," she said.

            We reluctantly agreed, and in our move to a back table, our seating arrangement became jumbled, though much closer.  Summer smiled in satisfaction when she saw that I was now seated next to Jason instead of Clara, who now sat across from Jason and next to Summer.

            Jason seemed pleased about the new arrangement as well, and took the opportunity to again broach the subject of our last conversation.

            "Miranda, I was wondering, would you like to see a movie with me tomorrow?"

              I had been planning on asking Clara the exact same question, because there was a movie out that I thought she'd like.  For a few moments, my mind raced as I tried to think of an excuse to turn him down, but I only succeeded in gaping at him stupidly.

            I caught Clara’s eye, and she seemed to understand my unspoken plea. "I was actually hoping that Miranda would go to see 'Innocence Symphony' sometime with me, but I'm sure that if you wanted-"

            Jason cut her off, and said, "Miranda has to go out with some of her other friends sometime, you know.  You can't keep her to yourself; people are starting to talk."

            Jason smiled as he spoke, and his tone was light and teasing.  Clara, however, blushed deeply and looked down at the table with a miserable expression.  In that moment, I was forced to face the truth I'd been avoiding for the last couple of weeks.  All of the signs I'd ignored, like the fact that I was the only one kept in the dark with respect to Jason and Clara's argument, Jason's advances toward me, and the phone call I'd overheard Summer make in the botanical gardens came together for me when I saw Clara's blush, and it became painfully clear why Jason and Clara had been arguing.  Clara's blush had betrayed her feelings for me, and Jason's disapproval of her feelings was apparent.

 I found myself torn between two emotions- disgust at Jason's bullying behavior, and a lightheaded, happy sort of flattery that Clara liked me.  For a brief moment, I pictured myself taking her hand, and reciprocating her feelings immediately.

            "Miranda?"

            I was snapped out of my fantasy by Jason, who apparently had asked his question again and was awaiting my reply.  My face felt very warm, and I stood to gather my leftover lunch things instead of answering.  "I need to throw this away," I said, and got up to take them to the trashcans at the other end of the cafeteria.

            As I walked away, I frantically tried to organize my thoughts.  I was tempted to dismiss my reaction to Clara's feelings as temporary insanity, but quickly recognized this dismissal as a cowardly action.  I had inadvertently caused a rift in Clara and Jason’s friendship, and I knew that until I decided between them, they would continue to quarrel. 

I was terrified.  My conscience was prodding me to face my feelings, and decide between them, but I couldn’t.  I took a deep breath, and pushed the most frightening possibility aside, focusing instead on Jason. I hardly knew Jason, and it seemed unfair to dismiss his advances without getting to know him, first.  If the weather permitted, I thought, I would go see him after school.

            While I was making my way back to the table, thunder crashed again, and all of the lights flickered before finally going out.  This inspired several cheers from the boys in the cafeteria.  I walked carefully toward what I recognized as Chad's voice, because I could only see shadows against the dim light outside.

            Mrs. Lewis went to the front of the Cafeteria, and clapped her hands loudly to get everyone's attention.

            "Quiet please.  I need everyone to move as far away from the windows and toward the back of the room as possible.  Until the storm is over, we'll have to stay here."

            We all had to shift our seating again, in order to accommodate the rush of students pressing against the back of the room.  When we'd finally settled again, I was again seated next to Clara, with Summer on my other side and Jason and Chad across from me.  We were all squeezed more tightly together, but there was a lot of excited chatter in the room now, and it was harder to hear each other.

            "No Friday quiz in Mr. Jenkin's class!"  Chad said Jubilantly.

            "You don't think it's a hurricane, do you?"  Summer asked nervously.

            "There was one, but it passed north of us.  I think we're getting the tail end of it, though," I said.

            Summer sighed with relief, and began chatting happily with the others about the classes she hoped to miss during the storm.  Everyone was in a better mood now, despite, or perhaps because, of the storm, except for Clara, who sighed and anxiously twisted her hands together.

            "Are you okay?" I asked her in a low voice.

            "I'm just tired," she replied.

            "Well, cheer up.  Maybe your art club meeting will be canceled as well," I said, but I soon regretted my words when I heard Clara sigh, and saw her anxiously turn her head toward Amber's table.

            "Don't let Amber or Jason get to you," I said.

            Clara nodded, and a flash of lightning illuminated her face then.  I could see, in that brief moment, the telltale marks of fatigue very plainly written on her face.  Her eyes were shadowed with dark circles, and her face was drawn and pale. 

"Is it really just that you're tired?" I asked in a low voice.

            She looked about to answer, but Summer chimed in and said, "what are you two whispering about?  Don't be so unsocial.  I might get my feelings hurt, and think that you're both keeping secrets from me."

            Clara smirked, and turned to rejoin the general conversation.  I was unable to speak with her again before the storm let up and we were forced to return to classes.

#

            After school, the rain stopped and the clouds began to break up.  The sun peeked through the clouds periodically, and the light created an eerie contrast to the general gloom.  I embraced the melancholy of the afternoon, and walked slowly down the wet streets to Jason's house, letting my mind wander.

            As I walked, I allowed myself to think about Clara, her apparent feelings toward me, and my own feelings toward her.  I worried about her, and how the stress she'd been experiencing over the past weeks seemed to be affecting her health.  I chided myself for not having done anything to help her during that time.  I couldn't help but think that her feelings for me, and the resulting tension with Jason, were contributing to her stress, and the thought brought with it a twinge of guilt.  I knew that if Clara were to declare her feelings for me, I would have to be as honest and direct about my own feelings for her as possible to avoid causing her any of the pain I knew she'd experienced before. 

            But what would my answer be, if and when that time came?  I knew, without thinking, that I had very strong feelings for Clara, and that I cared for her deeply.  I realized that how I felt for Clara was different than the feelings I had for my other friends.  But, I rationalized, how I felt for all of my friends was unique to each of them, and different from my feelings for each member of my family, as well.  It was possible, I knew, to care about people in many different ways without those feelings being romantic.

            I was puzzling over the foreign notion of romantic love when I noticed I had arrived at my destination- all too soon, it seemed.  Jason's house was a large, ranch-style house which sprawled over a sizeable property.  I noticed that the driveway was empty, but I decided to wait for him, and walked along the pathway that wound through the dripping palm trees to the front door.  There, sitting on the front steps and huddled inside a blue hoodie against the chill and damp,abo was Clara.

            "Hello.  I guess Jason's not home yet?"  I asked.

            "No.  I wanted to talk to him, so I'm waiting.  He shouldn't be too long.  The band is meeting here, later."

            "Do you mind if I wait with you, or do you think it would be too unfair for us to ambush him?"

            Clara laughed.  "He'll be glad to hear what I have to say, and I’m guessing that he’ll be just as glad to see you, so it won't be unfair."

             I didn't ask what Clara was planning on telling Jason.  Instead, I sat next to her and tucked my knees up to my chin, watching the water which dripped from the palm trees and off the tile roof.

            "I think you must be a miracle worker, Miranda.  I would love to know how you did it," Clara said suddenly.

            "How I did what?"  I asked.

            "I talked to Amber in art class.  How did you convince her to let me enter the art competition?"

            "How did you know I was the one who convinced her?"  I countered, trying not to grin.

            "You said during lunch that I should talk to Amber.  Plus, she made a catty remark about you when I showed her the picture I'd planned to enter.  Catty remarks aside, she apologized for trying to keep me out in the first place.  I was almost speechless."

            I laughed.  "My mother invited her family over for lunch after church on Sunday, and I talked to her then.  Apparently, her mother and mine are best friends, now."

            "I hope your mother knows what she's getting into," Clara said lightly.  "Amber's mother can be very..."

            "High-energy?" I supplied.

            Clara nodded.  "That still doesn't explain exactly how you managed to convince Amber, though."

            "I wasn't sure I had, to be honest.  She seemed to agree with me at first, when I said she had no right to dictate the way other people lived.  The more we talked, though, the more she became upset.  She ended up saying all sorts of horrible things about you, your family, and your friends."

            "Well, I'm glad you eventually got through to her," Clara said.  Then she sighed.  "What did Amber say about me?"

                        "She told me that her mother didn't approve of your family, that you were secretive and hard to get close to, and that you kissed her while you were dating David,"  I said in a careful, even voice.

            Clara sighed and put her head on her knees as well, looking very small and defeated.  "Of all of the stupid mistakes I've made in my life, kissing Amber is the one mistake I will never live down."

            "You're too hard on yourself," I said.  

            "I really misread Amber.  Kissing her was a stupid thing to do, and I apologized for it afterward.  I thought she had forgiven me, but after Jason outed me, she seemed to get upset all over again, and she stopped talking to me."

            "It's probably not my place to say this, but I think that was very hypocritical of her.  It seems like she cared more about what other people thought than what had actually happened between you."

            Clara looked at me for a moment with a quizzical expression, and then looked down at her feet.  "I didn't think about that at the time.  Amber was always prone to unpredictable mood swings, and at that point I was more hurt by her rejection than anything else.  Amber did say, though, that she thought I was too secretive, right?  Maybe she resented me for keeping my sexuality a secret from her."

            "You shouldn't worry about all of that, now," I said.  "The past is past.  Don't let things you can't change stress you out.  You're already stressed enough."

            Clara smiled wryly.  "I just don't want to repeat any of my mistakes.  I'd rather not lose any more friends."

            "You won't," I said firmly.  "Trust us."

    .&qusto       "You're sweet, Miranda, but the way things are going now-"

            "Maybe I could help you."

            "There's really not anything anyone can do to help me right now.  I just have too many difficult classes, too many vindictive people in my past, and, on top of it all, I have a little sister who seems determined to ruin her life, and mine..." she trailed off.

            "If you like, I could help you with your schoolwork, beat up your vindictive enemies, and give your little sister a stern talking-to," I suggested.  I bent my head down so I could look her in the eye. 

            "Just like that, all my problems solved?" she asked skeptically.  She looked up and met my eyes with her own wide, brown ones, and held my gaze.

            "Just like that," I murmured.

            Something about the sad, yearning look in her eyes drew me in, and I felt myself leaning closer to her, until our faces were only inches apart.  Clara started to lean in as well, closing the gap.  I was suddenly quite breathless.

            Then, on the other side of the line of palm trees, I heard the sound of a car door slamming.  Clara pulled away from me and stood up quickly.  I was left alone, gasping for air and watching her run along the curving walkway and out of sight.  I sat where I was for a few moments with my head on my knees, breathing deeply and trying to compose myself.  Then I ran my hand through my hair and willed myself to stand up.

            I walked around the path to the driveway, where Jason, Chad, and a small, dark-haired woman I assumed was Jason's mother were standing with Clara outside of a shiny black minivan.  When she saw me coming, Clara pulled Jason aside and started whispering to him frantically, casting an occasional glance in my direction.  I pretended to be completely uninterested in what she was saying, and instead turned to Chad, who was saying, "thanks for the ride, Mrs. Fuentes."

            "Thank you for helping me with the shopping," Jason's mother replied.  "You're welcome to a ride any time until your car is out of the shop."

            "I totaled my car," Chad said to me, chuckling.  "Oh, Mrs. Fuentes, this is Miranda, the new girl at school I was telling you about.  Miranda, this is Jason's mom."

    ize        "It's very nice to meet you, Miranda," the woman said, taking my hand. 

            "It's nice to meet you, too," I replied.

            Jason broke away and came to join the group, then, checking his phone while Clara stood nervously in the background.  "We have to cancel our practice, Chad.  Chase just sent me a text.  Apparently, Brad is sick."

            Chad lifted his eyebrows skeptically. "Can he stand up?  If he can, being sick is no excuse.  We're playing the dance next week."

            "It's pretty serious.  They think he might have meningitis," Jason said.

            "That's still no excuse," Chad grumbled.

            "Meningitis can be fatal," I put in.

            Chad looked at me, his eyes wide.  "Seriously?"

            I nodded.

            "He'll be fine, Chad.  Chase is coming over, anyway.  We need to decide our set list."

            Clara, who'd been standing nervously in the background came over to Jason and tapped him on the shoulder, giving him a significant look.  Jason excused himself and went with her back to the end of the driveway where they'd been before, and they started arguing again in harsh whispers.  Chad just shrugged and took my arm, pulling me into the house with him behind Jason's mother. 

Jason's mother immediately began to bustle about the kitchen, putting away groceries, but she refused to let Chad and me help her.  Instead, she made us sit at the kitchen table and covered it with dishes of what can only be described as obscene amounts of sinfully delicious smelling food. 

I didn't want to offend my hostess, especially as I'd shown up at her house uninvited, but I didn't feel especially hungry.  I sat across the kitchen table from Chad and picked at my food half-heartedly while Chad talked boisterously and Mrs. Fuentes continued to clatter pans in the kitchen.  I leaned around Chad to get a better view of the window, which faced the driveway.  I saw Clara looking at her feet while Jason gestured sternly at her.  She looked like a small child being lectured by a parent.

            "-so then Chase said 'fine, you can have the burrito,'" Chad said, folding his arms and smirking.  Apparently, he'd just finished telling what he thought was a hilarious story.

            I forced myself to chuckle as though I'd understood the punch-line.  This seemed to satisfy Chad, and he continued.

            "Are you on a diet?" Chad asked.

            "Should I be?"  I responded, raising my eyebrows.

            "I've just never seen anyone pick at Mrs. Fuentes' cooking like that," Chad said quickly, indicating the full plate in front of me.

            "I'm not hungry," I said, pushing the plate across the table towards him. 

            Chad happily took the plate from me and began finishing off the food.  I put my head, which was beginning to throb, down on the cool, marble surface of the table.

            "Are you ok?"  Chad asked.

            "I'll live," I said.  "I just wish my life weren't so complicated."

            "Are you bothered by what's going on between Clara and Jason?"  Chad asked between mouthfuls.  Then he paused and said, "do you know what's going on between Clara and Jason?  You aren't supposed to know, but they aren't exactly being discreet."

            "I've been trying to respect their wishes, and mind my own business," I said, sighing.

            "I'll tell you why they've been arguing, if you want," Chad said.  "The argument is really about you.  Just don't tell Summer that I'm the one who told you.  That girl can be terrifying."  Chad shivered.

            Before I could answer, Jason and Chase came inside.  Chad caught my eye, winked, and held his finger to his lips before they sat down with us at the kitchen table. 

            Soon, the boys were deep in conversation about their band, so I slipped outside to search for Clara.

            Outside, the clouds had broken up and drifted toward the horizon, where the sun was setting.  The sun was deep red, and seemed to set everything aflame with crimson light.

            Clara stood on the front steps again, this time she was talking to Summer and another girl with short, blonde hair, whom I recognized as Chase's girlfriend, Holly.  Clara looked up at me- her pale face was almost orange in the russet light. I smiled tentatively, and she let out a deep sigh, as though in relief, and smiled back.  Summer and Holly stopped talking and smiled welcomingly.

            "Hey, Miranda," Summer said brightly.  "Tell Clara not to go home yet.  Everyone is here, and I want to go swimming."

            "I thought I might go home, actually," I replied.  "I wanted to talk to Jason, but it doesn't seem like I'll get a chance.  Besides, I have a headache."

            "Who cares about Jason?  As long as we're here, we might as well use his pool.  It's huge, and it's heated, too, so the cold doesn't matter," Summer persisted.

            "I didn't bring a suit," Clara said.

            "Neither did I," Holly agreed.

            "They always keep a whole bunch of clean extras in the guest room," Summer said.  "That’s what I used at the end-of-year party this summer, because I'd forgotten mine."

            I shrugged in resignation, "let's ask Jason's mother first, at least."

            Mrs. Fuentes, who seemed like a very warm and generous person, and whom I found myself liking more and more, was more than happy to let us use the pool.  She even searched the guest room for us, to find a bathing suit that would fit each of us.  When we were finally dressed and went outside, the red light of the sunset had faded, the first stars were beginning to appear overhead in the deep blue sky. The shimmering, silver crescent moon was rising slowly above the clouds. 

            The backyard was dominated by a very large rectangular pool, which was lit at one end by a dull yellow light which glowed half-heartedly under the water.  It was a quiet evening, almost eerily so after the afternoon’s storm. The only sound was the trickle of water that fellht= from two shell-shaped fountains on the far end of the pool, which separated the pool from a small hot-tub.  The setting seemed like it was from a place outside of time, where roman baths met modern luxury under an endless, starry sky, and I found myself beginning to relax. 

Summer was the first to jump into the pool, splashing Clara, Holly, and I who laughed, but waded in carefully.  This proved to be unnecessary, however, because the water was quite warm, almost like bath water.  I swam out into the middle of the pool and turned over on my back to float and watch the stars.  As the light from the sunset began to fade, more and more stars came out- pinpoints of light in an inky canvas.  The tiny, dazzling stars only seemed to make the darkness appear deeper.  I should have been awed and afraid, but I succumbed to the serenity of the night.

            "Why is everyone so quiet?"  Summer asked, sounding frustrated by the silence.  "Miranda, you look like you're deep in thought, what are you thinking about?"

            "I'm not thinking at all," I replied.  I turned over to look at Summer.  "I'm completely Zen."

            "Well, stop it," she replied, and splashed me in the face.  I laughed and splashed her back, and soon we were all engaged in a battle; Summer and Holly against Clara and me.  Summer finally forced our surrender by dunking Clara underwater.  Clara came back up, sputtering, and called a time out.

            Clara swam to the side of the pool and got out, still coughing.  I could see, in the ghostly light emanating from the pool, each of her ribs straining at her thin, white skin.  She looked as though she had not eaten in days, but I dismissed the thought when I recalled having seen her eat earlier that day, though she'd not eaten very much. 

            "I'm sorry I dunked you, Clara, please come back," Summer said, taking in her appearance and looking almost as worried about Clara as I felt.

            "I'm not mad, I just need to go to the restroom," Clara replied, and went back inside.  As she opened the door, Chad and Chase both ran past her and jumped into the pool at the same time, causing a huge splash that hit me directly in the face.  I coughed and gasped, and by the time I caught my breath, Chad, Summer, Chase, and Holly were busy with another splashing war, and Clara was nowhere to be seen.  Jason, however, was outside now, and standing beside the hot tub.  He gestured for me to come over with a shy grin.  I took a deep breath, reminded myself that the whole reason I was there was for a chance to talk to Jason alone, and swam over to him.

            As I got into the hot tub with him, it occurred to me that he'd meant for this meeting to be romantic.  After all, on TV and in movies men and nd women sitting in hot tubs together was always a setup for a romantic interlude.  I noticed, though, that the hot tub, the stars, and the moonlight did little to make me feel either enrapt with romantic feelings, or even the slightest bit uncomfortable.  Instead, I felt calm and lucid, and for this I was grateful.

            "I'm glad I'm finally able to be alone with you," Jason said.  "I was afraid you would run away again.  Summer must be an evil genius, to have gotten you to come over."

            I shook my head.  "I'm here of my own free will.  I was only running away before because things were happening so fast, and I needed time to collect my thoughts.  I'm still not entirely certain how I feel about you, but I do feel comfortable enough to ask what I need to ask, though, so I can make an informed decision."

            "That's very logical of you," Jason replied.  His voice was serious, but his eyes were laughing.

            "Why is that funny?"  I asked.

            "Well, it's a beautiful night, and you're a beautiful girl.  Why would we need to be logical about this?"

            "I just told you; I don't know what 'this' is yet," I said, and sighed.  "There is so much I don't know about you.  It may not be my business, but Clara’s been so depressed lately, and it seems like you’ve been antagonizing her.  Why you and Clara have been fighting."

            Jason regarded me coolly for a moment, then laughed darkly, "You're smart, Miranda.  I'm sure you already know what's been going on with Clara."

            I looked down at the churning water, which was filled with iridescent bubbles that danced on the surface, forming and breaking almost as soon as they were formed.  I wondered if my courage would prove as fleeting, but I charged ahead.  "I have an idea, but I don't want to make assumptions until I've spoken to both of you, and I’ve heard each side of the story."

            "I see," Jason said, still sounding amused which, I noted, was very condescending.  "Have you spoken with Clara about this, yet?"

            I shook my head, "I haven't had a chance.  Besides, she has so much on her plate right now, I didn't want to make her talk about something that might be stressful."

            I  looked up, and Jason's amused expression had been replaced with a more sober, thoughtful one.  "I see.  I’ll give you my side of the story, then.  Clara has a crush on someone right now, who most likely does not return her feelings.  I simply reminded her that she has more important things to worry about.        

“What I told Clara was for her own benefit, to keep her from getting hurt.  I don't know if she's told you, but she was hurt in the past by someone she cared about.  She’s made enemies because she’s too naïve.  She needs to fix the messes that she’s already made before she makes new messes, and she needs to be more careful whom she chooses to love. 

“Clara's not like you; she doesn't question people before she trusts them.  People are cruel, and to survive this world you need to be tough, bury your feelings, and be able to fight, like Summer does." Jason nodded in Summer's direction.  She was sitting on Chad's shoulders, wrestling with Holly, who was perched on Chase's.  Within a few seconds, Holly had toppled into the water, laughing.

            "I know why Summer does what she does, and I know that she has the best intentions, but sometimes I don't like her methods.  Why can't people be honest, and fight without using underhanded or manipulative tactics?"  I wondered aloud.

            "Because most people don't care who they hurt as long as they get their own way.  They will take every honest, tender feeling you have and use it against you.  Even the people you love the most can use your own feelings against you.  People who don't have the ability to fight back, or who don’t have friends who will fight for them, end up like Clara did before Summer was able to step in and make everything all better.  Clara was weak."

            "I think that's a little harsh.  Clara's a good and honest person.  I happen to see that as a virtue, not a weakness."

            "I know that it's harsh, but it's true.  People like Clara have the luxury of being good and honest because people like Summer are willing to fight, and fight dirty.  But what will happen to someone like you, Miranda, who seems willing to fight, but clings to weak virtues?"  Jason said.        "Virtue isn't weak," I said.  "Virtue is a source of strength."

            "Spoken like a true stoic," Jason replied.  "What will happen to calm, stoic Miranda when no one is around to fight for her?  Will she walk proudly up to the gallows with her head held high?  Deliver a pretty speech before drinking the poison hemlock, as if her virtue alone will save her?  Does she really believe that dying with her pride is better than doing what is necessary to survive?"

            "You underestimate virtue too meryuch," I replied.  "It doesn't make you impotent; it gives you an arsenal of weapons with which to fight, like the wisdom to know who you can trust, and an indomitable spirit to defend those you love."

            "What if the people you love betray you?  Even those who seem the most trustworthy can hurt us."

            I thought of Mark during his mood swings, and remained silent.

            "I like you, Miranda, and I don't want to see you hurt.  I can look after you."  He shifted closer to me, and reached out to touch my hand.  His eyes were smoldering in a way I’d never seen before.

            I shook my head.  "I can look after myself."

            Jason sighed, but continued undaunted.  "Then how about we start slowly?  The fall dance is coming up next week at school.  I can't take you, because Candy Mountain is playing, but I'll make sure I slip away to spend some time with you between sets."

            I sighed and agreed reluctantly.  "I still haven't made up my mind about you, and I still need to talk to Clara, but I want us to be friends.”

            "I'm not giving up.  I'll spend time with you, let you get to know me better, and I hope I’ll eventually earn your respect, which I can see is vital to winning your heart.  I'm glad it's vital, though.  I wouldn't bother with a girl who felt otherwise."

            "I'm sure you wouldn't.  I'm starting to prune, and it's getting late, so I guess I'll see you at school."  I got out of the tub, realizing I'd already made my mind up about Jason; his arrogance was very off-putting.  The next time I spoke to him, I knew I'd be able to easily turn down his advances.

facageb

Chapter 4

Truth

The Star

            That night, as I washed the chlorip>

            I took a handful of conditioner and began working it though my hair, gently separating each tangle with my fingers.  As I ran my fingers through the slippery strands, I allowed myself to again succumb to the fantasy of taking Clara by the hand and requiting her feelings for me.  The flush of happiness I felt at this fantasy confirmed by fears; my feelings for Clara were indeed romantic. 

            My fingers hit a snag that wouldn't budge.

            I took a little extra conditioner and worried the knot until it relented.  Then I rinsed my hair thoroughly and stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my head, and pulled on my thick, terrycloth bathrobe. 

            I stepped out of the bathroom and into the chill of the bedroom, a cloud of steam billowing behind me.   I sat on my bed awhile and dried my hair with the towel while I thought.  I had a real same-sex attraction, and it was not just a passing fancy for someone cute but, rather, it was replete with very strong and meaningful feelings.  I couldn't talk to anyone about it.  Aunt Elizabeth, who would undoubtedly give very sound and reasonable advice, and would very likely not judge me, would probably inform my parents of anything I said, and I wouldn't blame her.  After all, this was a very important and significant occurrence, and my Aunt would feel that my parents should know.

 However, I knew that my parents would not be as slow as Aunt Elizabeth to judge me, and I knew they would counsel me to fight against my feelings, and perhaps pray them away. They would believe that what I felt was harmful and perverse, no matter how natural and pure I knew my feelings to be.  I thought back to how I’d felt after I'd returned from Corpus Christi with Clara, and realized how much I treasured my feelings for her.  I didn't want to fight my feelings, but at the same time, I was terrified of what would happen if I acted on them.  If I was wrong, and my feelings were really harmful, I would not only hurt myself, but I would also hurt Clara.  I cared for her too much to potentially hurt her, even if my caring for her was wrong in itself.

            I shook my head, trying to pull my train of logic out of the crazy spiral it was beginning to form.  I took the wet towel off my head, folded it, and put it back up in the bathroom.

            "You need more time to think about this," I said firmly to myself.  "Go to sleep, and everything will seem simpler in the morning.  Besides, you might be wrong about Clara's feelings for you.  You need to wait until you hear Clara's side of the s F

            I slipped on my nightgown and got into bed.  As I was reaching for my bedside lamp, my phone rang.  I picked up.

            "Hello?"

            "Hi, Miranda, it's Clara.  I hope it's not too late for me to call, but I couldn't sleep.  I didn't wake you, did I?"  She sounded very agitated.

            "I was still awake.  Don't worry; if I was still asleep, I'd just let the call go to voice mail.  Are you ok?"

            "I don't know.  I wanted to talk to you, but I don't want to talk about any of the things I need to talk about.  Maybe I just needed to hear you say that you aren't mad at me, or, at least, that you don't hate me."

            "Of course I'm not mad, and I certainly don't hate you.  Have I done something to make you think I was angry?"

            "No, you haven't," she said quickly.  "I just thought, after this afternoon..." she trailed off, and then said, "I don't want to talk about it.  I just want to make sure you aren't mad."

            "Are you referring to what almost happened on the porch, right before Jason came home?"

            "Yes." 

            "Don't worry, I'm not angry.  In fact..."  I trailed off too, and then laughed nervously.  "I guess I don't want to talk about it, either.  I just want you know that you don't have to worry.  What I told you this afternoon is true.  You can trust me.  You won't lose me as a friend."

            "Thank you for that," she whispered.

            "Today was such a strange day.  I probably won't be able to sleep, either, after everything that has happened.  I thought after I talked to Jason, I'd feel better, but I don't."  I had meant to comfort Clara, but instead I was pouring out my problems to her.

            "Are you and Jason going out now?" she asked.

            "No.  I don’t have any feelings for Jason."

            "Poor Jason, he really likes you a lot."

            "I'm not worried about him.  I'm afraid I'm going to have to be very blunt with him, though.  He's not going to give up on me easily."

            "No, he won't, but that's Jason.  He always thinks he knows what's best for people."

            "I noticed.  He's a lot like Summer, in a lot of ways.  Maybe they should go out."

            Clara laughed softly.  "I think they're too much alike.  Besides, Summer always says Jason's not her type."

            "Maybe that's her way of saying that she likes him.  Maybe she protests too much."

            "Summer has never had any problem going after guys she liked.  Why would she be coy about her feelings for Jason?"

            "I don't know.  Sometimes, when someone has really strong feelings for someone, it can be frightening."  I realized I was talking about my own feelings for Clara, then, and my face grew hot. 

            "Are you speaking from personal experience?"  Her voice was light, and she asked the question the same way that Summer would- as a curious but disinterested party.  My face grew even hotter, and I thought perhaps I was mistaken about her feelings for me.

            "Are you still there?" she asked when I didn't respond.

            "Yes.  I was just thinking.  My mother has always called me a late bloomer.  Before I came here, I was a nerd without any dating prospects, so I've never had to think about it.  School, music, and family were the only things on my mind."

            "That actually sounds nice.  Love can be really painful and complicated.  Maybe you would be happier if you avoided it."

            "Isn't love, if it's with the right person, supposed to be wonderful, though?  Maybe I would be missing out on something if I avoided it."< Figh/span>

            "I guess you're right.  Just make certain it is the right person, when the time comes.  Avoid the likes of Amber.  I wish someone had told me that."

            "I don't think you can choose who you end up falling for," I said, feeling a twinge of pain as the truth of those words hit me.

            "Then what can you do, when you fall for the wrong person?"  Clara wondered aloud.

            "That's the question, isn't it?  Also, how can you be sure whether the person you fell for is the right person, when your reason is so clouded by your feelings?"

            I heard Clara sigh.  Then she said, "I'm tired of always feeling guilty when I fall for someone.  I always feel like I'm forcing something terrible on them that they don't want."

            "Don't feel that way.  You're a wonderful person, and anyone who has earned your affection should feel honored.”

            "You're always so nice, Miranda.  I wish..."

            "You wish what?"

            "I wish I could sleep, so I could form a coherent though," she replied.

            "Turn off your lights and lay down," I said, "and I'll just keep talking until you fall asleep."

            "That could take a while.  My insomnia has been really bad, lately."

            "I can talk for a long time," I countered.  "I can ramble on and on about nothing very skillfully, and put anyone to sleep."

            Clara laughed, and agreed.  I turned off my light, lay down, and started to talk.  I talked endlessly about my troubles playing Mephisto Waltz, and how I wanted to kill Mr. Boscov for making me play it.  I talked about Aunt Elizabeth, and how easy playing piano had been when she was my teacher.  I talked about all of the lessons Aunt Elizabeth had taught me outside of piano, about her knowledge of art and philosophy, and how much I missed her, even though we spoke every week on the phone.  I talked about how different Aunt Elizabeth was from my m Fh Iother, and how much I hated when she and my mother fought.  I rambled on and on, growing drowsier and drowsier, until I didn't remember what I was talking about anymore.  Then I opened my eyes and realized I had fallen asleep.

            "Clara, are you there?"  I whispered into the phone, but everything was silent.  The silence was palpable, like cotton in my ears.  Then, through the silence, there came a whispering.

            "Miranda... Miranda..."

            The phone was still silent.  I looked around and saw the thin, white curtains on my canopy rustle, as if moved by the wind.  Then, at the foot of my bed, I saw a vague shadow.

            "Miranda...Miranda...Miranda..."

            The whispering grew louder.  The shadow at the foot of my bed was more clearly defined, now.  It was human shaped.  It moved closer to me, rustling the curtains of the canopy as it came."

            "Miranda..."

            "Mark?" I whispered weakly.

            "Miranda..."

            My heart leapt with fright, and I sat bolt upright in bed.  The shadow was gone, and I realized it wasn't silent at all, but there was a strong wind rattling my window, followed by a boom of thunder.

            I had been dreaming.

            The room was hot now, and my face was wet with sweat and tears.  I was terrified, trembling, but the heat overcame my fears, and I suddenly had to be rid of my sticky bedclothes.  I reached out with a shaking hand and pulled the bed curtains back.  On the other side, there was no ghostly apparition or nondescript human figure come to haunt me.  There was only a dark and empty room.  I got out of bed and went to window and, mindless of the storm, threw it open, letting the mist from the rain cool my hot face.  The cold and damp woke me up and brought me back to my senses, and I began to cry in earnest.

            "Why aren't you here?  Why won't you come to haunt me, at least?"  I cried indignantly out into the storm.  "I won't be frightened this time.  I promise."

            I let out a sob and doubled over on the window-seat with a sudden spasm of grief, and cried, "why did you leave me at all?  You would have been the only person I could talk to about Clara, but now I have no-one.  You're the only person who would have understood, but you're gone!"

            I succumbed then to grief, and I couldn't utter another word.  My body shook wildly with my sobs, and I was helpless to stop it.  After what may have been a century or a minute, the storm began to subside, as did my tears.  I sighed deeply, numb to my shame and grief, and shut my eyes.

#

            The next morning, after I finished my piano lesson, I was in a foul mood.  Lack of sleep, combined with my lack of progress during a particularly frustrating piano lesson, had made me very cranky, so I went straight to the kitchen to eat away my mood.  When I arrived, I was surprised to find the kitchen occupied by Clara, Summer, and my mother all sitting at the kitchen table together, laughing.  My mother looked very much at home, almost like a high-school student herself, and she was smiling as she told a story about some mischief Mark and I had gotten into as children.  When I thought of Mark, the previous night's haunting dream played itself in my mind again and I felt suddenly unwell.  I stayed back by the door, unnoticed by the others, and clutched the doorway for support.

            "We couldn't tell them apart at all when Miranda put her hair up under Mark's hat, so no-one noticed they'd switched until she was in the dentist's chair, about to get her teeth pulled.  Fortunately, the dentist did notice."

            Summer and Clara laughed, and I noticed that Clara looked a lot better than she had the past week.  There was color in her cheeks again, and her eyes were no longer shadowed by dark circles, but rather sparkled with laughter.  This observation brought me a good deal of relief, so I straightened and entered the room.

            "Mark promised me his desserts for a month if I went to the dentist for him," I said.

            Summer and Clara turned and smiled hello, and Mother came and put Fsizher arm around me, leading me to the table.

            "I'm sorry, I didn't notice you were here," she said.  "How was your lesson?"

            "Terrible.  I'm not making any progress at all, and Mr. Boscov says that he's going to assign a new song at our lesson on Wednesday.  I can only imagine what sort of horror he has in store for me, this time," I replied.

            Mother smiled reassuringly.  "I'm sure you will improve.  You just need to get used to the way Mr. Boscov teaches.  Sit down, and I'll make us all some lunch."

            I sat across from Summer and Clara while Mother busied herself with lunch. 

            "Your music sounded amazing from in here," Summer said, sounding a bit awed.

            I covered my embarrassment at the compliment by saying, "thank you, but I'm surprised you could hear me at all over all of the giggling."

            "When you play, people can't help but listen," Clara said, blushing.

            “You’re really sweet, Clara,” I blurted, but as soon as I did, I felt my face grow warm, as well. I stood up quickly and said, "I'm going to get a Coke.  Would you like anything?"

            "A Coke sounds nice, thank you," Clara said.

            "Summer, would you like something to drink?"

            Summer was leaning back in her chair and examining me with a quizzical expression.  Then she sat up and said, "A Coke is fine, thanks."

            I ignored Summer's strange look and went to the fridge.  When I had finished getting the sodas and filling glasses with ice, and my mother had finished putting together a quick lunch, the whole party settled down at the table again.  Clara was in a particularly effervescent mood, and her keen eyes sparkled with an unusual energy. 

            "I can't imagine Miranda being mistaken for a boy," Clara commented. 

            "Well, Miranda and Mark were little more than toddlers when they pulled the dentist stunt.  Just a couple of years later, it was easier to tell them apart," Mother laughed again, and it seemed to me like a bittersweet laugh, full of fondness and regret.  Clara seemed to notice the sadness behind her laugh, and let the subject drop.

            "I'm glad you're feeling so much better today," Summer commented approvingly, looking at Clara's now-empty plate.  "You were beginning to look like a walking skeleton."

            "That's not true," Clara said indignantly.  "Skeletons can't walk."

            I laughed, "unless, of course, it's some sort of undead skeleton."

            Clara rolled her eyes back and moaned, "brains."

            I squealed and jumped behind Summer.  "Help me, Summer.  Save me from Zombie-Clara."

            "Miranda, please don't scream in the house," Mother said, exasperatedly.

            "Sorry, Mother," I said abashedly, and sat at the table again.

            "I don't know anyone else who calls their mom 'Mother,'” Summer said.

            "It's cute," Clara added, "It's very like Miranda to do that."

            "She's done that since she was seven years old, and decided that 'Mother' was a more grown-up thing to say than 'Mommy," Mother said, smiling indulgently.  "She also insisted on calling her aunt 'Elizabeth,' even though everyone else calls her Lizzy."

            "'Elizabeth' suits her better," I sniffed.  I didn't like how the conversation kept focusing on my embarrassing childhood stories, and was glad when lunch was over and Summer and Clara dragged me out to the movies, which had been their original purpose for visiting.

#

There was only one theater in town.  It was an historic theater which had been recently restored, and only had a few screens.  Fortunately, one was currently showing Innocence Symphony.  The movie helped to elevate my mood and take my mind off of my problems.  When the movie was over, though, Clara seemed to have become somewhat fatigued again.  She yawned and lagged behind Summer and I as we walked out of the theater, and sat outside on a bench to rest when Summer and I went to the restroom.

            I had washed my hands and was about to go outside again when Summer stepped in front of the bathroom door, cutting me off. 

            "Okay, what's going on with you and Clara," she demanded.

            ""What do you mean?" I asked, attempting to appear nonchalant.

            "What was with all of the flirting at lunch?" 

            "We weren't flirting," I said.  "Friends tease each other.  It's completely normal behavior."

            "Yes, but combine the teasing with all of the compliments, the blushing, and the eyelash fluttering, and that equals flirting," Summer insisted.

            "I don't think-" I started, but Summer cut me off.

            "I know that you are still pretty naive about that sort of thing, but Clara isn't.  She takes it very seriously.  I care about both of you, and I don't like it when people play with my friends' feelings.  You need to back off."

            I wanted to deny what Summer said, but I couldn't honestly do so.  Summer's rebuke was well-deserved, because I was indeed flirting with Clara while suspecting how she felt for me, and at the same time not knowing if I could requite those feelings.  I sighed and nodded as my response.

            "Good, we understand each other," she said, smiling.  "Now we can have fun."

            She slung her arm around my neck, almost choking me in the process, and dragged me outside.

            Clara was waiting outside, a few feet away from the door.  Her back was to us and her hands were clenched into fists.  I went to stand beside her, but she didn't look at me.  Instead, she was standing statue-still, as though in shock. I followed her gaze and there, in front of the ticket counter, was the reason she was about to cry.

            Clara's sister, Giselle, was standing in line with her arm around David's waist.  She seemed oblivious to being watched, but David turned around and caught Clara's eye.  He smiled, winked, and kissed Giselle on the cheek, never taking his eyes off Clara.  Clara went completely white.        

            "I'm going to murder David," Summer announced calmly, and began to walk towards him.

            Clara, though, reached out and grabbed Summer's arm.  "No, don't cause a scene.  That's what he wants," she said, though her voice quivered. "I have to go home and tell Mom."

            "You won't have to tell anyone if David is dead," Summer reasoned.

            "You will just make Giselle mad.  If she gets mad enough at me, she'll keep seeing him just to spite me.  I have to let Mom know."

            Clara spun on her heel and marched out into the parking lot and towards Summer's car.  Summer shot me a worried look, and the two of us scrambled to follow.  We got to the car, piled in, and Summer drove us to Clara's house in silence.

            Clara's house was Victorian, like mine, though considerably smaller, and it seemed it was in the process of being restored.  Clara plowed through the wrought-iron gate and ran up the walkway while Summer and I lingered behind, not wanting to interfere in her personal talk with her mother, yet not wanting to leave Clara alone.  We stood awkwardly on the porch while we waited for Clara.  After what seemed like ages, Clara came outside again, her eyes red from crying.

            "Mom said she would talk to Giselle, and forbid her from seeing David, but that won't do much good.  Apparently, Giselle has to 'make her own mistakes,' as if she hasn't made enough," Clara said disdainfully before crumbling into a wicker chair.

            "Well, it's all anyone can do, short of locking the girl in a Fizeconvent," Summer said glumly, sitting in the other chair.  "Have you told Giselle what David did to you?"

            "Yes.  She thinks it was my fault, for being 'weird,'" Clara sighed.

            A shudder ran through Clara’s thin frame, and it was clear that she was struggling to hold back tears, so I knelt next to her chair and said, "you can cry; we don't mind if you do.  You don't have to hold back."

            "I cry too much," Clara said.  "I'm so weak.  No one else I know cries as often."

            "That's not true," I said.  "I cried just last night."

            "Why?" she whispered thickly.

            "I had a dream about Mark," I said.  "I felt better, once I let it out."

            Clara let out a muffled sob, putting her head in her hands.  She sat and wept a few moments before Summer came over and put her arms around her.  Clara wept with almost the same abandon I'd had the previous night, though she kept murmuring about it being "stupid" between sobs.

            When Clara’s sobs subsided, and she insisted that she felt better, we ordered a pizza and stayed outside on the porch, eating and listening to Summer propose varied gruesome punishments for David.  We sat outside and talked until the sun went down and it began to grow dark.  Then Summer, still worried about Clara, decided we should stay over.  After I called my mother for permission, we went inside and climbed the narrow stairway to Clara's room.

            Clara had a large attic bedroom.  It was a comfortable room with a slanted ceiling and a clear skylight on the high end, over the bed, through which you could see the sky perfectly.  There was a small brass day-bed with a purple and white patchwork quilt, a small round table with a straight-backed chair next to it, and a dresser on the other end of the bed, cluttered with objects and stuffed with clothes until the drawers wouldn't close properly.  On the narrow end of the room, there was a small round window over a desk, which had a laptop computer and was crammed with stacks of books.  Various paintings, some of which bore Clara's unique style, were pinned to the walls, and in the corner was an easel displaying Clara's latest, unfinished work.  I wanted to compliment the painting, but I remembered what Summer had told me at the theater, so I remained silent.  Instead, I sat on the straight-backed chair while Clara sat on the bed while Summer looked through the books on Clara's desk.

            Summer gave a sudden little laugh and cried out, "Clara is a fortune-teller!"

            "Excuse me?" Clara replied, boggling.

            "You have a deck of tarot cards," Summer said, holding up a deck of cards and a booklet that said, "Le Tarot Baroque."

            "Oh, those- I've never used them.  I just liked the artwork on the cards," Clara said dismissively.

            Summer's face lit up.  "In that case, I will be the fortune-teller."  She went to the dresser and rummaged around, finding a long white scarf and several scented candles.  She put the scarf on her head like a veil, then took the candles and arranged them on the little table, so that the table was illuminated when the lights were turned out. 

            "Let me sit there," she said, shoving me out of the straight-backed chair and onto the bed.  "Now, I am Madame de Beaumont, and I am here to tell you the future," she said in a terrible French accent.

            Clara and I, going along with the game, gazed at "Madame de Beaumont" with overly-dramatized awe and wonder, and reverently placed ourselves directly across the table from her.

            "Who will be first to have their path revealed?"  she asked.

            Clara and I pointed at each other.

            "Cowards!  Do not insult the great Madame de Boucoup."

            "I thought you were Madame de Beaumont," I said, laughing.

            "Silence!  For that, you shall be first."

            Summer dropped the facade and flipped through the booklet, "so, how do you do this?"

            "Some psychic," Clara laughed.

            Summer ignored her and continued to flip through the booklet.  "The cross thingy looks too complicated... ok, here we F="0">

            She shuffled the deck and placed it in front of me.  "Cut the cards, if you dare."

            I did so, and then she lay out a row of three cards, face down, with a fourth one directly above them.

            "The first card represents the past," she said, reading the booklet.  She flipped the first card over dramatically, "the fool!"

            The card featured a harlequin, half blindfolded, and about to leap off of a cliff while a tiny cherub tried to tug him backward by the pants.  We fell into fits of laughter.

            "Yes, that's definitely me," I said after I'd caught my breath.

            "'The beginning of a journey- innocence,' that does sound like you, Miranda," Summer said.  Then she turned the next card.  "This card represents the present.  It's 'the tower.’  Sudden change, destruction- your comforting beliefs crumble around you."

            "The card looks scary," Clara added, looking at the picture of this ornate, white tower, struck by lightning and, indeed, crumbling away.

            "Just keep going," I sighed.

            "Okay, the future is the three of wands.  'You await an outcome.  Patience is required.'"

            "That's an extremely boring future," Clara remarked.

            "I'd rather have boring than scary," I said firmly.

            "The last card is the final outcome, or lesson to be learned," Summer continued, and turned over the card on top, "temperance."

            "Miranda's already perfectly temperate," Clara remarked again.  "I'm afraid you're a terrible fortune-teller, Summer."

            "We'll see, oh, ye of little faith," Summer said, smirking.  "You're next."

            Clara and I switched places, so that Clara was sitting directly across from Summer, and as Clara sat down a patch of moonlight broke through the clouds above and shone through the skylight, casting it's ghostly shade on Clara's skin.  Clara looked up at the moon through the skylight and her breath caught. 

            "Pay attention," Summer said, though her facade was only half-hearted now.  Clara cut the cards, and Summer dealt them as she did before.

            "The past is the 5 of swords.  'You have attained victory, but at a price too high- devastation.'"

            "Okay, that actually sounds pretty accurate," Clara admitted glumly.  I gave her a weak smile, which she returned, but Summer cleared her throat and I looked guiltily away.

            "Thank you.  The present is the Queen of Wands.  Wow, Miranda, this girl looks exactly like you."

            The card pictured a willowy girl with long, blonde hair gazing sagely forward, holding a wand and surrounded by golden cherubs.

