Still in her office, in the fading light, Andrea Dawlton asked, “Will you kill for me?”
Of course she would ask that. “No!”
I had killed before, just once. But that man had been on the edge of death anyhow. And he had murdered a friend of mine, and he wanted to murder me. Plus, there was a mother and a little girl. As crazy as it seems, I thought his death might put those two on a better path. If there was a right kind of killing, maybe that was it.
Killing for Andrea Dawlton was totally different.
“I won’t kill,” I told her.
“Oh!” She stepped over to her desk. “A spirit afraid to kill!” She turned to face my voice. “Okay, what will you do for me?”
“Something else, spying, stealing, many things. But not killing. There are rules.”
“Hmm.”
She looked down at the glass desk and noticed a smudge, which she tried to rub out with her finger. It only smeared. That made her frown.
“Okay.” She turned back to me. “How about this, can you make a car break down, or hack a computer, or make someone sick — but not so much that they die?”
“I can make a car break down. Not the others.”
“Hmm,” she said again. “Not much of an all-powerful spirit, are you?”
I didn’t answer that.
“Look, I just wanna know where we stand, what we can do.”
“I can spy, I can steal, and I can move things. I can kill, I have killed, but I won’t kill for you. There are limits.”
“I see. Well, I want a man brought down. I want his place, his shiny office, his arrogant smile — I want…” She shrugged and grinned, but she didn’t go on.
“I can do that. Who is the man?”
She stepped back around to her chair and sat. I waited, but she said nothing, for a long while. Instead she glanced straight ahead. Soon she drummed her fingers on the hard surface of the desk.
“Is it Mr. Hobaugh?”
I don’t know why I guessed him, but there seemed no other good guesses. She glanced to where my voice was and gave a little nod.
“Why?” I said. “He’s been good to you. He helped you bring down that Cody guy?”
She blinked. Her smiled deepened. “You know about that?”
“It’s what impressed me. It’s why I noticed you.”
“That? Oh, deary, that was such a small thing. Cody was hardly anything at all. If that is what made you notice me, you should see when I get going. For instance, just watch as I bring Hobaugh down.”
Her phone let out a little chirp. She tugged it from her bag and checked the screen. “Will this take long? I have a show tonight and I don’t wanna miss it.”
“Up to you. But tell me, I need to know, why do you want to bring Hobaugh down? He’s on your side.”
A condescending look crossed her face, like the expression a teacher gets when you ask a stupid question, one the rest of the class already understands. “Oh, sweetie, you are a naïve little thing.”
“Explain it to me.”
“Okay!” She leaned forward. “Here’s the deal, he expects it.” She paused, as if she had just said something deeply dramatic. “I do wish I could see your face.”
When I didn’t answer that, she continued, “Okay, the thing is, he expects me to try and take him down, but to fail. See, if I don’t, how can he know I’m learning from him, or worthy of him? What kind of person would I be if I clung to his shirttails like a fatuous little — employee?” She said that word as if it disgusted her. “No, that’s not the way. The way is I try to take him down, but I fail, and he is elevated by that. Do you understand?”
I didn’t, not really. But I found her attitude familiar, similar to someone: to Ms. Labelle. Indeed, my friend and mentor had once said a very similar thing, that she expected to someday fight me, and when it happened, if she lost — for she might, she said — she asked that I be kind to her.
I didn’t want to fight Ms. Labelle, not ever. But did she expect it? Was this some kind of way? Was this one of the things I needed to learn?
“What if you win?” I asked.
She grinned and rocked her shoulders, like she was looking at the prettiest ruby necklace a girl ever saw. “Oh, my dear, I will win! And when that happens, I’ll watch the look of horror on his face, as he realizes how deeply he miscalculated, how much his little schemes were nothing compared to mine. He will look up to me, and when he does, I will be merciless.” She took a deep breath. “He will retire — and not in the style to which he has become accustomed. He will know he was destroyed by a master.”
By the time she finished her speech, her eyes blazed. She gripped the edge of her desk with white knuckles. The look on her face was, I thought, the same as Ms. Labelle's when she fucked me, when I came.
