ALL AFTERNOON, I SEND OUT distress signals to Cassandra.
Hello, Cassandra?
Yo, babe, need you.
Seriously. Kind of in trouble here.
I get back silence. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her today. What if she’s not even in school?
I can feel the eyes on me all afternoon.
Everyone knows. Everyone knows.
I have my Spanish test last period. I can’t concentrate. When I finish, I take my paper up to Señorita Romero. I glance at the clock: three-twelve. Usually by three-thirty, the only people left in the building are kids doing after-school stuff.
Oh, and the ones who are waiting to kill you.
Cassandra, please!
Three-fifteen. School’s over. Kids tumble out of class, racing for freedom. I try to stay with the crowd as much as possible.
In the hallway, I run into Malcolm Willander, who asks if I understood what we were supposed to do for calc. He is half flirting with me, and even though I’m not into him, I wonder if it’s worth it to keep the conversation going for protection.
Then two of his friends come by. He says, “So, catch you later?” and I say, “Yeah, text me,” and we’re done.
Three-twenty-five. There are still some kids lingering. If I hurry—but not obviously—and stick to crowded areas, I can make it out of the building.
I bump into Nina Watts, who’s on her way to drama club. Wagging a finger, she says, “Were you talking to Oliver, naughty girl?”
“Not me,” I throw over my shoulder, and keep going.
I pull open the door to the stairwell, look down it. The dark tunnel feels scary.
Most kids are gone now. If I get stuck in an isolated spot, I could be dead. Maybe I should just wait this out. Stay put till everyone’s gone. Chloe and Co. won’t wait around forever. I’m sure they have some tremendously important shopping to do.
I turn around, head back toward the library. There’s always someone in the library after school—some club or kids doing work. And even if no one’s there, books just feel safe. You can’t hurt someone around all those books, right? If I can just make it to the library, I’ll be safe, I think crazily, now all but running down the deserted hallway.
“Finally,” says Chloe, stepping out in front of me. Startled, I gasp.
I turn to run, but Zeena and Isabelle move in behind, blocking my exit.
“Hold her,” says Chloe. Zeena’s nails dig into one wrist, Isabelle’s into my arm. They start shoving me toward a nearby bathroom. I wriggle, squirm, try to flail free. But they’re too strong, too fast.
Chloe opens the bathroom door—“Madame,” she says with a nasty smile. And I am pushed inside.
Our school bathrooms have three stalls with doors. To the left are three sinks and a long mirror. All the stalls are empty. I take a deep breath, get ready to scream for help. Suddenly, I feel an explosion of pain at the back of my skull. Someone’s got my hair in her fist and is twisting hard. I cry out, swing my backpack, desperate to hit her. Zeena catches my hand and claws my fingers off the strap. Then she tosses the bag to Isabelle. I hear a splash and laughter. I am vaguely aware that my backpack is now in the toilet.
My hand hurts so fucking bad, worse than anything. There is blood. I can feel it sticky on my fingers.
“That’s it for the bag,” says Chloe lightly. “Now for the bitch.”
A wrestling match. Isabelle and Zeena take hold of my arms, start dragging me back. Instinctively, I struggle, twisting my body around, flinging myself forward. Chloe reaches down, grabs my ankle. I kick wildly, but Isabelle and Zeena pull me back and I end up on the floor. They drag me by the arms into the stall. I drum my feet on the floor, make horrible whining noises, but I don’t have the breath to really scream.
My head is slammed against the porcelain rim and I go into a whole new place of pain.
Zeena giggles. “Oops.”
“Let’s see if hair flushes,” says Chloe.
My hair is gathered and yanked so hard, my head lifts up; now it’s my neck on the rim of the toilet. I smell something bitter, suffocating.
“Oh, Zeena,” tuts Chloe, “you didn’t flush.”
“Bad me,” says Zeena.
There’s shit in my hair, I think with odd detachment. I’ll cut it off when I get home. I feel the piss water seep into my hair, my head grows heavy. It’s getting harder to breathe, my neck is at such a weird angle. Not a good way to die, actually, strangling in the toilet.
“Clean rinse,” says Chloe.
I hear Isabelle say, “Guys?” She sounds nervous, and for a moment, I have hope.
But then I am flopped over. The wind is knocked out of me as my chest slams against the rim. Toilet stink hits my nostrils just before my face is slammed into the water. Something solid brushes my cheek and I gag hard.
Zeena drops the seat over my head. Pretends to sit on it.
They’re going to drown me. On purpose or by accident. I can’t breathe, this is bad, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!
Only when Zeena stands up do I realize I’ve been screaming this out loud. I thrash away from the toilet, crying. My wet hair spatters piss water all over me.