            "I look like a fairy godmother?" I asked sarcastically.

            "No, but she looks like you.  She has the same green eyes, and long blonde hair," Summer persisted.

            "What does the card mean?" Clara asked. 

            "A trusted friend or wise councilor- good advice," Summer replied.

            "That sounds like Miranda, too," Clara whispered.

            "Maybe I'm getting better at this," Summer's voice was lower, as well.  She was no longer play-acting, but looked at the cards with and intense expression. 

            "The future card is 'the devil- enslavement by an evil force."

            "The way things are going now, that seems likely to happen," Clara said, and shivered. 

    , to F &       "We wouldn't let that happen," I said.  "Really, this is a silly game and we're starting to take it far too seriously.  We should do something else."

            "There's only one card left," Clara argued.  "Let's finish."

            Summer turned the last card.  My blood ran cold when I saw the image on the card.  A young, blond man smiled serenely as he swung by his neck from a rope.  I closed my eyes and turned away, feeling ill.

            "The Hanged Man," Summer said, "is the final outcome."

            Clara didn't reply.  In fact, she'd gone so still that she no longer seemed to be breathing.  Her eyes seemed blank in the candlelight.  Then she shut her eyes and gave a weak laugh.

            "You're right, Miranda, this is a stupid game."

            She stood up to turn on the lights, and in the sudden, bright light I saw that her eyes were strangely glassy, and there was a sheen of sweat on her brow, though the room felt perfectly cool.

            "Are you okay, Clara?" I asked. 

            "I just need to get some water," she said, and walked shakily to the door.  She put her hand on the doorknob and leaned against it, as if bracing herself, then crumbled to the floor.

            "Clara!"  Summer and I cried simultaneously as we rushed to her side.  I reached her first, and tried to help her up.  She didn't respond, however, and merely sat limply in my arms, her hair sticking to her brow.

            "I'm going to go get her mom," Summer said, and rushed downstairs.

            I took a piece of paper from under her bed and used it to fan her face, willing her to awaken.  She sighed at bit as the cool air hit her face, but she didn't stir.  Soon, Clara's mother rushed into the room and reached for her daughter, so I moved away to let her take over.

            Summer was behind Clara's mother with a glass of water, and I saw Giselle stand curiously in the doorway, watching the scene in the room but neither moving to help nor saying anything.  Clara's mother took the water from Summer, ignoring all else, dipped a handkerchief into the water, and began mo Few Rpping Clara's face.

            "Come on, sweetie, wake up," she said urgently.

            When the cold water was applied, Clara groaned and began to stir.  Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened them.

            "What happened?" she asked groggily.

            "You gave us a scare, that's all," she said as she helped Clara into the bed and propped her feet up.  "Summer, did you see her eat much, earlier?"

            "She ate a lot today.  She had 2 slices of pizza, and sandwiches at Miranda's house," Summer replied.  "But she hasn't eaten much at school this week." 

            I was puzzled that Clara's mother would ask Summer if Clara had eaten, since Clara was conscious and able to speak for herself, but I said nothing.  Instead, I fetched another glass of water for Clara while her mother phoned the family physician.  Giselle was in the room when I returned, sitting at the table while Summer glared daggers at her.  I handed the water to Clara, which she accepted with a weak smile, as Clara's mother hung up the phone.

            "Well, your doctor says that since you've been under a lot of stress lately, and you haven't been eating, it's not surprising you collapsed.  You need to rest, and if you still feel bad on Monday, I'll take you to the doctor."  She turned to Summer and I, "I'm sorry to break up the party, but it'd be best if Clara got some sleep, now."

            "I'm sorry," Clara added.

            "Don't apologize for getting sick," I teased mildly.

            "Call me when you feel better," Summer added.

            "I will," Clara said.

            I gave Clara one last smile before reluctantly following Summer from the room.

#

            I spent most of Sunday checking for messages on my phone for updates from Clara, but she didn't call or text all day.  I called Summer that night, but didn’t have news, either.

            On Monday, Clara didn't show up at school, but she sent Summer a text saying that she was still bedridden.  The school was alive with excitement over the school dance on Friday.  Quite a few people approached Jason and Chad to inquire about Brad's health and confirm that Candy Mountain was going to be able to play.  Jason reassured everyone that Brad, in fact, did not have meningitis, but only a common flu, and should be well in time for the dance.  As glad as I was that Brad was going to be okay, the mention of meningitis made me worry that Clara had something more serious than fatigue after all.  This thought invited all sorts of scenarios to my mind, each ending in Clara's woefully tragic death.  I realized I was being silly, and that most likely, Clara would be well in a day or so, but the day still dragged by, miserably.

            When my last class was finally over, I was putting my books into my bag when Chad came up to me with a determined look on his face.

            "You are going to Clara's house," he demanded.

            "I am?  I thought Clara needed quiet, so she could rest."

            Chad handed me a folder.  "That's all the work Clara missed today, and some notes I took for her in history.  You now have the perfect excuse to go see her."

            I took the folder, confused.  "Why do you want me to go?  Don't you want to see her?"

            "Stop being dense, Miranda.  She wants to see you, or rather, she needs to see you.  Please don't look so shocked, because I know you know how she feels, and you can see what it's doing to her.  She feels guilty for liking you so much, and it's tearing her apart.  You can see it too- I know you can- but you just sit there, and do nothing."  He stopped and took a deep breath, restraining his anger.  "You can be there for her in a way that I can't.  Just take the stupid homework and talk to her."

            I looked dow F"0"n at the folder, and back up at Chad, bewildered.

            "I owe you an apology, Chad."

            "You don't owe me anything."

            "But I do.  I thought you were such a clown.  I thought you were driven by hormones, but you genuinely care for her.  I misjudged you, and I'm sorry."

            "It's okay.  I am a clown, actually, but I really care for her.  I have cared for her for a long time.  Just... go."

            "Thank you," I said, and left.

#

                        It was too far to walk to Clara's house from school, and when I got home Mother was out running errands, so I took my own car.  I tried to ignore the feelings of guilt I had for driving the beautiful car on my own.  I tried to banish the memories that surfaced, as I drove, of our sixteenth birthday party, and the surprise and delight on Mark's face when we were presented with the keys.  I tried, instead, to think of Clara, and what in the world I could say to her that would help her.  When I arrived at her house, I'd thought of nothing.

            Clara's mother answered the door, and when I explained that I'd brought Clara's schoolwork, she let me in at once.  She said that Clara was feeling better, and would most likely be back in school the next day, and gestured kindly for me to go upstairs.

            I climbed the narrow staircase to Clara's attic slowly, looking at the pictures on the walls.  Most of the pictures were of Clara and Giselle. The most prominent showed Clara and Giselle as little girls, wearing matching dresses and standing on a huge, manicured lawn in front of a large colonial manor. 

There was also a large framed picture of Clara's mother in a beautiful, white romantic tutu and a veil, en pointe.  The caption read "Myrta, Queen of the Willis, Giselle 19--"

            Clara’s mother looked astonishingly like Clara in the photo, and seeing the mournful expression on her face, partially concealed by the white burial shroud, made my blood run cold.  I ignored the feeling, went quickly to Clara's door, and knocked.

            "Come in, Mom, the door's open," Clara’s voice called from within.

            I opened the door slightly and peeked in.  "It's not your mom, it's only me.  Are you feeling up to visitors?"

            "Oh, yes, come in," was the reply.

            I stepped into the room and saw Clara still in bed, though she was dressed and sitting up with a volume of Shakespeare's sonnets open on her lap.

            "I'm sorry, but I'm here to give you more homework," I said teasingly.

            "I don't mind.  This isn't homework, anyway.  I was simply trying to figure out love.  Shakespeare isn't helping me at all."

            "Perhaps you should try Petrarch, instead," I suggested. 

            "Perhaps," she conceded.  She closed the book and rubbed her eyes.  "What do my compassionate teachers have in store for me?" she asked, holding out her hand.

            I handed her the folder, then took the chair from its place beside her table and drew it beside the bed. 

            "This doesn't look too bad.  I'm glad I only missed one day.  I'll have to thank Chad for taking the time to copy his history notes for me."

            "Chad is a nice guy," I said.  "He thinks-" I stopped, unable to figure out how to broach the subject of my visit.

            "He thinks what?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with unconcerned curiosity.  I screwed my courage and continued.

            "Chad thinks your illness was caused by more than common stress.  He believes that you're feeling guilty about something, and that you're let Fnesting those feelings affect your health," I said as gently as I could.

            Clara went pale for a moment, and I worried that she might fall ill again, but she quickly composed herself. 

            "I shouldn't be surprised at Chad's theory," she said.  "He's seen the same thing happen to me before, after I kissed Amber, and after I broke up with David.  I hardly ate for weeks after that happened, and I was almost hospitalized before I realized that it wasn't going to change anything that happened, or make me a better person.  I had been afraid to face who I was, and I went along with what other people expected me to be.  Because of that, a lot of people were hurt, myself included.  I've tried to be careful, lately, to take care of myself, and to avoid the cowardice and selfishness that got me in trouble before.  You can see how well that's worked out for me," she said sadly, gesturing to herself prone in bed.

            "You don't deserve what you're putting yourself through now, and you didn't deserve what you put yourself through back then," I replied.  "What few, small mistakes you made, you made because you were young, and just coming to terms with who you were.  You learned from what happened, so you can move on with a clear conscience.   That's a lot more than anyone can say for David or Amber, who just keep repeating the same awful patterns."

            "But I'm so close to repeating the same patterns, myself," she said frantically.  "Only this time, I'm repeating them with you."

            I reached out and put my hand over her thin, cold one.  "I told you before that you could trust me.  You don't have to worry about repeating any of the awful things you've been through with me.  I promise."

            "You don't understand, though.  On Friday, on Jason's porch, I almost kissed you."

            "On Friday, I almost kissed you," I countered.

            Clara paused, and then she smiled a small, a timid smile.  "I thought that perhaps- just perhaps- that might have been the case, but I didn't allow myself that hope.  After misreading Amber so badly, I try to err on the side of caution.  Plus, everything that Jason had been telling me, about not pushing anything you don't want on you, kept going through my head."

            "So, that was what your fight was about?"  I asked.

            Clara nodded.  "He found out that I liked you from S Fn>

            I withdrew my hand, which had been holding hers this whole time, and clenched my hands into fists.  "Jason was using your insecurities to manipulate you, so that he could have his chance with me," I said furiously.

            Clara surprised me by falling into a fit of laughter.  "I'm sorry," she gasped, "but I've never seen you get so angry.  For a moment, you reminded me of Summer.  It seems you are both frightening when you lose your tempers."

            I relaxed a bit.  "I hope I'm able to scare Jason as effectively when I confront him about this."

            Clara relaxed as well and smiled brightly.  "I'm so glad you moved here, and I was able to meet you.  I can say things to you that I've never been able to say to anyone else.  You're the first person I've been able to talk to so openly and unguardedly, and when I'm with you I feel-" she stopped, as if she couldn't find the words for how she felt, then she blushed and continued more tentatively.  "I would like for there to be more between us.  Do you feel the same?"

            "Oh!  Clara, how I wish I could give you my answer right now!  Please understand, but I need some time to work everything out."  I hated the words as soon as they were out of my mouth, but I had to be truthful to her.

            "I do understand," Clara said.  "If I'd been able to take the time to work out my feelings two years ago, I'd be a happier person today.  Don't let me push you into accepting anything you aren't ready for, or that you don't want."

            "Thank you for understanding.  I promise you that I will answer soon."

facageb

Chapter 5

Illumination

The Tower

             Fn><

            Nevertheless, Mr. Boscov nodded encouragingly and said, "not bad, Miranda, not bad at all.  I'd like you, though, to be able to let the notes fall where they may, instead of trying to force the cadence.  In an impressionist piece like this, you need to let the music be entirely in the present."

            His words hit too close to the present frustration I felt, and I let out a strangled sob, letting my head fall into my hands and forgetting the music.

            "You weren't playing badly," Mr Boscov said, sounding astonished at my reaction.

            "I'm not crying because you corrected me," I said through my tears.  I took a deep breath to steady myself before I continued.  "I just have some issues I'm trying to deal with right now.  I'm sorry for letting them interfere with the lesson."

            "Don't apologize," Mr. Boscov said kindly.  “Music is an art. You can't avoid bringing your personal feelings into your lessons.  You simply need to learn how to channel those feelings into your art, instead of letting your feelings overwhelm you."

            I smiled and nodded.  Encouraged by my responsiveness, he continued, "would it help to talk about it?"

            "I can't talk to anyone about it.  No one I know would understand," I said bitterly.

            "That is very teenaged of you," Mr. Boscov remarked.  "Have you tried talking to your parents?  Sometimes, they can surprise you."

            "I already know my parents' opinion on the subject," I replied.

            "Are you in trouble for something you've done?"  he guessed.

            "No, I’m not in trouble yet.  I'm trying to make a decision.  I wa Niment to do something.  It's something some people believe is wrong, but others say isn't wrong at all.  Even so, if there's a chance what I want to do is wrong, shouldn’t I refrain, to be on the safe side?"

            "It's hard to say, Miranda; you're being very vague," he said.  "I'm sure that whatever you're considering can't be so bad it would shock someone who's been around as long as I have been.  Besides, you seem like a good girl.  Why don't you ask my advice directly?"

            I didn't answer right away, but rather played a line of the music with my right hand absentmindedly, stopped, and said, "I'm not ready to tell anyone yet."

            Mr. Boscov didn't insist, to my relief, but instead looked thoughtful for a few moments.  Then he said, "I would normally say to be on the safe side and follow your parents' wishes, but you already know you should, yet are still tormented by this decision.  That leads me to think that this isn't a normal matter of breaking parental rules.  Tell me, if you refrain from doing this thing, will anyone be hurt?"

            "Not physically, but two people will suffer.  There is a danger that one of these two people will suffer ill-health as a result of their emotional suffering."

            "That sounds quite serious.  Will anyone suffer if you do act?"

            "My family will suffer, and I don't want that to happen.  We've been through enough this past year," I said.

            "Can you put this off?"

            "No.  It's kinder for everyone involved if I decide quickly."

            "Well, Miranda, I'm stumped.  If people will suffer if you do act, and people will suffer if you do not act, all you can do is follow your own heart.  Be true to yourself.  Are you certain you don't wish to confide in me further?  Your vagueness has reduced me to clichés."

            I managed a weak laugh at this.  His words were cliché, but they made sense to me.  I decided to, when I had the opportunity, examine my motivations more closely.

            "Have you finished crying?  If so, I'd like to hear the first section of Mephisto Waltz I've assigned you.

            I dried my tears, took out the music, and began to play.  I got about halfway through the piece before he stopped me.

            "You are improving, Miranda, but you are muddying the rhythm.  I want you to make me feel that this is a dance."

            I played the same melody, but this time, as a boogie-woogie in a swing rhythm.  Mr. Boscov laughed loudly and said, "that's more the idea, Miranda, but if you do that again, I will hit your hands with a ruler, like my teacher used to do to me."

#

            That evening, after dinner, I tried to do my homework, and failed.  I was supposed to read a chapter in history, but I could not concentrate.  I stared at the words on the page, and chanted them in my mind, but their meaning slipped away from me.  I was as distracted as I had been during my piano lesson, and I knew I'd never get any work finished until I had made my decision about Clara.  I stood and began to pace my room, but I could not focus.  I lay down on the bed and tried to relax before I considered the matter, but I was too fatigued, and my eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep.

            I shook myself awake and got off the bed.  On a whim, I bolted downstairs.

            "Mother, I'll be back in a little bit.  I'm going for a walk," I said as I passed her on the way to the front door.

            "Take your phone with you," she replied.

            I checked my pockets and, on finding them empty, bolted back upstairs, took the phone off the charger, and went back downstairs.

            When I got outside, the cool evening air hit my face and woke me completely, and my senses sharpened at once.  A large, orange gibbous moon was rising, and I turned my footsteps toward it and made my way to the beach.

            When I got there, the moon had fully risen and was dulling from bright ora N fange to pale silver.  The dark grey sea and the light grey sand reflected its pale light, and I sat basking in it, letting my anxieties quiet themselves.  I gently turned my thoughts to Clara again, and briefly entertained how pleasant it would be to take a moonlit walk with Clara by my side.

            "Is that wrong of me?" I asked myself.  "Are my feeling for her selfish?  Are my feelings for her dirty, or viceful?"

            The very idea was ridiculous.  I wanted Clara’s happiness as much as I wanted my own.  I was being so careful- trying to consider everyone's feelings, and not allowing myself to succumb to temptation- that I was certain what I felt was nothing like vice.

            I sighed and smiled to myself, and resolved to requite Clara’s feelings.  In that moment, my heart seemed much lighter.  I felt a rush of courage, and a strange determination to make myself worthy of Clara’s affection.  It was obvious to me now that my feelings for Clara were not wrong at all.  They illuminated and elevated my heart, and I felt comforted by them, in spite of my fears.

            But, I knew, when I acted on my feelings, it would cause my family pain.  What could I possibly say to them, to make them understand?  Mr. Boscov had told me to be true to myself, and I knew that even if I'd never met Clara, I'd have had to tell my parents certain, uncomfortable things about myself eventually.  I was not a late bloomer, and I was not an overgrown child.  I was a young woman, and I had never been interested in boys before because I never would be interested.  I would have to tell my family at some point, and that would inevitably cause problems.  I didn't want to bring more problems to my family while we were still grieving for Mark.  I was almost tempted to keep all of this a secret from my parents until some more time had passed, and their grief wasn't quite so raw. 

However, I needed to give Clara my honest reply as soon as possible, and this would force me to reveal everything to my parents soon.  I would not insult Clara by hiding our relationship, or by asking her to keep secrets for me.  I could never feel ashamed of her, or make her feel I was ashamed.  Telling my parents would be difficult, but I had, as my assets, an assurance of how right my feelings were, the strength that my knowledge of Clara's feelings gave me, and an aunt I knew would hear my explanation of the situation and try to understand how I felt, whether she ended up supporting my decision or not.  I decided that after I told Clara my decision, I would go to Aunt Elizabeth and let her advise me how best to approach my parents.

            As if on cue, my phone rang and I knew it was Mother calling to tell me it was time to return.  I stood, answered the phone, and turned away from the sea to walk home.

#

            The next day at school, I was unusually awkward around Clara.  Having decided to requite her feelings, I now had to decide where and how I would tell her.  I wanted to tell her face-to-face, and I needed to be able to get her alone to do so.  Before I approached her, I wanted to find the perfect words to express my feelings for her, but everything I thought of sounded either stupidly cliché or hopelessly corny.  Every time I thought about telling her, I got uncontrollable butterflies in the pit of my stomach, and my nervousness threatened to overwhelm me. 

            I didn't have an opportunity to talk to Clara very much in Latin class, but I couldn't even say "good morning" to her without stuttering.  Later, as I was walking across the courtyard to our lunch spot, I was distracted by the sight of Clara lounging gracefully under the oak tree.  She looked up at me and waved just as a gust of wind rustled the tree, causing some golden fall-leaves to cascade around her.  I waved back, and as I did, I collided head-first with Chad. 

            "Ouch, watch where you're going," he complained. 

            "That’s my line," I replied, checking my nose to see if it was broken.  After we'd sorted out our injuries and gathered our dropped things, we sat down with our friends, all of whom were still laughing at our predicament.

            "Some friends, laughing at our pain," Chad grumbled. 

            "Don't sulk, Chad.  You'll live," Summer replied, still laughing.

            "The look on your face was priceless," Jason agreed between bites of lunch.  He seemed to be in a hurry, and was bolting his lunch down quickly.

            Clara was laughing as well, but leaned over and touched my nose tenderly.  "Is your nose alright?  It's very red."

            "It's ok," I replied, trying not to blush.  "It's not bleeding, is it?"  I asked.

            "Not that I can see."  She rummaged through her bag and t Nh Cl

            She handed me the tissues, and our hands touched briefly.  I felt my face grow warm, and  looked down, embarrassed.  "Thank you."

            I held one of the tissues to my nose and looked up.  I saw Summer glaring at me disapprovingly, but I ignored her.  Jason, also, was looking at me with an air of disapproval, but he finished bolting his lunch and stood up.

            "If you're finished, Chad, we need to go to the Gym and help with the stage setup for the dance tomorrow," Jason said.

            Chad pouted, but got up, taking his food with him and eating on the way.

            "What are you two wearing to the dance?"  Summer asked excitedly when the boys had gone. 

            "I didn't know I was going to the dance," Clara said.

            "Of course you are.  We all are," Summer said exasperatedly.

            "No one's asked me to go," Clara protested.

            "You don't have to have a date, we'll go as a group.  Seriously, why is it such a struggle to get you to do anything social?"

            "I can't dance," Clara continued.

            "How can you not dance?  Your mother used to be a professional dancer.  You took ballet lessons until you were a freshman," Summer said.

            "Ballet isn't the same thing," Clara replied.

            "Listen, if you don't go and at least watch Candy Mountain play, Chad will cry.  You don't want to make Chad cry, do you?"  Summer asked.

            Clara didn't answer, but looked at me with a questioning glance.  I didn't know what to say, so I blurted out, "I used to take ballet lessons, too, when I was little."

            Summer rolled her eyes.  "What is with you today, Miranda?  First you mumble and stutter all morning, then you turn into a klutz, and then you completely fail to keep up with a simple conversation.  You're being a complete space-case.  Tell Clara to come to the dance on Friday."

            "I can't tell Clara what to do," I said, "and I'm not a space-case," I added indignantly.

            "I'll go," Clara said.  "But if I see David, I'm leaving."

            I felt my mood began to lift, realizing that the school dance was the perfect opportunity to get Clara alone.  Even if David did appear, I'd be able to offer Clara a ride home, and talk to her face-to face then.

            "You wouldn't have to leave early if I were allowed to kill David," Summer persisted.

            "You are sweet, Summer.  No one's ever offered to commit murder for me before, but it’s better not to let him turn you into a felon.  I'll find a way to keep him away from Giselle.  Mom already has her practically under house arrest, and she's still in junior high, so she can't see him in school.  David might get bored with dating a junior high school girl, and give up on her completely," Clara said hopefully.

            Clara's hopeful mood was refreshing.  She looked so much healthier and happier after our talk that I was convinced I'd made the right decision.  She ate her lunch, laughed and talked with Summer, and seemed not to have a care in the world.  I watched her, my own lunch forgotten, with a sense of happy satisfaction.

            "Is that okay, Miranda?" Summer asked.

            "Is what okay?" I replied.

            "Miranda, please wake up.  I was just saying that you should both pick out what you're going to wear tonight, and then, on Friday afternoon, come over to my house so I can do your hair and makeup."

            "Oh, yes, that sounds fine," I agreed.

            Lunchtime was over, so I walked Clara to class, glad that Summer had her next class on the opposite side of campus.  I was able to speak freely that way, and not have to worry about being lectured for flirting.  Clara seemed so happy, that she didn't even glance at David, who shared her next class and glared a Nman"> t us as we talked outside of the classroom.  When I left Clara to go to my own class, David was still glaring at me, but my heart was so light that I simply smiled and waved at him in response.

#

            That evening, I applied myself to the daunting task of picking out a dress for the dance.  I had quite a few dresses, a couple of them formal, but most of them simply church dresses.  I pulled the nicest of my church dresses, as well as my formal gowns, out of the closet and piled them on the bed.  While I was still doing this, my phone rang.  It was Aunt Elizabeth.

            "Hello, Miranda.  I haven't heard from you in a while.  I hope you're doing well," she said.

            "Hi, Aunt Elizabeth," I said brightly, separating the clothes on my bed into neat piles.  "I'm fine, how are you?"

            "I'm doing well, thank you.  I must admit, it's been so long since your last call that I was beginning to worry," she said in a low voice.  I immediately felt guilty for not calling her earlier.

            "I'm sorry, but things have been weird lately.  I was planning to call you soon, though."

            "Is there anything you want to talk about?" she asked.

            "No, not yet.  I promise, though, that I will tell you what's been happening very soon.  In fact, I will tell you Saturday, if everything goes according to plan."

            "You sound optimistic.  Alek- Mr. Boscov- told me that you seemed upset about something yesterday.”

            "How much do you know?" I asked.  "Did he tell you what we talked about during my lesson?"

            "Yes," she admitted, "though he was very vague.  He only hinted that N  you might want someone to talk to that you could trust."

            "Well, I was pretty vague with him.  I will need to talk to you, but not yet.  I'm sorry for being so mysterious."

            "Are you sure you are well?"

            "I'm very well," I said, picking out a peach organdy dress I'd worn the previous Easter.  "Things are confusing right now, but very good."

            "It almost sounds as though you've fallen in love," Aunt Elizabeth said lightly.

            "Do you think my peach organdy dress could be dressed up for evening?" I asked, changing the subject.  I carried the dress into the bathroom so I could hold it in front of myself and examine it in the full-length mirror.

            "I think it could, perhaps with some pearls," she said.  "Are you planning a date?"

            "I'm going to a school dance with a group of friends," I said.

            "I see.  I'm glad you've made so many friends.  I've been worried that you would get lonely at your new school."

            "I am lonely, sometimes," I said plainly.  "At school, when I'm with my friends, I'm okay, but when I'm home and it's quiet, or when I need someone to talk to, I think of Mark.  He understood me in a way no one else could."

            "You can always come to me, but I know it isn't the same.  You and Mark shared a special bond.  I hope you find someone your own age you can talk to with that sort of ease."

            I immediately thought of Clara, but I didn't want to give anything away, so I remained silent.

            "It's getting late, so I won't pry anymore," Aunt Elizabeth said.  "Promise you will call me on Saturday, though.  You're a young woman with good judgment, so I'm sure you will be alright.  Be sure to use that good judgment before you leap into anything, though."

            "I promise, both to call you on Saturday and to use my good judgment," I laughed.  "Trust me N , I've been thinking about things long and hard, and I know I'm on the right path.  I swayed the peach dress back and forth, as if dancing, and said, "Yes, I'll definitely wear the peach organdy."

            "Can you promise me one more thing?"  Aunt Elizabeth asked.

            "Yes?"

            "Enjoy yourself at the dance," she said.

            I laughed, made my promise, and said goodnight.  Then I hung the dress on one of the handles of the double-doors of my armoire, next to my clean school uniform, which hung on the other handle, and got ready for bed.  I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, but I decided to try and go to bed early, because I'd be up late the next night.  Mother had gladly extended my curfew for the dance, because I’d been so good about obeying curfew so far.

            I almost felt guilty, knowing I planned to go against what I knew to be her wishes while at the dance, but I knew Aunt Elizabeth was right; I had my own good judgment and would use it when deciding how to live. 

            I climbed into bed, closed the bed curtains like I always did, and slid under the covers, clutching the flop-eared rabbit Clara had once admired.  I touched my nose to the rabbit's, remembering how Clara had kissed it, and then closed my eyes with a contented sigh.

            I was too excited to sleep, though, and I lay for a long time, eyes shut but wide awake, trying to slow my breathing.  I had almost decided to give up, turn on the light, and get a book to read, when I heard a familiar sigh of wind, and a voice whispering, "Miranda."

            So, I thought, I was asleep, after all, and dreaming like I had a week ago.  I kept my eyes closed, determined to will my dream away.  I tried to think about something else, and clutched my rabbit tighter, but I heard another rustle, and felt the bed curtain brush against my arm.

            My eyes flew open in alarm, and I saw a human-shaped shadow fall on the bed curtain.  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out the shape more clearly. It was tall and broad-shouldered. It definitely looked male.  It moved silently across my room, first one direction, then another.  It walked past my bed again, rustling the curtains at my feet.  I drew my feet up and shut my eyes again.

            "Wake up," I ordered myself.

      rab N"0"      Just then I heard a loud thump and I opened my eyes again.  I was terrified, but I was certain that no ghost or specter could make a noise that loud.  I got up and pulled the curtain on the canopy back, revealing an empty, dark room.

            "You're being silly," I told myself aloud.  I got out of bed and turned on the lights.  "See, there's nothing here."

            I looked around the room, which was still empty.  Satisfied I was alone, I was about to go back to bed when I noticed that my dress had moved, and was now hanging directly on top of my school uniform instead of beside it.  Puzzled, I went to move it back to its original position when I saw a small packet of paper tucked into the dress's sash.  I hadn't put it there, and for a moment I was too frightened to reach out and grab it in order to see what it was.  However, I told myself that perhaps Mother or Daddy had come into my room to check on me, and left me a note.  I laughed at my fears, took the packet, and opened it.  What I saw made me gasp aloud, and I stumbled back to sit on my bed, unable to stand.

            I had a spell of vertigo, in which my vision went fuzzy and dark, but when my vision cleared again, what I'd seen was still there, spilled out on my bedspread, undeniably real.

            There were 4 cards, ornately decorated, showing the five of swords, the queen of wands, the devil, and the hanged man.

facageb

 Chapter 6

Confessions

The World

            I sat on my bed a while and let my imagination run wild.  At first I thought the cards were a ghostly warning or manifestation of the supernatural, telling me that Clara was in danger.  Once I had calmed myself, I realized that such reasoning was absurd.   The cards on the bed were real, substantial objects, mass-printed in a factory somewhere.  They were very pretty, and served a whimsical purpose, but there was nothing mystical about them at all.  They had arrived mysteriously, but not miraculously.   It was unlikely that Mother or Daddy had brought them into my room, but someone else could have brought them, perhaps by coming in through my window.  I never bothered latching the window shut, because I was on the second floor, and now I thought perhaps I had been foolish not to.

            I went to my window to examine it, and found that not only was it slightly ajar, but the cushions on my window-seat were in disarray, as well.  I Nb Nimes opened the window all the way and looked out.  Outside my window was a small ledge that ran around the side of the house, and was level with the roof of the garage.  Someone, I reasoned, could have used a ladder, or perhaps climbed the oak tree next to the garage to get level with my window, and, with good balance, walk the ledge to my room.  I shut my window all the way and latched it tightly shut, then straightened the cushions on my window-seat and went back to bed.

#

            I had a hard time sleeping that night, not only because I was still shaken with fear, but also because I could not contain my suspicions.  I thought about the incident all night, and was distracted by it at school the next day.  My friends, growing used to my state of distraction, left me alone.  Even that afternoon, as I sat in Summer's bright fuchsia bedroom, getting my hair and makeup done, I sat quietly as Summer chatted excitedly, consumed by my own thoughts.

            "I guess it's just as well that Clara can't come until her art club meeting is over, because your hair will take the longest.  I wish I had a larger curling iron."

            "Thank you for helping," I said.  "I'm so tired now; I doubt I could even hold a curling iron."

            "You should have gone to sleep early last night.  We're going to be up pretty late, tonight," Summer said in an offhand way.  I felt a bit guilty as I examined Summer for any double meaning to her statement, wondering if she knew the reason I was up late the night before.  It felt wrong to suspect Summer, but only 3 people knew about the tarot reading she'd given to Clara, and she was one of them.  I could think of no reason for Clara to play such a strange prank as sneaking into my room at night to leave the tarot cards.  Summer, I thought, might have played a trick like that to remind me not to play with Clara's feelings, even though I thought it was highly unlikely.  The figure I'd seen steal into my room had been tall and broad shouldered, and I was now convinced more than ever it had been male. 

            Perhaps, I thought, she had mentioned the tarot-reading incident to Jason and Chad.  Chad seemed to want to encourage my feelings toward Clara, so it made little sense for him to try and frighten me.  Jason, however, had the motivation to try and discourage me from pursuing Clara.

            "Okay, you're finished," Summer said.  "Put on your dress, so I can see how it looks."

            I thanked Summer again and took my dress into the restroom to change.  I slipped the soft organdy over my head, turned to the mirror to look, and was glad I had chosen that particular dress.  It was a simple, empire-waisted dress, and with the way Summer had chosen to style my hair-softly curled with a small braid wrapped around my head like a crown- the effect was almost Elizabethan.  I smoothed my dress and stepped out of the bathroom to show off.

            When I emerged, I saw that Clara had arrived and was sitting patiently the same chair I'd occupied earlier, being styled by Summer.  She was already dressed in a gown of light blue satin.  Her skin was like porcelain, and Summer was smoothing her hair so that it hung like silk to her shoulders.  I couldn't look away.

            "Wow, Miranda, that is perfect," Summer said with an approving glance.  "You will definitely catch someone special tonight."

            I refrained from saying that I hoped she was right.

            "Finished," Summer said, pinning a white rose to Clara's hair.  "Now I'm going to get dressed." She stood and hurried from the room.

            "You look very nice," I said to Clara. "That color suits you."

            "You look nice, too," she said, "like something from a fairy tale."

            "Thank you, though I feel more like something from Night of the Living Dead," I sighed.  "I didn't sleep at all, last night.  I'm going to need copious amounts of caffeine to get me through the night."

            "Why didn't you sleep?  I hope you're not getting sick, too.  Something awful has been spreading at school."

            "No, I'm perfectly healthy.  Last night, someone decided to send me a message."

            "A message?" she asked, looking wary.

            I went to my purse and took out the paper packet with the cards.  "It's either a warning, or a threat.  Either way, someone's trying to send me a mess Vpapage," I said, and handed her the cards.

            "These are my cards," she gasped.  "How did you get these?"

            I told her the story of the previous night, and how I saw a mysterious figure steal into my room and leave the cards tucked into my dress.  "Someone came in through my window with the intent to frighten me.  It worked."

            "It must have been Giselle," she said, to my surprise.  "No one else saw the cards."

            "But what reason would she have to scare me?"  I asked.  "Besides, the person I saw in my room looked male."

            Clara seemed about to argue this point, but before she could, Summer came back into the room, wearing a bright fuchsia dress with a poufy crinoline skirt and tight, laced bodice.

            "How do I look?" she asked, spinning around.

            "You match the room," Clara teased.

            "You look cute," I added, before Summer could get angry.

            "Thank you," she said to me, beaming and ignoring Clara's comment.  Then she sat at her vanity and began straightening her usually wild hair.

            "We were just debating; who could have played that prank on Miranda?" Clara said.

            "What prank?" Summer asked.

            I took the cards from Clara and handed them to Summer, "Someone was in my room last night, and left these."

            "What the hell..." she murmured, looking at the cards.  "Who could have known about this?"

            "Clara thinks Giselle knew.  Did you mention what happened to anyone?" I asked.

            "Well, I told Jason and Chad about it while you were m V>

            "They are the same cards I drew, and they're from the exact same deck.  In fact, if I went home now, I'm certain I would find these cards to be missing.  Who else but Giselle would be able to steal them from my room?" Clara asked.

            "You're probably right, it would be easy for Giselle to steal them, but remember that someone was able to break into my room.  Someone could have broken into yours," I reasoned.

            "What about motive?"  Summer said.  "Giselle has only met Miranda twice.  Why would she go to such trouble to play a prank on her?"

            "Who knows?  She hates me, and she knows I like Miranda.  Perhaps she's punishing me by proxy," Clara said.

            "I don't think this was just a prank," I said.  "The reading Clara got was very ominous, and we were all frightened by it.  Plus, she fell ill right afterward.  I think the person who sent the cards to me knew this.  I think they are either trying to warn or threaten me."

            "Don't be such a drama-queen, Miranda," Summer laughed, rolling her eyes.  "Someone just thought it would be funny to scare you, that's all."

            "They have a demented sense of humor, if that's the case," Clara said angrily.

            Summer tossed the cards aside.  "It doesn't matter.  I'm ready to go, and I don't want to be late.  Let's just go to the dance, have some fun, and worry about this later."

#

            When we arrived, the Gym was already crowded, even though we had arrived early.  The band was warming up, and the lights were partially dimmed.   The heavy oak tables had been moved in from the cafeteria, lined up from end to end around the edge of the danc Vmmee floor like the long tables of a grand banquet hall, and there was a temporary stage set up, though it was too far in the back to be the main focus of the event.  Rather, it was tucked away like a minstrel's gallery.  The main focus of the room, instead, was a spotlighted banner featuring the words "13th Annual Fall Ball.” It was so lavishly decorated, with blue gossamer and silver, glittering stars, that the Gym seemed like another world entirely- a kind of surreal fairyland- artificial and beautiful.

            Soon after we'd arrived, Summer was surrounded by boys, and, as soon as the band began to play, she chose the most attractive one and started dancing. 

            Clara rolled her eyes, "Of course she would beg us to come, only to leave us here as soon as she can."

            I laughed, and was going to take advantage of the fact that we were alone, and ask her to take a walk with me so we could talk privately, but she excused herself to go to the restroom, and I was left sitting at a table by myself.  I decided I may as well take advantage of the opportunity to organize my thoughts, and work out what I would say to Clara, but  I was interrupted by a familiar voice,

            "Miranda, I'm so glad I've found you!"

            I looked up and groaned quietly as Amber approached me and sat in the chair next to me.  She seemed not to be her usual self.  She was wearing a tight, spangled silver gown with a plunging neckline, with her hair straightened and slicked back from her face.  Her usually peaches-and-cream skin was flushed bright red, and her eyes were strangely bright, as though from excitement.  She was carrying a lockbox.

            "I have to sell all of these stupid raffle tickets," she said, "and then I can dance.  Would you buy some?"

            "What are they for?" I asked.

            She sighed, and then opened the box and pulled out a sheet of paper.  "’All proceeds from the annual Fall Ball and the student raffle go to the Maggie Holtz Home for Girls,’" she read.  "So, can I sign you up for ten tickets?"

            "Ten tickets?  You must be kidding.  I'll buy one."

            "I'll never sell them all, at that rate!" Amber whined.  "Do you see that boy over there?  The blonde?"

            She waved Vt="at a rather well-dressed boy with stylishly shaggy hair, sitting by himself with a bored expression.  He smiled halfheartedly and waved back.

            "That is my date.   Do you see how tragically lonely and tragically sexy he is?  He'll be stolen from me, and I'm allowed to stay out as late as I want, tonight.  Plus, I think he's booked us a room-"

            "That's very nice, Amber. Don't let me keep you from your date.  I'll buy one ticket."

            "I haven't even told you about the prizes, yet.  I can't remember what the prizes are, but they're awesome.  You should buy 20 tickets, to increase your chances."

            I sighed.  "Okay, I'll buy five tickets, but no more."

            "I knew I could count on you!" Amber said, and rummaged through the box for the tickets.  However, in her haste she knocked the whole box over, and sat laughing as I picked them up.

            "Can you help me, or are you too tipsy," I asked, annoyed.

            "You could tell I've been drinking?  I'm glad, but maybe I should get a little bit drunker, just to be sure everyone can tell," she laughed again, taking a flask from her purse and downing the contents.

            I finished gathering the tickets and stood.  "You're only getting drunk for show?"  I asked.  It did seem like she was trying rather hard to depart from her usual image as the angelic, churchgoing girl who was eager to please her mother.  I wondered which version of her was the bigger facade.

            "I'm punishing David," Amber announced, as she took the box from me and started counting out my tickets.  "He hates being humiliated in public, and he hates it when he can't control me.  If anything matters more to him than his image, it's his ability to control people." She sneered, and handed me the tickets.

            I opened my purse.  I was eager to pay for the tickets and be rid of Amber, but I couldn't help but give in to my curiosity.  "Why are you punishing David?"

            Amber frowned at me a moment, and I thought perhaps she would be angry at me for prying, but then she said, "I'm punishing him for making me be good.  I'm punishing him for being a hypocrite.  I'm punishing him for manipulating me into getting him what he wants, and confusing me Vshi even more than I was to begin with.  I'm punishing him for fooling everyone."

            I nodded, even though I didn't know what she was talking about, and decided it was useless to speak to her further.  I stood up to find Clara, but she grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down.

            "Don't go, Miranda.  I've just thought of a way to punish David and repent for my sins at the same time.  I need to confess everything to Clara.  Where is she, anyway?"

            She stopped and surveyed the crowd.  "Oh well, you two are girlfriends, aren't you?  I'm sure you'll tell her everything I said.  Will you be my confessor?"

            "Does this have anything to do with David dating Giselle?" I asked.  "He's doing it to torment Clara, isn't he?"

            "No, not just to torment her, he's trying to control her.  I told you, he always has to control everything, even me, and I'm only his almost-cousin.  He's much worse about Clara, because he loves her and can't have her.  It drives him crazy."

            "What is he trying to accomplish by manipulating her?"  I asked.

            Amber, however, didn't answer.  She was too distracted by her own train of thought.  "I feel a bit sorry for him, because I know what it's like to want something that's wrong, and I get tired of being good.  I hate being good."  She said the last part so loudly that her voice carried over the music, and several people turned to stare.  I smiled apologetically while Amber giggled.

            "Focus, Amber," I said.  "What is David planning?"

            "Planning?"

            "Why is he dating Giselle?"

            "Oh, yes, he's trying to manipulate Clara into doing whatever he wants.  He's trying to get me to help him, too, but I can't tell what's right or wrong anymore.  Being good is like a noose around my neck, but if I'm wicked, and help him, people will get hurt.  I want to be selfish, but it's too late for that... what was I talking about?" she asked.

            "David is manipulating Clara."

            "Well, I need to warn her, because he'll end up getting me to help him.  He makes too much sense when I'm sober."

            "Wait, are you the one who sent me the cards?" I asked, struck by a sudden suspicion.

            "What cards?" she asked.  She seemed too drunk to feign innocence, so I let the matter drop.

            "Never mind,” I said.  “What is David trying to do?"

            Amber shook her head, as if clearing it, then said, "David knows that Clara doesn't want Giselle to date him, because not only is she a lot younger than him, but also because of the terrible things that went on between them.  You see, Giselle already has a bad reputation, and she's been very wild in the past, but she's really only been involved in kid's stuff so far.  But, David said-"

            Amber stopped talking and stared over my shoulder, face going from ruddy to ashen.  I thought that, for her to seem so terrified, David must be standing behind me, listening, but when I turned I only saw Summer.

            Summer smiled sweetly at Amber.  "Don't mind me."

            But Amber stood and grabbed her lockbox, saying, "I have to go.  Some of us actually have a date."

            Summer just smiled steadily at Amber, and Amber shivered, then stumbled off into the crowd.

            "What did you do to make Amber so terrified of you?" I asked.

            Summer just shrugged.  "I don't know.  I did scratch her face one time, but she was asking for it."

            "I wish you hadn't scared her off," I said.  "She said that David was plottingsomething, and she was about to tell me everything."

            "I wouldn't pay any attention to her.  David probably sent her over to intimidate you.  She does everything he tells her."

            I couldn't agree, because Amber had seemed genuinely upset with David, but VfacI didn't argue.  Instead, I asked, "do you know where Clara is?"

            "No, I thought she'd be here with you.  Do you think she saw David, and left without telling us?"

            I shook my head, even though I did indeed fear that may have been the case.  Amber had seemed to expect David to see her behavior that evening, meaning he had probably come to the dance, but I was certain that Clara wouldn't leave without telling Summer or me, first.  Before I could worry any further, I spotted Clara making her way through the crowd toward us, her expression dark.

            "Is David here?" Summer asked, noting her scowl.

            "I don’t know, but Giselle is," Clara said.  "She's still in junior high, so she would need a date to get in.  She was with a group of sophomore girls when I saw her.  She refuses to go home.  I threatened to call Mom, but she just said I couldn't prove she had come with David.  She's still in trouble, though.  She's supposed to be sleeping over at Lauren’s house."

            I felt a tap on my shoulder just then, and I turned to see Jason standing behind me, dressed all in black and wearing an expectant look in his eyes.

            "I have a 5 minute break.  The student council president is about to make an announcement.  Would you like to dance?"

            "There's no music," I said.

            "Miranda, you promised to give me some time tonight.  Surely, a virtuous girl like you wouldn't go back on her word," he said with mock reproach.

            "I'm sorry, but I think Clara needs a ride home," I persisted, grasping at straws.

            Clara just shook her head, though, and said, "It's okay; I can avoid David for 5 more minutes.  Can you meet me afterward at the pond behind the school?"

            I nodded, resigned.  "Thank you," I said, and let Jason lead me away.  I looked up at him as we walked, and I realized that he was just as tall and broad-shouldered as the figure I’d seen in my room.  I kept my suspicions to myself, however.  I didn’t want to make accusations without any real evidence. 

            Jason led me past t Vnt he dance floor and to a small alcove near the stage.  He sat and ran his hand through his hair, then sighed.  "Brad and Chad are fighting again.  I hope we can make it through the night without any bloodshed."

            "I'm sure everyone will survive, though if there is bloodshed, it might add to your dangerous mystique.  You've sounded very good, so far."

            "No thanks to Chase, though.  He's still feeling pretty lousy, but ' the show must go on.'  Are you enjoying yourself?  You look amazing tonight, by the way."

            "Thank you.  It's been a very interesting night.  I was accosted by a drunken Amber."

            "Amber Cooper?  Drunk?  I would love to see that.  I'll keep a lookout for her."

            He slid closer to me.  "Listen, I can't spend much time with you now, but I'd like to get together later, after the dance.  Are you allowed to stay out late?"

            I sighed, "Jason, I'm sorry, but I can't.  I would like to be your friend, but there's no hope of there being anything else between us."

            "Why are you pushing me away, Miranda?" he asked in a frustrated tone.  "I just want a chance with you, and you deny me even that."

            "I'm sorry, Jason.  I'm flattered, but there's someone else."

            Jason clenched his jaw and stared at the ground, his eyes full of pain, but all he said was, "Oh."

            "We are friends, aren't we?" I asked.