Actually, watching that fire grow in Andrea’s eyes, seeing her chest rise and fall as she recited her litany of power — it was enticing, it spoke to the witch in me. I drifted forward, through the desk, and touched her cheek gently.
My little bell rang. She shot back hard enough that her chair bumped into the window.
“Oh, dearest,” she said breathlessly. “So it’s like that! Oh my!” She settled herself. “Oh, but I do wish I could see you. Can I see you?”
She glanced around and seemed to pant like a dog.
“No,” I said in a slow flat voice. “But tell me, precisely what do you want me to do to Mr. Hobaugh? Tell me that, and then you can go to your show.”
She squirmed in her chair, brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen over her face, squirmed some more, and then ran one finger up her stockinged leg. She gazed to where my voice was with fiery eyes.
“Okay, spirit-girl, Let me tell you.”
She told me. It involved Mr. Hobaugh’s gigantic house near Worcester, and the contents of his safe.
I loved Melanie’s eyes. Tonight I loved how wide they were, almost the size of quarters, as they stared at the pile of money and papers that sat in the middle of my bed.
“Holy crap!” she said. “How much is it?”
I gazed at her, ready for her wide, pretty eyes to grow even wider. “Twenty-two thousand dollars.”
She gasped and giggled. “Oh my god!”
She reached, slowly, tentatively, toward the money. As her hand neared, she glanced at me, as if she needed my permission, as if what was mine was not hers. I nodded. She picked up one of the bundles, wrapped neatly in a little paper sleeve that had “$5000” stamped on it, like from the bank. “Holy crap!” she said again. “Is it yours now?”
“The money is, I guess. I was supposed to bring everything from the safe to her, but I doubt she has any idea how much money there was, not specifically. Plus” — I shrugged — “what’s she gonna do?”
“What are the papers?” Melanie tossed down the cash and then picked up the stack of papers, which I had also taken from the safe. She flipped through the pages. Some were very official looking documents that had elaborate scrollwork along the borders and were embossed with corporate seals. “These look like bonds.”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
Melanie studied them closely, read the numbers written on them. “These are worth more than the cash.”
“Yeah. I figured that out. But I don’t know how to sell them or anything. I’ll hand them over. The money is enough.”
Still flipping through the stack of papers, past what looked like boring insurance papers and a tedious will, Melanie reached the last item, a small envelope containing a slip of paper. She removed that and read it, nothing but a list of nine to twelve digit numbers written in an unsteady hand. She glanced up at me with an intense expression. “Do you know what these are?”
I nodded. Indeed, I thought that I did — at least, I had an exciting guess. “Account numbers,” I said.
Melanie squealed. “Yes! To banks in Switzerland or the islands or something. The kinds with no records of anything, where you just give them the number and they give you the cash — like in those Dragon Tattoo Girl books! These could be worth millions!”
Was Melanie greedy? Was it wealth that she craved?
It had never been before. She had never cared. I doubted the money mattered to her. No, to her it was the adventure, the world unknown (but knowable), exciting, beyond this meager life. I squeezed her hand.
“I know, dear. But which banks? I’m gonna turn them over too.”
“Veronica!”
“Melanie! Look, I don’t wanna get rich. I mean, not this way. How could I spend this money? I don’t even have a bank account — and can you picture me explaining this to Mom?”
“Get Ms. Labelle to set up an account for you. I bet she knows how. She may even be able to guess which banks. She probably has them on speed dial.”
“Sure, but that’s not what I want. I just wanna help Mom. And I can’t figure out how. But I know this, if I’m a player on the inside, I can make a difference. Andrea Dawlton will owe me big.”
Melanie straightened up the stack of papers and set it back next to the money. “Fine, if you must, if you wanna throw it away to that bitch. What now?”
“I need to hide the money somehow. And I’m gonna photocopy all these papers before I hand them over. I don’t know what they all mean, but I want to hold at least that over Andrea’s head.”