And they’re laughing. Chloe and Zeena are laughing so hard they have to hold on to the sinks to stand up. Isabelle is by the door, a strange, frozen smile on her face. Their ugly, hateful spirits slam at my consciousness and all I can process is Hate you. Destroy you.
And then the door whines as it opens, thuds closed. Silence.
I start to cry again.
I don’t really know for how long.
Then the door opens again. Cassandra comes through, humming her odd tune. From the floor, I see her frown; maybe the smell reached her. She looks down. Sees me.
“Oh, my God.” She kneels down beside me. I feel her touching my face.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
I nod and shake my head at the same time.
“Duh, no, obviously,” says Cassandra. “Can you stand up?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll get you a cloth,” says Cassandra, standing.
A few moments later, cool wetness on my cheek. The hot stickiness of tears and the bitter stain of piss is wiped away. I take a deep breath.
Cassandra says matter-of-factly, “This was Chloe, right?”
Just the mention of Chloe’s name feels humiliating. I tear up again, nod.
Then, in my head, Stop it. Quit crying. Crying doesn’t help you.
I look up at Cassandra. Her face is still, watchful. She doesn’t feel the least bit sorry for me, I realize.
Waste of time.
“I guess there’s no point in just sitting here.”
“Not really,” she says.
“Maybe I’ll stand up.”
“Good idea,” she says.
There are showers at our school, but they’re far away, and I’m not walking through the halls like this.
Cassandra helps me wash my hair in the sink with soap from the dispenser. I take off all my clothes, scrub myself with harsh paper towels.
At one point, a teacher tries to come in. Cassandra blocks the door without fuss, calling, “Period crisis. Privacy necessary.”
I tell Cassandra my locker combination, tell her what to look for. She comes back carrying my gym shorts and sweatshirt. I put them on. My sweater and jeans I wrap into a tight ball.
“I have a bag you could put those in,” says Cassandra, wrinkling her nose slightly.
“Nah,” I say, and dump it into a garbage can on our way out of the bathroom. I am never wearing those clothes again.
I must look strange in my shorts and coat, but I don’t care.
“Where do you want to go?” Cassandra asks as we leave the building. It’s four-thirty. Amazingly, all of this has happened in just a single hour.
Looking back at school, I realize, I will have to come back here tomorrow. I will have to see Chloe, Isabelle, and Zeena. I will have to act as if nothing has happened.
“Let’s go to the rock,” I say.
I sit with my legs dangling into the crevice. The gritty rock edge bites into the backs of my knees. It feels good, purifying. I imagine jumping. Probably I’m not high enough to actually die, but if I fell right, I could break my neck. Smash my skull.
“That’s a really ugly bruise,” says Cassandra.
I touch my forehead, feel a lump.
“Did you pass out at any point?”
“Feel dizzy?”
I try to remember. “The whole thing was a little surreal.”
“Yah,” says Cassandra heavily.
Then I remember something else. “Where were you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see you at all today.” And, I think, You must have known Chloe was out for blood. If Ella knew it, the whole world did.
“Oh, sweetie …” Cassandra frowns, as if she’s trying to decide what to tell me. Taking a deep breath, she announces, “Today was a really weird day. It was … Ugh, you’re going to think I’m such a jerk.”
She wants me to deny that.
She sighs. “It’s Eamonn’s birthday today. Or would have been. So my mom kicked off the day by locking herself in the bedroom and crying hysterically. To which my dad, sensitive being that he is, responded by getting annoyed, because hey, it’s been a month, isn’t she over losing her child yet? And I was trying to take care of her, and understand him, and think about Eamonn. And by the time I got to school, my whole head was just static. I’m really, really sorry.”
I admit, “That’s a pretty good excuse.”
“I did hear the drama about you and Oliver,” she confesses. “I should have known Chloe would react big-time. But I was in one of my bitch modes where it’s like, I am dealing with serious, important shit here, leave me alone.” She takes my hand. “I will not do that to you again, I promise.”
“Thanks.” One shred of niceness and I’m a mess again. I have to take a deep, shuddering breath to get past the tears.
Exhaling, I say, “I guess the only good thing is that now it’s over.”
“What’s over?”
“Chloe’s whole revenge thing.” I gesture to my forehead. “I mean, she pretty much got it.”
Cassandra stares down at the playground. The last nannies are dragging the kids home. “You think she thinks that?”
“What more can she do to me?”
“I don’t know. What more can she do to you?”
I turn my head to see if Cassandra’s joking. But she’s completely serious.
Get ready for hell.
Cassandra’s right. Hell is not a beating in the bathroom. Hell is a place you stay. For all eternity.
Especially now that they know you won’t fight back.
I know that’s what Cassandra’s thinking. And I know what she wants me to do. Use the spells. Fight.
I say, “Three against one is kind of tough.”
“Depends on the three,” says Cassandra. “Depends on the one. And it’s not one, remember?” She points to the air between us. “It’s two.”