            He looked up at me and smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.  "Of course we are, Miranda.  Thank you for your honesty."  He reached out and gave me a quick, friendly hug.

            "I'm sorry," I whispered.  Jason was in pain because of me.  I'd never hurt anyone that way, before, and it made me feel cruel.

            "Don't be sorry, Miranda, you can't help how you feel.  I need to go back, now.  I'll see you around, okay?"

Vhow

            I nodded in agreement, and watched as Jason slowly made his way back to the stage.  I let out a shaky sigh, and then made my way out of the hot, crowded Gym as quickly as I could.  I looked at the ground, not paying attention to those who were around me, and did not see the faces of the two very tall people who were blocking the exit door.

            "Excuse me," I murmured.

            "Where are you going, Miranda?" A deep voice responded.

            I looked up and saw David towering over me, with Giselle close beside him.  David glowered at me menacingly. "Cat got your tongue?"

            "I'm leaving," I said.

            David didn't move, though, but rather pulled Giselle closer to him, putting his arm around her waist.  Giselle looked up at him with worshipful eyes, and clung even closer to him.

            "Aren't you having any fun?" he asked in a syrupy voice.

            "Not particularly," I said casually.

            "You and Clara really are too much alike, aren't you?  She wasn't having any fun either.  She ran out of here a few minutes ago without even saying hello.  Do you think she's avoiding me?"

            "Who cares if she is?" Giselle said in David's ear.

            "That is between you and Clara," I said to David.  "Please excuse me."  I took a step toward the door, but he didn't budge.

            "Don't be in such a hurry, or I'll think you're avoiding me, too," David said.  "Why are you so eager to leave?  Do you miss Clara already?"

            Giselle giggled, but I remained silent, not flinching from his accusing gaze.  I had no reason to be ashamed.

            "I'm not letting you go until you tell me exactly what's going on between you and Clara," he leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. 

            "We will be here all night, then, because that's none of your concern," I said firmly.

            "Who cares what's going on between them?" Giselle whined.  "It's too embarrassing.  I don't want the whole school gossiping about it."

            "It's too late for that," David said.  "This is your chance, Miranda, to answer the rumors once and for all.  All you have to do is tell me that you aren't interested in Clara, and you won’t have to worry about vicious gossip anymore," he said in a much kinder voice. 

            "I've told you before, I think, that I don't listen to gossip," I said.

            "So that's it? You want the whole school to think you are a dyke?  It could ruin any chance an otherwise pretty girl like you might have to get a date."

            "I'll take my chances," I said.

            David's eyes darkened.  "You're making a stupid mistake.  You-"

            David was interrupted as the exit door opened, and he was hit in the back.  A senior boy and his date shoved past him.

            "Stop blocking the door," the senior said.  David scowled, but moved aside, and I took the opportunity to dash past him and out the door.

#

            I ran around the side of the Gym and toward the back of the school, with the crisp, fall air rushing in my ears.  I didn't stop to look back until I reached the small path which led to the pond.  When I looked, there was no one behind me, so I sighed in relief and began to make my way slowly down the steeply sloping gravel path.

            As I walked, my heartbeat did not slow with reli Vomaef but, rather, sped up in anticipation. As I moved toward Clara, my way lit by the moon and stars, I felt almost as though I moved with a holy purpose.

            The gravel path sloped more and more, until it was at such a sharp angle I practically had to climb down, a difficult task in my high-heeled shoes.  When I reached the bottom of the slope, I saw the pond.  It was a small pool, surrounded by rocks and trees, which shimmered in the pale light of the moon.  Clara was sitting on a large, smooth rock on its shore, looking out over the rippling waters with a thoughtful expression in her soulful eyes.  She had wrapped herself in a pale, blue shawl against the bite of the autumn wind, and it gave her an elegant air.  I stopped and watched her, almost afraid to approach.

            But then she turned to see me, and smiled warmly enough to melt my fears.  I was unfrozen, and suddenly could not stop my feet, which carried me to her.

            "It's a beautiful night," she said as I sat beside her on the stone.  "I come here quite often to sketch, or sometimes just to think, in the daytime, but I think this spot is much more beautiful at night."

            "It is beautiful," I said, though I was looking at her.

            "We aren't supposed to come here, because the gravel path is dangerous, and several students have been hurt," she admitted.  "Sometimes, though, I need the quiet so much that I have to come."

            "I won't tell," I promised.  "I used to have a place like this at my old home.  Not even Mark knew about it.  Sometimes, secrets are necessary to maintain sanity."

            The light grew dimmer, then, and I looked up to see that the moon's face was hidden behind a thin veil of clouds, casting a foreboding shadow over the pond.  I felt Clara shudder, and I turned to see her gazing intently at the moon, the shadow reflected in her eyes.

            "Don't give in to the melancholy," I said.  I pointed upward. "Look, there, and there, between the clouds, the stars are still shining.  See how quickly the clouds are moving away?"

            "There's Mars, I think," she said, pointing to the brightest.  "The steadiest lights are always the planets.”

            "But the planets do wander.  Heavenly bodies are like people," I said.  "The ones who shine the brightest wander in and out of our lives," I sighed.  "But listen to me; V; I sI'm the one who said we shouldn't give in to melancholy.  I have something else I want to say- that I need to say.  I'm not sure how to begin, though."

            I looked back to Clara, and she was looking at me intently with those eyes that always saw so much.  I felt vulnerable under her gaze, so I turned back to the veiled moon.

            "I'm ready to give you my answer."

            "You don't need to decide so quickly," Clara said, "I don't mind waiting."

            "I told you that I would give you my answer soon, and I've thought this over very thoroughly.  There's no reason for me to wait.  I've had to be very honest with myself, more honest than I've ever been, about who I am and what I want."

            "I'm sorry," she interrupted.  "I'm sorry for putting that on you.  I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or push you."

            "I'd rather be uncomfortable in the light than comfortable in the dark," I said.  "I've learned about myself.  I've grown.  I thank you for that.  Thank you for pushing me, for challenging me, for inspiring me.  You are good for me- better than I've ever hoped for.  I very much want to be with you, to be in a relationship with you, and be more than friends; that is, if you still want me."

            I forced myself to look at her again, and saw that Clara's eyes were no longer shadowed, but alight with happiness.  "Of course I do!  As much as you say I inspire you, you inspire me- a hundred times more.  I'm sure I don't deserve you."

            I took Clara's hands in mine, all fear and shyness gone, and said, "of course you do.  Besides, this isn't about deserving.  It's about needing, and belonging, and-"

            Clara leaned closer to me, cutting of my speech, "I'm sorry, but I still need to be careful.  May I- may I kiss you?"

            I became breathless in the same way I had on Jason's porch, but I managed to say, "Yes," and leaned in, closing the rest of the gap between us.

            As our lips touched, so softly and gently, the moon broke through the clouds and bathed us in its light.  We touched carefully, but soon the sensation and the sweet taste of her overcame my fears altogether, and I deepened the kiss.  Clara, responded in kind.  We were sy Vationchronized.  I felt whole.  I felt connected to her.

            Then the sound of footsteps on the gravel path shattered the moment, and a voice called from behind, "Girls!"

            I broke away from Clara and turned to see Mrs. Lewis, who'd been chaperoning the dance, standing behind us.  I will never forget the look on her face, because it's a look I've seen many times since.  Her eyes were filled with both shock and disgust, and she seemed to be struggling for words as she gaped at us.  Clara withdrew her hands from mine, and this act seemed to snap Mrs. Lewis from her state of shock.  She straightened her skirt, patted her hair down, and cleared her throat, as though trying to regain her dignity.

            "You aren't supposed to be down here, girls.  It's especially dangerous to be here at night.  I'm calling your parents to come take you home, and I'm afraid I'll have to assign a week’s worth of detention for both of you."  She turned and gestured for us to follow her.

            Walking up the gravel slope was much more difficult than walking down had been.  Halfway up, my heel caught on a stone and I slipped.  I put my hands out to catch myself, but they scraped against the rocks, and my left wrist twisted painfully.

            "Are you okay?"  Clara asked as she helped me up.

            "I think I hurt my wrist," I said, wincing as I stood. 

            After we'd cleared the steepest part of the path, Mrs. Lewis came over and looked at my wrist.

            "It's beginning to swell," she said, clucking her tongue.  "You see, this is why that place is off-limits.  Come with me to the office, and we'll see if there's anything to wrap it with."

            We walked behind Mrs. Lewis on the way back, and when she wasn't looking, Clara took my good hand.  When we neared the gym, however, David stepped into view, and she squeezed my hand briefly before dropping it. 

            "Thank you, David, for telling me," Mrs. Lewis said.  "They were at the pond, just as you said.  Miranda fell and hurt her wrist."

            "That's too bad," David said.  "I've had some first-aid training.  Maybe I should take a look at it."

< Vfirfont size="3" face="Times New Roman">            "That would be very helpful, David, thank you again.  The nurse isn't here, and I'm afraid I'm not very good with this sort of thing."

            David smiled smugly and walked with us to the office.  He tried to take Clara's hand, but she stopped abruptly and jerked her arm away from him.  I stepped protectively in between them, no longer mindful of the fact I was over a foot shorter than David, and injured as well. 

            David game me a withering glance, then looked at Mrs. Davis and put on a sheepish grin. 

            "I'm sorry if I got you in trouble, but please don't be mad," he said to Clara.  "I was only worried for your safety.  It's dangerous for two girls to be out alone at night."

            "No need to apologize, you did the right thing," Mrs. Lewis answered for Clara, and turned to unlock the office door.  She turned on the light, which seemed garishly bright after being outside in the dark for so long, and pointed to a narrow door in the back of the office.

            "That's the nurse's office.  I'm sure you'll find whatever you need in there.  I'll be in here, calling your parents."

            "Calling your parents?"  David asked when we'd gone into the nurse's office.  "What were you both doing down there, anyway?"

            I ignored David and went to the sink to wash the scrapes on my hands.  Clara, too, was  silent, and stayed by my side.  David shrugged and went to the door to listen to Mrs. Lewis's calls.

            I dried my hands, and then sat on the table while Clara rummaged through drawers and shelves, eventually finding some bandages to wrap around my wrist and an ice pack.  David chuckled.

            "Kissing, huh?  Well, I hope you girls have had your fun, because it's about to end," he said significantly.  He strode over to the table and said, "Give me your arm."

            I searched his face for any sign of malice, but his eyes were calm and neutral.  In fact, he looked very satisfied, as though he'd already won.  My wrist was still throbbing with pain, so I held it out to him.  Clara stepped close to my side, clutching the bandages and eyeing David warily.

            I tried not to wince as David examined my wrist, but there was no need, V/spa because his hands were surprisingly gentle.

            "I can't believe you're my rival," he said condescendingly.  "I suppose Clara likes blondes.  Do you think I should bleach my hair?  No, it doesn't matter; you won't be a threat for long.  Amber's told me all about your parents.  I hear they're very strict and very religious."

            "They aren't so bad," I said, though rather hopefully. 

            "I don't think it's broken," he continued.  "It's just a sprain."  He turned to Clara and held out his hand.  "Hand me the bandages, like a good little nurse."

            Clara rolled her eyes, but complied, and David began to wrap my wrist, firmly and securely.  He had evidently not been lying about his first-aid training.   

            Mrs. Lewis came back into the room, then.  "Your parents are on their way to pick you up, girls.  I'd like both of you to stay put until they arrive."

            "Could you bring my sister here, too?  She's not supposed to be at the dance," Clara said.

            Mrs. Lewis hesitated, then nodded and left.  David finished wrapping my wrist, and then watched with a sour expression as Clara lay the ice pack tenderly on top of the bandage.  I drew in a sharp breath at the cool sensation against my hot wrist.

            "I'm sorry, does that hurt?" Clara asked, pulling the ice away quickly. 

            "No, it feels good," I said.  I put my hand over hers, and drew the ice pack back into place.

            "This is all my fault," Clara said.  "You got hurt, and I'm sure that means you won't be able to play piano for a while.  Plus, now your parents know everything.  I don't want to cause any problems between you."

            "Don't worry about it, Clara.  It's not your fault.  Besides, you know how frustrated I've been with piano, lately, so I welcome the break.  As for my parents- well, I was going to speak with them about this soon, anyway.  All that's happened is my schedule's been moved up a bit."  I looked into Clara's eyes, and she seemed reassured.

            "Ugh, I can't believe how shameless Vs Nyou both are.  Stop being mushy with each other in public."

            Giselle had come in while I was wrapped up in my conversation with Clara.  She was standing next to David, pouting.

            "You're a hypocrite," Clara said to her sister.  "You've been hanging all over David at every opportunity."

            "But this is how things are supposed to be; a boy and a girl," David said, wrapping his arm around Giselle.  "People don't care if we show affection in public."

            "Then perhaps you should follow their example, and mind your own business," Clara said.

            The sight of Clara standing up to David made me want to stand up and cheer, but before I could, my parents arrived.  The tiny room was getting extremely crowded, and the situation almost made me want to laugh, but I held my tongue.

            Mother walked over to the table and examined my bandaged wrist.  "Are you okay, darling?"

            "It's just a sprain, don't worry," I said.  Mother didn't seem upset or angry, but there was a reserve to her manner which added to the uncomfortable feeling in the room.

            "I'm sorry for getting detention, and I'm sorry if I worried you," I continued.

            "I hate receiving phone calls telling me you've been hurt," Mother said.  "But it doesn't seem to be a serious injury, so it's okay.  Your father can pick up your car tomorrow, so you don't have to strain your wrist driving home."

            Standing in the background, David frowned.  He seemed unhappy with my parent's lack of reaction, but Daddy interrupted his brooding.

            "You're David Andersen, aren't you?  I know your father, Mike.  He's one of our best clients."

            "Yes, you're Mr. Rothschild? I'm glad to meet you.  My father speaks very highly of you," David said, shaking Daddy's hand.

            "Thanks for taking care of my daughter's injury," Daddy said warmly.

            "It's my pleasure.  Miranda is a sweet girl," David said.

            I tried not to laugh at his performance.  David was a talented actor.

            "Are you ready to leave?"  Mother asked.

            "Yes," I slid down from the table clumsily, and Clara handed me my purse.

            "Thank you," I said.  "I'll talk to you soon."

            "Are you certain you'll be okay?" Clara asked.

            I just smiled cheerfully and nodded, and then followed my parents from the room.

facageb

 Chapter 7

Aftermath

The Magician

            In the car, on the way home, there was an unbearably awkward silence.  I'd been certain that my mother would want to discuss what had happened, but she remained stubbornly quiet.  I watched a few moments as the streetlights outside passed by, casting lines of light over my parents’ passive faces, then receding again.  Finally, I grew frustrated with the silence, so I took a deep breath and spoke.

            "I'm sorry Mother, Daddy.  I didn't want for you to find out this way."

            "We're not exactly happy, Miranda," Mother answered.  "You've never received detention before.  I think, though, that your injury is punishment enough."

            "I am sorry about the detention, but that's not what I was referring to," I persisted.  "I was talking about the fact that I kissed Clara.  I know that Mrs. Lewis told you."

            Daddy heaved a heavy sigh, but Mother patted him on the arm reassuringly and said to me, "your father and I discussed that on the way, and we understand."

            "You do?" I asked, taken aback.

            "Yes, and it's nothing to be embarrassed about.  We understand that young people experiment.  When I was in junior high, my best friend and I practiced kissing, for when we got boyfriends.  It was all completely innocent."

            "Do you mean Catherine?" Daddy asked.

             "I can't believe you remember," Mother replied.

            "She was pretty."

            Mother laughed and playfully hit Daddy's arm. 

            I shook my head.  Mother and Daddy's reaction, it seemed, had been based on false assumptions.

            "Listen, I want to be honest with you both.  I wasn't experimenting, and I wasn't practicing for a future boyfriend.  I wouldn't have kissed Clara unless I meant it.  I care about her too much."

            There was another awkward silence.  The roads were darker now; we passed fewer streetlights on the residential roads, so I couldn't read Mother's expression.

            "Miranda, I know you care about her, and I'm glad you are such close friends.  Sometimes, though, it's easy to confuse caring for someone with other feelings.  Think about the implications of what you are saying."

            "I know that, from your perspective, this seems very sudden, but I have been thinking about this for a while.  I'm not confused; I'm gay."

            "Miranda, you're too young to make a decision like that," Daddy said firmly.

            My purse shook, and I was confused until I remembered that I'd turned my phone to vibrate.  I worked the phone out of the purse with my good hand while I said to Daddy, "I'm old enough to know my own mind and my own heart.  This isn't a 'decision,' ^my this is who I am."

            I flipped the phone open, and there was a message from Summer.  r u ok?

            Yes, I replied.

            "Miranda, despite what you may have heard elsewhere, it is a choice, and it's a dangerous one.  People who live that lifestyle are marginalized.  They can never have a normal family or a normal life.  We want better for you.  Please, pray about this," Mother said.

            What happened? Summer responded.

            "Miranda, don't text your friends while we're talking.  It's rude," Mother said, and held out her hand.  I reluctantly handed her the phone.

            "We're home," Daddy informed us as we pulled into the driveway.

            I was tired, but I was also famished, so I went into the kitchen to make a snack, and Mother and Daddy followed.

            "Miranda," Mother persisted, "please, promise me you will pray about this."

            "I will," I promised, though the moonlit night when I'd made my decision to requite Clara's feelings was the closest I'd come to praying since Mark died.  "Nothing will change, though.  I've been through all of the arguments and all of the reasons I should fight my feelings, but in the end, I had to be true to myself."

            "Why are you being so stubborn about this, Miranda?  Are you so determined to hurt this family even more, after we've already suffered so much from losing Mark?"  Mother pleaded.

            I clutched the tumbler I was holding in my shaking hand, struggling not to dash it to pieces on the floor.  Instead, I took a deep breath and said, "how could you?  How could you use his memory against me?  Do you think I didn't suffer, too?"

            "Miranda, Julia, please don't turn this into a fight," Daddy interceded.  "We're all very tired.  We should get some sleep, and discuss this tomorrow."

            Mother put her head in her hands, ^ce= sighed, and nodded slowly.  She let Daddy lead her from the room, struggling with her tears.  I was torn between feelings of guilt and annoyance at how well Mother could play a martyr.

            At the doorway, Daddy turned and said, "good night, Miranda."

            "Good night, Daddy."

            "You know we love you, and want what's best for you, right?"

            "I know.  I love you too."

            Daddy turned and left with Mother, and I heaved a large sigh.  I had not expected a better reaction from my parents, and Daddy had intervened before a fight escalated between Mother and me, but I still wished I had been able to contact Aunt Elizabeth before confronting my parents.  I needed someone's advice, because I couldn't think of anything I could say that would help Mother or Daddy understand how I felt, or would convince them that I wasn't confused.

            I made myself a sandwich and carried it upstairs, carefully balancing the plate on my arm while my good hand held the tumbler of milk.  When I got to my room, I put the food down on my desk and, since Mother still had my phone, wrote a long e-mail to Aunt Elizabeth.  I explained everything which had happened that evening, as well as everything I'd been thinking about the past week, the conclusions I'd reached, and how I felt about Clara.   Because of the length of the email, coupled with the fact that I was typing one-handed, I was up writing well past midnight.

            After I finished, I took an aspirin for the pain in my wrist and went to bed.  Somehow, I couldn't feel depressed or anxious concerning my parents.  Rather, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was Clara sitting by the starlit pond.

#

            I slept late the following morning, as the bright morning light which poured through my windows had somehow failed to wake me.  I was hungry, having missed breakfast, but I was terrified to go downstairs and face my parents.  Instead, I called Mr. Boscov to cancel my piano lesson, and he scolded me for my carelessness in i ^e="njuring my wrist.  Then I took a long shower to help myself wake, and when I finished, went to my computer.

            Aunt Elizabeth had already replied to my e-mail, and I opened it tentatively.

            Dearest Miranda

            Why in the world would you suffer through such a crisis without going to anyone for help?  I was surprised when Mr. Boscov told me about your breakdown during your piano lesson, but I no longer am.  Such things are inevitable when you keep strong feelings and doubts bottled up inside.  It is hubris to think that you can bear all of your troubles alone. Please, if you ever go through anything like this again, call me, or tell someone you trust what is happening immediately.  I can't pretend to understand the burden you've carried these past few weeks, but I would have liked to be able to lighten the load.

            I hope I can still be some help to you, so in regards to your request that I speak to your parents; I will certainly comply.  I feel that it is only fair to warn you, though, that your mother and I have drifted apart a bit over the past few months.  She's always been a very stubborn little sister to me, and sometimes, I must admit, when I try to persuade her in any way, she becomes a bit obstinate.  I will, however, do my best to be a peacemaker, and hopefully I can help smooth things over.

            I must admit, I am inclined to agree with your parents that you are very young, and perhaps should experience more of what life, and love, has to offer before you narrow yourself with labels.  However, from what I've read in your descriptions of Clara, and the earnestness with which you expressed your feelings for her, I am inclined believe that, as far as she's concerned, you are far from confused.  Perhaps, if you discuss with your parents just how much she does mean to you, they may- in time- come to accept your feelings.

            I'm sorry to hear that you've hurt yourself.  I hope your wrist mends quickly.  Keep me informed of any developments.

                                    Lots of Love

                                    Elizabeth

            After I read her e-mail, I felt grateful for her support, and far less apprehensive about facing my parents.  I dried my hair, threw on some comfortable cl ^he's conceothes, and bounded down the stairs to get some lunch.

            The kitchen was empty when I got downstairs, but I heard voices from the living room.  I opened the door, and was surprised to see my parents sitting side by side on the love-seat, speaking to Clara who was perched on the piano bench.  My mother turned to me and smiled kindly, and I was relieved that she didn't seem angry from the night before.

            "I'm glad you're finally up, Miranda.  I thought you would sleep all day," Mother said.  "Why don't you get something to eat, and I'll ask you to join us in a few moments."

            I hesitated, not sure of what to say, or even if I should leave at all.  Clara smiled reassuringly at me, though, so I just smiled in return and went back into the kitchen.

            I poured myself some cereal, and tried to eat, but my appetite had gone.  Why was Clara here, and why did my parents wish to speak to her alone?  I couldn't stand the idea that my parents might be lecturing her about her 'choices.'  I looked toward the door, and was almost overwhelmed with the temptation to eavesdrop on the conversation.  I began to pace back and forth, trying to convince myself that listening would be wrong.  Finally, I decided to listen, but the door was slightly ajar, and when I put my ear against it, it closed with a loud click.

            "Miranda, it's very rude to eavesdrop," Mother called.

            I stood and ran upstairs in order to remove myself from any further temptation, but I was still restless and could only pace to and fro, worried about what could be going on without me.  A half hour passed, and I grew tired of pacing, so I brushed my hair and tried to make myself look more presentable.  Another 15 minutes passed, and I had decided to go downstairs and demand an audience, when I heard my mother calling up the stairs. 

            "Miranda?  We'd like to speak with you, now.  Will you come down?"

            My annoyance at this point was so great that I rushed down the stairs, forgetting any apprehension I might have had about the impending conversation.  In the living room, Clara was still sitting on the piano bench, and my Mother was returning to her original place on the love-seat, but Daddy was nowhere to be seen.  I gave Clara a quick smile and sat beside her on the bench, then faced my mother.

            "Mother, why was I banished from my own living room all morning?  And where is Daddy?"

            For a moment, Mot ^I drp heiher looked uncomfortable as she surveyed Clara and me sitting side by side on the piano bench, but she didn't say anything about our closeness. 

            "Your father received a phone call from the office, and had to leave.  We wanted to speak with Clara alone, so we could get to know her a little better, and better understand this situation from every perspective."

            "You mean you wanted to interrogate Clara without my interference," I said accusingly.

            "Why are you being so defensive, Miranda?" Mother retorted.  "I thought you would be happy with the fairness we were showing the situation.  We expect to be shown the same fairness in return."

            "How, exactly, is meddling in my life without offering me the chance to defend myself, or defend Clara for that matter, fair?"

            Mother seemed unable to frame a response, but was spared the trouble by the sound of our phone ringing.  She excused herself, and went swiftly to the kitchen to answer in private.

            I turned to Clara when Mother had gone.  "I'm sorry for whatever my parents may have said."

            "They weren't so bad," she replied.  "I'm sorry for interfering."

            "You aren't the one interfering," I said.

            Mother returned then and said, "I'm sorry, but that was Mrs. Cooper.  I completely forgot that I'd promised her I would help organize the fall festival at church.  I'll talk to you further this evening, Miranda.  I found a brace for your wrist that may work better than the bandage.  It's on the kitchen counter."  She turned to Clara.  "I'm glad we were able to talk.  Thank you for all of your patience." She shook Clara's hand and Clara, seeming quite embarrassed, blushed and nodded.  Then Mother rushed out of the front door, leaving me bewildered by her strange behavior.

            "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she's avoiding having to talk to me," I said.

            "To be honest, I think she is," Clara said.  "My mom did the same thing after I came out.  She didn't think I was old enough to know I was gay.  She avoided the topic, as if it were the sort of thing that would go away if ignored.  Eventually, she accepted it, but it took a lot of time."

            "If it took a long time for your mother to accept you, I can only imagine how long it will take my parents to accept me.  I think my mother believes this will go away if I pray about it," I said.

            "I'm sorry," Clara said, putting her arms around me and holding me close to her.  "I'm sure they're trying.  I don't think they would have bothered interrogating me for an hour if they didn't care about you a lot."

            I laughed and pulled away.  "I'm so sorry about that.  My parents can be pushy, Mother especially, though Daddy is often her willing lackey." 

            We laughed together as I went to the kitchen to change my wrist bandages, Clara following close behind. 

            "I originally came over to see if you were okay," she said.  "You weren't answering your phone.  Of course, I thought that you needed time to speak with your parents, but Summer was in a panic, because you’d stopped answering your text messages."

            "It's partially Summer's fault I wasn't answering my messages.  Mother took my phone because I was texting Summer while I was talking to her."

            I found the wrist brace my mother had left out for me.  It was an adjustable slip-on brace, which fit very well and was less bulky than the bandages had been.  I wiggled my fingers in satisfaction.

            "This feels much better than the bandage.  I think I can manage driving, now.  Do you mind walking with me to school, so I can fetch my car?"

            "Of course I don't," she said pleasantly.

            I took my purse from the kitchen table, where I'd left it the night before, and we went outside.  The weather was cool, though the sun shone brightly, and the breeze was very slight.  The light had that particular, golden quality which only occurs on an early fall day.  Clara watched the sky and trees as we walked, with a look of contentment on her face as she became lost in her own thoughts.  I didn’t wish to disturb the peaceful moment, but I also had many questions on my mind.  Finally, I spoke.

            "What happened last night, after I left?" I asked.

          ^d. ht="   Clara closed her eyes and groaned.  "Everything went wrong.  First, David realized that my mom was on her way, and fled like the coward he is.  Then, Giselle accused me of driving him away and started to cry.  When Mom arrived, Giselle tried to convince her that she was the true victim, and that all the horrible, embarrassing things I do drove her into David's arms, because 'he's the only one who understands me.'" she said in a perfect impression of her sister's whine.

            "Mom didn't believe a word of her performance, as brilliant as it was.   She didn't even get mad at me for receiving detention.  She did get very angry with Giselle.  They had a fight, and now Giselle is grounded for two months.  Giselle won't stop complaining about how unfair it is, and how I should be the one being punished."

            "Life can be such a travesty," I quipped.

            Clara smiled appreciatively and continued.

            "Summer came over not long afterward, demanding to know what had happened.  The rumor mill had already started, and she was under the impression that we'd both been expelled from school for making out by the pond.  I set her straight, but I'm fairly certain that the rumors will have become a lot worse when we return to school."

            "I don't care," I said.  "I'm sure people will be able to tell we haven't been expelled when we show up, and work out that the rumors are untrue by themselves.  Even so, I don't care what people say, even if they're repeating lies told by David."

            "You think he started the rumors?"

            "I think he's up to something.  He is the one who told Mrs. Lewis we were at the pond, and he seemed very confident, despite the obvious fact that we're together now, that he was going to get you back.  Plus, Amber was upset with him, for some reason.  She said that he was trying to get her to help with something she thought was wrong."

            "I wish I could figure out some way to be rid of him," Clara said glumly.

            "I don't think we can, unless we accept Summer's offer to murder him.  In any case, I'm sure once we discover what he's plotting, we'll be able to stop him.  Giselle's already grounded for two months, so perhaps his patience will be shorter than her punishment."

            "I hope so," Clara said emphatically.

            We approached the school, and my little red car sat alone in the vacant parking lot.  Despite the cooler weather, the inside of the car was sweltering hot from sitting all morning in the sun.  I rolled down the windows, and let the air conditioner cool it for a bit before Clara and I got in to drive back.

            "Could I trouble you for a ride back home?  It took me a long time to walk to your house."

            "No trouble," I said, and pulled out of the parking lot.  "By the way, what did Mother and Daddy say to you while I was banished?"

            "They didn't say much at all, except to ask me questions about myself.  I told them about myself, my family, my artwork, and told them how my mom reacted to my coming out.  I thought they'd mostly be interested in that, but they seemed uncomfortable with the topic."

            "Why do I feel like my parents have an ulterior motive?"  I asked.  "They seem to want to talk one moment, and become avoidant the next.  My mother tends to hide things from me, for my 'own good.' "

            "I wouldn't worry about it, too much.  They just need time to accept this, that's all."

            Clara's words were very reasonable, but I couldn't get rid of the suspicion that my parents’ strange behavior aroused.  I sincerely hoped that my parents would talk to Aunt Elizabeth soon, and that she would be able to help them accept me for who I was.

#

            Then next morning, after the late church service was over, my parents took me to the pastor's study, so I could talk to him about my sexual orientation.  The talk was not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be.  Pastor Brown could see that I had few moral conflicts with my sexuality, and he seemed reluctant to force his point of view on me.  He merely said that if my conscience told me to follow a certain lifestyle, then that was between me and my creator.  He pointed out one or two bible verses which spoke against homosexuality, but said that many people interpreted such passages in different ways.  I was grateful that he so understood, ^phatant and wondered how my parents would react when I told them of his counsel.

            When I left the office, I walked through the sanctuary so I could meet my parents in the front parking lot, but Amber was there, waiting for me. She was standing in a patch of multicolored light cast by the butterfly shaped stained-glass window, her eyes lifted as though in solemn prayer.  When she saw me, though, her face lost all of its serenity, and she motioned to me, scowling.

               As I approached, I could see that Amber's eyes and nose were red, as though she'd been crying.  She was wringing her hands as she looked at me, her eyes wide with desperation.

            "Miranda, I-" she hesitated, then lowered her eyes and stared at the ground.

            "Are you okay?" I asked.

            "Am I okay?" she asked incredulously, with a mirthless laugh.  "I'm fine.  I'm a horrible person who deserves to go to hell, but otherwise I'm peachy.  I'm not the one you should worry about.”

            "I don't understand."

            "David got me to help him.  I'm sorry, Miranda.  I wish I hadn't.  I wish I knew right from wrong.  I wish I weren't so easily manipulated."

            "What did you do?" I asked coldly, despite the small amount of compassion her obvious distress evoked.

            Amber faltered and took a step away from me, backing into the shadows behind the circle of colored light she'd been standing in.  "David loves Clara, you know.  He's been trying to scare you away from her, but you're too brave for your own good.  He's started to spread rumors about you- rumors that go way beyond what you and Clara were caught doing behind the school.  He's told everyone about your brother's suicide, and that insanity runs in your family."

            I took a step toward her to show that I wasn't afraid.  The light from the window hit my eyes, blinding me for a moment, but I spoke steadily.  "I'm not ashamed of Mark, and I don't care who knows about his death.  He wasn't insane.  He simply needed help, and we failed to get it for him.  I don't care about vicious gossip.  I know the truth."

            "You don't understand," Amber said, almost pleading.  "This goes beyond the stupid rumors.  He wants to get rid of you, and he's doi ^

s beyond ng a lot of other things to make sure that, one way or another, you won't be a threat to him anymore."

            "If spreading rumors is the worst he can think to do, I don't think I have much to fear," I said.

            "At first, that's all he thought it would take," she admitted.  "He tried to scare you away from Clara with slander.  He got me to tell you all sorts of awful things about her, and I did, that day I was at your house, but you wouldn't listen."

            "Of course I wouldn't," I said with contempt.

            "So then he thought we'd scare Clara away from you.  He started to date Giselle, thinking he could scare Clara that way. Giselle told him how guilty Clara felt about her feelings for you, and that Summer had given her a tarot card reading that frightened her so much that she became ill. Yesterday, he told me that he’d had Giselle steal the cards so he could use them to threaten you."

            "It's a good thing that Clara is so clever that she knew Giselle was behind it," I said, feeling a pang of guilt at my suspicions that Jason had been behind the whole thing.

            "When that didn’t work, he decided that he needed to know more about you, so he could learn the best way to get rid of you," she continued.  "He asked my mom and me all about your family."

            "You're the one who told him about my brother, and helped spread rumors about our supposed family madness?"

            Amber lowered her eyes in guilt.  "Yes.  I told you, he makes too much sense to me when I'm sober."

            "Take responsibility for your own actions," I said.  "Follow your own conscience.  I won't feel sorry for you, just because you let yourself be bullied into doing things you know are wrong."

            Amber sighed plaintively, and said, "I told you; I don't know right from wrong at all.  David knows that, and uses it against me.  You haven't even heard half of what I've done, but you need to know, while there’s still time.  I-"

            She never got the chance to finish her sentence, because the sanctuary doors opened then, and Amber's mother and my mother stepped through.

            "What are you still doing here?" Amber's mother snapped.  "We'll be late for brunch with the Andersens.  Get in the car now."

            Amber jumped like a startled rabbit and ran out the door and past her mother, not even looking back to tell me goodbye.

            "I'm sorry about that," Mrs. Cooper said in a saccharine voice to me.  "Sometimes she forgets her manners.  She's a very careless girl."

            "It's okay," I said quietly.

            "Are you ready to go?" Mother asked me.

            "Yes," I said. 

            "I'll see you at the fall festival," Mrs. Cooper called to Mother as we left the sanctuary.

            "I'm sorry I was late," I told mother when we got to the car.  "Amber seemed to have something important to tell me.  I suppose it doesn't matter.  She tends toward melodrama, so it was probably nothing."

            Mother nodded distractedly.  "How was your talk with Pastor Browne?" she asked.

            "It was fine," I said.  "He's a very nice man."

            "He is," she said.  "He's very knowledgeable, too.  What did he say to you?"

            "Mother, I'm surprised at you," I said in mock reproach.  "Counseling sessions are supposed to be confidential."

            "Miranda-"

            "It's okay.  He just asked me how I felt, explained the church's stance on homosexuality, and explained some of the arguments on both sides of the issue.  It was no big deal."

            Mother sighed, and I could tell that she wanted to argue that the matter was a big deal, but she stayed silent as we drove home.  I almost wished that she would argue with me, because her silence frightened me more than any argum ^Romalent as weent or scolding could.

#

            The next day at school was surreal.  I could tell that Amber had told the truth about the rumors David had spread, because I got fewer snide remarks about my relationship with Clara than I did fearful, sidelong glances.  Many people seemed to speak to me more carefully than usual, as though if they said the wrong thing, I would have a mental breakdown.

            "You could actually get this to work in your favor, if you wanted," Summer said that afternoon, after she, Chad, Clara and I were released from detention.  Summer and Chad were regulars in detention; Summer for talking in class and Chad for tardiness.  They didn't seem to mind, and were even cheerful as we walked to the nearly-empty parking lot.

            "Do I want to know how?" I asked Summer.

            "It's nothing bad," Summer said.  "You have an opportunity to play on people's sympathy.  You've gone from 'Miranda the quiet bookworm' to 'Miranda, the frail and tragic heroine.'  If you play the part, you could be the most popular girl in school."

            "Are you sure you want the competition?"  Clara asked wryly. 

            Before Summer could respond, Chad interrupted.

            "Are you really so heartless that you would use the death of a loved one to boost your own popularity?" he said sharply.

            Clara stiffened, and I knew that she was bracing herself for the explosion of Summer's temper, but it never came.  Summer's face went red, and she put up her hand to hit David, but she faltered under his unflinching gaze, and put her hand down.  She gaped at Chad as though she'd never seen him before.

            "Now there's something I've never seen.  Summer is actually speechless," Chad said smugly.  He turned to Clara and me and said, "It was nice of you both to join us in detention today, by t ^ce="the moshe way.  What did you think?"

            "It was boring," I said.

            "You have four days left.  Was the crime worth the punishment?" he asked.

            I looked at Clara and we both spoke without hesitation, "yes."

            Clara and I laughed while Summer and Chad looked on in amusement.  Then Chad said, "come on, Summer, I'll help you with your algebra homework to apologize for making you speechless."

            "I need to take Clara home," Summer protested.

            "I'm sure Miranda can manage," Chad said, grabbing Summer's hand and dragging her away.

            "Chad can surprise me sometimes," Clara said as she watched Chad and Summer retreat, hand in hand.

            "How so?" I asked.

            "I thought he'd be depressed, now that you and I are together, but he seems very well.  In fact, I've never seen him look better.  He was even able to put Summer in her place."

            "He's happy because you're happy," I said.  "He was hoping we would get together from the beginning."

            We got into my car, and the day was so beautiful that I couldn't resist putting the convertible top down.  Clara put her seat back, and closed her eyes as I drove her home.  I thought she had fallen asleep, and was surprised when she suddenly spoke.

            "Your parents must not be too upset with you, if they're still letting you use their convertible."

            "This is my car, actually," I replied.

            "Really?  Why didn't you use it earlier this year?  Was it broken?"

            "No.  I was supposed to share this car with Mark.  It was a gift to both of us fo ^man" sizer our sixteenth birthday.  I suppose I felt guilty that I have it to myself now."

            I glanced at Clara, who had opened her eyes and was looking at me sympathetically.  I answered the unspoken question in her eyes.

            "I think I finally realized that life continues, even if we want it to stop.  I can't turn everything into a shrine for my memories.  I have to keep living."

            "I'm glad."

            "I haven't see Jason all day," I changed the subject.  "I hope he's not sick, too."

            "He's not sick; he's sulking," Clara said.  "Don't feel guilty, though.  He's less upset about losing his chance with you than he is for being wrong about you.  He has a bruised ego."

            "Pride cometh before the fall," I said, ignoring the twinge of guilt I felt.

            Too soon, I pulled into Clara's driveway, but I was reluctant to let her go and drive myself home.  Instead, I put my own seat down, and held hands with her as we continued to talk.  As we talked, I found myself becoming fascinated by Clara's hands.  I turned them over in my own, examining the long, delicate fingers, and tracing each line on her pale, translucent skin. 

            "You're left handed," I announced abruptly.

            "Yes, I am," she said indulgently.  "How can you tell?"

            I pointed out the ink stains on the side of her left hand, left over from the lines she's been made to write in detention.   We both laughed, and Clara said, "I was worried that you were psychic, like Summer."

            "I'm not psychic.  At least, I’m not as psychic as 'Madame de Beaumont,'" I said, "but I should have noticed before now that you're left-handed.  There are a million tiny details I want to know about you, and I can't start learning quickly enough."  I didn't know why I said it, but I had a sudden, strange impulse to commit Clara to memory as quickly as I could.  I released her hand and touched her face, drinking in its every detail with parched eyes.

            Clara covered my hand with her own and smiled a small, reassuring s ^adinds.mile.  "You have time to learn all you want," she promised.

            "Not now, though," I said, reluctantly coming to my senses.  "I'm already late getting home.  Mother promised to return my phone today, and if I'm very late, she might change her mind."

            "If she does give your phone back, call me," Clara said.

            "I will."

            Clara and I pulled our seats back up, and Clara leaned in to give me a quick kiss, and went into her house.  I stayed until she disappeared behind the front door, watching her with greedy eyes.

#

            When I arrived home, Mother was waiting for me in the kitchen with an inscrutable look on her face.  There was an air of tension in the room which I hadn't expected, and it hit me like a sudden chill, making me shiver.

            "You're late," Mother said, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet, looking as though she wanted to run away.

            "I had detention," I replied as I hung up my purse and my sweater on the coat hooks near the door.  I took my homework to the kitchen table, and Mother followed me.

            "I thought detention only lasted an hour," she said.

            "It does, but Clara needed a ride home," I admitted.

            "You should have called to let me know where you were."

            "I would have called, but I still don't have my phone."

   ^e a span>

            "Thank you," I said abashedly.

            "Miranda, before you start your homework, your father and I would like to have a family meeting," Mother said.

            I nodded and followed her into the living room, where Daddy sat reading the newspaper in his usual chair.  He lowered it and gave me a strange, apologetic smile.  I sat stiffly on the piano bench, and Mother sat on the love-seat.  As the tension in the room grew, and I wondered why I'd never noticed how cold and austere the living room was, or how loudly the clock on the mantle ticked as each second went by.  The three of us gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and then Daddy broke the usual protocol at our family meetings, and spoke first.

            "Your mother and I have been talking, and we realize that you've been through a tough time, lately.  We all have.  We think that perhaps all of the difficulties and all of the changes that you've been through have made you vulnerable, and that this vulnerability has made you confused about your feelings toward Clara."

            "I'm not confused about my feelings for Clara," I said.  "Besides, Clara or no Clara, I'm a lesbian.  Please, understand.  I'm not confused, and I won't change."

            "Miranda, think about what you're saying," Mother said.  "You've never shown any signs of same-sex attraction before.  You've never had any... tendencies."

            "Mother, have I ever shown any straight tendencies?"

            "You're just a late bloomer," she said, blushing.

            "Besides," Daddy said.  "You've always liked girlish things."

            "Just because I dress feminine, and like stereotypically girlish things, doesn't make me straight," I rebutted.

            "The point is," Mother said in a stronger voice, "that we don't really have the expertise to help you with this."

            "We want you to ^ize=    try reparative therapy, with people who can help you," Daddy continued.

            "There's nothing to 'repair,'" I replied.  "Being gay isn't a disorder."

            "Not all therapists believe that," Mother said.  "Some have had a lot of success helping people deal with same-sex attraction."

            "So, you want me to see one of these therapists?" I thought I could endure it until Mother and Daddy became more comfortable, and I could convince them to accept me the way I was.

            Mother and Daddy exchanged uncomfortable glances, then Mother said, "there's more.  We spoke to another family at church who has been through the same thing.  They had a successful recovery, but to do so, they needed to remove their child from confusing influences."

            "What sort of 'confusing influences' do I need removed?" I asked.

            "Clara, for starters," Mother said bluntly.

            "I thought you liked Clara," I said.

            "I like Clara very much, and I feel sorry for her.  She wasn't raised like you were; in a traditional family with traditional values.  Despite that, she's grown to be an exceptional young woman, but she doesn't have the sort of background one needs to be able to form meaningful relationships.  She's going to struggle with that for a long time, until someone convinces her to get help."

            "So you're going to forbid me to see her while I get help?"

            Mother and Daddy were silent again.  Then Daddy said, "we need to get you away from all of the bad influences in your life, like the stress from school, and all of the relationships that are adding to your confusion."

            "Are you saying that we're going to move again?  We can't make a habit of running away from our problems," I said scathingly.

            "You need to get away from us for a while, too," Mother said quietly.  She took a booklet from the side table and handed it to me.  On the cover was a picture of a group of smiling young people standing in front of a large, stone church.  Across the top were large, yellow letters that ^  r was a pread, 'Prodigal Ministries.'

            "That's a place, up north, where they help young people who are struggling with same-sex attraction, like you."

            "You're joking.  You must be joking." I said incredulously, tossing the booklet aside.  "You can't seriously be considering sending me away to that place."

            "It's the best option we have, Miranda.  This all started when we came here; you obviously need to get away and gain some perspective that we can't provide," Daddy said.

            "Can't you see how insane this is?  What about school?  I can't leave in the middle of the semester," I reasoned.

            "They have classes there, so that the kids who are still in school can keep up with their studies," Mother replied.

            "So, that's it?  You're sending me away?" I asked Mother and Daddy, but both remained silent, refusing to look me in the eye.  The clock on the mantle seemed to be ticking louder and louder, echoing the pounding of my heart.

            "Mother, Daddy, please don't send me away," I pleaded as tears began to roll down my cheeks.  "I'll see whatever therapist you want, but here, or in Corpus Christi.  Please don't send me away from my home, my school, my friends, and you."  I stood and took several steps toward them.

            "When Mark died, I promised myself that I would never fail you the way I failed him," Mother said through her own tears.  "He needed help, and I thought I could handle it myself.  I was wrong.  I will do whatever I can to help you, Miranda, even if it means sending you away from us to people who can help."

            Her words struck me with a cruel finality.  I could tell that nothing I would say would move either of my parents.  I stepped back and crumbled onto the piano bench, weeping.  My sobs were drowned by the noise of the clock striking the hour.

facageb

Chapter 8

Goodbyes

The Wheel of Fortune

            The next afternoon, after detention, Clara, Summer, Jason and I all went to Chad's house.  Even though it was a school day, Mother allowed me to stay with my friends as late as I liked.  She seemed to be letting me have my way out of guilt, even though I was utterly unable to sway her in her decision to send me to Prodigal Ministries' retreat.  The previous evening, she'd washed the dishes, even though it was my turn to wash them, and told me that I needn't bother with my homework.  I finished my homework, anyway, in case I was able to persuade her to let me stay.  I had only a week to accomplish the task, but I'd talked to Aunt Elizabeth as soon as I could, and she'd agreed to help.  After speaking with Aunt Elizabeth, I called Clara to tell her what had passed.  She'd taken the news with shocked silence. Even now, as we sat in Chad's den and she held me in her arms, her eyes were distant.  I'd cried myself to sleep, the night before, and was now too numb to comfort her.