My magic let me find objects and bring them back with me, to where my body was. It didn’t let me do the opposite, take something with me and leave it somewhere. So I had no direct way to give Andrea the documents. I certainly didn’t want to walk up to her and hand them over.
Talking with Melanie the next day at lunch, we pondered the problem.
“You could send them by courier,” she said. “Like, my dad has to send legal documents from the shop sometimes, so he just calls these folks, and someone shows up and takes them.”
“Nah,” I said, “she could track that.”
Melanie shrugged. I grabbed her milk and took a sip. Around us, the other kids in the cafeteria murmured and hummed. But mostly, they ignored us.
“No, here’s what I’ll do: I’ll stash them near her work somewhere, like shoved between some books in the library. That’s just down the street. Then we can find a quiet corner and cast.” Melanie raised her eyebrows. We had never cast in public like that before. “Don’t worry — ” I grabbed her wrist. “I’d be super fast, just zip into her office, tell her where they are, and zip back out. Sound cool?”
Melanie frowned.
“What?” I said.
She squirmed in her seat, like she was delaying what she wanted to say, trying to get comfortable so she could get it all out. She began, “Veronica, I was hoping, like, the next time you cast, that you’d bring me. You know — with the ritual Jessica did. We’ve only done it once.” She paused, waiting for my answer.
“Who would watch us? If I take you, our bodies are just there.”
She had an answer ready. “Iris! I’ve talked to her and stuff. She’s super willing.”
This had to happen sooner or later. Melanie had no idea about Iris and Larissa. She didn’t know about the boy, about the sorcery, or that I had been warned quite clearly away from Iris. Until now it hadn’t mattered much. Neither Melanie or Iris had pressed the issue. That couldn’t last forever.
But I didn’t want Iris around either. She was lovely and wonderful. But she was Larissa’s, and that was not a battle I wanted to fight.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think Larissa is too keen on me. And I don’t think she wants me poaching on her girlfriend.”
“Ha! Iris wishes you’d poach her. And that’s soooo Larissa’s problem. Anyway, it’s between her and Iris, if anything.”
I shrugged. “Still, it seems uncool to get between them like that.”
“Nah! Larissa would be uncool if she stopped Iris from learning magic. She’s probably just jealous, since her sorcery” — she made air quotes — “is totally fake.” Melanie gulped. “I mean, not that I can judge, but you know. She’s so obvious. Her little fake magic act is just to draw Iris in, to hook her, to get up her skirt.” Melanie squirmed and looked uncomfortable. “I mean, for us, we were phonies — back then — but we were never full of shit… Not like that… It’s different.”
It was indeed different, but not in a way I could explain.
“I don’t think so. Look, Larissa doesn’t like me. I talked to her and she made that clear. But, like, she begged me. She asked me how I would feel if it was you. So, I’m not gonna do it. Iris is out.”
“When did you talk to her?”
“The other day. She gave me her phone number, remember?”
“Oh come on! I’m tired of waiting. Okay, fine, have Larissa come too, so she can see real magic, and make sure you’re not getting busy with Iris. Or have Jessica come, or Ms. Labelle, anyone.”
I was pretty sure Larissa would never help me. And I didn’t want Ms. Labelle to know what I was doing at Mom’s work. Not yet. Not until I was sure it would work. So she and Jessica were out also.
“Please, Mel, just a little longer. Let me get this all set up for Mom. Then we can go to Ms. Labelle. Okay?”
She frowned and didn’t answer.
Switching the documents in the library proved to be easy. I hid them in a quiet section, the place where they kept books on the history of Africa (or something). Nearby there was a table in a dim corner. We lit a small candle, just briefly, and cast. I rushed to Marketing Impulse. There I found Andrea speaking to Mr. Hobaugh in his office. He seemed distressed.
“It’s all gone,” he said, “everything!”
He was seated behind his desk, slouched to one side. He twitched and ran his hands through his hair.
Andrea sat opposite him. She seemed more relaxed. “Wasn’t it insured?”