When I don’t answer, she sighs, “Or you could just tell the school.”
I shake my head. “No way.” Telling the school means my parents get involved. It means they hear the whole story with Oliver. My mom gets to hear that I am considered the school slut. My dad gets to think it’s all his fault.
“If I go running to the school, maybe Chloe gets suspended. But she’ll just return even more mad and even more determined to get revenge. It won’t back her off. It won’t …”
“Won’t what?”
“Make her scared of me.”
Cassandra stares at me intently. “Is that what you want?”
I look into the cavern, the rocks and dirt below. I remember the twist of pain as Chloe pulled my hair, how it felt as if my scalp was being ripped off my head. The way she slammed my head against the toilet rim, the stink of the water in my nose. And the laughter. Even when I was choking.
I remember Zeena cracking up. So weak with laughter she had to hold herself up on the sink. Isabelle with her evil smile: Gotcha!
I remember the picture on my locker. How I am now everyone’s favorite joke.
Cassandra asks, “What do you want?”
As if hypnotized, I have a vision of Chloe, screaming, crying, scrabbling to get away from me. She’s wailing I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I kick her, feel the sweet satisfaction of viciousness when my foot connects with the target.
“What do you want, Antonia?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.” I press the heel of my hand to my aching forehead. “God, I hate myself.”
I look up at the sky, as if some great helping hand will descend from the heavens. All I see is gray, indifferent clouds. The buildings that surround the park feel distant and cold. Even the trees are robbed of their color in the sunless late afternoon.
Cassandra takes a deep breath. “You’re letting them win.”
“I’m not letting them—”
“That’s what I did,” she interrupts. “With Pretty Boy. Turned all my anger on myself. Hated myself. Hurt myself. Until I figured out how to put the hurt where it belonged.”
I want to match Cassandra’s energy, but I just can’t.
“Okay.” She gathers her bag and stands up. “I’m going to let you be.”
“You’re going?”
“I’m not helping you,” she says bluntly. I can’t tell if she means she isn’t or she won’t.
“You’re in shock right now,” she continues. “You need to be alone. When you figure it out, I’m here.”
When I figure it out? I wonder, watching her climb down the rock and leave the park. I can’t figure it out. I can’t do anything.
But after several minutes, I get up, dust myself off, and head for home. Walking along the edge of the park, I idly let my fingers run over the stone wall. I feel the bump and nubble of the cold rock, the wind blowing off the Hudson River. I am alone. The school won’t help me. Ella can’t. Even Cassandra, my supposed partner in black magic. She’s left me too.
She should have known I was in trouble, I fume. She should have been there for me. We’re supposed to be a team.
Entering the lobby of my building, I am strangely relieved to be home. Alone can be good, I think. Maybe it means people leave you be.
In the elevator, I use the safety mirror to arrange my hair so it hides the worst of the bruise. I’ll tell my parents I fell in gym class or something.
I hear the voices the second I leave the elevator. First my mom: “For God’s sake, Henry.” Then my dad: “You have to let this go.”
I draw closer to our door. Hear “I have to let this go? What about her, Henry? Why is she still calling you?”
“She isn’t still calling me, Claire. It was just this once, and it was—”
“How do I know that?”
You don’t, I think numbly.
“Tell her it’s over,” my mom demands.
“I have.”
“No. You haven’t. Tell her it’s over as in you will not speak to her—”
My dad’s voice, whining, “Claire, she’s not a bad person.”
I feel a blast of pure rage. Katherine is a bad person. There are bad people in the world who hurt other people and think they have the right. All of a sudden, I remember Chloe walking by me in the hall, her nose in the air over that stupid history project. There was no reason for her to treat me like that. No reason. All her life, people have told her she has the right to treat other people like crap. That she can do whatever she wants.
Well, she can’t.
My phone buzzes. I have a text. It’s from Cassandra.
It says: You are not alone.
I leave my parents’ door and go to the stairwell, open the emergency door. Sitting on the concrete steps under the fire hose, I call Cassandra. She picks up right away. I knew she would.
“I know,” I tell her. “What I want.”
“Okay.”
“I want her scared.”
“Good.”
“I want her scared. I want her hurt. I want her humiliated.”
My hand shakes a little bit. “I want her gone. Forever.”
“Let me think,” says Cassandra. “While I think?”
“Yeah?”
“We need something of hers. Something personal, worn next to the skin. Or of the body. Hair. Blood.”
“Okay.”
“Meet tomorrow after school. My house.”
“For?”
“Hex lessons,” she says cheerfully, and hangs up.
I tell my parents two things. I fell during gym class and hit my head on the balance beam. I am fine. Everything’s fine.
Also—I will be staying over at a friend’s house this Saturday.
My parents look at each other. They think they are the reason I want to be out of the house.
They can think that.