            Chad's house was a lot like my own; a large Victorian house with a living room and upstairs den.  His den was larger than mine, and it looked as though he was the only one that used it.  The main focus of the room was a large and battered entertainment center, filled with every video game console I'd ever seen and a few I hadn't.  There was a large futon and several chairs scattered about, and Chad was seated at a computer desk in the corner.  I could imagine the five of us having a great deal of fun there under any other circumstances, but that day we sat talking quietly together with an air of despondency.

            Clara and I were sitting together on the futon.  I leaned against her shoulder and she had her arms around me.   We hadn't talked all day, avoiding the topic of our eventual separation, but we’d stayed as close as possible, touching each other as often as we could- even in class.  Jason sat in one of the low chairs, watching us as we held each other.  Summer sat in the other chair, reading the Prodigal Ministries booklet.

            "This place is completely unbelievable," Summer eventually growled in frustration.  "Have you read their rules?  I'd laugh, if this weren't so serious."

            "What sort of rules?" Clara asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

            "Like this little gem; 'to eliminate any possible gender confusion, all residents must wear gender-appropriate clothing.  Males must wear trousers, slacks, or jeans, and refrain from the use of any cosmetic products.  Females must wear skirts or dresses.  All skirts must be at least knee-length.' Do they think this is the 1950's?"

            "So that's why Miranda turned gay, she must have worn jeans.  You're wearing jeans, Summer, looks like you're next," Chad joked halfheartedly.

fthi            I tried to laugh, but the sound caught in my throat.  Instead, I said, "unfortunately for my parents, it's not that simple."

            "They aren't allowed to listen to secular music, or read 'inappropriate literature,’ whatever that means.  They never say what sort of literature is inappropriate."

            "We need to think of something.  If you try, maybe you can convince your parents to let you stay," Jason said.

            "I've tried to convince them, but they won't listen to me.  I told Aunt Elizabeth their plan.  I hope she can convince them to let me stay, even if I can't," I replied.

            "What if you convince them that you don't need to go, at all?  Tell them that you were confused before, but now you've seen the light?  Date a boy, for a while, if that would convince them," Jason persisted.

            "Are you volunteering?" Summer asked.

            "She could date me or Chad.  It doesn't matter who, as long as he's male," said Jason.

            "Thanks, so much," Chad said sarcastically.

            "Thank you for your offer, but my parents would never be fooled so easily.  Besides, I can't lie to them forever.  I'd eventually have to tell them the truth, and that would only alienate them further.  I'm not going to lie to my parents about something so important."

            Jason looked disgruntled, but he let the matter drop.

            "You could just run away," Summer suggested.

            "You want Miranda to run away from home to avoid being sent away from home?" Chad asked incredulously.

            "You don't understand how awful this place is.  Once Miranda is there, she won't be able to have any contact with the outside world, including phone calls or e-mails.  All she will be able to do is call her parents for 10 minutes on Sundays.  She'll be completely alone in that horrid place," Summer said.

            I felt Clara draw a shaky breath at this.  I put my hand over hers, unable to find any words of comfort.

            "This place is disgusting.  You should read about it," Summer continued, holding the booklet out to Chad.

            "I have been reading about it," Chad said, ignoring the booklet.  "What do you think I've been doing over here, playing video games?"

            "Yes," Summer said.

            "Well, I haven't.  I've been trying to dig up some dirt on this so-called 'retreat.'"

            "Have you found any?" Clara asked.

            "I've found a lot, actually.  There are a few people claiming to have been cured, but even more that say that they weren't cured at all.  There is some question as to whether the therapist who runs this program, Dr. Caleb, has the proper credentials to practice.  Then there is the other one who runs the program, Pastor Michael Smith, and his claims that he himself was 'cured' by Dr. Caleb.  Apparently, he's relapsed a few times, on camera."

            "That sounds promising," Summer said enthusiastically.  "Print it out, so Miranda can show her parents."

            "Thank you all, for trying to help," I said.  "I know I haven't been here very long, but you've been wonderful friends to me."

            "Stop saying goodbye," Jason said.  "There’s still hope; you aren't gone yet."

            I put on a cheerful smile, and nodded, but I knew, deep down, that my parents wouldn’t be persuaded.

#

            That week, I made repeated attempts to sway my parents.  I showed my parents Chad's research on Prodigal Ministries, and Aunt Elizabeth c f>

            I was going through my possessions slowly, and trying to find clothes that were modest, feminine, and suited to the cooler, northern climate.  I was too morose to concentrate on my task, and periodically I would stop packing and simply sit on the window seat to watch the rain.  The longer I sat and watched the rain, the more pensive I became, until I was on the verge of tears.  I knew that once I began to cry, I would not be able to stop, so I went back to sorting my clothes in a numb, mechanical fashion.  I could not allow myself to think about my situation because, for the first time since moving to San Avila, I was unable to use logic to resolve my problems, or use reason to find comfort.  I felt just a fraction of the despair I'd felt when Mark died, but it was amplified by the knowledge that I would soon be completely alone.

            I was still packing until well into the afternoon.  When I finished packing my clothes, and all of the books I thought might be deemed 'appropriate,' I had to face the more difficult task of choosing which sentimental articles I would take with me, to remember my family and friends.  I chose a photo album and one or two gifts I had been given by Aunt Elizabeth and by Mark, and with a sigh I realized I didn't have anything to remember Clara by.  I considered packing the flop-eared rabbit she had once admired, but I decided against the idea, and put him into my backpack instead.

            I'd just finished packing when my phone rang.

            "Hello?"

            "Miranda?  It's Clara.  I was wondering if you were free to come over."

            "Yes, I’m done packing.  I'll see you soon."

            I walked downstairs quietly to avoid seeing my mother and having to explain where I was going.  As lenient as she’d been the past week, I knew she wouldn’t allow me to see Clara alone.  When I passed the kitchen door, I could hear mother talking on the phone, so I wrote a note telling her where I would be.  Her voice grew louder as I wrote, until she was almost shouting.  I tried not to listen, but her words caught my attention.

            "No, Lizzy, you're the one who's being unreasonable.  You tried to make me get help for Mark, but now you want me to simply ignore Miranda's problems.  No matter what I do, it's always wrong in your eyes.  I suppose it's very easy to know how to raise other people's children, when you don't have any of your own."

            While she was distracted, I placed the note on her favorite chair, ducked past her and ran out the door in a panic.  It was obvious that Aunt Elizabeth had been correct, and Mother was merely becoming more obstinate with each attempt Aunt Elizabeth made to sway her.  I got into my car and sat until my breath was steady and my trembling had calmed.

#

            I drove to Clara's house and, when I arrived, we sat for a time on her front porch, watching the rain while silence hung between us like a veil.  There was a beautiful scene before us.  The lawn and the streets seemed not grey, but silver, washed clean by the water which struck the eaves of the house in a musical way.  Even so, my spirits refused to be soothed, and Clara seemed just as despondent as me.  She hung her head, and heaved a sigh of defeat. 

            "I don't know how to do this, Miranda.  I don't know how to say goodbye to you.  You've just come into my life, and I can't let go of you, yet."

            "I can't let go, either.  I can't let go of you, and I can't let go of the life I've already found for myself here.  I can't accept the fact that I'm leaving.  It seems like it must be a dream, or a nightmare."

            "How long will it be?"

            "I don't know.  My parents say I will be there until I 'recover,' and that won't happen.  I will probably be able to come home for a few weeks in the summer, and if I can't convince them to let me stay, they will send me again for the next year.  I won't be 18 for almost two years.  I won't be able to contact you at all while I'm there, and my parents will probably keep a close eye on me when I come home for vacation.  I can't ask for you to wait for me, Clara.  This really is goodbye."

            "I'm not ready for goodbye, Miranda.  I can't say goodbye.  So much is happening, now, and I can't face it alone.  I can't bear the thought of you being alone, so far away, either.  I know you don't want to ask me to wait for two years, but I'm going to try.  I'm going to be thinking of you."  Clara turned away from the rain to look at me, her eyes blazing with conviction.

            "I'll be thinking of you, too, Clara. It’s easier to face this, knowing that you're thinking of me.  I don't want you to pine for me, though.  Don't become a nun for my sake.   This will be a lot easier for me if I know you're happy here.  Also, if David's antics become too serious, let Summer murder him."

            Clara laughed at this, though I could see tears in her eyes, "thank you for that, Miranda.  I know that Summer, at least, will be comforted knowing that she has your permission to kill.  I'm sorry, though.  I can't stop thinking that this is all my fault.  If it weren't for me, your parents wouldn't be sending you away."

            "You aren't to blame.  My parents have their own list of reasons for doing this.  Fear and ignorance are at the top of their list."

            "You said, one time, that you didn't know whether or not to forgive ignorance in others."

            "I don't know if I will forgive my parents.  I don't know if I'll be able to forgive them until they forgive me.  I have to keep telling myself, though, that no matter how much I hurt, they are acting out of love."

            "You've just reminded me; I have something for you."  Clara stood and went into her house, and emerged a few moments later with a small box, tied with a blue ribbon.  I opened it, and inside was a small, silver cross with a heart engraved in the center.

            "I thought I should give you something to remind you that no matter what they tell you, all of the guilt they may try to force on you isn't God.  God is love, and love is stronger than ignorance or fear."

            I was speechless as she took the cross from the box and placed it around my neck.  It felt as though I were receiving a benediction- a blessing of love translated through Clara's small but tender act.  A few bittersweet tears escaped the barrier I'd built up the past week.

            "If love is stronger than ignorance or fear, then maybe there is hope.  I can't express how much this means to me, but-"

            "It's alright.  Don't thank me, please.  You'll make me cry again, anyway, and I want to be brave, now.  I need to practice being brave."

            "You are brave.  You've dealt with so many trials.  I wish I could do something for you, to help you, before I leave.  I have something for you, too, but I'm a fn>

            I reached into my bag and pulled out the flop-eared rabbit.  Clara took him from me and smiled.

            "Oh, no, he's absolutely perfect!  I can't believe you remembered how much I liked him.  Thank you."

            She put the rabbit down and pulled me into an embrace.  The last remnants of my barrier broke, then, and I wept freely and openly.  Clara's arms began to tremble, and soon she was shaking with silent sobs as well.  We held each other and cried for a long time.  Then, as our tears began to subside, Clara pressed her cheek against mine, and then touched her lips to mine in one last, salty, lingering kiss.  We broke the kiss, and for a long time afterward, we stood silently, gazing into each other's eyes.  The silence was broken by the sound of my phone ringing.  I reluctantly looked away from Clara and answered the phone.

            It was Mother.  "I need you to come home now, Miranda," she said.

            "I'm sorry.  That was Mother.  She wants me to come home," I told Clara.

            Clara nodded solemnly, and gave me a final embrace.  I stood, and said, "I leave first thing tomorrow morning.  I'll call you tonight, to say goodbye."

            "Not goodbye.  'See you later,'" Clara corrected, her brave smile back in place.  I swallowed back my tears, determined to match her courage.  I took my last look at her face- the wide brown eyes and sweet, rosebud mouth- and turned to walk away.  She stood on the porch and watched as I got into my car, waved once, and drove away.

#

            I drove home with aching eyes and an aching head.  When I arrived, my Mother was waiting for me at the kitchen table.

            "Where were you?  Why didn't you tell me where you were going, instead of leaving a note?" fize=     

            "You were on the phone when I left, and I didn't want to interrupt.  I went to see Clara."

            "You know that we don't approve of her influence, yet you deliberately went to see her alone?"

            "I just wanted to say goodbye," I said, shrugging out of my raincoat.  Mother seemed to notice my exhaustion, and let the matter pass.

            Dinner that evening was a sad and awkward affair.  I tried to make a final appeal to them to let me stay, but they accused me of sabotaging our final moments together.  I didn't have the energy to argue, so I apologized, did the dishes, and went up to my room as quickly as I could. 

            I called Aunt Elizabeth, to thank her for her help and say goodbye, and then called Summer, Chad and Jason.  Finally, I called Clara.

            "I'm glad you were able to call," she said.

            "I wish I had longer to talk.  It's almost time for bed, but I know I won't be able to sleep tonight, anyway."

            "Do you remember the time you kept talking until I fell asleep?  I can do that for you tonight, if you like."

            "I don't think it will work, but I want to hear your voice, anyway." I got into my bed, drew the curtains, and lay down on the soft, white comforter.  It was the last time I'd be able to lie in my own bed for a very long time.

            "What should I talk about?"  She asked.

            "I don't know.  I never got the chance to learn all of those little details about you, so if you want, you can just talk about yourself."

            Clara laughed a little, and said, "I wouldn't know where to begin.  I don't think I'm as interesting a person as you think I am."

            "Surely you must have some dark, mysterious secrets hidden away," I said teasingly.

            "I actually think you know all of fou w="3" face= my secrets," she said, "aside from one or two you probably don’t want to hear."

            “But, I do,” I insisted.  “I want to know everything.  How about a compromise; I’ll tell you one of my secrets for every one of yours."

            "Fair enough," Clara said.

            "Let me think... I know.  What was the worst trouble you ever got in as a kid?" I asked.

            "It was probably when I was ten years old, and was staying with my dad for the summer.  He lives in a huge colonial estate in New England.  I was angry with Dad, so I hid from him in one of the unused rooms, under the bed.  I fell asleep, and when I woke up I found that I'd been there all day, and everyone had been searching for me.  Before that incident, I hadn't thought that Dad cared about me at all, but I will never forget how worried he looked, or how angry.  Of course, that story isn't a secret at all.  Everyone in my family knows that story.

            "Now, it's your turn.  What was the worst thing you ever did as a child?" she asked.

            "I told Mark there was no Santa Claus.  I was five when I figured it out for myself, but Mother told me not to tell Mark.  She said he would stop believing when he was ready.  When we were eight, I saw him writing a letter to Santa Claus, and I thought he was being frightfully immature.  I told him there was no Santa Claus, but he wouldn't believe me.  I got angry, so I showed him where Mother and Daddy had hidden our presents.  Mark was crushed.  He forgave me pretty quickly, he always did, but that Christmas was ruined for him.  Mother didn't get angry, but she seemed disappointed.  I think that look of disappointment in her eyes was worse than any punishment."

            "My Mom has given me that look before.  You're right, it's worse than any punishment.  Giselle seems immune to it, though.  Of course, no one has ever been able to convince her that she's wrong."

            "She'll learn from her mistakes, eventually."

            "I'm just worried that some lessons aren't worth the pain.  But, listen to me; I know I can handle this.  We'll be okay.  Ask me another question." As she spoke, I could hear the brave smile that she'd worn earlier in her voice.

            "What has been your happiest moment, so far?" I asked, in hopes of lightening the mood.

            "The night of the dance, with you, at the pond," she said.

            "Even though we were interrupted, that's my happiest moment, too." I said.

            "Even though you sprained your wrist?" she asked.

            "The sprain was nothing.  I only needed to wear the brace for a few days.  That moment was my happiest, so far.  What was your second happiest moment?" I asked, hoping to keep the mood light.

            "When I was eleven my mom took Giselle and I out to see a concert.  It was the first time I'd ever been out late, and it was incredible.  We dressed up, and we got to sit in the balcony.  We listened to selections from Bach's Harpsichord Concertos, and the music was breathtaking.  I remember thinking how I never wanted the night to end."

            I felt the same way that night, that I never wanted to night to end, though more from dread than pleasure.  We kept talking late into the night, and for the most part she kept my spirits high.  However, when I began to notice the sky outside my window turning a soft purple, I knew that my time was short.  I closed the curtains on my windows against the light, and slipped into bed once more.

            "Clara, what is your greatest fear?" I whispered.

            "I've been afraid of the dark, ever since I was a little girl.  Even now, I sleep with a night-light.  It's silly, isn't it?"

            "I don't think it's silly at all.  I used to be afraid of the dark, too."

            "Are you afraid of it, now?"

            "No, now my greatest fear is being alone," I admitted.  "It's about to come true."

            "No, it isn't," she said earnestly.  "No matter where you are, you have friends here.  As long as you have friends, you aren't alone."

            The alarm clock on my bedside table rang.

            "What was that?"

            "I'm out of time, Clara.  I will miss you, so much.  Tell the others goodbye for me.  And, when I return, even if you've moved on, I would like to take you to a concert.  Will you go with me?"

            "I'll be waiting," she said. 

#

            "Miranda, wake up.  We're almost there," My mother said.

            I shook my head and sat up, still groggy from sleep deprivation and from the movement of the car.  I pulled my seat up and looked out of the window. 

            We were driving through a mountainous, heavily wooded area.  Steep rocks and cliffs rose on either side of the road, dark with pine and spruce.  The mountains were heavy and foreboding, and I could almost feel their gravity draw me in.  I leaned my head against the window and looked up, and saw a small patch of blue sky.

            Earlier that morning, Daddy had driven Mother and me to the airport.  He gave me a final hug, saying, "please forgive us for this, Miranda.  We're doing it because we love you.  You'll see that this was all for the best.  Take care of yourself."

            I'd nodded thought my tears and returned the hug.  Then we'd boarded the plane.  I'd slept on the plane, and for most of the drive from the airport.  Now, it seemed, we were almost at the end of our journey.  Mother turned off the highway and onto an unpaved side road.  Ahead, in the shadow of the mountain, was a large wall, built from rough, granite blocks.  As we approached, I could make out the worn steeple of a church rising from behind the main building enclosed within the walls.

            "Mother, this is an abbey," I said, as we drove through the main gate.  "Are you really sending me to be cloistered away, like a nun?"

          fr vo   &qu   "Of course I’m not.  This used to be a mission, and later it was a school, for the Native Americans, I think.  Prodigal Ministries bought it and refurbished it after the school was shut down."

            This reassurance was little comfort to me as drove through the iron gate, and I felt as though I’d been trapped behind the granite wall.  Mother parked on the gravel driveway in front, and we walked up a long, gravel path leading to a foreboding, gothic building.  On the face of the building was a heavy, studded oak door, surrounded by clumps of overgrown juniper bushes.  A middle aged woman with lank, dark hair and a sour expression was standing by the door.  She was talking into an intercom, which looked thoroughly out-of-place on the face of an old mission, while another girl, who seemed to be about my age, stood behind her with her arms crossed.

            The girl turned to look at my mother and me as we approached.  She was scowling, like the woman, and wore a look of contempt in her almond-shaped blue eyes.  Her hair was blonde and shoulder-length, though it was cut asymmetrically, so that it was slightly longer in the front.  She wore an oversized tartan jumper, and a black shirt with sleeves she had pulled down over her hands against the cold.  She examined me for a few moments, her eyes lingering over my conservative clothes and long hair, smirked, and turned away.

            "Hey, Janet, another victim is here," the girl said to the older woman.

            "Alice, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" the woman rebuked.  She turned from the intercom, smiled, and held her hand out to my mother.  "I'm sorry about that.  I'm Janet Smythe and this is my daughter, Alice."

            "Ex-daughter," Alice murmured.

            "I'm Julia Rothschild, and this is my daughter, Miranda," Mother replied.

            "It's good to meet you.  I wish I knew what was taking so long, but the woman on the intercom said she would be out shortly.  Where are you two from?"

            "Most recently, we're from San Avila, Texas," Mother said.

            "It's a small world, isn't it?  We're from Houston, ourselves.  The climate here is a shock. It was still warm when we left Texas." said Mrs. Smythe.

            "Are we seriously discussing the weather?"  Alice asked incredulously.  Before her mother could scold her again, the front door opened with a jarring creek, an fut naid d we were left facing a young, smiling woman.

            "I'm sorry that took so long," she said.  "We're a bit understaffed at the moment.  My name is Rachel Sweeny.  I'm a councilor here."

            We all introduced ourselves, and then Ms. Sweeny welcomed us warmly into the front parlor and took our coats. 

            "If you'd just follow me into the main office, we'll get you registered, and then I'll take you for a small tour.  This is really a remarkable old abbey, full of history.  We're lucky we were able to obtain it"

            She led us through another heavy, oak door into a hallway, and through the first door off the hallway into a spacious, comfortable office.  While Mother and Mrs. Smythe talked with Ms. Sweeney and filled out various forms, I looked curiously at the rich furniture and ornaments which decorated the rough, stone room.

            "So, Miranda, ready to be 'cured?'" Alice asked with mock enthusiasm while our mothers were distracted.

            I wanted to laugh at her words, but faltered, and found I couldn't force even ironic humor.  Alice scoffed and folded her arms again, leaning against the wall.  "It figures; you probably think you're broken, don't you.  You probably think if you fight who you are; God will reward you, or at least be a little bit merciful, loathsome sinner that you are."

            "Don't make assumptions," I replied.

            She rolled her eyes and fell silent.

            We sat in silence for a long time while our mothers were otherwise occupied.  Finally, Ms. Sweeny looked up from the paperwork and smiled sweetly at us.

            "If you girls will go and fetch your luggage, we should be finished by the time you've returned.  Then I can take you back to the dorms, and help you unpack."

            Alice and I nodded and went back to the big circle drive.  She took two battered suitcases from the trunk of her car, while I got my suitcase and my mother's old trunk.

            "Do you need help with that monstrosity?" Alice asked, nodding toward the trunk.

            "No, it has wheels, so it's easy enough to handle.  Thank you, though."

            "Ok, but I hope you aren't too attached to it.  I don't think we'll be able to take it with us when we scale the walls and make our escape."

            "I don't plan to escape."

            "You will probably love it here.  It will be just like summer camp, only with more guilt."

            "I just don't have anywhere to go," I said.

            "But that's all part of the adventure, isn't it?  We should escape and go on the road, looking for America.  It will be just like Easy Rider, only with more hot lesbian action."

            I ignored her, and began walking back up the pathway.       

            "Sorry if I offended your delicate sensibilities," she grumbled behind me.

            "I'm sorry. I'm simply too tired, right now," I sighed.

            We were met at the front door by Ms. Sweeny and our mothers, who helped us with our things.  Then we were lead down a long hallway to a pointed arch doorway with a faded plate beside it that read, calefactory.

            "This is the common room, where most of our patients spend their free time." Ms. Sweeney opened the door to a spacious room with ornate windows along the back wall.  There was a television, several tables and chairs, and an old upright piano in the corner.

            "Look, Miranda, you should be able to practice whenever you like," my mother said, pointing at the piano.

            "Do you play?" Ms. Sweeny asked me.

            I nodded, "Yes."

            "That's wonderful.  I play a little, myself.  I play the organ for chapel on Wednesday and Sunday.  Wait until you see the chapel; it's really beautiful."< fimes.  I pla/font>

            She led the way through the back door to a walkway under the buttresses which formed the side of a large courtyard.  The grass in the courtyard was dead and yellow, and the fountain was empty of water and full of dead leaves, but I could imagine the courtyard as a bright garden in the springtime, with the flower beds full of marigolds and bluebells, and the fountain sparkling merrily in the sunshine.  Ms. Sweeny talked animatedly about architecture and history, of times when the fountain ran with water and the garden was tended, as she led us to the right side of the courtyard, where there was a long, narrow building.

            "The abbey used to be a mission during the expansion west.  Later, the monks who ran the mission turned it into a school.  It was expanded a lot, then, and the architecture was made more elaborate and gothic.  You can see the earlier simplicity in the cloisters and the chapel."

            She opened the first door on the long building and into a long hall lined with doors.  The first door was opened, revealing a small cell with only a bed and a desk, and not room for much else.

            "This is the dorm room assigned to Miranda.  Go ahead and leave your things here, Miranda, we can unpack later.  The room next door is the one assigned to Alice."

            Both rooms were identical; small, and sparsely furnished.  The only difference was that Alice's room had only one door, leading to the hallway, while mine had a second door which led to the courtyard.  After we'd stowed our things, Ms. Sweeny took us back out to the courtyard, and up a set of steep, stone steps behind the fountain which lead to the chapel.

            The chapel looked to be the oldest part of the abbey.  It was small, and made from roughly cut limestone blocks, with a steeple topped with a rough wooden cross.  The inside had bare stone floors and rough wooden pews.  In the back was a small electric organ.  Ms. Sweeny made another speech praising the history of the old church, and passed a few remarks about how inspirational Pastor Smith's sermons were when read there.  I would have otherwise found Ms. Sweeny's lecture fascinating, but from the combination of fatigue and sadness, my mind was too languid to pay much attention to her words, and my attention wandered.   I barely noticed when she stopped talking and led the way back to the main building.

#

            Ms. Sweeny took us back into the office, and spent some time lecturing Alice and me about the rules we were expected to follow.  Then, somehow, we were back in the parlor, and Mother and I were left to say our last goodbye.

            "I'll talk to you next Sunday, Miranda.  Be good.  I know you don't want to be here, but follow the rules, and don't make any trouble.  The staff is here to help you; please keep that in mind," Mother said.

            "Mother, it isn't too late.  You can still take me home, and we can forget about this.  I'll agree to see any therapist you like, at home.  I'll even agree to stop seeing Clara, as long as you're uncomfortable with that.  If I stay here, I won't be able to see you or Daddy, I will fall behind in my studies- that might keep me from getting into a good college- and I won't be able to make any progress with the piano. I was just starting to improve under Mr. Boscov.  I should be at home, with you and Daddy, and I should be in school.  Please, consider that."

            "We have considered all of these things, Miranda.  We will miss you, but this won't be so different than you going to College, will it?  I will talk to you on the phone, and send you care packages.  I'm not worried about your schoolwork, because you've always done well.  I'm sure you'll keep up with your studies while you're here.  You need to be here, Miranda.  You need help, and the people here can give it to you.  Your father and I love you, Miranda."

            My eyes filled with tears, and I looked away, trying to keep myself calm and steady.  Mother put her arms around me.

            "You'll see, Miranda.  This is for the best.  Promise me you will be good."

            "I will try to do what's right, Mother.  That is all I can promise you.  I do love you and Daddy."

            "Goodbye, Miranda."

            "Goodbye."

            I watched as Mother turned and walked out of the dark parlor and into the bright sunlight outside.  I heaved one shaky sigh to calm myself, and brought my hand to my chest, touching the silver cross which hung around my neck.

            When I turned back, the parlor was empty.  Alice's mother had already departed, and Alice was nowhere to be seen.  I walked alone back to the d fRomad back, thormitories, or, more accurately, the cloisters.  When I reached my room, I was astounded to find the door was wide open, and Ms. Sweeny was already inside, unpacking my suitcase.

            "Hello, Miranda," she said sweetly as I came in, completely unabashed at having been found sifting through my private possessions.  "I thought you might like a hand unpacking."

            "Thank you," I said, too tired to do anything but keep up the pretense of civility.  I knew Ms. Sweeny's real purpose in helping me unpack, and that was to make certain I hadn't brought anything objectionable with me.  I hadn't anything to hide, so I stepped inside and let her go through my things, watching her unfold item after item while I took an absurd amount of time to spread the warm, silver and grey comforter I'd brought from home over the bed.

            "You have a lot of very cute clothes," she remarked, which I understood to be her approval of the fact that my clothes were modest and followed the guidelines set forth in the rulebook.  She carefully unfolded, then re-folded each item and placed them in drawers under the bed.  When she came to my books, however, she took the bulk of them away from me, including the collection of Byron's poems that Mark had given me on the previous Christmas.

            "We don't believe that reading books with romantic themes like these are good for people in your position.  You need to spend your time working on your priorities and values, not yearning after some unrealistic ideal," she explained, gesturing to the pile of books she'd confiscated.  I was left with my Latin textbook, Plato's Republic, and Dante's The Divine Comedy.  "Don't worry, though.  We have a very large collection of pre-approved books in the library that our students are welcome to read any time they like. 

            I placed my few books, along with my pens and stationary, on the desk while she went through the rest of my things.  She even took my MP3 player and went through all of the songs I'd put on it.  Fortunately, she approved of the collection of mostly classical piano music I had downloaded onto it, so she allowed me to keep it.  I was left with the impression that, if any other staff member disapproved of any of my remaining things, they'd be removed as well.  Ms. Sweeny seemed to expect I would have no objections to the arrangement, however, and smiled cheerfully as she placed my books in a large box and carried them out of the room.

            She turned at the door and said to me.

            "Dinner is in an hour.  I'll leave you to get settled in.  There is a folder on your desk which has your daily schedule, along with the rules and some other information.  There is a map of the abbey there, as well.  Dinner is served in the dining room, in the south wing."

            She turned and walked out of the room, and I was finally left alone to indulge my tears.    

facageb

 Chapter 9

Myths

The Devil

            I must have cried myself to sleep, because when I opened my eyes to look at my clock, an hour had almost passed.  I went to the small mirror that hung on the door, brushed my hair and straightened my clothes, and opened the door to the courtyard.  I noted, with some alarm, that the door didn't seem to have a latch like the inside door, and resolved to bar it with the heaviest piece of furniture I had when I returned.

            When I stepped outside the courtyard was no longer empty, but instead, several boys were outside playing football.  I stood by my door and watched them play a while.  As I watched, my interest was captured by a particularly uncoordinated but enthusiastic player who, in spite of his best efforts, continually fumbled the ball as he ran.  Soon I was so amused by his antics that I momentarily forgot my troubles.  I became so wrapped up in the game that, when the uncoordinated boy scored a touchdown by running between two trees on the far side of the courtyard, I found myself clapping.

            The boys looked up at me in surprise, and I stopped clapping, embarrassed.  The uncoordinated boy gave me a smile so bright my embarrassment almost disappeared, and ran over to me with the others tiredly trailing behind him.

            "Hello," the boy said happily.  "My name is James.  These are Julian, Chris, and Pete," he gestured vaguely to the boys standing behind him. 

            "You must be one of the new girls who were supposed to arrive today." he continued.  "Are you Alice, or Miranda?"

            I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off, saying, "You must be Miranda.  You look like a Miranda.  Doesn't she look like a Miranda?" he asked the boy with curly hair, who was standing to his right. 

            The boy merely shrugged and reached to shake my hand.  "I'm Julian Vogel," he said in a soft voice.

            "Miranda Rothschild," I replied.  "It’s nice to meet you."

            "I knew you were Miranda!" James said smugly as I introduced myself to the others. 

            "So Miranda, dinner is served at six o'clock sharp around here.  Do you know where the dining room is?"  James asked.

            "No.  I have a map in my room," I said.

            "You don't need a map.  I'll take you.  Just let me go wash up, and then we'll go.  Promise to wait for me, here?"

            I nodded.  "I won't move from this spot."

            "Well, you can move a little, just don't wander too far.  I'll be right back." He said goodbye to the others, who were wandering either to their dorms or to the main building, and then ran across the courtyard to his own dorm.

            I was still standing and waiting where James left me when I saw Alice emerge from the exit door of the girl's dormitories.  Her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying, and she was frowning at a piece of paper she held.  She walked over to me and thrust the paper into my hands.

            "This map is completely unreadable," she complained.  "It's a blurry photocopy of an old floor plan, and it's written in some sort of ancient language."

                 "I see what you mean," I said after a few moments of gazing at the map.  "You should wait here with me.  James said he was going to show me where the dining room is."

            "'James' isn't another councilor, is he?" she asked.

            "I don't think he is.  He's in the boys’ dorms, now."

            Alice nodded, and we waited a few more moments in uncomfortable silence before the door to the boy's dorm opened again.  James emerged, having changed clothes, smiling and waving enthusiastically.

            "I'm glad you waited.  I'm sorry I took so long," he said. He turned to Alice and said, "hello, you must be Alice.  nto s    Even if I hadn't already met Miranda, I'd have been able to guess.  You look like an Alice as much as Miranda looks like a Miranda.  So, are you guys ready to go?"

            "I'm ready to scale the wall and go on an adventure, if you and Miranda are ready," Alice said.  "No one else is watching.  Now is our chance."

            James shook his head bemusedly.  "I'm here voluntarily, but even if I weren't, that is a terrible idea.  There's no town nearby, and people don't drive this way very often, so hitchhiking would be difficult.  It's going to get very cold, tonight, anyway."

            "You actually came here of your own free will?" Alice asked.

            "Of course I did.  Most of us are here because we want to get better," James replied.

            "That explains why you look so ridiculously cheerful," Alice said.  "At least Miranda has the decency to look miserable."

            "Thank you very much," I said sarcastically.

            Alice continued her attempts at darkening James's mood, but he kept a cheerful dialogue as we walked to the dining room, which was labeled by another plate that read refectory.

            The dining room was a long, high-ceilinged room with two long wooden tables lined with rough wooden benches, which were almost full of students by the time we arrived.  James led us to the end of the first table, where Julian and a younger girl with mouse-brown hair sat. 

            "You met Julian earlier, right Miranda?  And this is Grace," he said, gesturing to the brown-haired girl.  "These are the new girls, Alice and Miranda."

            I said a polite hello and sat at the end of the bench, next to James and across from Alice.  The dining room seemed unnaturally quiet, despite the fact that it was currently occupied by a large number of young people, and the fact that every small noise seemed to echo thunderously through the room.  The only bits of conversation were being carried out in whispers and low murmurs, but these died down quickly as a tall, lean man at the head of my table stood.

            Without instruction, everyone around both tables held hands and bowed their heads, and the man led a quick prayer.  Then, another, older man, who had been sitting at the head of the other table, sto nn an

od and began to speak.

            "I hope everyone has had a pleasant Sunday.  I have a couple of announcements to make before we eat.  First, I'd like to welcome our newcomers, Alice and Miranda," he gestured to the end of the table where we sat.  "Let’s all make them feel at home here, and provide them with a safe environment for recovery.

            "Also, I've just heard over the radio that we will be getting several inches of snow tonight.  If the central heating in the dorms isn't enough to fend off the cold, feel free to make use of the space heaters that are available in your rooms."

            Alice seemed to cheer considerably at the news that there would be snow, and when we were dismissed by row to make our way to the back of the dining room to get a tray of food from the kitchens, she followed me, speaking in a friendly manner.

            "Doesn't it seem far too early for snow?" she said.  "Still, at least the snow is one redeeming thing about this place."

            "Won't the snow ruin your escape plans?" I asked.

            "Those are already ruined, since I can't find anyone to go with me," she sighed.

            We made our way back to the table with our trays.  At the table, the conversation regarding the weather was more morose.

            "I just know they will cancel our Saturday outing, if the snow doesn't melt by Friday ," Grace was saying.

            "You mean they actually let us out, sometimes?" Alice asked.

            "Of course," James said.  "Every other weekend, we go to the nearby town to go shopping, or watch a movie.  This Saturday we're going to go bowling, if the weather allows."

            "Sounds positively thrilling," Alice said, rolling her eyes.

            "We have to get out and do something, or else we'd go stir-crazy," Grace countered.

            "You're already going stir-crazy," Julian noted.  "Don't worry about it, though.  There's probably o nfacean">   nly going to be a couple of inches of snow.  They won't cancel our outing for that."

            "I'll be cold and miserable, anyway.  I hate the snow," Grace said obstinately.

            "Do you like the snow?" James asked me kindly.  I'd been listening to the conversation as I ate, but my eyes were fixed on my tray to convey that I had little intention on joining.  James, however, still seemed determined to befriend me, and I couldn't bring myself to be rude to him.

            "I love the snow," I said, looking up from my tray and attempting to smile.  "I've never lived in a place where it snowed very often.  I can never sleep well when it's cold, though."

            "You won't sleep very much, here.  'Mary of Misery' makes too much noise," James said, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

            "Please don't tell them that story.  I'll have nightmares," Grace said.

            "Yeah, it's their first night here, James.  Let them have one night of peace before you scare them out of their wits," Julian added.

            "I have to hear the story, now," Alice said.  "I love scary stories, especially the kind that give me nightmares."

            "What about you, Miranda," James asked me.

            "It doesn't matter if you scare me.  I won't sleep tonight, anyway," I said, shrugging.

            "That settles it," James said gleefully.  "Keep in mind; we did warn you.

            "When this place was still a mission, over 150 years ago, there was a nun named Sister Mary."

            "In the version I heard, Mary was a student here when it was a boarding school," Grace interrupted.  "That was less than 100 years ago."

            "Either way," James continued, "Mary fell in love with the Abbot.  The Abbot, however, rejected her, and remained steadfast in his vows.  Mary was so heartbroken by this rejection that she went insane, and ran away from the ab nng ss New Robey."

            "That doesn't sound insane, to me," Alice said.

            "In the story, she was insane.  She ran down the road, away from the abbey, crying and cursing God for keeping her love away from her.  She went on like that until she came to a crossroad."  James paused for dramatic effect.  Alice looked unimpressed, but Julian and Grace shivered.

            "Standing at the center of the crossroad, in a patch of moonlight, was an old woman, dressed in rags.  The old woman said, 'Mary, why do you curse God?'

            "Mary replied, 'Because God has forbidden my true love to be with me.'

            "'To be with your true love, what price would you pay?' the old woman asked.

            "'I would pay any price,' Mary replied.

            "'Even if that price is your eternal soul?' the old woman said.  Then the old woman stooped down and took an acorn off the ground and handed it to Mary.  She told Mary that if she cursed God three times, spit on the acorn, and buried it in the ground, the Abbot would be hers."

            "In the version I heard, it was a crow's feather, not an acorn," Grace said.

            "I like the acorn version better," James said.  "Crow's feathers are too cliché.

            "So Mary took the acorn, returned to the abbey, and did what the old woman told her.  The next evening, the Abbot came to Mary's cell."

            "And?" Alice said.

            "And... use your imagination," James said, laughing.  "He visited her every night for a month, and Mary became pregnant.  One night, though, while the Abbot was with her, a nun found the acorn and dug it up.  The spell was broken, and the Abbot, realizing what he'd done, fell to his knees, begging God's forgiveness.

            "Mary was suddenly possessed of an unholy rage, and attacked the Abbot with supernatural strength.  The Abbot held up his crucifix to protect himself, and the room was filled with an agonized, inhuman screeching.  T ny frtural strehe Abbot realized that the sound was coming from Mary's stomach, so he touched the crucifix to her stomach.  Suddenly, her body was torn open by the demon she'd conceived while under the influence of the evil spell, and she fell to the floor, dead.

            "The Abbot tried to fend off the demon, but it overcame him, and he was killed.  But, before he died, what do you think he said?"

            "I don't know," Alice shrugged, "was it something like, ‘I yielded to unnatural temptation, and because of this, we are both damned."

             James frowned and said, "that was a rhetorical question.  How did you know what he said, though?"

            "That's really what he said?" Alice looked surprised.

            "Word for word.  Where did you hear the story?"

            "I haven't heard the story before.  I heard that line, somewhere, and it seemed to fit," Alice said, shrugging.

            "Where did you hear the line?" James persisted. 

            Alice bit her lip, lost in thought, then shook her head, "I can't really remember.  It was a long time ago.  The words stuck with me, for some reason."

            "The words must be from an old song, or poem, or something," Grace said.  "Don't act so mysterious about it. I'm freaked out enough as it is."

            "The end of the story was gross, but the story itself wasn't that scary," Alice said.

            "You may not be scared now, but sometimes, at night, you can hear Mary crying and screaming.  Legend says that she still wanders about the abbey at night, cursing God," Julian said.

            "You can hear something, but it's probably just the wind," Grace said.  "It makes an awful sound when it whistles though the valley, almost like a scream.  You can hear it especially well from the girl's dormitories."

            "But that's because the whole thing happened in the women's cloisters," James said.  "Mary's nuot;sizcell was the first cell on the women's side, the one with two doors.  The Abbot would sneak into her room through the door that opens to the courtyard."

            I could feel a chill go up my spine when James said this, and Alice started to laugh loudly.

            "What's so funny?" James asked.

            "That's Miranda's room!" Alice gasped through her laughter.  "Poor Miranda, you should see your face.  It's totally white- except for your freckles, of course."

            I took a deep breath, "thank you for your concern."

            "Do you want to switch rooms with me?  I'm not scared," Alice said, with a trace of scorn in her voice.

            "I'm not scared either," I said, trying to regain my dignity.  "There aren't any ghosts.  That is just a room like any other.  Besides, the story doesn’t make any sense. Why would an Abbot be in charge of a nunnery?"

            "We should be ashamed, telling demonic stories like this, anyway," Grace said.  "My dad told me not to tell that story anymore."

            "It's just a story," Alice argued.  

            I was finished with my dinner, so I took my tray and stood to put it away.  However, when I turned, the older man, who'd given the speech at the beginning of dinner, was standing in front of me, too close for comfort.

            "Hello, Miranda," he said pleasantly, holding his hand out.  "I'm Dr. John Caleb, co-director of Prodigal Ministries." 

            I didn't ask how he'd known I was Miranda, but rather, said a polite hello and shook his hand.  It was ice cold, and I shivered.

            "And you must be Alice," he said, offering his hand to her, as well.  "It's nice to meet you."

            "Charmed, I'm sure," she said sarcastically, turning her nose up and ignoring his hand.

            He shrugged and let her rudeness go for the moment.  "If you have finished eating, I'd like to take you girls back to my office, so I can get to know you both a little better.  I need to become more familiar with your backgrounds, before you start therapy."

            Alice looked like she wanted to object, but she sighed and stood up, taking her tray with her.  James said a friendly goodbye, and returned to his conversation with Julian and Grace.  Alice and I put our trays the stack by the kitchen window, and followed Dr. Caleb from the room.

            He led us down a couple of hallways to his office door.  When we arrived, he said, "If you don't mind waiting here, Miranda, I'd like to speak to you separately." He looked at Alice, who sighed again and followed him into the room, seeming reluctant.

            I sat outside the room on a hard wooden bench which sat beside the door.  The air grew colder as I waited, and though I began to grow drowsy from boredom, my eyes stayed open.  I began to shiver in the draft of the hallway, and I drew my knees up to my chest to keep warm.

            When Alice finally emerged, I looked at my watch and was surprised to find that only 20 minutes had passed.  Alice looked at me, and said earnestly, "Dr. Caleb is a creep.  Be careful when you're alone with him."

            Before I could ask what she meant, the door opened again and Dr. Caleb emerged.  "I'm ready to see you now, Miranda.  Alice, you're free to go.  You can join the others in the common room, if you like, but be sure to be in your dorm room by 9:30."

            Alice nodded curtly and turned to leave.  I followed Dr. Caleb into his office, which was smaller than the office I'd seen earlier that day, but even more comfortably furnished in mahogany, with plush, leather chairs which faced the large desk, and walls lined with bookcases filled with beautifully bound books.  He closed the heavy door behind us, and gestured for me to sit.

            "So Miranda, tell me a little bit about yourself, and why you're here."

            "I don't know where to begin," I said cautiously.

            "Why don't you start with a simple introduction?" he said.  "Like, 'My name is Dr. Caleb, I'm 56 years old, and I'm from Seattle, Washington."

            I sighed and began.  "My name is Miranda Rothschild, I'm 16, and I'm from San Avila, Texas."

            "And how long have you lived in San Avila?"

            "Only a few months," I admitted.

            "And why did you move to San Avila?" he asked.

            "I'm sure you've already discussed that with my parents, haven't you?"

            "I'd like to hear it from you, though," he said pleasantly.

            "We moved to San Avila after my brother, Mark, died.  We wanted to start over in a new place," I said.

            "Were you and your brother very close?" he asked.

            "We were as close as twins can be," I said.

            "So his death must have been devastating to you," he said.

            "Naturally," I said coldly.

            "When you moved to San Avila, did you find the new beginning you were looking for?"

            "For a time, yes, I did.  I found a friendly community, an excellent school, and good friends."

            "Tell me about your friends," he said.

            "Can you be more specific?" I asked.

            "Who was your best friend in San Avila."

            "Clara Schuler, but I'm sure my parents have told you about her, as well."

            "How did you meet her?"

            "We went to the same school," I nt="0t ssaid.

            "What was she like?" he asked.

            "She was very nice," I said.

            He gave me a penetrating gaze, and I noticed that his eyes were a very cold, piercing grey.  I met his gaze calmly, though, and ignored the chill I felt as I looked at them.

            "I can't help you, Miranda, if you won't open up to me," he said.

            "I don't feel as though I need help," I said.  "Thanks for your concern."

            "I'm sorry to hear that, Miranda.  You see, I've always felt it was my calling to help others, and I feel like God has shown me that I can use my talents to help young people, like you, who are struggling with same-sex attraction.  However, it's almost impossible to help someone who doesn't want to be helped.  I hope, though, that you will be open-minded, and maybe, during your stay here, you will come to see that the problems you've faced in the past - the problems you've had with your parents, and the loss you suffered when your brother died- have led you here.  I hope we can teach you that, even though society tells you that certain lifestyles are acceptable, these lifestyles are, in fact, bad for your mental and even physical well-being."

            He rummaged through his desk, and pulled a packet of paper out.  He handed the packet to me, and on the front cover, in bold letters, was the title, The Myths and Facts about Same Sex Attraction.

            "I want you to read through that packet tonight, before you go to bed, and tomorrow, feel free to ask any of your councilors any questions you may have regarding the information you find there.  You might find some of the information surprising.  I hope that it will help you be more open to what we're trying to accomplish, here.”

             "Thank you," I said.

            "Before you go, I'd like to address a couple of things I've noticed.  You seem to be a bit resentful of your parents' attempts to help you.  Why do you think this is?"