“Some things, yeah. But not everything. Not the accounts. I mean, I’ve already contacted Solomon and Crane. They’re getting things secured, they tell me. But there’s a window on some of the accounts, a few days for the Dominican banks. Andrea — ” He seemed to sag in his chair with a look of cold defeat. “I’m exposed. The bonds are the biggest risk. I’ve secured loans with them, for myself and the company. If any of those get called in, I’m in trouble.”
“Aren’t they registered? I mean, the thief can’t sell them, right?”
“They aren’t registered to me. It’s an assumed identity. Sure, if this is some random thief, he won’t be able to cash them in — not that that helps me if I need them fast. But Andrea! Whoever did this knew every detail of my security. Every detail! Nothing showed up on the cameras or the security logs. Nothing! It’s like a ghost did it.”
When he said that, I saw the hint of a cold smile cross Andrea’s face. But his eyes were cast down and he did not see. He went on, “This had to be an inside job. If they know that much about my security systems, what are the odds they don’t know my identities?”
He placed his hands flat on the desk. They quivered. “I think I’m fucked.”
She reached across the desk and rested her hand on his hand. “I’ll do everything I can.” She squeezed. He gave a slight smile.
Shortly later she sauntered down the hall from his office to hers. I followed. When she was alone, safely in her office, she scampered to her desk and threw herself down into the chair.
“Holy shit! She did it!”
She was beaming. Her smile was huge. I drifted very close to her ear and said, “I sure did.”
Her eyes darted around, but she didn’t sit up or seemed shocked. Her smile broadened. “Ah, sweetie, you are a stealthy one.” She raised her hand and ran it through the place where I was, but it touched nothing. I touched her face and let my bell ring.
“Mmm. Tell me, please, are you beautiful?”
I floated above her and watched her eager face.
“Some people think so. Some don’t. I have no opinion. Do you want to know where the documents are?”
She slid down in her chair and leaned back with her legs splayed out. “Heh. Of course I do.”
“They’re in the library, the Boylston location, in the African arts section, shoved next to a book called Great Zimbabwe, Then and Now.” I drifted away, toward the window. “Don’t wait. I can’t promise someone isn’t looking at that book as we speak.”
Although, the odds of that seemed slim. I began to pass outside. She said, “Wait!”
I paused.
“I have another mission for you! Please stay.”
I waited just long enough for her to tell me.
Could you take pictures from the spirit world? I had no idea; I’d never tried it. Jessica probably knew, since she had one of those fancy phones with a camera. But I was in no mood to call her and ask.
It would be easy for me to try, however, with my new found wealth. That afternoon on our way back from the library, I ducked into a downtown shop and picked up a shiny new digital camera. It was small, something simple, which I could stash in a drawer and Mom wouldn’t notice. The one I got was a Leica. The guy at the store said it was really good.
When Melanie and I got home we cast again. I held the camera tight and, like my clothes, it came with me into the spirit world. I tried the camera, experimented all sorts of different ways. It worked! And more, the flash worked! And Melanie couldn’t see it. Like, I could take a picture in the dark and people couldn’t even tell.
I was the ultimate spying machine!
Andrea had given me an address. Also, she gave me the description of a man: tall and distinguished, gray hair, blue eyes with dark specks, soft face, but with a hint of hardness (like he had been tough once long ago), a scar above his eye, walked favoring his left leg. He would wear casual but expensive clothes. He would drive a sporty BMW coupe.
I was to follow him. Sooner or later there would be a woman: young, slender, with dark hair. I was to take pictures of them in compromising situations, or find some other kind of proof.
Easy peasy. I set out into the night.
The man’s house was old and brick, high on a hill in Brookline, surrounded by a maze of twisty streets. The car was there, sitting in the short driveway. A light was visible in the downstairs window. I drifted in and found him sitting comfortably in a reclining chair. He wore slippers, tweed pants, and a thick wool pullover with a Columbia logo. He was reading the New York Times. Opposite him a woman his age stretched out on the sofa and worked on a book of crosswords. Faint music drifted through the room from one of those fancy sound systems that looked like modern art hanging from the wall. The music was classical, soft violins.