            "My parents sent me here, over 700 miles away from my home, family, and friends, even though I’d said I wanted to stay home.  I don't feel happy about that," I said.

            "Even though your parents only did this out of concern for your well-being?" he asked.

            "That's the reason I'm trying to forgive them," I said.  "They didn't listen to me, though.  They didn't try to see my point of view before sending me away.  I'm not happy with them.”

            “Even so, I’d like you to try and forgive them soon.  In time, you will come to see that they did the best thing for you.”

            “That’s your opinion,” I said.

            “Forgiving your parents is the best way to start down the road to recovery, Miranda.  People who suffer from same-sex attraction most often do so because of issues they have with their parents.  For girls, these issues most often stem from problems they have getting close to their mothers.  You are seeking the closeness of other women to compensate for the lack of affection from a female role-model.  Also, I think, in your case, your problems were aggravated by the void you felt when you lost your brother.  You’re trying to, in essence, fill the masculine role, and therefore replace your lost twin.”

            “That is a fascinating theory,” I said.

            “I think you’ll come to see that I’m right.” He stood and shook my hand.  “I think I have enough information to start with.  Take your time and read through the packet I gave you when you get the chance, and be sure to be in your dorms by 9:30.  I’ll see you tomorrow in group therapy.”

            I gave Dr. Caleb a polite goodnight, and fled the cold, yet somehow oppressive, office.

#

            I walked through the common room and out into the courtyard, unwilling to sit in the common room and force myself to make polite conversation with strangers.  The air outside was brisk, and, though there was no snow yet, there was a bite of frost in the wind.  The waning moon had a white halo around it.  I hurried through the dark courtyard to my dorm room with my hands arms wrapped around myself for warmth.  < nht="ried throu/p>

            When I arrived in my room, I could still see my breath in small, white puffs of air, so I located the small space heater in the corner, by the desk, and turned it on.  The room was small, and the heater warmed it quickly, so I was able to remove my cardigan and make myself more comfortable while I read.

            I opened the packet Dr. Caleb had given me, out of a sense of fairness and duty, and began to read.  The packet had seemed rather thick, but I was able to read it quickly. 

            Myth: People who experience same-sex urges are born homosexual, and can’t be changed.

            Fact: Homosexuality is a behavior, and behaviors can be changed.  With a combination of therapy and the belief in a higher authority, people with same-sex urges can eventually learn to live a normal life.

            The packet was full of myth/fact statements like these, but with very little evidence supporting the statements.  I read through the packet, considered what it had to say, and then tossed it onto my desk.

            I consulted the schedule in the small folder on my desk, and saw that breakfast would be served at 8:00 am, so I set my alarm for 7:00.  Then I got into bed and turned out the light.

            I dozed lightly for a while, but I woke, startled, when I heard the door rattling in the wind.  I remembered the story that James had told me about ‘Mary of Misery,’ and for a time I was too frightened to move.  I closed my eyes, told myself that the door was only shaking in the wind, nothing more mystical, and that I should go back to sleep.  Then I remembered that the outside door didn’t lock.   Suddenly, my fears were more practical, and I turned on my light and tested each piece of furniture in the room for heaviness.  The bed, along with the chest of drawers which fit underneath it, was the heaviest, so I shifted it until it blocked the door completely.  The outside wall was cold, but I felt the peace of mind I gained from the added safety of barring the door was worth any physical discomfort. 

            I turned my light out again and lay down, but I was unable to get back to sleep.  Instead, I watched the small patch of pale light, which came in through the tiny window on the outside wall.  The light became brighter, and seemed to waver, so I knew that, outside, it must be snowing. 

            I t nvilatch ouched the silver cross around my neck for comfort, and thought about Clara.  I remembered that Clara’s favorite season had been winter.  I wished I could call her, and tell her about the snow, certain that she would love to see it.  I wished I could tell Clara about the beautiful, old architecture, or see my friends’ reaction to the tale of ‘Mary of Misery.’  I wished I could tell her, and all my friends, about everything that had happened to me since I’d come to the abbey.  It seemed as though I’d been there much longer than a day.  The abbey was such a strange place, and seemed to be removed from time itself.  A tear of regret stole its way down my cheek, but I wiped it away.

            “Just be sure to remember everything you see here, so you can tell them about it when you go home,” I told myself.

            I continued to watch the snow outside my window, and didn’t fall asleep again until it was almost morning, and the wind had stopped rattling the door.  I got perhaps three hours of sleep, but it was light sleep, and when I woke again, though it was not yet 7:00, I got up and dressed myself.  I moved my bed slightly away from the door, and looked outside to see the white snow which now blanketed the abbey.

            The snow seemed impossibly white in the dim morning light.  It covered the yellow grass in the courtyard, and hid the dead leaves in the fountain, which was now decked in shining icicles.  The snowdrifts formed a skirt around the buttresses, and frosted the rough, wooden steeple on the chapel, making it glitter.  All of the decay the abbey had accumulated over time was made pure by the snowflakes that swirled and flew like angels in the air.

ackage and inside, wrapped carefully in white tissue paper, was a delicate, porcelain music box.  On top of the music box was the figure of a little girl in a white nightgown, dancing and holding a nutcracker over her head.

facageb

Chapter 10

Music

Strength

            I went back into my room, put on my coat, took my music notebook from my trunk, and then went back outside into the crisp morning air, closing the door behind me.  I walked across the still, silent courtyard, and the only sound was the light crunch of snow underfoot.  I was alone, so I walked slowly, admiring the serene whiteness of the wintry garden.

            The door to the calefactory was unlocked, but no one was yet present, so I felt comfortable enough to go to the piano.  My hands were cold, and my wrist was still slightly stiff from my injury, so I played through some elementary exercises to warm up before I played the advanced exercises Mr. Boscov had given me.  As I played, as always, I was calmed by the wordless mantra of scales and arpeggios, and I began to feel that, as long as I had music, and as long as nature conti noom, t>

nued to charm me the way she had that morning, I would be able to endure my time in the abbey.  When I looked down, the glitter of silver on my chest was a bittersweet reminder that Clara’s wishes for my happiness were with me, just as much as I wished for her happiness.  This provided more incentive for me to be strong.

            I finished playing through some of the simpler advanced exercises and then, for my own enjoyment, played one of my favorite nocturnes by Chopin.  When I finished playing, it was almost 8:00, so I put my music away and stood to go.

            When I turned around, I was surprised to see that a small audience had gathered behind me while I played.  James, who was standing near the front of the group, began to applaud.

            “Please, don’t,” I said, embarrassed.  “I was just practicing.  I wasn’t trying to show off.”

            “I never said you were trying to show off, but you play well, so I want to applaud,” he said.

            I was too flustered to respond with more than a quick thank you before continuing to the dining room.  James, however, followed me.

            “I love music.  I wish I were a genius, like you, but I only play a little bit of guitar.”

            “I’m not a genius,” I said emphatically.

            “That’s right,” Alice, whom I hadn’t seen following us, said. “Miranda isn’t a genius, she’s just privileged.  It’s very easy to confuse the two, sometimes.”

            “I’m privileged?” I said.

            “Of course.  I’ve known girls like you, before.  You’ve had all sorts of advantages that other kids never had.  You went to all the best, expensive schools, lived in a huge, beautiful house, and your parents paid for you to have music lessons and dance lessons from all of the best teachers ever since you were a small child.  Am I getting warm?”

            I felt my face grow hot, though whether it was from embarrassment or anger, I was unsure.  “If I say yes, I’m a snob, and if I say no, I’m out of touch,” I said.

            “Pretty much,” Alice said unabashedly.

            “Did you see the snow?” James asked her, diplomatically changing the subject.

            “Yes!  It was breathtaking,” Alice said, dropping her cynical demeanor.  As Alice continued her enraptured descriptions of the snow, I caught James’s eye and gave him a thankful smile.  He winked at me surreptitiously, and then returned to listening to Alice.

#

            Breakfast was attended to in much the same way dinner had been the night before, except the opening prayer was much longer.  It was so long, in fact, that it took up almost half of the thirty minutes we were allotted for breakfast.  After breakfast, those of us who were still in school, Julian, Grace, Alice and I included, went into a small library in the north wing to study for a few hours.  We were given workbooks for several subjects based on our grade level, but the work was simple, and easy to complete quickly, so I was finished with my day’s work well before study-time was over.  When we’d finished, we broke into groups of males and females, and the females went into a smaller room labeled the scriptory.

            In the scriptory, the walls were lined with desks and tables, and there was a large circle of chairs in the middle of the room where everyone was to sit.  When everyone had settled, Ms. Sweeny, who was leading our group, stood to speak. 

            “Good morning, everyone,” she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and smiling brightly at everyone in the circle.  “I hope everyone is enjoying the snow as much as I am, because this is the first of many snows to come. 

            “I’m pleased to welcome Alice and Miranda, who arrived here yesterday.”  She turned to Alice and I, who were sitting next to each other.  “Go ahead and introduce yourselves to the group.  Alice, why don’t you begin.”

            Alice gave a wry smile to the group and said, “Hi, I’m Alice-”

            “Why don’t you stand up, so everyone can hear you?”  Ms. Sweeny interrupted.

            Alice seemed as confused as I was as to how- when everyone was seated in a circle- standing would help anyone hear her better, but she complied.

            “Hi, I’m Alice,” she began again.  “I’m a junior in high school, from Houston, Texas.”

            “Your name is Alice Smythe, right?” Ms. Sweeny asked.

            “No, ‘Smythe’ is my stepfather’s name,” Alice replied with evident dislike.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” Ms. Sweeny said lightly.  “What is your last name?”

            “I’m without a last name, right now.  My Dad’s a complete cuckold who can’t stand up to his shrew of a wife, so I’m disowning him,” she said.

            I expected Ms. Sweeny to reprimand Alice, but instead she said, “It was very brave of you to share your feelings about your father with us.  Thank you, Alice.”

            “Thank you, Alice,” everyone in the circle echoed as Alice sat.

            “Miranda, will you introduce yourself, now?” Ms. Sweeny said.

            I stood and cleared my throat nervously.  “Hello, I’m Miranda Rothschild.  I’m also a high school junior, and I’m from San Avila, Texas.”

            “I heard you playing the piano this morning, Miranda.  You’re very talented.  Do you plan to study music in college?”

            “I’d like that very much, yes,” I said.

            “Keep practicing, and I’m sure you’ll get into an excellent school.  It was a delight to hear you play, this morning,” she replied.

            I murmured a thank you, and sat down to a chorus of, “thank you, Miranda.”

            The “sharing session,” continued in the same manner for the rest of the morning.  Each girl in the circle, going clockwise, would stand and tell everyone some personal detail about themselves, and then answer Ms. Sweeny’s probing questions.  The questions, as well as the answers which followed, grew more and more personal, and when my turn to stand came again, I found myself struggling to answer Ms. Sweeny’s questions satisfactorily without revealing any vulnerabilities that she, or any other councilor, would be able to exploit in their attempts to cure me.  Each girl who revealed any weakness, or exposed any raw part of their soul, was given high praise, and any girl who did not reveal enough had been questioned more harshly.  I was emotionally exhausted by the time we were free to go to the dining room for lunch, and I still had the mixed session to endure afterward.

#

            After lunch, I was still exhausted, but I felt better having eaten, and went into the session with renewed focus.  Pastor Smith opened the mixed session with a prayer, and then Dr. Caleb stood, and again welcomed Alice and me to the group.  I looked at Alice's wearied expression and knew that she, like I, was growing tired of the pleasantries.  When he asked Alice and me if we'd had any questions about the booklet, I decided that the time for pleasantries was over and, emboldened, raised my hand.

            "The booklet classifies homosexuality as a mental illness," I said, "but later, it references bible verses in an attempt to frame homosexuality as a sin.  I was wondering; how can something be an illness and a sin all at once?  Surely, people can't be blamed for getting sick."

            "I'm glad you brought that up, Miranda," Dr. Caleb said.  "You see, the same sex urges that you feel are the illness, but if you act on those urges, that is a sin.  Think of this analogy; kleptomania is a mental illness, but stealing is still a crime."

            "But surely you can't compare stealing, which deprives people of their hard-earned property, with consensual, same-sex relationships, which are victimless," I argued.

            Dr. Caleb smiled, and said, "As I am about to explain, same-sex relationships are far from victimless."

            He began to lecture the group on what he considered the dangers of a homosexual relationship to be.  Same-sex relations, he said, were an addiction, a vice, which would spiritually enslave the people involved.  I thought back to the night I’d decided to requite Clara’s feelings for me, when I’d seen so clearly how pure and selfless my feelings for Clara were, and I wanted to laugh aloud at the contrast to Dr. Caleb’s words. 

The lecture lasted for our entire period, so I didn't have to worry about "sharing," again, for which I was grateful.

#

            After the mixed session was over, we again broke into groups of males and females.  The females went with Ms. Sweeny into the calefactory, where we were given several activities to choose from consisting of either cross stitching, knitting, or crocheting.  I chose a pretty, apple-blossom patterned sampler to embroider, and we all sat and worked while contemporary christian music played on the radio.  Most of the girls in the group seemed to enjoy the activity, and were talking or singing along with the music while they worked on their projects.  Alice, however, sighed loudly.

            "The snow is melting," she said drearily.

            I looked up from my sampler to see that, indeed, the clouds had broken up and the sun was shining, causing the snow to melt and drip down the window panes.  Alice sat for a moment, and looked despondently out of the window, then turned back to her knitting.  She struggled with it for only a few minutes before throwing it down in frustration.

            "This is impossible.   What is the purpose of these stupid projects, anyway?"

            "You can try a cross-stitch sampler, if you want," I offered.  "They are a lot easier."

            Alice shook her head, and raised her hand to get Ms. Sweeny's attention.

            "What are the boys doing, while we are in here being domestic?" Alice asked.

            "They're usually outside, playing team sports," Ms. Sweeny replied.

            “Well, I’m certainly glad we get to stay inside fussing with yarn, instead of having to go outside to play in what’s left of the snow,” Alice said sarcastically.

            “We engage in other group activities that you might enjoy more,” Ms. Sweeny said.  “On Tuesdays a very nice woman from the town drives here to teach ballet and liturgical dance.  We also learn cooking and sewing on occasion, as well.”  She smiled and turned to the next table. 

            “Anna, Grace, why don’t you both sit here with Alice and Miranda?  Their table is a lot less crowded.”

            “Heaven forbid that two lesbians sit at a table together, alone,” Alice murmured as Grace and Anna gathered their things and left their own crowded, yet lively position.  “We could start making out at any moment.”

            I laughed, and Alice looked at me, her eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

            “You grew a sense of humor,” she said.

            I was about to speak, but Grace interrupted by sitting next to me with a loud sigh, looking exhausted.  “I hope you’re happy, Alice,” she said.  “I had nightmares last night, after all.  Thank you so much for encouraging James.”

            “You’re welcome,” Alice said brightly.

            “He didn’t tell them about ‘Mary of Misery,’ did he?” a tall brunette, whom I assumed was Anna, asked.

            “You know James; give him the smallest bit of encouragement, and he loses the ability to keep his mouth shut,” Grace grumbled.

            The conversation quickly degraded into an argument, but I ignored it, choosing to just sit and watch the rest of the snow melt away in the sunlight, my cross-stitch forgotten.  I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and was too drowsy to move when Ms. Sweeny dismissed us for our hour of free-time.  I leaned my head on my hand and closed my eyes, but was soon roused by the sudden jolt of the table as James sat down next to me.

            “Would v>

            “I was falling asleep,” I said as I sat up and yawned.  “I should stay awake, though, if I want to sleep at all tonight.”

            “I’m sorry if the story I told you last night kept you awake,” he said, abashedly.  “I love telling stories, and that one is so much fun to tell newcomers.  Alice seemed to enjoy it, in any case.  Do you know where Alice is, by the way?”

            “She was here just a moment ago,” I said, looking blearily around the room.  “She was here when I closed my eyes.”

            “She might have gone to the library.  She told me that she likes to read, and I think most of her books were confiscated.  Do you like to read?”

            “I love to read, but most of my books were taken, as well.”

            “All of mine were taken, except for my Bible, of course.  I wish I’d know what sort of books were allowed before I came, but I’m sure I’ll get my books back when I leave.”  He looked up, then and stood when he saw Alice approaching the table, carrying a couple of books, just as he’d predicted.  He pulled a chair out and offered her a seat.

            Alice stared at James for a few moments, and then laughed.  “Are you serious?  I can sit down on my own, thanks.”

            “This is how things are done, here,” James replied with a shrug.

            Alice rolled her eyes, but sat.  “This place is stuck in another century.”

            “The rules are here to help us,” James said.  “I didn’t want to give up my music, or cut my hair, but I did, because I want to get better.”

            “I don’t understand you,” Alice said.  “You aren’t in school anymore, are you?”

            “I left college to come here for a semester,” James replied.

            “So you must be of age, then.”

            “I’m 19.”

            “So you aren’t being forced by your parents to be here.  Why do you stay?  Why subject yourself to this, willingly?  I didn’t want to come.  Miranda didn’t want to, either, did you Miranda.”

            My eyelids had been drooping again, but snapped open when I was addressed.  “No,” I said, “my parents made me come.”

            “So why are you here?” Alice again spoke to James.

            “Because I love God, and want to follow his law,” James said.  “I’ve been struggling with these… feelings for as long as I can remember, but when I got to college, I was overwhelmed, and succumbed to temptation.”

            “Temptation in the form of a specific boy?” Alice asked, grinning.

            James looked down, and the light, which usually sparkled from his bright, enthusiastic eyes, seemed to go out.  “I’d been saving myself for marriage, and I threw it all away for- well, he was actually a pretty wonderful person, but it was still a sin.  I broke the promise I’d made to myself and to God.”

            “So you’re punishing yourself for breaking your promise?”

            “No, I’m here so I won’t hurt myself like that again.  I don’t want to be self-destructive.  I want to get better,” James said emphatically.

            Alice seemed dumbfounded, “what do you think, Miranda?”

            “I don’t know enough about James’s situation to judge.  All I can say is that I don’t believe that being with someone you love is self-destructive or sinful.”

            “You’re a romantic, aren’t you?” Alice said, with a sad smile.

            “I don’t know if I am.  I’d never thought about romance very much before recently, when I realized that I had very strong feelings for a good friend of mine,” I said.

            “That must have been a good experience, though, if it led to such romantic notions,” Alice said.

  sel vd onant to be          “It was incredible.  I thought that she and I would be happy together for a very long time.”  I absentmindedly touched the cross around my neck.

            “Do you think you were falling in love with her?” James asked, his eyes regaining some of their glitter.

            “I was definitely falling in love with her.  My parents, however, disapproved, so here I am.”

            “Don’t fall in love, Miranda,” Alice said abruptly.  “It hurts too much when your beloved ultimately betrays you.”

            “Is that why you are here?” James asked.  “Did someone you love betray you?”

            “No, I’m here because my stepfather and my stepmother both wanted to get rid of me, though I suspect my backstabbing brother might have helped persuade my biological dad into giving his consent.  Neither of them approve of my ‘lifestyle.’  I was betrayed by a girl once, though.  It wasn’t her fault, and I don’t blame her, but it still hurt.”

            “I never believed that love would be easy,” I said.

            The three of us contemplated this for a few moments in silence.  Then James broke the silence, by saying, “It’s almost 6:00.  We should get ready for dinner.”

#

            After dinner, I had gone back to the piano to practice, but the calefactory was crowded and lively, and I couldn’t concentrate.  I was still exhausted, so I went to bed early.

            I pushed my bed against the outside door in my room again, and settled down to sleep next to the cold, outside wall.  As I lay in the dark, my eyes were drawn to the patch of pale light cast onto the floor by the small window, and the wavering pattern of frost.  I shuddered with cold, and promptly shut my eyes, blocking out the dismal sight of my cell and gently turning my mind toward warmer, happier thoughts.

            I tried to imagine that I was home, in my own, large canopy bed, with the warm, salty sea air wafting in through the open window.  The indulgence in such a simple, happy memory ignited a painful flood of nostalgia, which carried my mind further back than my home in San Avila.  In my mind’s eye, I was a child again, outside on a warm summer night, looking through a telescope at the clear, radiant stars.  The familiar scents of jasmine and honeysuckle danced on the wind.

            I could hear Mark’s voice again, but it wasn’t a disembodied whisper, calling my name.  It was warm and alive with excitement as he spoke to me about the stars and planets he’d once been fascinated by.

            “Maybe one day,” he was saying, “when we’re grownups, we will live in colonies on Mars or Titan.  We might even live in space stations- huge, planet-sized ones orbiting the Sun like Earth!”

            I could see Mark clearly, his green eyes bright with wonder, looking wise beyond his years.

            “How long will it be before we’re grown up?” I’d asked him, imagining what it would be like to live in the vast, black sky among the stars.

            “Aunt Lizzy told me that you become an adult when you turn 18, so we’ll be grown in nine years,” Mark said.

            “Is that all?  I work so hard at being grown up now, but I always mess up.  I won’t be ready to be a real grownup in 9 years,” I said, panicked.

            “Of course you will,” Mark said.  “You’re always so mature and responsible.  Being a grownup is easy, and you’re one of the smartest girls in our class.”

            I shook my head and looked back at the stars, which somehow seemed further away than before.  “No, Mother said that being a grownup is hard.  No one is there to tell you what to do.  If I don’t know the answer to a question at school, all I have to do is ask the teacher, and she’ll help me.  If you’re grown, you can’t ask anyone for help.”

            “I’ll always be here, Miranda,” Mark said, putting his hand on my shoulder affectionately.  “I’m older than you by five minutes, and big brothers have to take care of their little sisters.  Don’t be scared to grow up, because you can ask me for help whenever you want.”

            I looked away from the stars, and my perfect memory began to shift.  The scent of jasmine and honeysuckl vf sc/span>

            “You liar,” I whispered.  “You left me, after all.  You went to live among the stars without me, and I don’t have anyone to help me be a grownup.”

            Mark’s smile faded.  His eyes no longer shone with wonder and discovery, but were shadowed, the way they’d been before he died.  I knew that, in my selfishness, I was hurting him, but I continued, as if compelled.

            “I’ve tried so hard to discover the right answers about life and love on my own,” I said, “but I got it all wrong, and because of that I am here.  I’m alone now, without you, or Mother and Daddy, or Aunt Elizabeth, or Clara.  I messed up, and you weren’t here to help me.”

            I reached out to grab his hand, but he was gone, and I was fully alone.  Somewhere in the distance, I heard a scream of anguish.

            A sudden, physical jolt woke me from my dream, but the screams continued above the howl of the wind.  I was jolted again, and I realized that the door was shaking so hard that the bed was moving.  The doorknob rattled fiercely, as if someone were trying to open it.  I sat up and grabbed the doorknob, pressing my body against the door in an effort to keep it still.  The door stopped shaking as suddenly as it had started, but the wind continued, howling and screeching in a way that almost sounded human.  I took my hand off of the doorknob and put my hands over my ears to muffle the sound.  I put my head on my pillow, ears covered, and wept with fear.

#

             I managed to sleep a little more that night, after the wind had died down, but it was a fitful sleep full of terrible dreams.  I got up early, and went to the calefactory to practice piano and distract myself from the dismal feeling my dreams had left me with.

            When I arrived, the calefactory was not empty the way it had been the p vt>

            “Did you hear the music?” Alice asked mysteriously.

            “What music?” I asked.

            “Mary was singing again, last night,” James said, laughing.  “I actually heard it, this time.  I usually sleep right through her performances.”

            “I heard it,” Alice said, matching his enthusiasm.  “I couldn’t sleep all night.” She seemed almost thrilled by this.

            “I wonder who will be leaving?”  James wondered aloud.

            “What do you mean?” I asked.

            “Every time Mary screams, someone leaves soon afterward.  Most graduate the program, but some simply leave.  It’s all part of the curse, you see.”

            “In that case, I hope I’m cursed!” Alice said.

            I attempted to laugh, and sat at the piano as James and Alice talked excitedly about the resident ghost.  I played through some exercises, and then played Mephisto Waltz to channel my bad feelings, as well as to entertain James’ and Alice’s love of the macabre.

facageb

Chapter 11

Merry

The Empress

            “Hurry, Miranda.  We have to leave in 15 minutes,” James called through the crowded department store.

            I sighed, closed my eyes, grabbed one of the watches I’d been debating between, and took it to the counter to pay.  Alice appeared at my side, having somehow wound her way through the crowd, and looked at me solemnly.

< v pracng sfont size="3" face="Times New Roman">            “Christmas,” she said for the third time that week, “sucks.”

            “Usually, I would disagree with you,” I said.  “But this year, Christmas does, indeed, suck.”

            “So why are you doing Christmas?” she asked.  “You got all dressed up for our stupid outing, you’ve volunteered to help make candy, and you’re buying presents for your traitorous parents.”

            “If I stop trying, I’ll just get depressed,” I said.

            “Watching you lately has been depressing, Miranda,” Alice said, lowering her voice in a candid way.  “I’ve never seen anyone try harder to keep busy than you have been this past month, and it’s all for nothing.  You spend all of your time either pouring over those idiotic workbooks that you know by heart, banging away on that dinky piano as though you were performing in Carnegie Hall, or verbally sparring with Dr. Caleb,” she said his name with her customary disgust, “as if you can make him suddenly change his mind about his whole life’s work.  What’s the point?  You’re just wasting your energy, and I know you don’t have as much energy as you let on.  I know that you still aren’t sleeping.”

            It was my turn to pay at the register, so I ignored Alice’s comment and exchanged pleasantries with the haggard looking cashier.  Alice could be abrasively honest, but her observations were unfailingly accurate, and someone less keen would have been able to see the dark circles under my eyes, or notice how pale and thin I’d become.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked in a gentler voice than usual, as we made our way to the front of the store where I’d last heard James’s voice.

            “What is the point in discussing the obvious?” I asked.  “I’m homesick, I’m not sleeping, and I’m being told what a loathsome sinner I am every day.  I dream about my dead brother almost every night, and I miss Clara more than I can stand.  I just try to keep myself busy, and keep my mind occupied, so I don’t have a complete breakdown.”

            “You say all of that so calmly that I’m sure you’re on the cusp of a breakdown right now,” Alice observed, and then she paused.  “Clara… is that her name?”

            “I’ve never mentioned her name, before?” I asked.  I was sure I’d said it every day.

            “No, you haven’t,” Alice ~ per Roma said, and fell into silence.

            James was standing at the entrance where I’d last heard him.  He waved us over hurriedly.

            “Hurry up, slowpokes.  We only have five minutes to get back to the van.  Plus, I don’t think that Pastor Smith expected he’d have to be group chaperone, today, so he’s bound to be in a terrible mood.”

            “I wish Ms. Sweeny had brought us, instead,” Alice said as we started to make our way to the parking lot.  “She lets us get away with anything.  No matter what I say or do, she just smiles at me and says something upbeat and positive.”

            “I think her aunt is sick, or something,” James said.  He ran his hand through his hair thoughtfully.  “I’m going to have to get her to cut my hair when she comes back, or I’ll get another demerit.”

            “It’s ridiculous of them to give you demerits.  You’re an adult,” Alice grumbled.

            When we made it to the Prodigal Ministries shuttle, we saw Pastor Smith standing in front, waiting impatiently with the rest of the group.  He let the others begin boarding as soon as he saw us.

            “What took you guys so long?” he asked.

            “It’s my fault,” I said quickly.  “I couldn’t decide what to buy for my Mother.”

            “You made it just in time, so I suppose I’ll overlook your tardiness,” he said.  “Did you guys get lost?  It was pretty crowded.”

            “James got lost,” Grace, who’d been taking her time getting into the van, said. “Miranda and Alice were in Marx’s alone, together.  Julian, Chris, and I saw them.”

            Alice glared at Grace, but Grace merely smiled innocently in response.

            “I told you to stay in groups of three at all times,” Pastor Smith said.

            “I’m the one to blame,” James said.  “It was too crowded in the store, so I went outside to wait for them.”

            “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to give each of you a demerit.  Alice, that puts you over five demerits, so you’re on kitchen duty this week.”

            Alice swore, and Pastor Smith sighed.

            “Would you like another one?” he asked.

            “No, I’m sorry,” she grumbled, and got into the van.  As we followed, James and I apologized to her, but her wrath was directed at another target. 

            “Hey, Grace,” she hissed, sitting behind her.  “What is your problem?”

            “My problem is that you seem to think you’re above the rules,” Grace replied.  “Those of us who are actually trying to get better don’t need to be around your bad attitude.”

            “My bad attitude?” Alice said.  “You’re two-faced.”

            “Say what you like, but I only told for your own good.”

            “It’s not your place to decide what’s good for Alice,” I interjected.

            “Nobody asked your opinion,” Grace said before turning away and ignoring us further.

            James, ever the peacemaker, turned to Alice.  “Don’t stay mad at Grace.  I’m sure she meant well, and it is Christmas.  If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me.   The whole thing was my fault.”

            “But you make it too difficult to stay mad at you,” Alice said.  “You’re too nice, and I have to be mad at someone.”

            “Just cheer up, instead,” James said brightly.  “We have the next week off, and we get an extra phone call home, tonight.”

            “Too bad the phone call is mandatory,” Alice said.

#

            Normally, I secretly looked forward to my weekly phone calls to my parents.  My longing to speak to them, and to hear the news from home, had quickly overcome my anger toward them.  This time, however, I faced my phone call with anxiety, desperate as I was to come up with any method of persuasion to get my parents to allow me to come home.

            “You haven’t tried to guess what your father and I got you for Christmas,” Mother said.  “You usually have it figured out by now.”

            “I cheat,” I replied.  “I’ve always been able to find where you’ve hidden the presents.  I can’t do that this year, because I’m here,” I said bitterly.

            “Well,” she said in an unusually high voice, “is there anything you especially want?”

            “A plane ticket home,” I said frankly.

            There was only silence as a response, so I continued.  “I don’t think it’s too late to get one in time for Christmas.”

            “We already discussed this, Miranda,” she said in a softer voice.  “Dr. Caleb thinks that it’s best for you to stay over the holidays, since you haven’t been in treatment for very long.”

            “I’ve been here for an eternity,” I said, “and nothing has changed.  I’m tired and homesick.  I miss you and Daddy, and I miss my friends.  I want to go home.”

            “You just need to be patient,” Mother replied.  “If you work hard, and do what Dr. Caleb tells you to do, you’ll be able to come home sooner.”

            I thought I detected a small note of doubt in her voice, so I continued.

            “Mother, Dr. Caleb himself said that he can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, and I’m happy being who I am.  There is nothing wrong with me.”

< ~ait t been p height="0">            Mother stammered for a moment, and I thought perhaps she was going to falter, but then she said, “just give the program some more time, Miranda.  Don’t give up so easily.”

            “Mother, the whole thing is pointless.  Please, just let me come home.  This is the first Christmas since Mark passed away.  I need to be with family.  Keeping us apart like this is an insult to his memory.”

            As soon as I’d said the words, I wished I could unsay them.  They hung in the air, lingering in the silence that followed, hanging over me in a dark cloud of cruelty.  

            “Mother-“

            “We want the family together, too,” Mother said, her voice thick with tears, “but that’s impossible now.  Try to be happy.  It’s Christmas, and we love you.”

            “I love you too, Mother,” I said.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean-“

            “You only said what you felt, Miranda, but still, try to be happy.  We all miss Mark, but we need to keep going.  It’s what he would have wanted.”

            I was unable to speak any more, ashamed of what I had said, so I said my goodbyes and hung up as tears fell down my cheeks.

            The door to the office I’d been using to make my call opened, and Pastor Smith peeked in.  I bent my head and let my hair fall over my face, hiding my tears.

            “Are you finished, Miranda?  Your time is up.”

            “I’m finished,” I said, not looking up.  I could make out a dim reflection of myself in the bright, polished wood of the desk’s surface.  I closed my eyes to block the sight of my own face, and tried to will my tears away.

            “Miranda, Alice is waiting to make her call,” he said gently.

            I nodded, and slowly walked to the door, keeping my face hidden until I had passed Pastor Smith and was in the hallway, alone.  I walked down the long, dark hallway to the calefactory, where everyone who’d made their call home was gathering around the seldom-used television to watch a holiday movie.  I passed the group quickly, before anyone could see me o ~oned I bentr try to talk to me, and went outside to the courtyard. 

It was a cold and foggy night.  The stars were blotted out, and the further I walked from the abbey, the more the lights from the windows blurred until they looked like dull, faraway ghosts.  I sat on the rough stone edge of the broken fountain and watched the fog as it grew thicker, until it felt as though the abbey was gone, and I was drifting in a void. 

“You may as well get used to being an island,” I told myself, thinking of my cruel words to my mother.  I’d lashed out in my loneliness, and I’d made myself more isolated than ever.  I felt a pang of regret sharper than the night air.

            I was not left in my solitude long, however.  After a few moments, I saw two human-shaped shadows making their way toward me through the fog.  As they neared, they slowly became more distinct, as though they were forming out of the fog itself.  They were very near me before I could distinguish their features well enough to recognize them as Alice and James.

            “We were sent to see why you were being ‘unsociable,’ and to get you to come back inside,” James said.

            “All I want is a few minutes to collect myself,” I said shakily.

            “Alone time is dangerous, Miranda,” Alice said.  “If we’re allowed to be alone too often, we might start thinking for ourselves.”

            “No, Alice, we need each other.  We can help each other with our problems,” James said.  “It might help if you talk about it, Miranda.”

            “No, it won’t,” I said, “unless you can arrange for me to go home, somehow.”

            There was a moment of silence, and then Alice said, “you didn’t really expect your parents to give up, and let you come home for Christmas, did you?”

            “I’d hoped,” I admitted.  “Mother and Daddy seemed to be relenting when I spoke to them last week.  I thought if I just pushed a little, they might change their minds.  I pushed too far, though, and I said something I shouldn’t have said.  I feel like a louse.”

            James sat beside me.  “I’m sure they understand that you didn’t mean what you said.  You’re just homesick.”

       ~t="0man">       “It doesn’t matter- I went too far.  I’m not the only one in my family who’s going to be lonely this Christmas.  I’m too selfish.”

            “There are times when you have to be selfish, Miranda,” Alice said.  “Sometimes, you’re the only person you can rely on.”

            “But this isn’t one of those times,” James said.  “We can help Miranda.”

            “Can you help her get home?  That’s all she wants,” Alice said.

            “I can’t rely on myself to get home,” I said.  “I can’t rely on myself at all.  I always seem to sabotage myself, even when I’m careful not to.  My situation must really be hopeless.”

            A deep voice seemed to come out of the fog, then.  “It is selfish to give into despair, Miranda.  It’s Christmas.  You should make an extra effort to be merry.”

            I turned around and saw Dr. Caleb standing casually behind us, as though he’d been there for a while.  When Alice saw him, she stepped forward and placed herself between Dr. Caleb and me, almost protectively.  She gazed at him with an expression of open loathing.

            “Were you spying on us?” she asked with an edge of hostility to her voice.

            “I was just making certain that you were all safe,” he said with a smile that, in the cold evening fog, seemed almost sinister.

            “And we’re safer with you here?” Alice said skeptically.

            “Perfectly safe,” he said.  He looked at me and continued to smile.  “I could even help you, if you’d let me.”

            I was about to answer him, but Alice stepped closer to me, and said, “I know all about the sort of help you give people, here.  Some of your methods leave a lot to be desired.”

            “Some of my methods may be unorthodox, but they can be very effective, Alice,” he said.  Then he turned, and gestured for us to follow him.  “It’s too cold out here.  Come inside, and watch the movie.”

            James let Alice and Dr. Caleb walk ahead, and whispered to me ~ “ew Roman">, “She’s somewhat polite to the other councilors, here.  Why does she hate Dr. Caleb so much?”

            “I don’t know,” I replied.  I wanted to ask Alice, myself, but Dr. Caleb stayed very close the rest of the evening, and even if she’d been at liberty to speak her mind, she seemed unwilling to converse.

#

            I tried to speak to Alice several times that week, to ask her about her enmity toward Dr. Caleb, but we were all kept busy with preparations for Christmas, and I was unable to find the time to speak with her alone.  We were putting together a nativity play, and Alice, who had shown a natural talent for dancing during our Thursday dance lessons, was tasked with choreographing a dance for the angels to perform, while I played piano accompaniment for the dancers and singers in the play.  After these daily rehearsals, I would spend extra time practicing with James, who had a solo in the play.

            Then, after we’d finished rehearsing, there were quite a few other activities to do, from baking cookies, to decorating every last inch of the abbey.  The boys went into the woods and brought back two huge Christmas trees they had cut down, one for the parlor and one for the calefactory.  When they’d finished, they decorated the courtyard with lights, and even built a crèche to display on the lawn. 

            On Christmas Eve it snowed, and when Christmas morning arrived, the glittering lights that sparkled among the buttresses and reflected  in the icicles made the entire abbey look like a fairyland.  But even though the abbey was breathtakingly beautiful, and even though there was abundant food, and everyone had a large parcel, sent from home, waiting under the Christmas tree in the calefactory, the general feeling on Christmas morning was morose.  Despite the extra effort the staff had expended to create Christmas cheer, most of us were miserable. 

            We all gathered in the calefactory on Christmas morning, sitting in small groups and talking quietly while Ms. Sweeny and Pastor Smith handed out the gifts.  James, Alice, Julian and I sat on the carpet near the tree, stealing candy canes off of the branches.  James and Julian were still in their pajamas, their hair wild and uncombed, but the dress code seemed to be relaxed for the morning.  Several other students were also in the ~begalkinir pajamas; Grace was even wearing pajama pants under her robe.  Ms. Sweeny and Pastor Smith, though, ignored the state of wardrobe confusion, and handed each person their packages with a warm smile.

            James and Julian tore into their gifts as quickly as they could, with childlike excitement, but Alice ignored the two large parcels beside her, instead lying under the tree and looking up through the branches with an uncharacteristically peaceful expression on her face.

            I had a huge parcel, filled with an abundance of presents, all individually hand-wrapped from Mother, Daddy, and Aunt Elizabeth.  I received beautiful antique earrings, a warm angora sweater, a pair of soft, white leather gloves, and several books and CDs.  They were all beautiful gifts, but as I thought about the people who had sent them, my spirits sank.  I imagined Mother, Daddy, and Aunt Elizabeth sitting together at that very moment, unwrapping the gifts I had sent them.  It would be quiet, I thought, without Mark and I there to loudly exclaim over the contents of our stockings, or sing funny versions of Christmas songs, which we knew annoyed Mother.  Perhaps, I imagined, Aunt Elizabeth would play piano to lighten the mood, or perhaps they would just say a silent prayer, in remembrance of Mark. 

            I reverently gathered all of my gifts and began to place them back into the large box they’d been sent in, so I could carry them back to my room, but I was surprised to see another package that I had missed in the bottom of the box.  The paper was quite different from the paper that my parents had used, and was wrapped far more sloppily than Mother or Aunt Elizabeth usually wrapped their gifts.  I examined the wrapping, but there was no label.  I was contemplating who could have sent it, when James and Julian’s raucous laughter interrupted my thoughts.

            “Miranda, see what my sister sent me?” James said, holding up a pair of socks covered in bright, twinkling lights, which had apparently been the source of Julian’s amusement.

            “You should wear those during our play, tonight,” I said.  “You’ll be the only shepherd with blinking socks.”

            “Good idea,” Julian agreed. 

            “Who is that gift from, Miranda?” James asked, putting his socks on.

            “I don’t know.  The label seems to have come off,” I said.

            “Maybe there’s a card inside,” Julian said, helping himself to another candy cane.

            I opened the p ~ents"0">

            “Clara… it can’t be,” I whispered to myself.

            I turned the key on the music box a few times, and the first few notes of Waltz of the Snowflakes shimmered in the air.  I put the music box gently on the floor and examined the package.  There, tucked between the white folds of tissue paper, was a white envelope which was far too thick to contain a simple card.  My heart leapt with hope, yet if I was correct in my guess, and Clara had managed to send me a message, I was unable to verify my suspicions in public.  I pushed the envelope further into the box until it was completely hidden by the tissue paper, just in time to avoid Ms. Sweeny’s gaze.  She was walking around the room, examining the gifts that everyone had received.

            “That’s a pretty music-box, Miranda.  Who sent it to you?”

            “My Aunt Elizabeth,” I lied quickly.  I could see Alice, through the branches of the Christmas tree, frown as though in thought.  Ms. Sweeny followed my gaze.

            “Alice, are you asleep?” Ms. Sweeny asked.

            “No, the lights just look really cool from here,” Alice replied.

            “Aren’t you going to open your presents?” Ms. Sweeny persisted.

            Alice didn’t answer, but sat up, grabbed the biggest parcel beside her, and began mechanically unwrapping her gifts.  Ms. Sweeny smiled encouragingly, and said

“James, Julian, you should go get dressed,” before she walked to the next group.

            “The music box with Clara on it is from your aunt?” Alice said skeptically after the others had gone.

            “I don’t know, but there’s a letter.  You won’t tell, will you?”

            “Of course not,” Alice said as she returned to her gifts.  As I watched her open her gifts, I was seized by a sudden, painful stab of déjà vu.  In her hands, with the shiny, silver wrapping half-torn away, was a volume of Byron’s poetry- identical in every way to the one Mark had gi ~ opeize="3" ven me the previous Christmas.

            I must have worn a shocked expression, because Alice said, “Miranda, are you okay?”

            I cleared my throat and smiled as best I could.  “I just- I like Lord Byron, too.”

            “Oh, yes, my brother gave this to me- well, my half-brother.  I love Byron, but I’m sure that I won’t be allowed to keep this.  It’s a shame.”  She laid the book aside tenderly.

            “Are you and your brother close?” I asked.

            “He’s the only person in the family who ever gave a damn about me,” Alice said.  “You see, I’m the shameful product of an affair.  My stepfather and stepmother hate me because I remind them of the affair, my mom sees me as a mistake, and my dad sees me as a responsibility- a punishment for his mistake.  My brother, though, just treats me like his sister.  He’s not a very good person, and he’s done awful things to me more than once, but I always forgive him, because he’s the closest thing to family I’ve ever known.”

            Alice seemed embarrassed by the revelation she’d just made about herself, and quickly packed her presents back up and took them to her dorm, leaving me to my thoughts.

            There was a large Christmas brunch after we’d finished opening our gifts, but I had little appetite.  I pushed my food around my plate, lost in thought.  My mind was occupied with the mystery of the music box, but I was also affected by what Alice had revealed about herself.  I had always taken the fact that my parents loved me for granted.  I couldn’t imagine living as Alice had lived; knowing that her parents had never loved or wanted her.  The idea that Alice was able to forgive her brother, simply because she knew he loved her, gave me new feelings of respect and admiration for her.

#

            In the afternoon, we went into town to attend a Christmas service at the church which was affiliated with Prodigal Ministries.  While there, we performed the nativity play we’d worked so hard rehearsing all week.  The play was wildly successful, and everyone seemed to be in a better mood as a result.  In fact, by the time we’d returned to the abbey, and sat down to our Christmas dinner in the refectory, there was a boisterous, party-like atmosphere.  Even after we’d finished eating, we stayed in the refectory well into the night, laughing, talking, and taking advantage of this very rare opportunity to have fun.  At some point, someone brought in the radio from the calefactory, and tuned into an oldies station.  Quite a few people, James and Alice included, were dancing.  Dr. Caleb had left to spend Christmas with family, and so was not present to object, and Ms. Sweeny and Pastor Smith seemed content to let us do as we liked.  In fact, their flushed, laughing faces reminded me a bit of the way Amber had looked at the fall dance.

            “You are a marvelous dancer,” James said to Alice as they danced a boisterous jitterbug.  “Did you take lessons before taking liturgical dance, here?”

            “When I was little, I did, but I quit at the age of 10.  I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed dancing.  When I leave here, I’m going to enroll in ballet or modern dance classes.  You aren’t a bad dancer, yourself, by the way.”

            “I’m a triple threat!” James said proudly.  “I’m not supposed to dance anymore, though.  It’s not a very masculine activity.”

            “That’s idiotic,” Alice protested.  “Dance didn’t turn you gay, any more than playing piano made Miranda gay, or being a computer geek turned Julian gay.”

            “Well, Julian’s here for gender-identity issues, not same-sex attraction.”

            “Whatever.  My point is that your talents don’t make you gay.  They’re just a part of who you are.”  Alice turned to the table, where I sat, watching them dance.  “Back me up, Miranda.”

            “I agree with Alice,” I said obediently.

            “I can tell when I’m on the losing side.  I give up.  I’m tired and thirsty, as well.”  James stepped away from Alice and bowed.  “Thank you for a lovely dance.”

            “You’re welcome,” Alice said with a curtsey.  She frowned, though, as James walked away.  “I’m not tired yet.  Miranda, come dance with me.”

~gan              “Girls aren’t even supposed to touch each other, here.  I’m afraid that two girls dancing together may be too much for our councilors, even in their inebriated state.  I don’t want to end the party,” I said.

            “Pastor Smith went to bed 15 minutes ago, and Ms. Sweeny has been dozing quite comfortably at the head of the table for the past 10 minutes.  They will never know.”

            “Aren’t you afraid that Grace will tattle, again?”

            “Don’t worry; I have blackmail material.  Grace won’t tell on me again for a long time.  Please dance with me,” Alice said, pouting.

            “Okay,” I agreed, and joined her in a waltz.

            Alice took my hands in hers, looked into my eyes, and began to lead.  She was, as James had said, a wonderful dance partner, confident and graceful, and I was about to compliment her when she spoke.

            “I wish you could have done the Angel dance with us in the nativity play.  You’re very easy to lead, so I’m sure you’d be easy to direct.  You’d probably argue less than Anna and Grace did.”

            “Thanks.  Unfortunately, I can’t dance and play piano at the same time.”

            “Are you certain?  You’re very talented.  I was under the impression that you could do anything.”

            “You’re quite mistaken,” I said, blushing and lowering my head.  At times, I found it difficult to tell whether Alice was making fun of me.

            “Name one thing you can’t do,” she challenged.

            “There are many things I can’t do.  I can’t draw, for instance.  I’ve tried numerous times, but I’m hopeless.  Not like Clara- she’s a brilliant artist.”

            “Was the music-box from Clara?” Alice asked quietly, slowing our dance and drawing me closer.

            “I don’t know.  I haven’t had a chance to read the letter,” I said.

            Alice drew back and looked at me with her earnest, forget-me-not eyes.

            “Listen, Miranda, don’t get your hopes up.  Chances are that Clara will not be waiting for you when you get home.  I once had a ‘brilliant artist’ of my own, who taught me that lesson.”

            “I told her she didn’t have to wait,” I said defensively.

            “But you still hope, don’t you?” She asked.

            I stopped dancing and turned away from her gaze.  I was spared having to answer her by the arrival of James, who came and handed each of us a cold soda he’d taken from the kitchen.

            “Are you both tired of dancing now, too?” he asked.

            “I am,” Alice replied.  “It’s getting rather warm in here.  Let’s go outside.”

            James offered Alice and I each an arm, and together the three of us walked into the courtyard.

            Outside was considerably colder, but the air was remarkably still, without a bit of wind to disturb the soft blanket of snow which covered the ground.  The white Christmas lights, which were hung around the perimeter of the courtyard, and in the trees which lined the walkway leading to the chapel, glittered in the frosty air.  The snow-covered ground shone in the moonlight. 

            “What do you both think of your first white Christmas?” Julian asked.

            “I never said this was my first white Christmas,” I replied.

            “But it is, isn’t it?” he said.  “You may not gush over the snow like Alice does, but you still look at it as though it were something special.”

            “It is something special,” Alice said, stepping forward into the moonlight.  She looked around the courtyard slowly, as though committing the scene to memory, then turned and smiled mischievously.  “Let’s have a snowball fight.”

            “I’m sorry, Alice, but it’s already past 1:00 in the morning, and I need to get some sl ~

            “Miranda?” Alice turned to me.

            “No, I have a mystery to solve, and then I need to sleep, as well.”

            Alice sighed, but let James hug her goodnight. 

            “Merry Christmas,” James said, hugging us both in turn.

            “Merry Christmas,” we replied before separating to walk to the girls dormitories. 

            Alice and I walked in silence, and when we reached our rooms, I turned to say goodnight to Alice, only to see her staring at me with a worried expression.

            “Is something the matter?” I asked.

            “No more than usual,” she said.  She closed her eyes, murmured, “screw the rules,” and drew me into a hug.

            “Merry Christmas, Miranda,” she said, “even though Christmas sucks.”

            “Merry Christmas,” I managed to reply through my surprise.

            Alice pulled away, her hands on my shoulders, and studied me with serious eyes.  Then she leaned forward.  For a moment, I was afraid she would kiss me, but instead she whispered in my ear.

            “Think about what I told you.”

            Then she gave me a wry smile and disappeared into her room.

#

            I went to my own room, and unwrapped the music box again.  I placed the music box on my desk, wound it, and then took the envelope from the folds of tissue paper, where I’d left it.  I wrapped myself in my blanket, sat on the bed, and opened the envelope with trembling hands.

            Inside were two, thick, intricately folded packets of paper.  I opened the first, which was covered in a familiar, messy script.

            Dear Miranda,

            If you are reading this note, then I, Summer Wilde, am officially a genius!  We plan to go to your mother as a group, minus Clara, to beg her to let us send you a Christmas present.  Inside, we will hide this note, from all of us, and another note from Clara.

            So much has happened since you left, that I don’t know where to begin.  First, the most important news- me and Chad are together!  I know – it’s shocking, right?  He’s sweet, though, and a surprisingly good kisser.  If I’d known that dating a nerd would be like this, I would have given up handsome jocks years ago!

            Sadly, Chad is too nice for his own good.  A couple of weeks ago, we had a party at the beach house.  Candy Mountain was in rare form, and things got really wild.  Some couples went into the unused rooms together, and Chad went to get us a room, but he walked in on David and Giselle.  Chad totally lost it, and he and David got into a fight.  Not only did poor Chad get his butt kicked, but he also got blamed for the fight.  Chad’s uncle (he’s the one who owns the beach house, and he’s usually pretty cool) said that Candy Mountain can still practice there, but we’re not allowed to party there anymore.

            -Oh, Chad wants me to tell you that he got in a few good punches, and managed to black David’s eye.  He also says that he misses you, and wishes you could be here to party with us and help him beat up David.

            Also, Jason says that he misses you, too.  We all miss you, Miranda.  Clara is putting on a brave face, but she is pretty unhappy, so keep trying, and I’m sure your parents will eventually let up, and let you come home.  We’ve been trying to persuade them on this end, too. 

            I hope you’re okay.  Stay strong!  We all love you.

         ~ay.t into a                 Summer, Chad, and Jason.”

            I smiled to myself as I folded the letter again, and wondered  how they persuaded my parents to let them send the gift. 

            The second letter was covered in a beautiful, neat script.

            “Dear Miranda,

            It’s a beautiful, rainy night as I write this.  It’s already past midnight, but I am too restless to sleep.  My Mom and I have just returned from Corpus Christi, where we watched her old company perform The Nutcracker, and then attended the cast party.  All evening, I was reminded of you in so many, small ways.  For instance, the girl who danced the role of Clara looked like you.  There was something musical about the way she danced which made me think of the way you move when you play the piano.  I bought you a gift- a music box- hoping that I’d be able to give it to you for Christmas.  I don’t know if I’ll succeed, and I don’t know if you will ever read this letter, but Summer and I will try to find a way, and Summer is an evil genius at times.  I’m certain there is some way we can send you a message, even if the means are dishonest.  I believe, in this case, the ends justify the means.

            I’m doing well, and I’m enjoying the grey, rainy weather.  I’m certain it’s not as beautiful as the snow that you’re no doubt enjoying.  It has its own charm, though, and I’ve been going to the beach a lot, staring into the “wine dark sea.”  It’s too quiet to stay at home.  My sister got into some trouble recently- she got Chad in some trouble, too- so she’s been sent to live with Dad for a while.  She likes living with Dad, and she’s away from David, so it’s for the best, but I still can’t stand how peaceful things are without her.

            I hope you are safe and well.  Summer and Chad have been inquiring about you periodically, and your parents don’t seem to be too annoyed with them, yet.  Your mother said you are living in a beautiful, refurbished abbey, that it’s been snowing, and that you’re in good health.  I hate the thought of your being cloistered away in an abbey, but your mother insists that it’s really beautiful, and that you’re allowed to see the outside world from time to time.

            I have a million questions to ask, but I suppose I will have to save them for when you return.  I hope that time will come home soon.  There isn’t much I can do, unfortunately, but sit and wait, because Summer and Chad think your parents won’t listen to me as well as the ~ont> Roman">m. 

            I miss you more than words can express.  Please stay safe, be happy, and I’ll see you when you return.

                        With all my heart,

                                    Clara.”

            I pressed the letter to my heart and sighed, allowing bittersweet tears to fall down my cheeks.  I lay down on the bed and cried myself to sleep.

            I was drifting in a sort of half-sleep when the door jolted again, shaking my bed.  I sat upright with alarm when I remembered that outside, there was no wind.  The night had been perfectly calm.

            Someone was trying to force their way into my room.

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Chapter 12

Discontent

The Hermit

            I jumped off of the bed and backed away from the door, panicked.  Without my added weight, the bed rattled more fiercely than before, and the door was forced open an inch or two.    

            I gathered my courage and called in as loud and clear a voice as I could summon, “who’s there.”

            I leaned forward and listened, but heard only a low moan in response.  The door opened another inch, and forced the bed away from the wall with a loud screech.  I reacted, flinging myself onto the bed and pushing my body against the door.  My weight had diminished considerably since I’d arrived at the abbey, but I somehow managed to slam the door shut.  I pressed my ear against the door, but I could hear nothing but silence.  There was no sound of rustling or footsteps on the other side, and the door remained still. 

I remained froz ~ists eight="en, against the door, in terror, but the intruder did not return.  I stayed awake for the rest of the night.  I kept my back against the door, though my joints became stiff and achy by morning.  I was tempted to peek outside, to see if there was any sign of the intruder, but I did not want to take my weight off of the door.  I kept my mind busy by reading and re-reading Clara’s letter, until I’d memorized each pen stroke.  Her tender words calmed me, and by morning, when the first rose-tinted streaks of sunlight were cast through my tiny window, my panic seemed as though it had been a dream.

I was certain that the intruder must have left, so I dressed and carefully hid the letters Clara and Summer had sent.  I ventured outside, and searched the area around my door, but I could not find any clues left behind by my nighttime visitor.  There were some tracks left in the snow a few feet away, but I could not follow them far before they became lost in the muddled footprints left by the general population which dwelt in the cloisters. 

I was still bent over, examining the footprints, when I heard someone approaching.  My nerves were still somewhat excited from my nighttime encounter, and I spun around, startled.  I was relieved, though, to see it was only James, approaching me with a curious expression.

“Did you lose something?” he asked, looking at the ground where I’d been searching.

“No, I just-“ I stopped, wondering if my story would sound too incredible to be believed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone tried to break into my room last night,” I blurted.  “They tried to force the outside door open.”

“Are you sure?” James asked.  “I have the first dorm room on the men’s side- there’s an outside door on that one, as well, and when the wind blows, the door rattles something fierce.”

“It wasn’t windy at all, last night,” I argued.  “Besides, the wind can’t force a door open, or force the bed away from the door.”

“You must have been dreaming,” James said, wrinkling his brow, and frowning at the footprints I’d been examining.  “No one here would try to break into your room.”

“I know I was awake,” I insisted.  “I’ve been awake ever since.  I should tell Ms. Sweeny what happened.”

“Wait an hour or two,” James said.  “She and Pastor Smith both indulged a bit last night, and she might t si door on not appreciate it if you woke her at the crack of dawn for something that was probably just a bad dream.”

“It was not a dream, but otherwise, you make a good point,” I admitted.  “Why are you awake so early?”

“Same reason as you; I’ve been having nightmares.”

I didn’t want to argue further, so I just sighed and said, “what kind of nightmares have you been having?”

“The usual kind, I suppose- I’m lost in a maze, trying desperately to escape.”  He ran his hand through his hair, like he usually did when worried, but then smiled brightly.  “When you live in a haunted abbey, it’s only natural that you have a nightmare or two.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

“Are you?” he countered.

“I’m certain that I soon will be, as soon as the intruder is found,” I said.  I turned and followed the tracks back to my room as the sun rose over the abbey.

#

I took my time getting washed and dressed, taking advantage of the fact that no one else was awake, and I could use the showers without having to wait in line.  When I was clean, fully awake, and feeling considerably better, I went to Ms. Sweeny to explain what had happened on the previous night.

Ms. Sweeny listened to my story with a sympathetic, but skeptical, countenance.  She insisted, as James had, that I had either been dreaming, or that I had merely become overly frightened when the wind rattled the door.

“After all,” she said, “I’m sure that no one here would want to break into your room, and we’re miles away from any town, so I doubt it could have been a burglar.  If it would make you feel better, though, I’ll see if there is a way to lock the door, and I’ll increase the frequent>

#

Ms. Sweeny searched all week for the key to my door, but a week later the search proved fruitless, she gave up, and installed an old, rusty padlock she had found.  I moved my bed away from the door, and for a long time, no one tried to break into my room again, so the matter was forgotten.

Even though no one tried to break in again, I still could not sleep well at night.  The weather continued to grow more bitterly cold, often dropping below zero, while the wind rattled the door, and snow covered my tiny window.  As the cold grew more bitter, and the wind grew fiercer, Mary of Misery made her voice heard more often.  I would lie awake, listening as the screams grew more and more realistic. The cries rang clearly over the abbey, and seemed to come from one direction, then another, as if a shrieking witch was circling over the abbey on her broomstick.  I would close my eyes, and tell myself that the sound was nothing more than the wind whistling over the valley, but I could barely fend off my terrified superstitions.

The cold and lack of sleep combined to depress my spirits, despite the efforts I had been making to stay hopeful.  Two outings were canceled due to bad weather, culminating in a month of isolation within the abbey.  This isolation intensified the effects of the therapeutic methods employed by Dr. Caleb, which were growing more bizarre by the day.

One particularly cold Friday, Dr. Caleb seemed to snap.  That day, almost half of the patients, along with Ms. Sweeny, were sick with the flu, and were confined to their rooms or to cots in the makeshift infirmary.  Those of us who remained were made up of those of us who were the most resistant to Dr. Caleb’s ideas, and he was becoming increasingly frustrated with us.

            “None of you seem to understand how dangerous the homosexual lifestyle is, or how self-destructive you become once you give yourself over to your unnatural urges,” he said, while pacing restlessly around the half-empty circle of chairs.  His footsteps echoed loudly off the stone walls in the unnaturally quiet room.  He stopped pacing in front of Alice, and looked down at her. 

            “You need to admit the harm you’ve caused to your loved ones, and to yourself, beforet="0ved ones, you can hope to heal the emotional wounds caused by your unnatural urges.”

            Alice seemed unimpressed.  “Only if you admit what you’ve done, first.”

            Dr. Caleb’s eyes flashed with anger, and he clenched his fist as if he wanted to hit her, but he restrained himself, and turned away from her.  He stepped over to a desk which stood in a far corner of the room, and began to search through the drawers.

            “You know, Alice, all I’ve tried to do is to help all of you.”  He seemed to find what he was looking for, and stood to return to the circle.

            “It’s time for all of you to take an honest look at what you’re doing to yourselves and your families.  I want all of you to take a good, long look at where your choices are leading you.”  He held up what he’d retrieved from the drawer; an intricately knotted noose was swinging from his hand.

            “Suicide, drug abuse, and HIV are all things that your current paths will inevitably lead you to.”  He held the noose higher and stepped into the center of the circle, turning slowly to show everyone the noose in turn.  It began to swing back and forth in his hand, and when I closed my eyes to block out the sight, I could still see a dark shadow swinging back and forth in my mind’s eye.

            “I want everyone to pass this noose around, and as you hold it, tell us what you’ve done- what harmful things your unnatural urges have caused you to do.”

            I kept my eyes firmly shut, but I couldn’t banish the image of the swinging shadow.  I could hear each recipient of the noose as they spoke, but their words softened and blended together until they were nothing more than a buzzing in my ears.

            I felt a soft nudge on my arm, and I opened my eyes.  Julian, who’d been sitting to my left, was holding the noose out to me.  When I saw it, my stomach lurched painfully, and I closed my eyes again.

            “Miranda?  It’s your turn,” Julian said tentatively.

            I turned my head and leaned away from his voice. “No, I can’t,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

            “Miranda, what’s wrong?” I could hear Alice whisper, but I couldn’t answer.  I simply shook my head.

            “Miranda, open your eyes,” Dr. Caleb said authoritatively.  “You need to face this.”

            “You don’t understand,” I said weakly.  “You couldn’t possibly understand, or else you wouldn’t be doing this to me.”

            “I’m aware that you’ve seen the ugliness of death,” he said in a harsh tone. 
“Open your eyes, now, and face the ugliness of your own future.”

            “Stop it,” I said, but I could not put the force of will behind my voice.  I knew that he could hear and see my frailty.  He’d found the weakness that I’d been hiding for weeks.

            “You couldn’t stop what happened to your brother, and you can’t stop what will happen to you if you continue this path.  You are weak, flawed, and sinful.  Put yourself in God’s hands, and he can show you the way to salvation.”

            I opened my eyes, and the noose was hanging a mere inches from my face.  I pushed the noose, and the hand holding the noose, roughly away from me and stumbled to my feet. 

            I ran dizzily out the door, into the hall, but no one tried to stop me.  I made my way into the restroom and into a stall before my strength failed, and I fell onto the floor, retching into the toilet while my sharp knees dug painfully into the icy tile floor.

            When I was done, I shakily to pulled myself to my feet and exited the stall.  Alice and Anna were there, waiting to escort me back to the classroom, but I ignored them.  I stumbled to the sink, rinsed out my mouth, and then washed my face.  I was no longer dizzy, but in the harsh, yellow bathroom light, everything seemed surreal.

            “Miranda, are you sick?” Anna asked.

            I tried to speak, but could only manage a rough laugh in response.

            “Come on, Anna, let’s get her to the dorms,” Alice said.

            “But Dr. Caleb said-“

            “He didn’t listen to her being violently sick for the past five minutes.” Alice said.  “I’m sure he won’t want her to come back and vomit on his rug.” 

mes size="3" face="Times New Roman">            Alice took a couple of steps closer to me.  The clicking of her heels on the tile floor seemed unbearably loud.

            “Miranda, do you think you can make it back to the dorms?”  She asked.

            I took several deep breaths, and then responded.  “I don’t know.”

            “I promise; we’ll go slowly.  It’s too bad that the infirmary’s full, it’s closer, but the dorms are more comfortable, anyway.

            I nodded, and stood up to dry my face.  I caught my reflection in the mirror.  I saw a pale, freckled face, bloodshot, green eyes, and limp tendrils of disheveled blonde hair.  I wondered, in all the mess I saw, where Miranda had gone.

            “Miranda, are you ready?”

            I nodded again, and followed Alice and Anna from the restroom.

#

            The sun was out, and the light was so bright that I had to shield my eyes as I walked.  I had to stop and rest twice in the short distance from the calefactory to the women’s cloisters.  When we made it to my dorm room, Alice and Anna had to help me into bed.

            I felt an immediate sense of relief when they turned out the light and left me alone in the still, silent cell.  I lay on top of my blanket, and enjoyed the sensation of the cool air against my feverish face.  It felt so good that I fell asleep shortly.  My sleep, however, was neither comfortable nor restful.  All afternoon, my mind replayed the night of Mark’s death over and over, each time filled with more horrifying detail than the next.  At first I only felt the vague impressions I recalled from that night- the swinging shadow, and the bright light from the ambulance.  Then I saw, more clearly, the horror on my father’s face, my mother’s blank stare, and a glimpse of the white sheet which I knew concealed the body.  I wanted to scream, over and over, but my voice was trapped inside of me, and my body was like a stone.

            A soft tapping on the inside door broke the spell.  My mind snapped back into reality, and the shell of paralyzing horror was released.  I moved my arms and legs, and sat up.

            A moment later, the tapping stopped and Alice opened the door and peeked inside.  “Are you awake, yet?  I came to fetch you for dinner, but you wouldn’t wake up.”

            I wiped the sleep from my eyes, and my stomach growled.  “Did I miss dinner completely?”

            Alice smiled and came inside, bearing a tray.  “There’s chicken soup and sandwiches, if you think you can keep it down.  We survivors have to take care of the sick, since Ms. Sweeny isn’t able to, and I saved you for last, so we could talk.”

 I thanked her and took the tray.  I no longer felt queasy, and in fact, I was hungrier than I had been in a long time.  Alice sat on the chair by my desk and watched me eat.

“Shouldn’t you go?” I asked.  “We aren’t allowed to be in each other’s rooms.”

Alice shrugged and put her chin on the back of the chair, studying me with her serious, blue eyes.

“I told you, I left you for last so we could talk.  Ms. Sweeny is sick, so she can’t do bed checks.  We really don’t have many opportunities to be alone, here, so I have to seize this chance.”

“What did you want to discuss?” I asked.

“First, I need to ask you about what happened this afternoon.  Why did you react that way when you saw the noose?”

At the mention of the noose, my stomach flipped again, so I took a long drink of water to still it.  I drained the glass, and then gazed at Alice for a long time.  I knew, logically, that she was trustworthy, but something made me hesitant to confide in her.

“I suppose the technical term for what happened is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but I’m not a doctor.”  I finally said, warily.

“That sounds pretty intense, Miranda.  What traumatic things could have happened to a privileged girl like you?”  Alice’s tone was light, but her eyes betrayed her concern.

I ignored her question and held up my empty glass, “may I have some more?”

She rolled her eyes, but took the glass and went to refill it, muttering, “spoiled brat,” under her breath.

When she returned, she closed the door carefully behind her, obviously intent on continuing our conversation, despite my reluctance.  She handed me the water and sat on the foot of the bed.

“Listen, Miranda, you don’t have to talk about what happened, if you don’t want, but you need to realize that things are getting very dangerous for you.  You just revealed a huge weakness to Dr. Caleb, and I’m sure that he will exploit it.”

I sighed, and examined Alice’s face for any sign contrary to the honesty and earnestness I heard in her voice, and knew to be part of her character.  After a moment, I decided to trust her.

“You’ve probably heard me mention my brother, Mark, before.  He passed away last spring, and I try to avoid talking about him too often, for obvious reasons.”

“Were you close to him?” she asked.

“He was my twin, and we were best friends.  I can’t describe how it felt when I lost him.”

“How did he die?” she asked.

“It was suicide,” I said.  “He was deeply depressed, and he hung himself.  I wasn’t certain how much Dr. Caleb knew about what had happened, until this afternoon.  My parents, apparently, told him everything.”

“He should have stopped, once he saw what he was doing to you,” Alice spat angrily, clenching folds of my bedspread in her fists.  “He’s evil, Miranda.  I need to warn you about him, because he’s breaking you.”

“He can’t break me completely,” I said.  “He can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change; even he admits that.”

“He can’t change any of us, no matter what he claims, but he can hurt you so much that you bury your feelings, and deny who you are.  I’ve seen him take a happy, free-spirited girl and turn her into something completely unrecognizable.”

“You’ve been here before?” I asked, baffled.

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“No, but someone I cared for very much was sent here when we were younger.”  She stopped and glanced up from the bedspread with a lost look in her eyes.  The expression seemed out of place on her, and though I’d always thought of Alice as indomitable, she now seemed frail and vulnerable.

“I’ve never talked about this to anyone,” Alice admitted, looking down again, and tracing the patterns on my bedspread with her finger, her blue eyes lost in the silver loops of thread.  “But I think you will understand better if I tell you about it.  You see, I live with my mom and stepdad in Houston during the school year, but I used to spend the summers with my father, until a couple of years ago.  The last time I did was the summer I turned 14.

“My father is rich, and lives in a huge, beautiful house overlooking the coast.  He doesn’t love me, but he feels obligated toward me, and usually gives me whatever I want, so I didn’t mind staying with him.  Plus, I got to spend time with my brother, who- I think I’ve told you before- is the only person in the family who gives a damn about me.  I think I would prefer to live with my Dad, if it weren’t for my shrew of a stepmother.  Still, that last summer, I didn’t even mind my evil stepmother, because Laurel was there.”

“Is Laurel the one you mentioned at Christmas- the brilliant artist?” I asked.

“That’s right,” she replied.  “My stepmother and her mother are best friends- they call themselves sisters- and that summer, her mother went on vacation in Europe, leaving Laurel to stay with us.  I’d never met anyone like Laurel.  She was the first genuinely innocent person I’d ever met.  She was very open and honest- perhaps too open.  She wore her heart on her sleeve, and people like that are especially vulnerable.  If someone said the smallest, unkind word to her, she would become almost hysterical, and if she was worried, she would refuse to eat, and become sick. My brother was always able to calm her down in times like these, when I couldn’t.  I’m grateful, even now, because I know my brother is still doing everything he can to help her.

“I don’t remember how our relationship started.  One day, she seemed to be curious about me, the next day we were friends, and then we were declaring our undying love.  We were too young to have such intense feelings for each other, and too young to handle the consequences, but, then, we were too young to care.  I know I sound very old, and I’m only 16, but so much has changed since we were happy together, that it seems as though a million years have passed.”

“What happened to make everything change?” I asked.

“Laurel and I were naïve, and we decided that the world should know about our love.  Of course, we weren’t stupid enough to shout it from the rooftops, but we decided to tell someone we fp hdoing evethought we could trust.”

“Your brother?” I asked.

“Yes.  He completely freaked out, and told everyone in the family, hoping someone could ‘help’ us.  I’d thought he would always be on my side, but I completely misjudged him.  Laurel’s mother flew home from Paris, and soon afterward, I learned that Laurel had been sent here.  My stepmother wanted to send me here, too, but Dad isn’t an idiot.  He convinced my Mom that places like this are just huge scams run by sociopathic quacks.”

“Then why are you here, now?”

“I got into a fight with my stepdad, and he hit me.  My mom thought it would be best to send me to live with my dad, because obviously it was my fault.  Step-shrew, however, doesn’t want me in her house until I’ve been ‘cured,’ and Dad caved in to her, of course.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be; it isn’t your fault.  Anyway, Laurel was locked up here for a full semester.  I spent Christmas with Dad that year, and that’s when I saw her again.

“I barely recognized her, Miranda.  She had the same face, same eyes, and same hair, but she looked completely lost.  She didn’t smile, or laugh, or cry freely, anymore.  She was this docile little thing instead.  She told me that she couldn’t see me anymore, for my own good.

“I tried to get her to tell me what had happened to her, but she just said that Dr. Caleb was a brilliant man who had saved her soul.  She let a few things slip, about having the ‘demons of perversion,’ driven out of her.  It all sounded completely insane, but she seemed to think it was totally natural.”

Alice had been speaking very quickly, in a matter-of-fact way, but now she stopped, put her hands over her face, and a shudder ran through her.  When she put her hands down, her eyes were filled with tears.

“Dr. Caleb did something to my Laurel, and whatever it was, it killed something in her.  If killing Dr. Caleb could bring her back, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“But killing Dr. Caleb can’t help her,” I said firmly.

“I know.  It might help you, though, if I did kill him.  You’re a lot stronger than Laurel was, and a lot more guarded with your feelings, but Dr. Caleb has found a big weakness in you, and="3" hel your health is lousy.  You’re vulnerable, like she was.”

“No matter what happens to my health, I won’t be vulnerable to him.  I will always have my mind to tell me that he is wrong,” I said.

“But the weaker you become, the more vulnerable your mind becomes.  You need to get mad, Miranda, and keep fighting him.  Keep healthy, just to spite him, and show him how strong you are, and that he can’t break you.”

“Anger won’t make me stronger.  I don’t have the energy to spend on hateful emotions,” I rebuffed.

“How can you remain so calm, and  not rage against what is being done to you?  How can you feel anything but disgust for a man who would take a girl and abuse her beyond recognition?”

“I suppose I’m comforted by the knowledge that I would never let anger and hatred overwhelm me to the point that I become like Dr. Caleb,” I said.

Alice sighed and shook her head.  “You win.  Still, promise me that you will try to take better care of yourself.  You’re so much better than he is, that I’d hate to see you suffer while he triumphs.”

“I will try,” I promised.

“Good girl,” Alice said, as she took my tray and began to leave.  “Oh, I brought you some medicine, in case you can’t sleep.”

“Take it with you.  I’m sure I can sleep without it,” I said.

#

I did, indeed, sleep well that night.  I was still frightened of Mary, and worried I might have another dream about Mark, but I felt a sense of moral satisfaction in my new resolve to resist Dr. Caleb’s tactics, and this was comforting enough to help me sleep, undisturbed.  I rose later than I usually did, with that satisfyingly groggy feeling one gets after a full night’s sleep.

I had a relatively emes p.

“What do you think you are doing?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Alice stood and said, “she was just teaching me how to play.  Nothing happened.  Let her go.”

He ignored Alice and gripped my wrist even tighter, “you know you aren’t allowed to touch, or even be that close to each other.”

“It was totally innocent,” Alice insisted.

“You enjoy leading others to temptation, don’t you, Alice?  It’s too late for anyone to save you, but Miranda still has a chance.  You should stay away from her.”

Alice looked like she wanted to respond, but her eyes were fixed on my wrist, and she kept silent.

“Please stop,” I said quietly.  “You’re hurting me.”

His cold blue eyes darkened, but he dropped my wrist.  I almost wished he hadn’t done so, because Pastor Smith, along with Julian and a younger boy, named Will, came into the room.

“Will is feeling better,” Pastor Smith said, seeming oblivious to the tension in the room.  “I thought that perhaps, since our schedule has been so interrupted, we could all watch a movie.”

“Fine,” Dr. Caleb said, and turned away from him to face me again.  “Miranda, I want you spend this week thinking very carefully about the danger your lifestyle has put you in,” he said.  “Next Saturday, we will meet in my office, to discuss what you’ve learned.”

“I’m telling my parents,” I said, rubbing my wrist.

“That will have to wait,” he said.  “In light of your recent rule violations, your phone privileges are revoked.”

He smiled sadistically and left the room.  Alice cast a glance at the others, but they ignored the exchange as they set up the DVD player.

She stepped close to me and whispered, “this is bad, Miranda.  I just know he has something awful in mind for you.”

“I know,” I whispered in reply.

facageb

Chapter 13

Prayers

The Hierophant

            That night, the benefit I’d gained from my previous night’s sleep was lost.  I lay awake all night, wondering what Dr. Caleb had planned for me as I listened to Mary scream with renewed vigor.  Sometimes I thought I may be imagining the threat Dr. Caleb had made, because of what Alice had told me about him, but the bruises around my wrist were very real.  I had to find a way to contact my parents.  I was determined to tell them what he had done to me.

            The next morning, James appeared at breakfast.  He said he was feeling well again, but his usually bright eyes were shadowed with dark circles, and his usual good humor was absent.  James, Alice and I sat together, as usual, but we were unable to make conversation.  The three of us, who were usually able to cheer each other in the worst of times, sat side by side, silently picking at our food.  Breakfast was almost over before anyone spoke.

            “You look terrible, Miranda,” James said.

            “What else is new?”  I replied.

            “You should try to eat something,” Alice said.  “Remember your promise.”

            “I’m not hungry,” I replied.  “You and James aren’t eating, either.”

            “Well, James had the flu, so I imagine he’s not up to eatin mysize="3ing much, yet,” she said.  “You need to keep up your strength, though.  You don’t know what Dr. Caleb has in store for you, this week.”

            “What does that mean?” James asked.

            “Dr. Caleb threatened Miranda, yesterday, after yanking her off of the piano bench and bruising her wrist.”

            I thought James would deny what had happened, or try to defend Dr. Caleb as he usually did, but instead he just said, “can I see your wrist?”

            I shook my head and gestured surreptitiously toward Dr. Caleb, who was approaching our group.

            “You three should hurry, or you will be late for chapel,” he said.

            Without reply, the three of us stood, put our trays away, and walked toward the chapel together.  We were silent again, as we walked across the sunny courtyard.  When we got to the chapel door, James stopped walking, and stared up at the door with a stony expression.  He took a step backward, and seemed about to run away.

            “James, what’s the matter?” I asked.

            “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.  I’m still pretty tired, from being ill.”

            “You almost looked scared,” Alice observed, “and nothing scares you.”

            “I get scared,” James countered, but he squared his shoulders and strode forward, opening the door for Alice and I.

            “Everyone gets scared, sometimes,” I remarked as we filed into one of the rough, oak pews in the back row, “but you’re a lot braver than I am, James.  I’m still scared of Mary.”

            “That was an idiotic story,” James said sullenly.  “I’m sorry I ever told it.”

            Alice gave me a worried glance, but we didn’t say anything else, and Ms. Sweeny, who’d recovered the night before, began to play the little organ.

            Because many of us were still unwell, the service that morning was short, and Pasto  idnr Smith’s sermon was unusually mild.  Without his usual fire-and-brimstone sermon to add to my anxiety, I was able to appreciate how peaceful the little stone church could be, tucked away on its tiny hill and surrounded by the grandeur of mountains.  I was sitting next to the window, and, as the little organ swelled with its solemn hymns, my attention was drawn to the scenic wonders of nature.

            The mountains surrounded us, not like the walls of a prison, but like the fold of a great curtain.  The mountains, adorned with dark pine and white granite, seemed to be decked in velvet and lace.  They were old mountains, and majestically rolled toward the heavens, inspiring a sense of the sublime appropriate to my current church setting.  I felt that, if I could just reach out, and pull back the great curtain, I could reveal the gates of heaven.

            The organ stilled, but the last notes rang in the air, over the chapel, and over the mountains themselves.  Pastor Smith’s rich baritone emerged from the sound.

            “Dear heavenly Father,

            We are all flawed,

            And all lost in sin,

            Help us to find,

            A path to you.

            Help us to accept,

            Your gift of forgiveness.

            Help us to understand

            Your love.”

            I took the cross that Clara had given me and swung it on the chain, watching it glitter in the light coming in from the window.  Her words to me as she gave it to me, “God is love,” came to my mind, and I smiled a little at the bittersweet feelings this evoked.  I touched the cool, silver, and I felt something almost like happiness.

            “As we accept your love,

            Teach us to love you in return,

            Teach us New

            All our hearts,

            All our souls,

            And all our minds,

            And help us to love each other,

            In Christian fellowship.

            In Christ’s name we pray,

            Amen.”

            The organ swelled again, playing a more joyful tune, and we all held hands to sing the final prayer.

            When we filed back out of the chapel and into the rare sunlight, Alice, James and I were all in better spirits, and we talked to each other more openly.

            “Have either of you seen Julian this morning?” James asked, smiling a little bit of his old smile.  “He didn’t catch the flu, did he?”

            “He was fine yesterday,” I said.  “I haven’t seen him this morning, though.  Maybe he got sick overnight.”

            “I hope not.  Today is his birthday,” James said.  “I’d hoped we could do something nice for him.”

            “I’m sure that Julian is fine.  We can visit him later, sneak him some sweets, and sing happy birthday,” Alice said.  “We need to discuss what Dr. Caleb said, though, Miranda.  Dr. Caleb threatened you, and I’m not willing to take that lightly.  The question is, what do we do about it?”

            “What can we do?” I asked.  “I can’t tell my parents, and no one here will believe me.  I’m sure he’s already told the councilors that I’m in trouble, and if I say something now, it will just seem like I’m trying to get back at him.”

            “What about the old ideas of scaling the walls and hitchhiking?” Alice said.

            “We never siz

            We had been walking back across the courtyard, when James stopped walking and stared at the men’s cloisters.  There, Julian was struggling to close the door, while managing several large suitcases.  We ran over to help him.

            “Thanks,” Julian said breathlessly to James, who took the largest suitcase.  “This is too much to carry all at once, but I can’t risk making multiple trips.”

            “Are you running away?” Alice demanded.

            “Of course not,” Julian said, “Today is my 18th birthday, and I can leave if I want.  I’d just rather avoid any unpleasant confrontations.”

            “We should hurry, then,” I said.  “I’m certain that Dr. Caleb and Pastor Smith will want to return to their offices soon, and that means they may pass this way.”

            We each took a piece of luggage and quickly made our way to the parlor.  James helped us, but he seemed upset, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he walked.

            “Julian, why are you leaving?” he asked.

            “I promised my parents that I would try, and I did.  I’m not getting any better, and I can’t stand another minute in this godforsaken place.  I asked if I could make my phone call early yesterday, and I called my cousin, who lives nearby.  I’m glad everyone was too busy to listen at the door, when I made my call.  I told my cousin I would meet her at the end of the dirt road, and she’ll drive me home.”

            “Grace is still sick,” Alice said.  “Are you leaving without saying goodbye?”

            “I wish things were different,” said Julian.  “I’ve written her a note, though.  Can you find a way to give it to her, without anyone knowing?” he held out a folded sheet of paper to Alice.

            “Of course, now Miranda and James know,” Alice said, rolling her eyes as she took it.

            “You won’t tell either, will you?” Julian asked James and me in a pleading tone.  “I feel terrible enough about leaving her here, alone, and I don’t want to get her in troub" fa="0">

            “You aren’t just friends,” James said.

            Julian shook his head.

            “If your relationship is discovered, she could get thrown out of the program,” James said.  “You know we can’t form romantic relationships, here.  It can be detrimental to the recovery process.”

            “Well, I won’t be around to slow her recovery anymore,” Julian said with a sad smile.  “I was a hopeless case from the beginning, but she wants to stay.  I respect her choice.  You won’t take that choice from her, will you?”

            James looked at the dark red parlor carpet for a while, then shook his head.  “I won’t tell, but if anyone asks me about it, I won’t lie, either.”

            “Thank you,” Julian said.  “And you, Miranda?”

            “I shall take the secret to my grave,” I said solemnly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better, while I was here.” Julian said.  “I think you’ve been busy with your own battle, though, haven’t you?”

            “Yes,” I replied, “but when I leave, maybe we can get in touch.”

            “I’d like that.  But, I warn you, you may not recognize me when you see me next,” Julian said with the first genuine laugh I’d heard in a long time, high and pure, like the ringing of bells. 

            “Take care of yourself,” Alice said.  “I hope your parents don’t take your early return too badly.”

            “They will, but I’m sure they’ll recover from the shock, eventually.  Thank you for everything, Alice.”

            “You’d better go,” she said.

            Julian smiled at us one last time, and walked out the door.

<"3" face"Times New Roman"> 

#

            We had almost finished our lunch when Dr. Caleb stormed into the refectory.  He walked swiftly to the front of the room, and held up his hand.

            “Attention, please.” His voice thundered through the quiet room.  “Finish eating as quickly as possible, and assemble in the library for an emergency meeting.”

            Dr. Caleb motioned for Pastor Smith, who seemed bewildered, to follow him, and then turned and left the room.

            “I guess Dr. Caleb found out that Julian left,” James said.

            “I’m sure that Julian isn’t the first patient that Dr. Caleb has lost,” Alice said.

            “But he’s been so frustrated, lately,” I said.  “Because of the bad weather, and now the flu epidemic, he hasn’t been able to keep order very well.  I think that Julian leaving was too much for him.”

            “Let’s not push him any further,” James said.  His tone was light, but as he bolted the rest of his lunch, I noticed that his fork trembled slightly in his hand.

            When we’d finished eating, and filed into the library, we saw that the chairs, which usually stood in a circle at the center of the room, were pushed away between the bookshelves.  We were instructed to kneel on the floor and hold hands in our customary circle.

            Dr. Caleb began to walk around the perimeter of the circle.  “A sickness has spread through this abbey,” he said.  “I don’t mean the flu, but rather, a spiritual illness, which has spread like a virus among us.  This illness has weakened us immeasurably.  Our friend Julian was weakened to the point that he has given up, and he left us, this morning.  We must not, however, despair.  There is still hope for Julian while he lives, just as there is hope for all of you.  There is no sickness which cannot be relieved by prayer.”<"3" es, jus/font>

            Pastor Smith stepped forward.  “Please, if you will all bow your heads, we will pray for Julian.”

            We all bowed our heads, and Pastor Smith led us in prayer.  We prayed first for Julian, then for those who were still ill with the flu, and then for those of us whose ‘hearts were still hardened.’  We remained kneeling while we prayed, for what seemed like hours.  The carpet, which had been comfortable enough at first, began to dig painfully into my knees.  I grew weary, and I longed to sit down, or stand to stretch my legs.  Soon I grew hungry, and my stomach began to growl.  Alice’s hand became completely slack in mine, and her breathing was slow and regular, as though she had fallen asleep.  James’s hand was hot and slick with sweat.

            Pastor Smith’s voice was rhythmic, and had a somniferous quality- soft and gentle.  I was struggling with fatigue, and was about to succumb when his voice suddenly rang out, bright and fierce.

            “Spirit of weakness,

            Spirit of temptation,

            Spirit which has corrupted

            This fellowship,

            I charge you,

            In Christ’s name,

            To flee from us.”

            James’s hand tightened over mine, and shook.

            Dr. Caleb, who’s been sitting behind Pastor Smith, stood, and went to the girl nearest to him in the circle.

            “Mary,” he said.  “Lead us in prayer.”

            “Please God,” a small, plaintive voice said in response.  “Please, help me change, make me clean, and take away all of my impure thoughts.”

            Each person in the circle offered their own prayer in turn, and Jason squeezed my hand tighter, his breathing becoming more erratic, as Dr. Caleb drer.†    w closer.  When it was James’s turn to pray, he dropped my hand and collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

            “James, don’t give in to your weakness,” Dr. Caleb commanded.

            James, though, remained on the floor.  “Why won’t he listen to me?” he said, his voice muffled, through his tears.  “Why won’t he answer my prayers?”

            Pastor Smith went to James’s side.  “Don’t say such things, James.  You are being tested.  Have faith, and it will be rewarded.”

            “Maybe I’m too deep in sin to have faith anymore,” James said.  “Oh please, God, forgive my sins, and take them away from me.  I really do want to change.  Please, help me.”

            He fell silent, his sobs shaking his frame as the rest of us watched, helpless.

#

            We remained in the library at prayer through dinner and until well past midnight.  Finally, we were released, hungry and tired, to return to our dorms and sleep.

            I was so fatigued that I can’t remember how I was able to walk from the library to the cloisters.  I fell asleep almost immediately when I got into bed,  my mind slipping immediately into a crystal clear dream.

            In my dream, I was home in San Avila, walking along the warm, breezy gulf shore.  I could smell the salt in the air, feel the sun on my face, and feel a slim, soft hand in mine.  I didn’t need to look to know that the hand belonged to Clara.  Having her there, by my side, brought me a greater sense of peace than I’d known in months.

            We walked in silence for a time, listening to themore hei waves rush against the shore.  Then Clara said, “I forgive you, Miranda.”

            “You are less selfish than I am,“ I said.

            Clara knew what I meant without asking.  “Mark didn’t choose to leave you, any more than you chose to leave me.”

            I stopped walking.  “Mark chose to leave me.  He took his own life.”  My voice seemed harsh to my own ears.

            Clara turned to regard me with a cool expression.  “You were compelled to obey your parents, Miranda, just as Mark was compelled to obey the call of death.  You left me in danger, just as Mark left you in danger.”

            She reached out to touch my face.  Her eyes were tender, and her sweet lips were smiling.

            “Still,” she said, “I forgive you.”

            Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the idyllic scene began to dissolve, as though in response to the intrusion.  I was left alone in my small, dark room.  As I woke, however, the rumbling didn’t stop, and I realized that the rumbling was not thunder at all, but the violent shaking of my door.  The door was rattling too fiercely to be a product of the wind, and I could see the old, rusty lock begin to yield.  I got up to hold the door, but as I drew near, the lock gave way completely, and the door flew open with a crash.

            A figure, half-hidden in darkness, stumbled into the room, feeling about in the darkness with wildly flailing arms.  I stepped away, but it pursued me, tackled me, and held me against the ground with all of its weight.  I kicked and pushed at the body with all of my strength, but it was too heavy, and wouldn’t be moved.

            “Ouch, stop it,” a familiar voice murmured.

            “James?” I cried.

            “Mir-Miranda?” he said uncertainly, shifting his weight slightly. “What are you doing in my room?”

            “This is my room,” I said.  “Get off of me.”

            James complied, and I stood up to turn on the lights.  He looked around the room, looking rather dazed.

            “I suppose this is your room,” he said with a nervous laugh.

            “Why did you break into my room?” I demanded. 

            James tilted his head in thought. “I remember that I had another nightmare.  I have a recurring dream that I’m lost, trying to make my way through a maze, and I’m being chased by a rabbit.”         

            “Sorry, James, but a rabbit?” I said.

            “I’m not usually afraid of rabbits, but this is an especially scary rabbit.  Anyway, it chases me, I get lost, and I come to a door I can’t open.”

            “My door,” I said.  “You’re a sleepwalker.”

            “I haven’t done that since I was a little kid,” he said.  “I never imagined that I could be the one trying to break into your room.”

            “You really scared me,” I said.  “Did you have to be so violent?”

            “The rabbit was violent,” James said defensively.  “The rabbit even kicked me, this time.”

            I started to laugh, and soon it turned into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.  James stared at me bemusedly as I fell onto the bed, clutching my side.

            “I’m sorry,” I said, struggling to breathe.  “I’m not laughing at you, and I’m sorry I kicked you.  I’m so relieved, I can’t help but laugh.”

            “I’m sorry too,” James said sheepishly.  “I know how worried you were, when you discovered that someone was trying to break in, but I wouldn’t take your story seriously.”

            “Well, it did turn out to be nothing, so it doesn’t matter.  Will you be okay?”

            “I won’t sleep again tonight,” James said.  “I can’t stand these cramped little cells, anymore.  I’m going outside for a while.  Care to join me?”

            I wanted to return to my warm, soft bed and sleep, and I knew that I would sleep well, after solving one mystery that had been troubling me.  I could tell by James’s countenance, though, that he needed a friend that night, so I grabbed my coat and followed him outside.

            It was a stunningly clear night.  Not a single light shone from the abbey, and there were no cities nearby to cause any light pollution, so that the inky black sky was crowded with thousands of glittering stars.  James and I sat on the steps which led to the chapel so we could look out over the entire abbey as it slept.

            “It is so still and silent now, with no people around.”  He gestured toward the broken fountain, the dead trees, and the black shadows that fell on the crumbling walls of the cloisters and the flying buttresses which lined the edge of the main building. “This place looks like an abandoned ruin,” James said.

            “I would love it here,” I agreed, “if I weren’t away from my family.  This would be a beautiful place to visit.”