She glanced over to him. “What’s an eight letter word for specific, not abstract?”
Without removing his eyes from the paper, he said, “Concrete.” She scribbled on her puzzle.
Time passed. She puzzled away. He flipped pages. The music galloped along smoothly, not rising too high nor falling too low.
Perhaps tonight was not the best night to spy.
“Feel like a hot chocolate?” she asked.
“That would be lovely.” He folded the paper and tossed it onto the ottoman. “Have you seen my kindle?”
He glanced around at all the tables in the room. She rose from the couch. “Check by the bed, dear.”
She swept out of the room toward, evidently, the kitchen. He rose from his chair with a groan. Then he shambled toward the stairs.
This one was having a hot, exciting affair? He must be very rich.
I sighed and floated. I let the music sooth me, such as it did. But then it changed from what it had been, a haunting, angular tune, into something more like a waltz, which in fact was rather irritating.
He came back down the stairs and called out. “Honey! I just got a message from Albert. He needs to see me to sign some documents.”
Her voice echoed back from the kitchen. “Again? Can’t it wait?”
I noticed he was no longer in his slippers. Instead he wore a shiny black pair of loafers. Now his pants were newish slacks, his shirt an elegant button-up.
“You know this Singapore deal is important, and they don’t keep our hours. I have to go.”
She didn’t answer. He grabbed his keys from a small table as he strolled into the foyer.
His last words: “Don’t wait up.”
His car was fast. The streets were clear. There was no way I’d keep up with him. So, like I had with Iris that first night, I plucked out a hair.
“Arr! What the…!”
My little bell rang.
Twenty minutes later, after returning, resting, and casting again, I floated in a posh hotel room while the man held a slender, dark-haired woman in his arms. He kissed her in the dim light.
I took my pictures, a few dozen, as their encounter proceeded, as their clothes were shed — his old, sagging body made my stomach turn — and as he grew excited and took the woman in one violent spasm on the bed. He didn’t bring her anywhere near to satisfaction. But still, she held him, caressed him, whispered sweet things to him while he came down from the heights. Then, when he had collected his wits, he gave her a series of passionless kisses and excused himself. When he was gone, she sat unmoving on the bed, hugging herself with an empty expression. I drifted from the room, outside through the high window into the cold evening air.
“Mercio kaput.”
Melanie said she could email photographs without anybody being able to tell where they came from, so I handed the camera over and the next night she loaded the pictures up on her computer. Then she brought up a bunch of weird websites and clicked away on the mouse and keyboard.
“There,” she said after a while. “They’re sent.”
“Cool.” I wrapped my arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. She remained stiff.
“Veronica…”
“Yeah?” I kept my hands on her, softly touching.
“I’ve been studying a lot, about the deeper step, like, reading all the strange things your grandma wrote, the stuff that isn’t really very clear — ”
Which described most of my Grandma Emma’s notes and a fair amount of the spell book. But I didn’t bother to point that out. Melanie continued, “I really wanna try some stuff out. Like, I think I can do it, go deep, maybe very deep. Your grandma was an amazing witch. She knew stuff, subtle stuff that’s hard to say, more than most, maybe more than Ms. Labelle.”
“Right. Okay.”
Not that I knew for sure. Who knew how great a witch was, unless you matched yourself against her. I was more powerful than Jessica, I knew that. And I was much weaker than the demon boy (if that is what he was), who had been called from the spheres and assigned to protect Larissa (or so she claimed). How deep was Ms. Labelle’s knowledge? How deep had my Grandma’s been? I had no idea.
Maybe Melanie knew. Perhaps she could see the deep things that made a great witch. Her slow, quiet mind was just the sort, always peering into things, seeing all the twists and patterns. She loved math. She read constantly.
She should have been the witch. That was certain. The goddess was a cruel one, giving this to me, what I didn’t want, and denying it to Melanie. If we could only meld together, I thought. I held her tight and kissed her cheek.
She spoke in a flat voice. “Can you take me into the spirit world again? Like, maybe we lock your door and cast in your room. Then, I go deep while you watch over our bodies. If someone comes, you can return.”
I saw a lot of problems with this plan. “But Mel, what if — I mean — you’ve never gone off on your own like that, when you were with Jessica or me. What if you get lost? Can you even say mercio kaput?”
She shrugged. “I think I get called back whenever you do. That’s how it seemed to work.”
“But that’s when you were with me, right by me in the spirit world. If you were alone…”
I grabbed Melanie’s wrists and turned her to face me. Her chair squeaked as it swiveled. “If you got lost there… It could be forever.”
Her face was strong, impassive. She showed no fear, nor feeling. “I’m not afraid. If I’m going to — well — do things, in the spirit world — I mean, if I’m gonna be something there, something beyond a witch, I’ll have to go on my own.”
“Melanie…”
“I just need you to take me.”
“Sweetie…”
“Babe, I need this.”
I squeezed her wrist while she looked at me with her wide eyes, waiting, staring. Those brown eyes were so strong they nearly broke me.
But not quite.
“Please just wait, Mel, my love, just a little bit longer.”
Before she could respond, say more, dig deep, tear me apart, I heard a door slam and the heavy tread of her father’s feet. “Mel, girl! You home? Get dressed, we’re going out!”
A look of sadness crossed her face. I rushed out.
The next day Mom lost her job entirely. It seemed that there had been a shakeup in management. Mr. Hobaugh, who had always liked and supported her, was stepping down. No one would say why, but whatever it was, it seemed all hush-hush and ominous.
His replacement was the worst possible news, Mom said. It was this lady who had always hated her, since she came on two months ago. Mom didn’t get it, the lady was horrible, but somehow she’d convinced the board that she was the one.
Mom didn’t know anything about the board, what went on there, who was who, but she did know this: the woman, Andrea Dawlton, was a shark who would do anything to get what she wants. Anything.
After she told me these things, Mom touched my shoulder and said that it would be fine, that she’d find a way, that Mrs. Kelleher will help. I ran downstairs to tell Melanie.
“What will you do?” Melanie asked.
It wasn’t quite 5:00. “We have to cast.”
I found Andrea alone, sitting in Mr. Hobaugh’s chair. She was leaning back. Her feet were up on his desk. A wide smile was on her face. She sat that way without moving for quite a long time, while I hovered above her. I was trying to decide just what to say.
She spoke first. “You’re here, aren’t you?” She glanced more or less in my direction.
Non-witches weren’t supposed to be able to do that. “Yes,” I said. “How did you know?”
“Hmm.” She put her feet down and sat up. “I don’t know — just a feeling. Thanks for the photos by the way.”
“No problem.”
I drifted across the room. While I did, I watched her eyes to see if they would follow me. She glanced around, but not directly at me, not spot on. She either couldn’t see me or had amazing self-control.
“One thing, dear,” she said, “about the photos…”
“Yeah?”
“Do you know what metadata is?”
I shook my head. But she didn’t respond to that, so I said, “No.”
“Well, it’s something digital cameras do. See, each time you take a picture, it adds what time you took it, and some other stuff, like the serial number of the camera. Anyway, that stuff stays in the file.”
Fuck!
“I did some looking around. Fortunately — I guess — you paid cash.” She smiled. Her gaze drifted across the room, like a hawk seeking its prey. “But still, I wonder why a powerful spirit would have to buy a camera in a downtown camera shop, or why she would appear to be a teenage girl?”
This was not the direction I wanted the conversation to go.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I just thought you should know about that — like — for in the future. There are programs that strip the metadata out.”
I remained quiet for a bit, to let the topic fully drop. She slid around in the chair. The soft leather rubbed against her stiff blouse and skirt.
I spoke before she spoke. “You fired someone today.”
She sat up. “Ah! So now we get down to business!”
She got comfortable and curled against the armrest of the chair. I said nothing.
“Okay, yes, I fired a number of people today. Tough times. A business needs to be lean.”