            “I knew that you were more like Alice and me than you cared to admit.  You have a love of the melancholy, after all.”

            “Sometimes I do,” I said.  “I thought that you had given up on the macabre, though.  You said that you regretted ever telling the story of Mary.”

            “Things have been difficult, lately.  I’ve been trying to purge myself of sin, but nothing I’ve tried seems to work.  I’ve had several exorcisms performed, but still, there’s no change.  I’m lost, Miranda.”

            “You’ve had exorcisms?” I asked, shocked.  “I thought those only existed in movies.”

            “It’s a last resort for someone like me,” he said.  “I wasn’t supposed to talk about it to anyone.  I suppose that’s simply one more sin I’ve committed.”

            “You’re too hard on yourself.  You’re a good, kind person.  You always try to make peace between people, and you try to make people happy.  What’s the odd instance of disobedience, compared to that?”

            James sighed, and put his head on his knees.  He didn’t answer, but instead said, “Miranda, do you believe in God?”

            “Sometimes it’s difficult to believe,” I said.  “But when I look into the nis Ne sevght sky like this, and I gaze at what seems so immense, but is just a fraction of our universe, I feel humbled.  I feel a kind of primal knowledge inside myself, that this is all divine.  Yes, I believe.”

            “Then why aren’t you trying to change, too?” he asked.  “Don’t you want to obey God?”

            “I believe that God gave me reason, to guide me,” I said.  “And my God-given reason tells me that being gay isn’t a sin.  It isn’t harmful, and it isn’t vice; it’s just how I was created.  It’s part of who I am.  Why would God create me this way, and then condemn me for it?”

            “But what about Christ?” he asked.

            “What about Christ?” I responded.  “You claim to believe in Christ, but you won’t accept the cross- you won’t accept forgiveness.  You’re putting yourself through hell, James.”

            “I don’t want to sin, any more,” James said.  “How can you accept the gift of forgiveness, and then go out and sin again?”

            “It’s not a sin to be who you are.  God created you, and I think that God loves you as he created you.  Don’t punish yourself; learn to love and forgive yourself, and learn to love and forgive others.”

            “I wish I could do that,” James said.  “I hate myself.”

            I took his hand in mine. “Don’t hate yourself.  My brother hated himself, and according to dogma, he died in his sin.  I know, though, that my brother was loved, and forgiven. ”

            “He was,” James said.  “I’m sure he was.”

            “What about you?” I asked.

            James sat up, and turned his face toward the stars.  “My parents might not be as forgiving.”

            “That’s to their detriment.  You shouldn’t punish yourself, just to gain their love.  Love that isn’t given freely is worthless.”

            James nodded, and I could see one or two tears on his cheeks, glittering in the dull light.  I put my arms around him as he cried, but shortly he pulled away, and he was s siz nodded,miling through his tears.

            “Thank you Miranda,” he said.  “We should sleep, now.  I want to get up early, tomorrow.  I have some decisions to make.”

            We stood and walked back to the cloisters together, our way lit only by the light of the stars.

facageb

Chapter 14

Dreams

Death

            When I woke the next morning, my room was flooded with bright sunlight, and the clock read “8:30 am.”  I had neglected to set my alarm, since I’d had no need of it for a long time, but even though I had missed breakfast, and my tardiness would doubtlessly earn me a demerit, I didn’t care.  The extra hours of sleep, which had been graced by sweet and gentle dreams, were worth the punishment.

            I dressed and washed as quickly as I could, and then I ran across the courtyard and through the main building.  When I entered the library, the morning class was already assembled, and Ms. Sweeny met me with a stern gaze.

            “I was worried that you had become ill,” she said.  “You’ve earned two demerits for your tardiness.  Combined with the three demerits you already have, you have 5 demerits total.  I’m afraid you have kitchen duty this week.”

            “I understand,” I said.

            “Go to your desk, and get started on your assignments,” she said. 

            I nodded and went to my desk, which was in the far corner of the room, and retreated behind my trigonometry book.  I didn’t have long to work, however, before the door to the library opened, and Dr. Caleb walked in.

            “I need to see Alice and Miranda in my office, immediately,” he said to Ms. Sweeny.

            Alice caught my eye as we stood, looking bewildered, but I shrugged and followed Dr. Caleb, who strode swiftly and purposefully from the room.  When w0">

            “I hope you are both proud of what you’ve done,” he said, a forced calm in his voice.  “Are you both pleased to be responsible for someone, who was so close to recovery, giving up treatment entirely?”

            “You can’t possibly blame us for Julian leaving,” Alice said indignantly.

            “Don’t play innocent, Alice, you know I don’t mean Julian.  You must be aware that one of your best friends came into my office this morning, announced that he needed time to ‘re-examine his beliefs about God and sin,’ and to ‘find himself,’ before walking out of that door and out of the abbey.”

            “James!” I couldn’t restrain my cry of joy.  “Good for him.”

            Dr. Caleb stood and walked around the desk until he was looming over me.

            “You admit you had something to do with this,” he said.

            “Yes, I gladly admit it.  I persuaded him to go home, because the treatment wasn’t working.  Let Alice go, though, she didn’t have anything to do with it.”

            “Why?” he demanded, his eyes burning like blue flames.  “Why would you do such a thing?  Why throw your friend out into the world to be tempted by its corruption?”

            “James told me he hated himself, last night.  He’s been riddled with guilt, and torturing himself.  I can’t watch as a friend suffers, and do nothing.”

Dr. Caleb studied me for a moment, his expression inscrutable, then took my arm and dragged me back to the library.  Alice followed, protesting loudly, but he paid no attention to her.  When we entered the library again, he propelled me into the center of the room.  The students in the library dropped their work and watched in shocked fascination.

            “Tell Pastor Smith to bring the others here,” he told Ms. Sweeny.

            I stooaid,ed d, trembling with fright, as everyone assembled and sat in a circle around me.  When everyone was present, Dr. Caleb spoke.

            “Our prayers have been answered,” he announced.  “This morning, I was able to find the root of the spiritual illness that has been plaguing us.  Miranda Rothschild is the one who has introduced this illness into the abbey, by actively spreading lies among us.  Fortunately, I have the remedy to this sickness.  Almost 150 years ago, the nuns who inhabited this abbey would, from time to time, be subject to spiritual trouble, and in such a time, they would take a vow of silence.  Under this vow of silence, they were able to shut out the poisonous influence of man’s words, and better hear God.

“So, Miranda, this week you will take a similar vow.  You will not speak to your friends or councilors.  Any time you try to speak, you will be given a demerit, and anyone who speaks to you will likewise be given a demerit.  You will take your meals in the kitchen, alone, and spend your free time either in the Library or in the solace of your dorm room, instead of in the common room.

“Oh, and Ms. Sweeny, please lock up the piano, just in case Miranda is tempted to practice in the early morning, when no one is around.  We don’t want anything to disturb Miranda’s quiet contemplation.” He finished with a sadistic grin.

Ms. Sweeny seemed as stunned as everyone else, but she nodded in agreement.  Alice gave me a look of despair, but I gave her a small, reassuring smile, despite my distress. 

#

My punishment began immediately.  I sat quietly in the circle during both the girl’s and mixed counseling sessions, and I was never asked to share.  At lunch, I helped the cook, Ms. Johnson, who was a kind, but obedient woman, and responded to her commands with nothing more than a polite nod and immediate compliance.  After I was finished with my chores, I took my meals alone at the kitchen table.

Every day that week proceeded in the same manner, passing slowly in complete isolation.  Though I’m certain that Alice did her best to circumvent my punishment, the staff was careful to keep her away from me.  I spent my evenings alone in my room, pouring over my few books, to keep my mind off of the isolation.  When I was especially lonely, I would take Clze="

“I wish I could ask you if you’re okay,” I responded aloud to the note one night.  “Are you well?  Is David leaving you alone?  Have you found someone else?  I’m not well, you see.  I’m alone.  I’m more alone than I’ve even been in my life.  I have tried, again and again, to make the right choices, but they always seem to lead me to disaster.  I should have rebelled against my parents, and stayed home.  I should have minded my own business, with James, so I would at least still have friends to talk to.  I should never have come out to Mother and Daddy, so they would never have sent me away.  I wish- I wish-“ I was overwhelmed by an almost tangible wave of regret, then, which seemed to wrap itself around my throat, cutting off the words.  My frantic tears kept me bound to my vow of silence for the rest of the night. 

The next day was Friday, and everyone but me went on an outing.  I spent the afternoon in the library, with C.S. Lewis as my only companion, until it was time to prepare dinner.  After dinner, I passed through the lively common room and made my way back to the dorms with slow, shuffling steps.  My body ached, and I was ready to fall onto my bed and lay motionless there as long as I could, but I found, on my pillow, a large, pink and white box.  I recognized the box from a pastry shop in town.  Attached to the box, on a bit of white ribbon, was a note.

Crumpets and Couplets for Miranda

A Spark of light illuminates my cell,

And penetrates the deepest parts of hell.

What angel could have brought this gift to me?

What miracle of mercy could this be?

A girl, no miracle, but just a child,

Whose voice is soft and countenance is mild.

I owe my health and sanity to you,

Command me, for I am your servant, true.

You are beginning to resemble a twig.  Eat as many of these as you can manage. 

            Love,

                        Alice

I wished I could have eaten all of the pastries, but I still lacked an appetite.  Reading the note had fed something within me, however, that food could not, and I tucked the box and note tenderly into a drawer.  Despite this comfort, my head was beginning to throb with the familiar pain of a tension headache, so I turned the light out, and lay down.

Outside, there was the usual chill, but my room felt unbearably hot and close.  In my half-sleep, I wondered vaguely if the walls were closing in on me, and I woke fully, unable to breathe.  This happened to me several times, and when I finally fell asleep, it was a strange, fevered sleep, filled with disjointed dream images- driving with Mark in our convertible, eating honeysuckle off of the vine in our old backyard, and being chased by a rabbit.  Near morning, I had a frustrating dream that Mark broke the music box that Clara had given me, and I was trying unsuccessfully to glue it back together.

When I awoke the next morning, my head was still aching, and my throat was scratchy and sore.  I went to the lavatory sink and filled a glass with water, drank it, and went back to sleep.

Sometime later, there was a knock on the door, and Ms. Sweeny, without waiting for my response, entered the room.

“Are you feeling okay, Miranda?” she asked.

I shook my head in reply.

“You may talk, Miranda.  What feels bad?” <0">

“My head,” I croaked, “and my throat both hurt.”

Ms. Sweeny sat on the bed and put her hand on my head.  “You have a slight fever,” she said.  “I think you’ve caught the flu.  I’ll bring you some medicine, and something to eat.”

She left, and returned carrying a tray with soup, orange juice, and medicine.  My mouth felt like cotton, and my throat was still very dry, so I drank the orange juice, along with two more glasses of water.  When I finished, I felt significantly better, so I sat up in bed, reading.

In the afternoon, she came back and took my temperature.

“You are still running a fever, but it isn’t bad,” she said.  “How do you feel?”

“My throat is still dry, but my headache is gone,” I said.

“Dr. Caleb wants to speak to you, in his office.  He said you had an appointment with him, and he’s pretty insistent you go, even though I told him that you aren’t well.  I’m afraid you’ll have to go, but I’m sure it won’t take long,” she said with a kind smile.

I didn’t feel healthy enough to face him, but my illness dulled my sense of fear, so I only felt tired and indifferent as I walked to his office.  When I arrived, Dr. Caleb wore a kinder demeanor, and seemed almost as friendly as he had when I’d first arrived in the abbey.  He offered me a seat in one of the plush, leather chairs which were back in front of his desk.  Instead of sitting in his own chair, he sat on the edge of his desk casually, and looked at me with a fatherly smile.

“Hello, Miranda.  I’m sorry to hear you aren’t feeling well, but I’m glad you feel well enough to honor your commitment to be here, today.  How has your week been?” he asked.

“I’m allowed to speak, now?”  I asked, my voice still rough.

Dr. Caleb smiled even wider.  “Of course you may speak, Miranda.  I wanted you to have time to think about what you’d done, and now we can discuss what you’ve learned.”

“What should I have learned?”  I said evasively.

Dr. Caleb’s friendly demeanor slipped for a moment, but he recovered it quickly, and laugh/fonface="Tied.  “Miranda, there’s no right or wrong answer.  I want to hear the things you’ve thought about, this week.  For instance, have you thought about your brother, at all?”

I nodded.

“And what have you learned?”

“I’ve thought about how right you were, when you said I was powerless to prevent his death.”

“That’s good, Miranda.  I’m glad you’ve realized that the situation was in God’s hands.” He said, patting my knee affectionately.  “He has a plan for everyone, Miranda, and all we have to do is open our hearts, and trust him.  That’s why I was angry, when you closed James’s heart.”

 “You say closed, and I say opened,” I said, noticing that he hadn’t removed his hand from my knee.

“But Miranda, think about everything he’ll be missing- everything you’ll be missing, if you continue on this path.”

“Like what?” I challenged.

“Like having babies,” he said.  “You can’t have children without a husband.”

“I’m a bit young to be thinking about having babies, but if I wanted to, I suppose I would adopt,” I said, still staring down at his hand.  I was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. 

“Adopting isn’t the same as having your own children, who look like you,” he said.  “Also, don’t you want to get married?  I thought all girls dreamed about their wedding day.”

His words evoked an image of Clara, standing at an altar, dressed in white and surrounded by flowers.  I smiled in spite of myself.

Dr. Caleb noted my smile, and pounced.  “See, Miranda?  If you continue with your current lifestyle, you will never be able to have that.”

“I don’t see why not.  I’ve heard of same-sex couples marrying, before.”

            “Not legally, not in your home state, Texas.  You wouldn’t have a real marriage; it would be a pale imitation of one.  You can’t understand how special the things a man and womfrienotan can share together really are.  Have you ever had a boyfriend, Miranda?”

            I shook my head.  Dr. Caleb was tracing a slow circle on my knee, over my skirt.  My throat constricted painfully.

            “That’s too bad.  You’ve never been shown how much better things are, with both a man and a woman.”

            “I’m not a woman yet,” I reminded him, pulling my knees back and leaning away from him, “and what I had with Clara was special.”

            “You’re such a pretty girl, Miranda, that you could have any boy you wanted.  It seems a shame to let that go to waste.”  He leaned over me, and put his hand firmly on my thigh.

            I stood quickly, knocking over the chair I’d been sitting in, which fell with a loud thump.  I could hear the sound of footsteps outside, and in a few seconds, Pastor Smith opened the door, looking concerned.

            “What happened?” he asked.

            “Miranda is feeling ill, and I think she became dizzy as she stood.  She knocked her chair over.” He lied smoothly.

            I wanted to protest, but I really became dizzy, and had to brace myself against the wall to remain standing.  Another wave of nausea washed over me, but I kept it down.

            “Miranda, I think you’ve had enough for today,” Pastor Smith said kindly.  “You should go lie down in the infirmary.”

            “Miranda had a breakthrough, today,” Dr. Caleb said, as Pastor Smith was helping me from the room.

            “She’s not feeling well,” Pastor Smith said, seemingly in reply.

            “That will make things easier for us,” Dr. Caleb said.

            I wanted to ask what they meant, but I was still dizzy, and my head was beginning to throb again.  I let Pastor Smith lead me to the small, curtained- off room, and lay down on one of the small, white cots.  I was fed a bitter, syrupy medicine, which made me feel comfortable and sleepy.  I fell into a dark, dreamless sleep.

#

            I was drifting pleasantly in a deep slumber, when I was pulled out of it by a faraway cry.  I opened my eyes, and they adjusted to the dim light as the cries and screams grew louder.  At first, I was confused by the strange surroundings, and it took me some time to remember that I was in the infirmary.  I sat up and looked around as the screams grew louder, still.  There was a digital clock on the far wall that glowed with a blood red light.  It was almost midnight.

            The blanket fell off of me as I sat, and I shivered, exposed to the chill of the night air.  I lay down again, and pulled the blanket up to my neck, but I knew I would not get to sleep again.  Mary’s screams, and they was undoubtedly Mary’s signature screams, were growing not only louder, but also closer.  They did not sound outside of the window, but instead, I could hear them echoing down the hallways inside the building.  They were real, human, and undeniable.

            I thought, perhaps, that I had never wakened at all, and I pinched myself, hard, on the arm.  I didn’t awaken, but remained on my narrow cot in the frigid infirmary.  I closed my eyes, and tried to ignore the screams, but they were too loud to be ignored, and grew chillingly close, despite my silent pleas that it was impossible.

            As the screams reached their climax, the doors to the infirmary were opened, and the curtains near the cots were flung aside.  In the shaft of blinding light, framed by the white curtains, stood a woman dressed in a nun’s habit.  She was crying and moaning, wringing her hands and looking up toward the heavens as though in supplication.

            As my eyes adjusted to the sudden light, I could discern the nun’s figure and face more clearly.  She was not an apparition or a dream, but solid.  She had a pallid complexion, and her expression was contorted in anguish, but she had a young, almost pretty face.  Something about her seemed familiar, but I didn’t have time to contemplate her identity, because a second figure, clad in a black cloak with a hood covering the face, rushed into the room and seized me forcefully.

            I tried to struggle, but the cloaked person picked up my slight frame quite easily, and slung me over its shoulder.  I screamed as loudly as my throat would allow, but my screams were nothing compared to Mary’s wails, and I knew no one would be able to hear me.  I was dragged out ofurin/fo the infirmary, down the narrow, dark hallways, and out of the calefactory into the cold night air.  I had fallen asleep in my clothes, but my feet were bare, and I had no coat.  I was shivering almost uncontrollably, but the night air shocked me fully to my senses, and the uncontrollable panic fled.  I noticed that I was being borne to the chapel.

            Inside the chapel, the air was almost as cold as it had been outside.  The cloaked figure dumped me onto the rough stone floor in front of the altar where I sat, shivering, before the imposing figure of a monk.

            The monk stood over me with a triumphant expression, and I realized in an instant that it was not a monk at all, but Dr. Caleb dressed as one.  I tried to stand, but the cloaked figure forced me onto my knees.  Dr. Caleb stepped around me toward the nun, and took the veil from her head, revealing Ms. Sweeny’s short, dark hair.  He knelt in front of me and placed the veil over my head.

            “'You have brought this curse upon yourself.  You yielded to unnatural temptation, and because of this, we are both damned,” He said.

            “What are you doing?  What’s going on?” I asked, attempting to pull the veil off.  The cloaked figure, which I was now certain was Pastor Smith, pulled my hands off of the veil, and held them down by my sides.

            “I’m going to help purge the demon of unnatural desire from you,” he replied.

            “You mean you’re giving me an exorcism, like James had?” I asked.  “Does it really have to be this theatrical?”

            “Stories have power, Miranda, or should I say Mary.”  He took a crucifix from the folds of his robe, and held it over my head.  “Now, demon that dwells within this girl, I command you to release your hold.”

            His voice was powerful, and I was still weak, and shivering uncontrollably, but I fought to keep my mind clear.

            “You made up the story, didn’t you?” I said.  “You invented the tale of Mary of Misery, and spread it among the patients here, to make this moment more frightening, and more effective.”

            “Demon,” he shouted, his voice louder and clearer, “I command you, reveal yourself.”  He took the cross and pressed it against my forehead.

            “Ms. Sweeny dresses up as Mary, on windy nights, and sheuld heigh’s the one you can hear screaming,” I kept my voice steady.  “She goes to the women’s dorms to retrieve your female subjects.  That is why you can hear her more clearly on the women’s side.”

            “I command you to release this girl.  Come out of Miranda.”  He pressed the cross to my stomach, the way the abbot had in the story.

            “You go to the men’s side, dressed as the abbot, to retrieve the male subjects, and-“

            “Out, demon!  Let Mary’s curse be broken!” Dr. Caleb’s voice rose to a yell, thundering through the tiny chapel.  He turned, then, and took a rope from behind the altar.  As he drew near me, again, I recognized it as the noose he’d used before.

            I panicked, then, and tried to back away, but Pastor smith was still there, and held me fast.  I struggled in vain as Dr. Caleb held the noose over my head.

            “I bind you, demon, with the holy word.”  Dr. Caleb slipped the noose over my head, onto my neck.

            I screamed.

            I began to thrash and struggle, trying to claw the noose off, but Dr. Caleb tore my hands away, and tightened the noose.  I could no longer scream.  I couldn’t breathe.  The rough fibers of the noose dug into the tender flesh of my neck, and cut off my airways.  My vision swam as I choked, and everything seemed to be tinted pink.  I heard voices, but they were muffled, as though underwater.

            “-looks faint-“

            “- rope… too tight-“

            “-faith… steadfast…”

            The pink turned a deeper red, like I was drowning in blood, and then finally darkened to black.

#

ectian"> 

            Death was not only peaceful, I decided, but also liberating.  The trials I had suffered, the cold I’d felt, and the restless, fevered tossing of my body, were nothing but a dim memory.  In fact, basic, physical laws were a dim memory to me.  I was drifting freely in a sea of color and light. 

The light began to coalesce into textures, shapes, and, finally, form.  I could now recognize my surroundings.  Heaven wasn’t at all how I’d imagined it in life.

            I was in a spacious white and blue room, lit by a large, bay window which allowed liberal amounts of sunshine.  I was seated on a plush stool, in front of a clear oval window.  No, it wasn’t a window, it was a mirror.  I was home, in my own room, seated in front of my vanity.

            My room seemed mostly unchanged, but there was something wrong with the vanity mirror.  The mirror’s frame was the same white wood I remembered, and the glass was bright and clean, without a smudge or scratch on it, but the reflection was wrong.  It wasn’t distorted, or warped, but the face wasn’t mine.  It was similar, but the features were harsher, and more masculine, and the hair was cropped short.

            “Mark?”

            The reflection nodded and smiled back at me, showing the familiar dimples and shining green eyes of my lost twin.

            “Oh, Mark, I’m so glad we can be together again.”

            Mark tilted his head quizzically.  “I’m always with you.”

            “Yes, but now that I’m dead-“

            He laughed.  “Miranda, you aren’t dead.  Aren’t you glad?  You can go home soon, and live, and be happy.  I wish I could.”

            I frowned, but Mark’s smile continued to be reflected back to me.  “If I’m not dead, then what has happened to me?  How did I get here?  Why am I not in the chapel, still?”

            Mark only shrugged.

            “I hate not knowing.  Why can’t you tell me?”

            He shook his head.  “Why do you always have to have all of the answers?  Life, despite what you might have heard, is not a test.  It’s not always imperative for you to be perfect, or do the correct thing.  In fact, even when you do everything correctly, and are careful to avoid mistakes, the world is still imperfect, and events will conspire against you.”

            “If that’s true, Mark, then what hope is there, for anyone?  What should I do?”

            “Keep fighting, Miranda.  When logic can’t save you, and when the correct path is blocked by injustice, then logic should give way to anger, and love, and the other feelings which give you the strength to fight injustice.  Don’t be ashamed of them, and label them ‘selfish.’  You are entitled to them. Don’t relinquish your feelings, just because they can be painful.”

            “But your feelings destroyed you,” I said.

            “I didn’t have the strength of mind that you possess, Miranda.  You can bear your feelings, and control them, far better than I ever could, because you use your logic to keep them in check.  You’re becoming unbalanced, though.  You’re trying to use your logic to bury them.  Both your mind and your spirit are vital, Miranda, as much as your body is.”

            “Then what do I do now, Mark?  All three have become a burden to me.”

            “Just let go, Miranda.  You’ll be fine, trust me.  Go back, experience all of life- the hardships, and the triumphs- and be complete.”

            “I’m weak now, Mark.  I don’t know if I’ll live.”

            “You will.  You have to return to Mom, Dad, Aunt Lizzy, and Clara…” Mark trailed off, and blushed a bit.  The blush looked out of place on Mark; I’d never known him to be easily embarrassed.

            “What is it like to fall in love, Miranda?” he asked.  “I’d always wanted to know.”

            I was seized with a pang of regret, for his sake, but I couldn’t form tears.  I put my hand against the glass which separated us.

            “Love is almost indescribable,” I said.  “It’s a thirst- a yearning that can’t be filled, but a pleasant one.  It’s like losing yourself and finding yourself all at once.”

            Mark smiled, seemingly content with my answer.  He put his hand against the glass, maddeningly close to touching mine.

            “I love you, Miranda.  I will always be with you.”

            The sunlight grew dazzlingly bright, all at once, and my vision exploded in bright red and yellow spots.  The light seemed almost tangible, pressing against my eyelids, which I now realized were closed.  My body was no longer drifting, but was painfully bound by gravity once more.  My muscles were sore, and my limbs were leaden.

            I was alive, and awake.

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Chapter 15

Home

The Chariot

            “Her fever has broken, I think,” I heard a voice- Alice’s voice- say.  “I’m not an expert, but she’s cooler, and she’s not as flushed.”

            I felt a hand on my forehead, and an achingly familiar voice said, “You’re right, Alice.  Her face is much cooler, and her color is better.  The worst is over.”

            “Good,” Alice said.  “It’s been a hard night.  I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared.”

            I tried to stir, but my muscles resisted.  The bed was warm, and the blankets which covered me were soft, so I sighed and gave into the sensation of comfort.

            “Thank you again, Alice, for helping me to take care of her.  You never left her side, all night.”

            “My intentions are entirely selfish, I assure you,” Alice replied.  “If I’m here with you, Dr. Caleb can’t murder me.”

            “I owe you another debt for that- for getting yourself in trouble for her sake.”

            “I was so angry,” Alice said.  “She looked like she was on the threshold of death, and they didn’t seem to care.  I think they were in denial about how serious it was, because they knew it was all their fault.”

            “If half of what you told me is true, then Dr. Caleb will be held accountable for his actions.  Her father is with him now, interrogating him.  I almost feel sorry for the fraud.”

            I recognized the voice, then, and no amount of exhaustion could keep my eyes shut.  I opened them, and saw my mother’s warm smile.

            “Mother!” I struggled to sit up, but she put a gentle hand against me, keeping me on the bed. 

            “Welcome back to the land of the living,” she said.  “You need to rest though, sweetie.  You’ve been through quite a lot.”

            “When did you get here?” I asked.  “How long was I asleep?”

            “Don’t get overexcited,” Mother admonished.  “Your fever may have broken, but you’re still very weak.  You should sleep.”

            “How can I sleep now?” I asked.  “I’m afraid that if I fall asleep, you will leave, or I’ll awaken again to find that this was all a dream.”

            “Listen to yourself, Miranda.  Can you hear how raw and scratchy your voice is?  Drink some water,” she said, handing me a glass, “and while you drink, I’ll explain.”

            I agreed, and drank deeply, grateful for the cool liquid against my parched throat.  Mother seemed placated.

            “It’s Monday morning.  Yesterday, Alice called me, in tears, saying that you were extremely ill, and that the staff had been mistreating you.  She said that, even though you were ill, the staff refused to contact your father or me.”

            I looked at Alice, who was standing away from the bed, looking uncomfortable.

            “I wasn’t in tears,” was all she said.

            I gave her a grateful smile, but she seemed annoyed by my attis a facempt to thank her.

            “Listen, Miranda, on Sunday morning, Pastor Smith said that you were sick, and that you weren’t allowed any visitors.  Grace told me some wild story that she’d seen you being dragged outside, past midnight, and I got worried.”

            “Yes, they took me to the chapel, and tried to exorcise my demons,” I said.

            Mother and Alice both stared at me, wearing open expressions of shock.

            “An exorcism?  Seriously?” Alice said.

            I nodded.  “I’m not the only one.  James had one, too, before he left.”

            “They did this at night?” Mother said.

            “Yes.  I was already sick, and it was very cold in the chapel.  I can’t remember what happened after the exorcism, though.  I thought they had killed me.”

            “I thought they had killed you, too,” Alice said.  “I snuck into the infirmary, and peeked under the curtain.  When I saw you lying there, all pale and waiflike as Ms. Sweeny tried to bring down your fever, I knew you were in trouble.  I went through Ms. Sweeny’s desk, to find your parent’s number, and I called them when it was my turn to make my weekly call.  I explained as much as I could before Pastor Smith realized what I was doing, and disconnected the call.”

            “As soon as the line went dead,” Mother said, “I called Dr. Caleb to demand to know what was happening.  He insisted that you only had a mild flu.  He refused to let me speak to you, though, and it had been so long since I’d been able to speak to you, that I knew something was amiss.  I told him that I would come to take you home as soon as I could.  When I did, he seemed to panic, so I decided that your situation must be pretty bad.  Your father and I boarded the first plane we could.

            “Almost as soon as we arrived, an ice storm began, and by the time we drove out here, the roads were completely iced over.  You were still unconscious, and your fever was dangerously high, but we couldn’t get you to a hospital.  We worked to keep your fever down, and Alice stayed here, helping me as well as telling me everything she knew about what had happened.”

            “And now that my fever is gone, can I go home?”  I asked.

            Mother smiled sheepishly, and nodded.  “This has been a disaster, hasn’t it?  I thought about things, while you were sleeping, and I decided that perhaps, since this has failed, we should try things your way, for a while- carefully- and see how things turn out.”

            “Does that mean you accept me, the way I am?” I asked.

            “What a silly question, Miranda.  You’re my daughter.  I’ll always accept you.”

#

            I slept soon after our conversation, and the only times during the day I awoke were to take my meals.  The next day, I felt infinitely better.  My limbs were no longer sore, I was bright and alert, and I was deemed fit to travel.  My mother went to my room to pack my belongings, and I sat with Daddy in the infirmary.

            “Well, Miranda, I guess your mother and I screwed up quite a bit, didn’t we?” he asked. 

            “You don’t have to apologize,” I said.  “I’m just happy to be going home.”

            “Don’t excuse what we did.  We panicked, Miranda.  I panicked more than your mother did.  You see, I always have understood your brother pretty well.  He had his mood swings, certainly, but he always said exactly what was on his mind.  I never could figure out what was going on in your head.  You were the quiet one- deep, too.  Sometimes you would say or do something entirely unexpected, and I didn’t know how to handle it.  I wondered if, perhaps, I was always a little too distant with you.  I wondered if I hadn’t made things…”

            “You worried that your distance helped turn me gay?”

            He laughed awkwardly.  “I expected, one day, to have to deal with boyfriends of yours that I disapproved of, but I never expected anything like this.  I thought you were confused.  I think, maybe, that I was the one who was confused.  You’ve really grown up a lot, haven’t you?  I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

            “If it helps you feel any better; I didn’t really notice, either.”

            Daddy laughed heartily at this, and gave me a big, warm, bear hug.

            Soon afterward, Mother returned from the dorms with my bags.  “I got your books back from Ms. Sweeny, so there’s nothing left for you to do but get dressed and leave.  By the way, I found the letters and the Christmas gift you received from your friends.  Don’t worry, I didn’t read the letters, but I thought you might not want to leave them tucked into the crack under your windowsill.”

            I smiled gratefully.  “Thanks, Mother.  And thank you for letting them send the gift, to begin with.”

            “I didn’t actually,” Mother laughed.  “I do remember, one day before Christmas, Chad and Summer came to visit, and Chad was acting peculiar.  I think that Summer must have slipped the gift into the parcel I was packing for you, while he distracted me.”

            I joined in the laughter.  “That sounds like one of Summer’s brilliant schemes.”

            I got up, then, and left to go to the restroom to change into the warm clothes Mother had left unpacked for me.

            Ms. Sweeny was waiting for me in the hallway.  Her hands were clasped in front of her and her head was lowered humbly.  She looked up as I emerged, and I saw that her eyes were filled with despair.  I was reminded of the way Amber had looked at me on that last day in the church sanctuary.

            “Miranda,” Ms. Sweeny said softly, “I can’t express how sorry I am about your illness, and my inadequate response.  I’m sorry that I allowed them to perform the exorcism on you, even though you were already ill, and I’m sorry I failed to get you the medical attention you needed when you took a turn for the worse.  I was only doing what Dr. Caleb ordered, but that is no excuse.  Please, Miranda, forgive me.”  She let her head fall again.

            “Ms. Sweeny, I realize your intentions are good, but you must realize I’m not the only one who has suffered here.  Everyone who got sick this year had to suffer, so far from home, and isolated in the mountains, without access to proper medical care.  I think we’re lucky I’m the only one who was in real danger.  I think the others deserve an apology, as well.”

            “We do the best we can, under the circumstances,” Ms. Sweeny said.

            “The ‘circumstances’ are unacceptable.  You isolate us on purpose, and it’s bad for our physical and mental health.  You tell us that we’re sinners, that we’re bound to hell for thoughts and urges we have little control over.  You tell us we’re sick, and blame us when we’re unable to become well.  It’s impossible to thrive like this.”

            “Miranda, I believe that, with enough faith, you can become well.  It’s not impossible, as you say.”  Ms. Sweeny’s humility had vanished.  She raised her head and looked at me, her eyes bright with the force of her convictions.

            “I can’t respect your beliefs, Ms. Sweeny, not when they’re causing so much real, tangible harm.  You shouldn’t force your beliefs on us.  We need to find our own path, and I promise you, we will be okay.”

            Ms. Sweeny was silent for a moment, then she sighed, and reached to shake my hand.  “I hope you do find your path, Miranda.  I’ll be praying for you.”

#

            When I emerged from the restroom, dressed and ready to leave, I saw Alice, waiting for me in the hall where Ms. Sweeny had been moments before.

            “I guess this is goodbye,” she said.

            I tried to smile, but as glad as I was to be going home, when I saw her I felt a pang of guilt and regret.  “Mother said she was going to talk to your mother on your behalf, and explain what has been happening here.  I hope you can go home soon, too.”

            “It doesn’t matter if I stay,” Alice said.  “Dr. Caleb said I’m a juvenile delinquent, and he’s completely given up on me.  I haven’t been to classes or counseling sessions today, and no one has said anything.”

            “It’s rather childish of him, to give up his life’s calling just because you can’t behave,” I said.  “Still, take care of yourself.  He’s the vindictil.†  ve sort.”

            “I’ll be fine,” she shrugged.

            Mother and Daddy came down the hall, then, dragging my enormous trunk behind them. 

            “Are you ready?” Mother asked.

            “Completely and utterly,” I replied.

            “Take care of yourself, Alice.  Thank you for everything,” Mother said, kissing Alice on the cheek.

            “Don’t worry.  We’ll find a way to get you sprung from here,” Daddy said, gathering Alice into a hug.

            “Thanks,” she murmured, beet red from embarrassment.

            I didn’t want to get Alice in more trouble, so I refrained from hugging her, and merely shook her hand.  She smiled sadly, and clasped both of her hands over mine.  Then I turned and followed my parents, leaving my benefactor alone in the hallway.

            When I stepped outside, into the free winter air, I put and arm around Mother, and another around Daddy.

            “I never realized, before, how lucky I was to have parents who love me.”  I said.

#

            I was weak and tired, but I didn’t rest at all on my journey home.  The taste of liberty sweetened everything, and I don’t want to miss a moment of my homecoming.  I watched eagerly as we left the mountains behind, and land flattened out as we drove towards the airport.  We boarded a plane, and despite my mother’s admonishment that I should rest, I watched through the windows as we glided over the clouds, and as we dipped down again, through the white veil, I was certain I could see San Avila among the tiny patches of brown scattered along the coast.

            When we landed, the weather was warm and spring-like, and I gladly shed my coat and pulled up my sleeves.  I could taste the sea-salt, wet on the breeze, and I breathed it in greedily.  My heart leapt as I saw each familiar sight on the drive home, and as we pulled into our own driveway, I was so overwhelmed with joy that I had to wipe away he tears which sprung to my eyes, so I could better see the large, white house, with its wrap-around porch and sparkling bay windows.

            Inside, I put my bags in my room, and then walked through the house, looking at everything.  It was all just how I’d left it.  Downstairs, I struck the keys on the piano, letting its warm, familiar tone fill the room.

            Mother had been watching from the doorway with a look of amusement on her face, but now approached me with a strict expression.

            “I know you’re excited, but I want you to try to rest.  I have your phone.  If you lay quietly in your bed for an hour, I will give it back to you, so that you can call your friends.”

            “I am a little tired, but I don’t think I can sleep.  I will lay down for an hour, though, to make you feel better,” I said, holding out my hand to shake on it.  Mother ignored my hand, though, and pulled me into a hug.

            “I’m glad you’re home, Miranda.  I’m sorry we sent you to that terrible place.”

            “Don’t talk about it anymore.  It’s all behind me, now,” I replied.

#

            I was exhausted, and the bed was softer, and the sheets cooler and more comfortable than I remembered.  Despite my protestations, I actually slept the full hour, and wanted to stay asleep when my little alarm rang, but I remembered my mother’s promise.  I got up, dressed in my most comfortable jeans, and then went to retrieve my phone.

            I wanted to call Clara first, but I was seized by a sudden fear that snt>, but I he had found someone else, and would not want to talk to me.  I knew that we would be friends, no matter the circumstances, but I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position.  I remembered my Aunt Elizabeth, and reasoned that she was probably worried about me, so I called her first.

            Aunt Elizabeth was almost frantic with worry, because she hadn’t spoken to mother since just before the boarded the plane to come get me. I told her a little of what had happened, but I tried to soften the details, nonetheless. I knew that she could tell that my ordeals in the abbey had been worse than I was letting on, but I wanted to enjoy my homecoming, and I wasn’t ready to relive the past, so I answered her questions quickly, with a promise to contact her again soon, and said goodbye. 

            I called Clara next, but though I called her twice, I received no answer.  Disappointed, but undaunted, I called Summer.

            She answered her phone immediately.  “Hi, is this Mrs. Rothschild?” she said.

            “No, it’s ‘Miss Rothschild,’ Miranda,” I said.

            There was a moment of silence, then I heard a piercing shriek, and had to hold the phone away from my ear.

            “No, it can’t be Miranda.”

            “I promise, I am Miranda,” I said.

            “You’re back?”

            “Yes, unless this is all a dream.”

            “Are you visiting, or are you home to stay?”

            “I’m home to stay,” I assured her.

            There was another shriek, and then she said, “what are you doing?  Get your butt down here, so we can see you for ourselves.  We need proof that this isn’t some elaborate prank.”

            “This isn’t a prank,” I insisted.  “At least, I hope not.  Are you at home?”

            “I’m with the others, on the beach in front of the beach house.  Get down here now.” She ordered.

            “I will,” I said.  “I will see you in a few minutes.”

            I hung up and flew down the stairs to the living room, where my parents sat.

            “Yes, you may go,” Mother said, before I could ask.  “But don’t stay late, and take a sweater with you.  It’s going to get cooler, tonight.”

            “I will,” I promised, and kissed her and Daddy each on the cheek.  “Thank you.”

#

            When I arrived at the beach house, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the air was cool, but not yet cold.  As I walked down the familiar, winding path through the dunes, I drank in the familiar sensation of the gritty sand beneath my feet, the sea breeze on my face, and the view of the deep purple evening sky, which had been painted elaborately by the setting sun.  I saw a small group gathered on the beach, around a  campfire.  Two sat together, arms around each other, and one sat apart, strumming a guitar.  As I approached, the one playing the guitar, Jason, stopped and looked up at me.  Chad and Summer let each other go, and Summer ran to meet me.  I gave everyone a shy wave, but Summer flung her arms around my neck.

            “Oh my god, Miranda, I can’t believe they let you come home.”  She said.

            “I’m happy to be home, too, but there’s no need to asphyxiate me,” I gasped.

            “What?” Summer asked.

            “You’re choking her,” Chad said, laughing.

            “Oh, sorry,” she said, releasing her hold.  “We just thought that our efforts to persuade your parents weren’t working at all.  We were thinking about coming up with a new plan to spring you.”

            “So, does this mean you’re cured?”  Jason asked.

            “No, I’m not cured at all,” I said.

            Jason and Chad each gave me a hug, as well, and then led me to where they’d been sitting. 

            “Is Clara going to come soon?” I asked in what I hoped was an offhand manner.  The others ignored my question, though, too eager with their own.

            “Tell us how you convinced your parents,” Summer said.  “You look- well, frankly, you look terrible.  You aren’t sick, are you?”

            “I was,” I said.  “That’s part of the reason I’m home.  My experiences with Prodigal Ministries were less than pleasant.  A friend of mine, Alice, intervened on my behalf, and told my parents what they were doing to me, including the fact that they were responsible for my illness.”

            “What did they do to you?” Jason asked in a concerned voice.

            “Well, they dragged me out into the freezing night air, barefoot, to perform an exorcism on me,” I said.

            “An exorcism?” Summer gasped.  “Why?”

            “To get rid of the evil urges inside of me, I suppose,” I said.  “It didn’t work.  I passed out, and developed a high fever.  When Alice told my parents what they had done, they came to take me home.  So, here I am.”

            My friends were still staring at me with shock and concern, and asked a lot of questions.  Even though I hadn’t wanted to relive my time at the abbey, here, in front of the campfire and surrounded by trusted friends, I found myself telling the whole story of my confinement.  I told them about the abbey’s architecture, and all of the people; the story of Mary of Misery, and the mysterious intruder who’d tried to break into my room.  I even told them about the sleepless nights, and all of the bizarre treatments I’d been exposed to.  When I got to the story of the exorcism, my audience was enrapt in shocked fascination.  When I told how Dr. Caleb had slipped the noose around my neck, and how I couldn’t breathe, I heard a gasp of horror behind me.

            I stood, startled, and turned to see a familiar, tall figure half hidden in the shadows.  As I recognized the figure, I went from fear, to Joy, to shyness.

            “Clara!  I’m so glad you’re here.  I tried to call you, before, but there was no answer.”

            “You’re home,” she said shakily.  “Are you okay?  I was listening to your story.  Is all of that true?”

            “Yes, but I’m okay, really.  I became ill, but my parents found out and brought me home.”

            Clara seemed unconvinced.  She stepped closer, into the ring of firelight, and studied me carefully.  Her eyes betrayed despair.

            She looked as beautiful as she ever had.  She was dressed far less casually than usual, in a conservative, floral-patterned skirt and a pretty blouse.  Her shaggy black hair was tamed, slightly curled, and pulled back with a thin headband.  She was even wearing a touch of makeup, but as pretty as she looked, she was far too thin, and her eyes were shadowed.  I could tell she had been unhappy.

            I was about to speak again, but Summer cut me off.

            “What are you doing here?” she asked Clara in a hostile voice.

            “I’m here to get my phone back,” Clara said.  “I know you took it, Summer.  Amber saw you.”

            “Since when do you trust a habitual liar like Amber?” Chad asked.

            “She’s not that bad,” Clara said.  “Besides, Summer is the one who stole my homework planner, and David’s phone.”

            Summer laughed darkly, reached in her purse, and threw a phone to Clara.  “Here, I didn’t find anything, anyway.  I promise you, though, that I will find out what’s been going on.”

            “Aren’t you two friends, anymore?” I asked, turning from Clara to Summer, but both of them maintained a stony silence.  The silence was interrupted by David, who walked up behind Clara.

            “Well, this is a surprise,” he said when he saw me.  “It looks like the prodigal child has returned.  Isn’t that wonderful, Clara?” he added with a sneer.

            Clara said nothing, but closed her eyes, as though willing him away.

            “If you have your phone, let’s go.  We don’t want to ruin Miranda’s homecoming party,” he commanded.  He put his arm around Clara’s shoulders, but she didn’t pull away.  Instead, she opened her eyes, nodded meekly, and followed him.   

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Chapter 16

Mysteries

The Hanged Man

            As I watched Clara leave with David, I was frozen.  I wanted to reach out to Clara, grab her hand, and beg her not to go.  I wanted to shake David and demand to know what he had done to make her so miserable- so obedient, but my body rebelled against me.  I felt as cold and immobile as marble, and stood, helplessly, as I watched David lead Clara away.

            “Miranda, are you okay?”  Summer asked softly.

            I tried to answer, but the words formed a painful lump in my throat.

            “Miranda, you’re scaring me,” Summer put her hand on my shoulder, and the warmth of her touch seemed to melt the cold shock which had imprisoned me.

            “Clara… what did David do to her?” I gasped.

            “We’re trying to figure that out,” Summer said quietly.  “Clara’s changed, and we don’t know how or why it happened.  She’s with David, now.”

            “How can she, after everything he’s done to her?  We need to do something to stop him.”

            “We know, Miranda, and we’ve been trying, but there isn’t much we can do, because we don’t know what happened.  Clara has completely shut us out.  She barely speaks to us, anymore,” Chad said.

            “Wt won

            “That’s a difficult question to answer,” Jason, who’d been staring moodily into the fire, said.  “Sometime after Christmas, she simply started to drift away from us.  It started subtly, at first.  She started dressing differently, and she seemed troubled by something, but she refused to talk about it.  Then she quit the art club, and stopped sitting with us at lunch.  Soon, she seemed to become a clone of Amber, following David around and doing his bidding.”

            I thought of the way Clara had acted, and the look of despair I’d seen in her eyes.  I couldn’t help but see the parallel between her behavior, and the behavior of most of the people I’d been around the past few months.  “He must have done something terrible to her.  We have to stop him.”

            “Listen, Miranda, I know you care for her, but you have to think about yourself, now.”  Jason said.  “You‘ve been through hell, and you’re still recovering from your illness.  You won’t help her by making yourself ill, again.”

            “You’re right,” I conceded.  “I do need to take care of myself, but I won’t give up.  I’m angry, and I think that will help me get well, for her sake.”