I drifted forward so that my voice would come from above her. “I want you to hire this one person back. Full time. Nice salary.”
She cocked her head and peered up. “Or what?”
“I kept copies of everything I gave you.”
“Oh, did you? Well, Mr. Hobaugh would be devastated if that stuff came out — as would Mr. Yearby, the one in the pictures. But how does that affect me?”
“Isn’t it enough to show gratitude?”
Her gaze dropped. She fidgeted. “Sure. Gratitude. Good a reason as any, right? Fine. So, who do you want me to hire back?”
I knew that as soon as I said Mom’s name, I would give myself away. After all, Andrea knew that it had been a teen girl at the camera store. So she must have talked to the guy who worked there. Had he described me? I had a pair of very obvious features.
Mom had a photo of me on her desk. Most people who worked here had met me. Andrea wasn’t stupid. Would things change when she knew who I was?
But no matter, let the future come. I was here to help Mom.
“Amanda Moran.”
She raised her brows. “Hmm. Her? Okay, fine. I’ll do it tonight. Anyone else?”
“No. Just her. Give her her job back, and we’ll be even.”
“Even?” I said nothing. “Okay. I can give poor, sad Amanda her little job back.”
She glanced briefly to where my voice was. Then she looked away. “Is that all? Or would you like to stay, maybe show yourself?” She glanced back and forth, her eyes shifted, seeming almost shy. I said nothing. She reached and picked up a gold pen holder that sat on the desk. “Either way” — she shrugged — “I have some cleaning up to do.” She tossed the pen holder into the garbage. That made her smile.
Outside, the autumn sun had set. The air was cool and felt clean, coming in from the ocean. The stars, those bright enough to peek through the glowing city sky, twinkled violently.
Andrea came over that night. To my house! I was in my room, curled up on my bed, and doing my algebra homework. I heard the knock on the door and then my mom’s answer. Then I heard Andrea’s unmistakable voice.
“Hello, Amanda.”
Mom replied quickly, “Uh — Andrea — hi! Um — come in, come in.”
She sounded equal parts shocked and gracious. I heard sharp footsteps on our old wooden floor.
“So, Amanda, I’ve reconsidered.”
“Uh — okay. Please sit. Would you like some tea?”
They must have moved into the other room, since their voices became hushed and muffled. I closed my book and set it aside. Then I grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it on over my bra. I was wearing shorts.
I could make it through the kitchen and down the stairs without their seeing me from the front room. Or I could hide in here and hope they didn’t come back.
But Andrea must know. She must guess. Would she ask to see me, to put her eyes on me — those intense eyes that would conquer me?
It was cold. My shorts were thin. I yanked them off and pulled on a pair of fluffy gray sweats. Then I crept out the door.
“Veronica!” my mom’s voice rang out. “Please come up and say hello to our guest.”
I froze in place. I looked at the back door. I considered. Then I turned and went to Andrea and Mom.
Andrea seemed perfectly natural when she set her eyes on me. She kept her poise. Her practiced grace remained. “Hello, Veronica. I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”
My eyes dropped. My knees felt weak.
“Hi.”
“Veronica, sweetie,” Mom said, “this is Andrea Dawlton. She’s my new boss.”
“Yes. So I gathered.”
Andrea stepped forward and touched my shoulder. “She’s so pretty… and shy.”
She kept her eyes fixed on me, intense eyes. As they watched me, unmoving, they seemed pleased.
“What grade are you in?”
“Eleventh.”
“I see. Are you thinking about college yet?”
Mom stepped up to me and put her hand on my shoulder. “Not yet, it seems. But she’d better soon.”
“Aww. Well, I can help. I know lots of people. When I make a phone call, things happen. Why don’t you have Veronica come by and see me tomorrow — like after school, or perhaps in the evening. We can talk about her future?”
Mom swallowed. I stepped back. Andrea said, “Would you like that, Veronica? I believe I can help you a lot.” She glanced at Mom. “Don’t you agree?”
Mom nodded.
“Good. That’s all settled then.”