#

            I went home early, as I’d promised Mother, ate a small supper, and went to bed.  I was warmer, and more comfortable than I had been for a long time, and though my mind was troubled, my body could not fight the pleasant physical sensation of being in bed, and I was about to fall asleep when my phone rang.  I was still groggy, but I yawned, cleared my head as best I could, and answered.

            “Hello?”

            “Hello, Miranda,” a soft voice replied.

            “Clara, it’s so good to hear your voice,” I sighed, still comfortable and sleepy.

            “Miranda, I’m sorry about the way I acted, earlier, andce=" New I think I owe you an explanation.  I know I said I would wait for you…” she trailed off.

            The remembrance of our earlier reunion brought me back to the cold, concrete reality of the waking world.  “You don’t owe me anything, Clara, because I meant it when I said that you shouldn’t pine for me when I was gone.  I wanted you to be happy, but… David?  You know I can’t believe you’re happy with him.  He’s abusive and manipulative.”

            “Maybe he isn’t so bad,” she said.  “Maybe I exaggerated, when I told you how he used to treat me.”

            “I’ve seen firsthand how he treats people,” I replied.  “Besides, when I left, he was already trying to manipulate you into getting back together with him, and I’ve been gone for a long time.  He might have found a way to force you, in that time.  Plus, there’s the small matter of your preferences.  David is still male.”

            “There is another possibility,” Clara said coolly.  “Maybe I’m not the person you thought I was.  Maybe I’m a liar, on par with David.  Maybe I’m a terrible person, who has done terrible things, and has lied to you and led you on.”

            “Even if you had lied to me, it’s not a crime terrible enough to be deserving of a punishment as bad as David,” I said.

             “Miranda, I’m sorry I have to say this, and I’m sorry that I ever dragged you into the mess that is my life.  I’m sorry I was so selfish that I played with your feelings.  You deserve someone who will make you happy.  I’ve brought you nothing but trouble and heartache,” she said.

            “You’ve brought me more joy than sorrow, Clara, and you’re the same person I left here months ago.  You’re unhappy, though.  Please, let me help you.  Trust me.”

            “You can’t help me, Miranda.  I wish you could.”  Her voice trembled, as though she was near tears.  My own eyes stung sympathetically, and tears began to fall.

            “Clara-“ I whispered.

            “Miranda, don’t waste your time on a lost case.  Find happiness with someone else, and take care of yourself.”

            I heard a click, and a dial tone. 

&nbspn th ;

#

            I rested the next day, but I was unhappy, and my parents could see my moroseness, so mother took me the day after to re-register at school.  It was further into the semester than they usually allowed students to register, but somehow Mother persuaded them to take me on a probationary basis. As we sat together in the vice-principal's office, and we waited for him to return with my textbooks and class schedule, Mother gazed at me with a look of concern.  After a long, awkward silence, she spoke.

            “You must be glad to be back in school with your friends,” she said.

            “I am,” I said, though I was unable to put the proper enthusiasm into my voice.

            “I’m sure you’re glad to see Clara, again, aren’t you?”

            I was unable to hide the pain I felt at the mention of Clara’s name.  “Things didn’t work out between us,” I said.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” she said, though her tone was disingenuous. 

            “My break-up with Clara doesn’t change anything, you realize,” I said.

            “I never said-“ Mother began to protest, but was interrupted by Vice-Principal Johnson’s return.

            “I was able to find the books that you don’t already have, and I printed your new class schedule.  Be certain to get the assignments that you’ve missed from the beginning of the semester from each of your teachers, and report to the library at 4:00 for tutoring.  I expect you to be entirely caught up by midterm.”

            “Yes, Mr. Johnson,” I replied.

            He smiled warmly and shook my hand.  “I’m glad you’re back, Miranda.  You’ve been an excellent student, and an asset to the school.”

            “Thank you.”

            “If you hurry,” he continued, “You can still make it to your first class.  Don’t worry about your lack of uniform, today.”

            I thanked him again, put my books into my bag, said goodbye to Mother, and left.  I had intended to hurry to my class, but I was completely distracted by the familiar warmth and cheerfulness of the campus.  As I walked across the bright courtyard, alive with oak and palm trees, and with its dancing fountain, I couldn’t help but contrast it to the dead, stone courtyard at the abbey.  Despite my present unhappiness, for a moment, my heart felt like singing.

            The feeling fled as quickly as it came, though, when I reached my first class, Latin, and saw Clara sitting next to David, who reached out to touch her arm possessively.  Fortunately, I was quite late, and only had time to talk to my teacher and receive my assignments from him before class was dismissed.  I only saw Clara once more that day, in biology, where I was seated next to her.  I tried to ignore her, and concentrate on the lesson, but every small movement or sound she made shifted my awareness toward her. 

            At lunch, Clara was absent, and the little group under the oak tree seemed morose and quiet.  Summer and Chad laughed and talked quietly together, lost in their own world, and Jason seemed disgusted by their behavior. 

            “They really do know how to rub it in, don’t they,” he said, gesturing toward Summer, who was feeding Chad French fries and giggling.

            “It would be cute, if I wasn’t single,” I said.

            Jason shook his head.  “You need to find someone new, someone who can take care of you.  Find someone stronger than Clara.”

            I shook my head.  “No, I won’t give up on her.  I can take care of myself.”

            He chuckled.  “I guess you can take care of yourself.  I underestimated you, I guess.  You were able to survive hell.  Still, I wish I could take care of you, just a little, after everything you’ve been through.”

#

            When the day was over, I was glad for the opportunity to escape to the quiet library, and concentrate on my work in peaceful solitude.  I arrived early, and saw no sign of my tutor in the empty library, so I sat down at one of the tables near the glass doors, in a patch of bright spring sunlight, and began to study. 

            I was unable to concentrate very long, however, because Amber entered the library, and began pacing back and forth in front of the door, blocking and unblocking the light which fell on my book. 

            “Amber,” I said, once this became unbearable, “my eyes can’t take much more of this.”

            Amber jumped and looked at me, as though she hadn’t noticed me sitting directly behind her.  “Miranda! I’m sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

            “Pacing won’t make them arrive any sooner,” I said.  “Would you please sit down?”

            She shrugged and sat down beside me with a thump, throwing her bag onto the table.  “I have a life, you know,” she announced.  “I don’t want to tutor any more than they want to be tutored, but I’m here on time.  Some people are so inconsiderate.”

            “You’re my tutor?” I asked, taken aback.

            “Don’t tell me you’re the one I’m supposed to be tutoring,” she groaned.  “You’re smarter than I am.”

            “I don’t know whether I’m smarter than you, or not, but I am over a month behind for the semester,” I said.

            “A genius like you should be able to catch up pretty fast, all by yourself.”  She took a book from her bag and began to read.  “Tell me if you have any questions.”

            I laughed a little to myself at her incompetence as a tutor, but I was able to work for most of the hour, uninterrupted, so I decided it was a blessing.  Toward the end of the session, I thought I should take advantage of being alone with Amber, and to see what she knew what David and Clara had been hiding.

            “A lot has changed, since I’ve been gone,” I began.

            “Maybe you’re the one who has changed,” she replied without looking up from her book.

            “Perhaps I have, but I’m not the only one who’s changed,” I said.  “For example, Clara used to hate David, and now she’s always with him.  I wonder how something like that could have happened.”

            Amber put her book down and looked at me with a sympathetic look in her innocent eyes.  “It would be easier for you if you completely forgot about Clara.  You don’t want to undo the progress you’ve made.”

            “Progress?”

            “Everyone knows where you’ve been, Miranda.  It’s difficult to keep that sort of thing a secret in a school like this.”

            I laughed.  “If you think I’ve been ‘cured,’ then you’re quite mistaken.  Besides, I doubt it’s even possible to ‘cure’ someone of their sexual preferences.”

            “Plenty of people are cured, every day,” she said with an indignant pout.

            “You’re entitled to your beliefs,” I said.  “In any case, is that what you think happened to Clara?  Has she been cured by David?”                      

            “I hope she has been.  She’s getting better every day.”

            “Yes, she looks very happy,” I said sarcastically.

            “Some things are more important than happiness,” Amber said. 

            “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the torment people will put themselves through, in order to change,” I said. 
            “If they’re saved, though, isn’t it worth the trouble?”

            “Saved from what, exactly?”

            “Hell, of course,” she said.

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            “What about those of us who don’t believe that God sends people to hell, because of the way they’ve been born, or who they love?” I said.  “Shouldn’t our free will count?  People like me, or my friend Alice, shouldn’t be sent away and tortured like that against our will.  And people like my friend, James, shouldn’t be made to hate themselves because of who they are.”

            Amber’s eyes grew wide, and she opened her mouth as though to speak, but then shut it again.  She stood quickly and gathered her things, instead.

            “Are you leaving?” I asked.

            “Our hour is up.  I don’t want to talk about this, anymore.”  She ran out the door, slamming it loudly behind her.

#

            .  I wasn’t able to confront her about her behavior, because the next day I had a new tutor, who explained briefly that Amber had decided to quit tutoring. I got through a lot of my work with the new tutor, though. and even more when I was at home alone that evening, so I took a break after dinner to ponder how to figure out what David had done.  I couldn’t work out a solution, however, and I quickly degenerated into brooding.  I was on my bed, staring at the ceiling and watching as the setting sun cast pink and purple light across the plain white stucco, when the phone rang.

“Hi, Miranda, remember me?” a familiar voice said when I answered.

“James!  How could I forget you?  How did you get my number?”

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but my sources tell me that you were punished on my account, given an exorcism against your will, and fell ill as a result.  Is that true?”

“For the most part, you’re right.  It really wasn’t your fault, though, and I’m fine now- better than fine, in fact.  I’m hov>

“Pretty much what I expected to happen,” he said.  “I called my parents before I left, so they weren’t completely taken by surprise when I arrived on their doorstep.  They still weren’t happy, though.  There was a lot of crying, and a little yelling.  I explained to them, though, that I wasn’t rejecting God, but instead trying to understand what he wanted for me before I did anything drastic to myself.  They seemed to understand where I was coming from, eventually.  They’re letting me stay home, while I look for a job, and I’m going back to school in the fall.”

“I’m glad they understood.  I’d hate to be responsible for causing a rift between you and your parents.”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault.  This was my choice.  I’m lucky, though.  I was able to contact Julian. He – sorry, she- wants to be called Julia now, and I’m still getting used to that- and her parents threw her out of the house.”

“Is she okay?”  I asked, careful to use the correct pronoun.

“Yes, she’s living with her cousin, for the moment.  She’s trying to find work, and wants to get her GED.  She thinks it will be difficult to finish school under a new gender, and living on her own.  Oh, and she wants to know how you are.  Can I give her your number?”

“Of course you can.  I would love to hear from her.”

“It’s so strange; even her voice is different now.  But she’s still the same person.  She seems a lot happier now, even with all the trouble she’s facing.”

“I’m glad,” I said.  “You sound happier, too.  I wish I knew how Alice was.  I’m worried about her.”

James, in his usual, diplomatic way, steered the conversation toward happier topics, and soon I’d almost forgotten my previous mood.

#

The next morning, I resumed my piano lessons with Mr. Boscov.  I had been afraid that my playing would be poor, due to my long absence, but I had actually improved, thanks to the long hours I’d sat at the calefactory piano.  When I looked at Mr. Boscov, he was listening, eyes shut, the way Clara had on that early fall morning so long ago.

“Soft music on a grey, rainy morning- there is nothing I like so well.  Your playing is very different now, Miranda.  You have more confidence, it seems.”

“I’m not intimidated by you any more, I guess,” I said.

“I’m not intimidating; I’m simply unusual.  Sometimes, people confuse the two.  I daresay you won’t make that mistake, again.”

“She shouldn’t.  She’s unusual, herself,” I heard someone behind me say.

“Alice!” I stood and went to her.  “You’re free.”

Alice had been sitting behind me as I played, looking much more relaxed, in her artfully torn jeans and loose band t-shirt, than I’d ever seen her.  She stood when I did, and put an arm around me.

“You always seem to attract an audience,” Mr. Boscov said good-naturedly.

“Well, she sounds utterly amazing, on a decent piano,” Alice admitted.

“Our time is up, anyway, so I’ll leave you two to talk,” Mr. Boscov said.  “I will see you Wednesday, Miranda.  Practice your new exercises for then.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

He took his music, nodded cordially to us, and left us together.

“So, did you run away, after all?” I asked Alice after he’d gone.

“No, though I might have, once the weather got warmer,” she said.  “Actually, I was kicked out, the day after you left.  Grace told Dr. Caleb that you and I were lovers, and I decided not to correct her.”

“I’m surprised that you didn’t retaliatew Ront>

Alice smiled slowly, a wicked gleam in her eyes.  “I considered that, but Grace wanted to stay, and I decided that the worst punishment I could devise would be to let her have her wish.”

Mother came in from the kitchen, then.  “I’m going to run a few errands, now.  Help yourselves to whatever you’d like from the fridge.  And, Alice, I’m so glad that you’ll be staying.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Rothschild,” Alice replied.

“Wait, you’re staying here, in San Avlia?” I asked when Mother had gone.

“Well, in Corpus Christi, actually, with my dad.  When he found out what had been happening at the abbey, he told step-shrew that I was coming home right away, end of story.  She’d wanted to send me to another reparative therapist.  I’ve never seen him stand up to her, before, but he told her that he wasn’t spending any more money on fake therapists, and that I was welcome in his home, no matter what.  It was surprising.  He may care for me a little bit, after all.”

“I’m so glad,” I said.

“Anyway, now that I’m here, I wanted to come see you in person, to surprise you.  James didn’t tell you I was back, did he?  I called him before, and gave him your number –your mother gave it to me before you left the abbey-but I made him swear not to tell you, so he wouldn’t ruin the surprise.  He sucks at keeping secrets, though.”

“He was very discreet,” I assured her.  “I was glad to hear from him, and find out that things had worked out for him.  His call cheered me quite a bit.”

“Did you need cheering?” she asked.  “You seem well again, and I thought you would be happy to be home.”

“Clara and I… well, you were right, after all.  We didn’t get back together.  Actually, something strange is happening to her, but I can’t figure out what.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “Well, I’m somewhat glad, but I’m sorry that you’ve been hurt.”

“You’re glad?” I said.

Alice shook her head and stood quickly.  “I’m sorry I said a

“Alice-“

“No, I said too much.  Please, forget it.  I have to go; my Dad wants us to begin ‘family bonding,’ this afternoon, so we have to go to the aquarium together.  If I’m late, the evil stepmother will attempt to destroy me.  I will see you again, won’t I?”

“Soon,” I promised.

facageb

Chapter 17

Reunion

The Lovers

I walked Alice outside, and watched her drive away into the grey mist.  I was about to go back inside, when I saw a familiar electric blue car approach.  Summer pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.  Her red hair was wild and frizzy from the humidity.

“Hi, Miranda,” she said.  “Chad is busy with some stupid online game that he’s currently addicted to, so we can have some girl time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.  “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m tired of watching movies that are nothing but a series of explosions.  I want to watch a chick-flick.  Plus, I need to fill you in; you’ve missed out on a lot of gossip while you were away,” she said as we walked up the driveway toward the house.

            “Hey, Miranda, what’s on your car?” she asked, turning her head distractedly.

            I followed her gaze, and saw a white envelope, which was getting soggy in the drizzle, placed on the windshield of my car.  I walked over and took the envelope, and saw, written on the front, the words, “from Laurel.”

            “Who’s Laurel?” Summer said.

            “I’m not sure,” I replied, though I thought of Alice, who’d left only a momence="Tface="Timet before.  I couldn’t see, though, why she would leave me a note with her ex-girlfriend’s name on the front.

            “Well, open it inside.  I want to get out of this awful drizzle,” Summer replied.

            I agreed, and we went into the warm kitchen, and settled down at the table with hot drinks before I opened the envelope.  Inside, I found a card, drawn in a familiar baroque style with a couple standing in a pool of water, embracing passionately.  Above them, written in gold letters, was “The Lovers.”  I turned the card over, and above the pale white and gold pattern, someone had written in black marker, “don’t give up.”

            “Does this look familiar to you?” I asked, tossing the card across the table.

            “This is from Clara’s deck,” Summer said.  “Do you think it’s from her?  Is she trying to tell you not to give up on her?”

            “I wish that were the case, but the envelope says, ‘from Laurel.’  I don’t know if it’s the same person, but the girl who just left here, my friend, Alice, once dated a girl named Laurel.”

            “Do you think that Alice left it, then?” Summer asked.

            “No, that’s impossible.  She didn’t know about the tarot card incident.  She was living in Houston when it happened.  I never told her about it, even though it’s the sort of story she and James would have loved.”

            “We’re missing some information,” Summer said.  “Laurel must be someone who knows about both the tarot card incident, and Alice.”

            I closed my eyes and thought.  “Alice said that she met Laurel at her father’s house, and he lives in Corpus Christi.  Laurel could be someone we know here.”

            “You and Alice could know a lot of the same people.  Didn’t you ever talk about that, when you were together?”

            “No.  Alice was very guarded about her past.  To be honest, I was very guarded, too.  When you’re in a place like the abbey, you learn not to reveal too much, even to people you consider friends.”

            “What a fun place!” Summer said sarcastically.

            “Yes, it was truly a caring environment.”  I ran my hands through my hair and sighed in frustration.  “I feel like I’m missing some important piece of the puzzle.  The person who left this note seems to have an interest in my relationship with Clara, knows about the tarot incident in great detail, enough to obtain an identical deck, and either knows Alice, or by co-incidence has the name Laurel.  Think, Summer.  You probably know everyone in this town and half of Corpus Christi.  Do you know anyone named Laurel, even at the public schools?”

            “I know plenty of Lauries, Laurens, and even a Laura or two, but I don’t know a single Laurel,” Summer said confidently.

            I groaned and put my head on the table.

            “Miranda, don’t worry about it.  Someone wants to encourage you to win Clara back, and deliver her from David’s evil clutches, so this is a good thing, right?  If this Laurel person wants to show herself, she will.  In the meantime, let’s not strain ourselves.  I’ll keep trying to discover what David’s done to Clara.  I have a feeling that once I do, everything will be alright, again.”

#

            Summer and I stayed inside and watched a movie.  Then, after she went home, I waded through as much schoolwork as I could before dinner.  As I worked, the drizzle stopped, but the sun didn’t come out.  The sky grew darker, and the air grew heavy.  Dark clouds hung outside my window, ominously low. 

            After dinner, I went to the piano, and dutifully practiced the advanced exercises Mr. Boscov had given me.  As I sat and played, distant peals of thunder rumbled, and an occasional lightning strike flashed through the windows.  I put away my scales, and then took out one of my favorite nocturnes.  As I played, the storm grew, and the skies opened up.  I let the gloom of the storm and the gloom of the music envelop me.  I surrendered to the sensation that some unseen power, as real as the electricity which danced in the clouds, was moving in the air around me.

            I was so lost in the music of the storm, and the need to translate it to the piano, that I didn’t hear the doorbell ring, and my Mother had to put her hand on my shoulder to get my attention.

            “Someone is here to see you,” she said gently.

            I turned away from the music and saw Clara, standing in the kitchen doorway.  She was dressed in her blue sweater, but it was completely soaked, and clung to her skin.  Her hair was wet, and her bangs were plastered across her forehead.  She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, shivering.

            “Clara, you didn’t walk all the way here in the rain, did you?”  I asked, astounded.

            “It wasn’t raining when I started,” she said.  “When the rain began, I had come too far to turn back.  I need to talk to you, Miranda.”

            “You’ll catch your death in those wet things,” Mother said.  “I’ll find you something warm and dry to wear.  Miranda, take her into the kitchen, and make some hot tea.”

            Mother left, and returned with a towel and one of my warmest sweaters while I put the kettle on.  Clara disappeared into the bathroom, and returned in the dry clothes, her hair toweled dry.

            “Thank you,” she said quietly as I handed her a cup of jasmine tea.  She sat at the table and looked into the cup for a moment, breathing in the fragrant vapors, and then looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes.

            “I know I don’t have the right to ask for your help now, after the things I’ve said to you, and the way I’ve treated you, but my situation is getting more and more out of control, and you’re the only person I can trust to be discreet.  Of course, David is suspicious of you, already, because of our former relationship, but he’s on some sort of family outing tonight, so he won’t know I’ve come here.”

            “What is he doing to you?” I asked.

            “First, I need you to promise that, whatever I say, you won’t tell anyone, or confront David about it.”

            “But Clara, if he’s hurting you-“

            “Even mond tspan>

            I couldn’t deny her wish when she sat across from me, looking so vulnerable and unhappy.  I put my own cup down and sat closer to her, putting my hand over hers.

            “I promise; if you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t.”

            “Thank you,” she said shakily, pulling her hand away and placing it on her lap.  “I’ve done some lousy things in the past few weeks, but none compare to the way I’ve acted toward you since you’ve returned.  I know I can’t ask you to forgive me, but I still want to apologize.  I feel like a louse.”

            “Well, stop it,” I demanded.  “I’ve seen enough guilt to last a lifetime, and it serves no purpose.  Change what you can, accept what you can’t, make amends if you must, and move on.”

            “You’re right, as usual,” she said.  “But, Miranda, I’m afraid that I can’t change anything, and I can’t make amends.  Maybe that’s part of why I’m telling you this; to try and make up for how I’ve treated you.”

            “You were never obligated to me in any way, but I’ve been worried about you.  You’ve seemed unhappy.  What happened?”

            “This all started shortly before Christmas.  Did you receive the letters Summer and I sent you?”

            “Yes, they were a wonderful surprise.  You can’t imagine how much the letters, and the gift, meant to me.”

            Clara smiled briefly, then her expression darkened.  “Summer, I think, told you about the Christmas party, and the fight that Chad had with David.”

            “She said that Chad found David in a compromising situation with Giselle.”

            “The situation was more than compromising, and David apparently took photos.”

            “Oh, my god,” I gasped.  “Is Giselle okay?  Did David put the photos online?”

            “No, David wanted to use the photos to blackmail me, and his plan worked better than he’d dreamed.  You see, if he’d taken the pictures, aw Row Roman">nd leaked them, then Giselle simply could have said that he was the one that took them, and everyone would have believed her, because they had been dating.  Unfortunately, when Chad accidentally walked in on them, he got in a photo with Giselle, and it doesn’t look good.  It makes the story that David told after the fight, that he’d caught Giselle cheating on him with Chad, seem true.

            “After Christmas, David contacted me, and said that if I didn’t do what he said, that he would leak the pictures, and that Giselle and Chad would both be ruined.  I wanted to tell someone, but the evidence is against Chad, and no one will believe Giselle, because her reputation is so bad.  She would just seem like a vengeful ex-girlfriend.  David said that if I told anyone that David took the pictures, he would leak them immediately, in such a way that he couldn’t be implicated.”

            She gripped the teacup tightly with both hands.  “At first, he only asked a few small things of me, to test me, I suppose.  He picked out my clothes, and told me how I should fix my hair.  Then, he demanded that I quit the art club, and stop speaking to my friends, so he could be certain of my silence.  Soon, he was controlling every aspect of my life.  He’s kept a respectful distance from me, so far, but this morning, things were different.”

            She put the cup down again and closed her eyes.  She seemed to be steeling herself for an arduous task.  When she opened her eyes, again, there was a gleam of determination.

            “Amber wasn’t around, like she normally is when we’re together.  He took me to the beach, and sat with his arm around me for a long time.  Then he said he wanted me to kiss him.  He didn’t try to kiss me, himself, but was insistent that I be the first to initiate a kiss.  He subtly reminded me that he had the power to ruin the lives of 2 people I care about, and then-“

            She stopped speaking, tears spilling from her eyes.  I reached out to grab her hand once more, and this time she did not resist.

            “I did it,” she sobbed, clinging to my hand like a lifeline.  “Afterward, he just smiled at me and said, ‘you see, I’m not doing anything to you that you don’t already want.’”  She broke down, then and put her head on the table and the sobs continued.  I put both of my arms around her and held her until the cries ebbed away.  Then she sat up and returned my embrace. 

            We held each other, silently, for a long time.  I was filled with conflicting emotions.  My anger toward David, for manipulating and harming Clara, burned like a white-hot brand in my chest.  Somehow, though, I also felt joy.  Clara was in my arms again, and my homecoming was finally complete.

            “I’ve been waiting for this,” Ihe wed speaki said aloud, before I could censor myself.

            “So have I,” she replied shakily.

            “I didn’t mean your crying, of course,” I clarified.

            “I know,” she laughed, and pulled away, wiping her eyes.  “I realize that you don’t believe that guilt is worthwhile, but the guilt I felt after I kissed David, combined with the guilt I’d felt over how I’d been treating my friends, showed me that giving in to David’s demands was not the right thing to do.  I realized that I should have told someone I trusted immediately, instead of giving in to blackmail.  I had thought that as long as no one else was hurt, I could sacrifice myself to save my sister and my friend.  I was naïve to think I would be the only one hurt by my decision.”

            “You aren’t an acceptable sacrifice, anyway,” I said.  “It’s wrong that you should suffer, and David should gain everything he wants.  We need to fight him.”

            “I wish I could fight him, but how can I, without putting Chad or Giselle in danger?”

            I put my hand to my head, and thought.  “We need to find a way to destroy those pictures.”

            “He’s very careful with them.  He doesn’t have a copy on his computer, in case anyone tries to implicate him.  The only copy is on his camera’s memory stick, and he’s hidden that very well.”

            “We need an ally,” I said.  “We need to get someone who he thinks he can trust to help us find it.  Is there any way we could get Amber to betray him?”

            “Amber is completely under his thumb.  You should see the way he orders her around, and she’ll do whatever he says.  Plus, she’s too unpredictable for us to be able to trust.”

            I nodded.  “We need some more time to think about this.  Do you think that you could feign illness for a couple of days, as an excuse to avoid David?”

            “I’ve been sleep-deprived and I’ve lost weight.  I’m pretty sure I could convince people that I’m ill,” she agreed.

            “Good.  We need an excuse to keep you away from David until we are able to get those photos.”

    eight="0">            Mother came into the room, then, looking worried.  “Clara, I’m afraid the storm isn’t letting up at all, and some of the roads are flooded.  You’re more than welcome to stay the night in our guest room.”

            “Thank you, Mrs. Rothschild.  I should go call my mother, and tell her where I am,” Clara said.   

            “Have the two of you made up?” Mother asked when Clara had left the room.

            “Things are complicated, right now,” I said evasively.

            Mother poured herself a cup of tea, a thoughtful expression on her face.

            “There’s a potluck brunch after church, tomorrow,” she said.  “The youth choir is giving a small concert, too.  Your friend, Amber, is singing a solo.  You should invite Clara to come with us.”

            I was shocked.  “Mother, are you trying to get us back together?”

            Mother smiled sadly as she sipped her tea.  “Well, Miranda, you’ve improved a lot since you’ve come home, but I can tell you’re still unhappy.  I want the old Miranda back.”

#

            When Clara finished her call, Mother helped her settle into the guest bedroom, and I retired to my own room.  Trying to sleep was utterly futile, so I sat on my window seat, and gazed out into the night while I pondered Clara’s predicament.  My thoughts were muddled and incoherent, though, and I knew the only way I could order them again was to sleep.  I stood and grabbed the first book I saw on my desk, my beloved volume of Byron’s poetry, and began to read.

            The tone of the poetry was too dark, however, to be soothing to my mind or help me sleep, so I put the book on my night table and closed my eyes.  I could not empty my mind, though.

keeplp me slee            “I wish I knew what to do,” I said aloud.  “I know I can’t have all the answers, but I’d settle for a hint.”

            I gave up and grabbed my book again, this time turning to the title page, in hopes of finding some comfort in the words Mark had written there.

            To Alice,

            I’m sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused you.  I’ll always love you, no matter what.  Please forgive me.  I miss you.

            Your brother,

            David.

            I rubbed my eyes, certain that the late hour, combined with my agitated state of mind, was causing me to read the words incorrectly, but my vision proved to be clear, and the words stayed, unchanging.

            As I read through the inscription a second time, I remembered that the book Alice had received at Christmas had been identical to mine, and I realized that after our books had both been confiscated, they must have been switched by mistake.  My mind took a second to process the implications of what I’d read, then I jumped up, clutching the book, and ran down the hall into the guest room.

            Clara opened the door as soon as I knocked, awake but startled by my excited arrival.

            “I’m sorry I woke you,” I said.  “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

            She nodded and stepped away from the door to let me inside.

            “Does David have a sister?” I asked, sitting on a chair by the bed.

            She seemed taken aback by the question.  “As a matter of fact, he does have a half-sister, though I’ve never met her.”

            I handed her the book, open to the title page.  “Is this David’s handwriting?” I asked.

            “Yes, it is.  Where did you get this?”

            “I got it by accident.  Alice has my book.  I know her- she can help us.  She’s just come to live with David, and she’s absolutely trustworthy.”

            “Are you sure?” she asked skeptically.

            “Of course I am.  She’s the one who contacted my parents when I became sick, and made certain I got help, at great personal risk.”

            “Call her,” Clara said without hesitation.

            I went to my room to get my phone, and when I returned I called Alice, putting the phone on speaker.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi, Alice,” I said.  “I’m sorry for calling so late, but I have a huge favor to ask you.”

            “You’re lucky.  I was already awake.  Prodigal Ministries left me with a raging case of insomnia,” Alice said lightheartedly.  “How can I help?”

            “Is your brother David Andersen, by any chance?” I asked.

            There was a second of silence, and then I heard a sigh.  “What’s he done, now?” she asked.

            “He’s blackmailing Clara,” I said.

            “Blackmail…nice.  That’s a new one for him, as far as I know, but I can’t say I’m surprised.  He can be a manipulative bastard.”

            “Listen, I would appreciate it if you could look for something- a memory stick belonging to a camera.  Clara’s here, she could describe it to you.”

            “I only saw it once,” Clara said, “It’s just a blue memory stick.  It looks pretty ordinary.”

            “I’ve seen it,” Alice said unexpectedly.  “Yesterday, when he thought I wasn’t around, I saw him give it to a friend of his, Amber. He told her to keep it hidden.  I thought that seemed strange, which is why I remember.”

            “Wonderful, Amber has it, after all,” I said.  “I’m back to plan A.”

            “If Amber has it, I can get it back,” Alice said.

            “Are you sure?” I asked.  I felt as skeptical as Clara looked.

            “Of course,” Alice said confidently.  “Are you sure it’s the only copy of- whatever it is?”

            “We’re pretty sure it is.  David doesn’t want it found or linked to him in any way.  The only person he can trust to go along with something like this is Amber,” Clara said.

            “That’s his fatal mistake,” Alice said.

#

            The next morning, I sat in the front row in church, listening to the youth choir.  Their voices were as bright and clear as the early spring sunlight which filtered in through the stained glass windows.  I sat between my parents as I listened.  Two rows behind, Clara sat bravely beside David.  I’d driven her home as early that morning, as soon as David had called her on her cell phone, demanding that she accompany him to watch Amber sing.  Soon afterward, Alice had called, assuring me that she’d been successful in convincing Amber to help us.

            My father bent down and whispered in my ear.  “Clara and that nice Andersen boy are sitting two rows back, and I’m sure I saw Alice around here, somewhere.  You don’t have to sit with us old folk,” he said.

            “I like sitting with you,” I whispered back.  “I’ll catch up with my friends, later.”

            Daddy smiled and patted my arm, and turned back to listen to the music.

            Amber came down from the choir rafters, and walked to the microphone.  I searched her face for any sign of the usual clash of conscience to indicate her recent betrayal of David, but I didn’t see any.  In fact, her face shone with a peace and confidence I’d never seen there, before.  My stomach twisted nervously, and I feared something had gone wrong.

            Amber sang more beautifully than I’d ever heard her sing, and when the last pure notes still rang through the air, the congregation broke out in enthusiastic applause.  She acknowledged this only with a slight nod, and stepped back into the chorus, holding hands with her fellows as the congregation sang the closing hymn.

            Afterward, I hung back as the rest of the congregation filed out of the sanctuary to go to the fellowship hall.  Soon, Amber and I were the only ones left.

            “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” she asked. 

            I agreed.  “You seem better than the last time I saw you.”

            ”I feel better,” Amber said, “and I owe you a debt of thanks.”

            “Why?” I asked.

            Before she could answer, Alice walked back into the sanctuary from the fellowship hall.

            “Clara and David are on their way,” she said.  “I think David expects to get lucky- here of all places.  He’s in for a nasty surprise, isn’t he?”

            The doors opened once more, and Clara walked in, followed closely by David.  Clara smiled at me, and winked, but David grabbed her hand and smiled smugly at me, then turned to Alice.

            “I’m glad you’ve decided to show some interest in attending church, Alice, but you should have chosen another one.  This one is too full of temptation,” he said.

            Alice smiled at her brother’s disapproval.  “I’m afraid that temptation is only part of the reason I’m here.  I’m also here as a favor to my friend, Miranda.”

            He looked from Alice to myself, then focused his fierce, black gaze on Amber.

            “What’s going on?” he asked sternly.

            Amber flinched, then squared her shoulders and looked into David’s eyes.

            “I had an epiphany last night, David, and I want to tell you about it.  You see, Alice called me last night, and we had a very nice talk.  We talked about our past, and we talked about the things we’ve both been through since then, and I learned a lot.  I learned that no one has any special knowledge of God, or any special insight into the nature of good and evil that I wouldn’t be able to gain for myself.  We’re all given a conscience, and a brain to figure out right and wrong for ourselves, and if we give up either, we’re vulnerable to being led to do terrible things.”

            “This is interesting, and all, but I’ve already sat through one sermon, today,” David said, narrowing his eyes.

            “Don’t worry, I have a point,” Amber said, stepping down from the choir risers and into the patch of light cast by the stained-glass window of the cross.  She turned to smile at Alice, and then turned back to David.

            “Thinking for myself is a new thing, so I’m starting slowly and simply.  I think that we can all agree that it’s good to help people, and bad to hurt people.”

            “Of course,” sighed David, as Amber seemed to expect an answer.

            “I’ve been helping you, recently, which is good, but together we’ve been hurting Clara, which is bad.  Plus, us hurting Clara is hurting Miranda, which is also bad.” She closed her eyes, and began to count on her fingers, as though solving a complex math problem.

            “We hurt Miranda in another way, too, by getting my parents to convince hers to send her to the Prodigal Ministries school.  Plus, you had Alice sent away, too.  Even though I didn’t know about that, I still feel a little bit responsible.”

            “You aren’t,” Alice said.

            “Amber, I’ve explained this to you before,” David said gently, as if he were speaking to a child. “This may hurt them now, but in the long run, they’ll be much happier.”

            “No, they won’t.  They’ll be miserable, just like me.  You’ve seen how happy Clara and Miranda are together.  If you really love Clara, you’ll want her to be happy.  That’s why I hope you aren’t mad at me, because of what I did.”

            She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a handful of broken blue plastic and metal, and poured it into Alice’s waiting hands.

            “I yielded to unnatural temptation, and because of this, we are both damned.” Amber said to Alice with a knowing smile.

            Clara wrenched her hand away from David’s then, and ran to me.  I took her in my arms, and we both started laughing.

            David stood alone where Clara had left him, his face red with fury.  He seemed about to speak, or shout, but I interrupted him.

            “You’re Laurel, aren’t you,” I said to Amber.

            “Laurel is my middle name,” she said.  “I’m the one who sent you the card.  My conscience has been bothering me ever since I found out that Alice was sent to Prodigal Ministries, too.  I have you to thank for telling me, on Thursday.  How did you figure out that I was Laurel?”

            “That’s my fault,” Alice said.  “I told her about you, but I used your middle name.  I knew that you wanted to keep your time at Prodigal Ministries a secret, and I thought you might know each other.  Plus, I always thought the name Laurel suited you so much better than Amber.”

            “Wait, so Amber was sent to Prodigal Ministries?” Clara asked, her voice filled with surprise.

            “Do you remember the fall of our freshman year, when I told everyone I was going to visit my older sister in Austin?  Well, I was really in reparative therapy.  My parents sent me, after David told them about my relationship with Alice.  What happened to me there didn’t make me a better person.  I lost myself.”

            David, who’d been standing by, fuming silently, finally spoke.

            “Amber, do you want your mother to find out that you’ve been speaking with Alice?” he warned.  “She’ll put you back in therapy, you know.”

             Amber paled, but Alice merely laughed.

            “Go ahead.  While you’re at it, you can explain why Amber’s been speaking to me.”

            “My sister, my best friend, and the woman I love- this is like a disease, and I know who’s to blame,” David growled. He turned to me.  “I hope you’re happy, Miranda.  This is ultimately your fault.”

            “I just got here this summer,” I reminded him.  “Why does everyone seem to think I’m responsible for spreading some insidious, gay disease?”

            “It doesn’t matter that you’ve just arrived,” David said.  “Everything was getting better, until you returned.  I swear to God, I will pay you back for this.  You’ll be sorry you were ever born.”

            “No, she won’t,” Alice said.  “If you do anything to her, I will ruin your reputation.”

            He scoffed.  “You don’t have anything on me.”

            “How about my very existence?  If you do anything to hurt Miranda, I’ll tell everyone about your poor, illegitimate half-sister- the product of an affair between your eminent doctor father and a poor call-girl.”

            “You would really do that to me?  I’m the only person who’s ever cared about you.  I’m the one who protects you from my Mother.  Why would you do such a thing?”

            “I don’t want to,” Alice said softly, “But if I have to, I will.
            David didn’t get angry, or yell, or threaten revenge.  His expression softened for a moment, and I could almost see the loving, older brother Alice had spoken of to me.  But, almost as soon as then tenderness crossed his face, he’d set his jaw, turned his back, and left the church.

#

            A happy understanding passed between Clara and me.  We took each other’s hand and went to the luncheon together.  There we sat, ate, and talked together, and it felt as though we’d never been separated.

            Afterward, we went for a walk through the adjoining playground.  We saw Alice and ‘Laurel’ sitting and talking quietly together by the swing set, so we turned our steps away from them and walked down a narrow path through scrub that led to the beach. 

            “Do you think that Amber’s changed, or do you think she’ll go back to her old self?”  Clara asked as we walked.

            “Alice said that the time Amber spent at the abbey changed her completely, and I’m not sure if she will ever be the ‘Laurel’ that Alice knew, again.  I don’t think anyone can come out of the abbey unscathed,” I said.

            “Have you changed?” Clara asked, turning to me as the wind whipped her rippling black hair away from her face.  She looked at me with a probing gaze, as though she were trying to see the way I’d changed written on my face.

            “I don’t know if I have, but sometimes, at night, I can still hear Mary of Misery screaming, far away.”

            Clara took my hand and kissed it gently, as though my pain were a child’s wound that she could kiss and make better.  Then she smiled, and pulled my hand, and we were running together, laughing, to the shore.

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Epilogue

            As the days grew longer and warmer, and the sea-breeze became humid and warm as it blew in from the gulf, the winter I’d spent in the abbey seemed more and more like a distant nightmare.  I caught up with my schoolwork easily by midterm, and after that, my days were filled with friendship, music, and most of all, Clara.  Before I knew it, my 17th birthday was approaching, final exams were over, and my fellow students were preparing for the annual student exhibition.

            “It’s something we put on every year before graduation, so we can show how much more special we are than the public school kids,” Summer explainlara nt size="ed to me, as we sat under the oak tree at lunch.  “Everyone has to participate.  Chad and I are acting out the final scene from Hamlet, and I get to play the title role.  My fencing is getting very good.”

            “That sounds like fun,” I said.  “Do you still have a part in it I could play?”

            “No!” Summer said, looking mortified.  “You have a special talent, and if you don’t show that off, the teachers would never forgive you.  Everyone knows you’re some sort of genius pianist.  If you don’t play, your senior year will be hell.”

            So, while Summer and Chad spent the afternoons rehearsing, Jason wrote a song on his guitar to perform, and Clara put together a presentation featuring the artwork she’d won awards for, I went home to have extra practice sessions with Mr. Boscov.  He insisted on choosing the piece that I would perform at the exhibition, and had me play through some of the pieces I’d prepared over the past year, as though I were auditioning them.

            When I got to Mephisto Waltz, I played with special enthusiasm.  The song had come to mean something special to me.  I felt it somehow symbolized my struggle and my triumph at the abbey, and felt it would be especially meaningful if I could play it during the exhibition.

            He listened the entire time with his eyes shut, and when I’d played through the entire piece and stopped, exhausted but feeling accomplished, Mr. Boscov opened his eyes and smiled brilliantly.

            “Yes, Miranda, yes!   You have mastered this piece for me, at last.  I’m so proud of you!”

            “Do you really think it was good?”  I asked, breathless with pleasure.

            “Was it good?  Oh, heavens no, Miranda, that was terrible.  I absolutely forbid you to play that piece at the student exhibition.  I’d never be able to teach in this town again.”

            My face fell.  “But, you said-“

            “I’m sorry, Miranda.  I meant to say that you’d mastered the musical lesson I meant for that to teach you.  You’re far from the ability to play that piece in concert, though.  No, I want you to play the lovely Chopin Etude that you’ve been working on.  That, you play beautifully.”

            I sighed, disappointed, but I knew that he was right.  I put Mephisto Waltz fin away and took out Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude.

#

            The day of the exhibition fell on my birthday.  I woke that morning with a feeling of dread, not because of the exhibition, but because I had never celebrated a birthday without Mark.  My friends had insisted that they take me out that day, and give me gifts, but I honestly didn’t want to celebrate  at all.  My parents took me out to a quiet dinner the night before, and they and Aunt Elizabeth both gave me small gifts, but they’d seemed to realize that I didn’t want a party, and respected that wish.  I didn’t want to disappoint my friends, so I agreed to a small gathering, but that morning I sat in bed and watched the breeze from the open window rustle the window curtains, wishing I could stay there all day.

            As I watched the curtains rustle, and the shadows that fell across them danced in the breeze, I heard a familiar sound.

            “Miranda,” I heard, whispered.

            Somehow, though, I greeted the mysterious voice without fear.  I listened to the sound, and it soothed me.

            “Mark,” I whispered back.

            “Miranda,” the sound came again.

            “I’m okay, now.  I hope, wherever you are, you’re okay too.”

            The breeze stilled then.  The curtains stopped rustling, and I didn’t hear the sound again.  I got up, opened the curtains, and greeted the sunny day with a newfound serenity.

            I went with my friends to the beach, and then we went into the beach house.  There was no surprise party waiting for me.  There were only a few small gifts, and a cake baked by Jason’s mother.  I enjoyed a quiet party, and then returned home to shower and don the floor-length black gown that eant  TherI would wear to the exhibition that evening.  I finished dressing and went back downstairs in my gown, with my hair pulled up into a chignon at the nape of my neck.  My mother began to cry, saying how grown-up I’d become, and even my father became somewhat misty eyed.  I endured a long series of photos, followed by the photos that they took of all of my friends when we arrived at the school, as well as photos taken by my friends’ parents. 

            The exhibition was everything Summer had promised it would be.  I was impressed my Summer’s acting and fencing skills, and Jason played a flamenco piece very skillfully on his guitar.  Amber, surprisingly, sang an Aria with a strength that I’d never heard her sing with in church.  Even David, who recited an essay he’d written, I had to give grudging respect.  Alice, who’d been forced by her father to come and watch David, and who swore that she’d fall asleep halfway through, watched each performance with an countenance as enraptured as the countenance she’d worn when she watched the snow fall over the abbey.

Clara showcased an amazing series of impressionist paintings, each showing such rare skill that, even after everything that had preceded her, made the other performances seem pale in comparison.

            Finally, my turn to perform came.  I was nervous as I approached the piano, even though I’d never experienced stage fright before.  As I played, however, I quickly forgot about anything else but the music, and I was startled to hear the applause directed at me after the last notes faded away.  I could feel my cheeks turn red as I bowed, and I made a hasty retreat.

            I sat alone outside, watching the stars as I listened to someone reciting poetry inside.  I couldn’t make out their words, but the voice provided a pleasing, musical cadence that felt as soothing as a gentle rain.  I sat and listened, and felt my heart’s beating become more regular.

            Clara exited the cafeteria, which was serving as our makeshift auditorium, and walked over quickly to give me a hug.

            “You were incredible,” she said.  “You were the best musician tonight, by far.”

            “Thank you,” I said.  “I felt as though I was going to be sick, though, when it was all over.”

            “You looked that way, too.  How do you feel now?”

            “I feel better.  You were the best artist, tonight, by the way.  You’re going to be famous, one day.”

            “Perhaps after I’m dead,”t si fee she said with that light, casual laugh I felt I’d never get tired of hearing.  “I have a gift for you, by the way.”

            “No, you already gave me my birthday gift,” I said.  “You can’t give me another one.”

            “Yes, I can.  The other one was just some stupid thing I bought.  This one is… well, open it.”

            She handed me a package wrapped in rough, brown paper and bound with twine.  I opened the package, and inside, framed, was a delicate watercolor of me, sitting on a low wall, surrounded by roses.

            “This is the one you drew of me, that day in the garden.”

            “Yes, it won first place in the art competition, after all.  The ribbon is attached to the back of the frame.  I wanted you to have it, because you inspired me.”

            I meant to say, “Thank you,” but somehow, the words got lost on the way to my mouth.  Instead, I said, “I love you.”

            “I love you,” she said.  “No matter what happens, I always will.”

            She kissed me, and I felt the same synchronicity that I’d felt the day she kissed me by the pond.  This time, no one came to tear us apart.

The End.

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