8

Nickie

Nickie’s phone buzzed right at 4:50 a.m., but her eyes had already open to her bedroom’s darkness a moment before. She waited another minute, listening to the quiet to make sure it stayed, letting her eyes adjust so she could clearly see the thin outlines of the furniture, the tidy desk and white wardrobe. She’d cleaned everything off the floor the evening before to be sure not to trip and fall. If she did so now, it would be thanks to her own clumsiness. And nerves. Her hands trembled as she felt for the notebook and pen at the edge of her bed, her heart beating fast like she’d just finished a basketball game.

She’d picked the earliest slot available for a virtual session to choose her elective, the only class she hadn’t finalized at the end of the previous school year, and she hoped to be first to join the queue of students with six-o’clock appointments. Nickie wanted to use the reception computer, the connection must faster than her laptop’s, and this hour was also the only time she’d have privacy. She didn’t hate the reception area but was certainly glad that she was almost done filling in for Willow, having mustered just about all of the customer-service pep she had in her the past week.

Though she’d told her mother that she and Felix had plans for the last week before school started, the two had more so made plans to make plans, ideas hatched about how they could spend the final days of summer. The morning after Felix’s visit and her mother’s awkward speech about men, Nickie had called him to ask about his day, thinking better of it when he answered and said he couldn’t talk right then, hanging up before she could even say hello. He’d apologized later via text but hadn’t offered a reason for ending the call so abruptly.

She hadn’t heard from him since but didn’t dare contact him again. School would start in a few days, and she would see him there, play it cool like she hadn’t been thinking about him for hours each day. She’d resigned to aligning her schedule to fit her mother’s wishes, though she still didn’t understand. What was the big deal about taking photography with Felix? Did she worry Nickie would get knocked up just by being in the same room as him?

Downstairs, she positioned herself behind the desktop and started a round of solitaire. She’d won her third hand in a row when the online waiting-room screen turned green and a redheaded woman appeared and asked what elective she wanted to select.

It was her nature to be first, to get things over with, but a truth glowed inside of her. She wanted to ensure that she spent time with Felix this school year. Though in her mind, she heard her mom’s answer, economics, the counselor repeated back something different, the words that had been burning in her belly. “Advanced photography?”

Her ears warmed. “Yes.”

“For that class, you need to have taken a prerequisite. Or get instructor approval,” the woman said with a cheerfulness unnatural for the time of day.

She figured she could get a letter from her summer-workshop teacher, a school alumnus who knew the photography teacher well.

“I can change your schedule and put you on the waiting list for now. But it looks like you’ll have to drop your AP Literature course. Both classes are only offered third period.”

AP Literature with Mrs. Cofield. She’d been waiting to get a class with Mrs. Cofield since freshman year. That the class was lit and an AP course were just bonuses. The woman went on to explain more issues with her schedule.

“So what do you want to do?” she finally asked.

There wasn’t much time to think, the seconds of their five-minute session ticking away. She gripped Ayida Wedo in her fist, the metal of the amulet noticeably cold to the touch. “That’s fine. Go ahead and wait-list me for photography,” Nickie said. She knew it wasn’t a smart decision to dump a chance at AP units and the school’s most beloved teacher for photography. But it felt good, even though she couldn’t be sure Felix would enroll in the course or be able to get in. She’d tell her mom about the class in a month, well before progress reports came out but when it was too late to change her schedule.

Rather than going back upstairs, she stayed at the desk. She took a moment to listen for sounds, the bathroom faucet, the creak of a door. Nothing. As if she’d not already studied everything the internet had to offer about Felix, which admittedly wasn’t much, she typed his full name into a search box. Just for fun, she clicked on a link that she’d scrolled past a half-dozen times before, one for an IMDb entry for a different Felix Shilling, an actor who’d been in the movie Outbreak and a television show called Small Wonder.

As she stretched her legs out, her bare heel hit something. She pulled it back and heard the soft rip of paper. Probably one of her mother’s client files. Nickie bent over to retrieve it, but instead of a stack of folders, she’d torn what appeared to be an old book, its cover slanted upward, unable to lie flat to enclose the pages inside.

She placed the book on the desk, pushing aside the wireless keyboard and turning on the lamp. The leather of its spine was mealy and ripped, prior damage, not caused by her heel. She guessed it was a photo album, her aunt stashing it here to bury pictures revealing old hairstyles or bad fashion choices. It was heavier than she assumed it would be, its leather cover old but soft, the name Delilah pressed into it in gold. Its brittle pages creaked as she opened it near the middle and discovered a faded photo of a German shepherd taped to a page that said “Fixing a Broken Heart Spell,” followed by a list of ingredients and instructions. Written below were names, with short notes.

Bette Couto, she 22, sick over Hank Riley.

Amairani Dupree, fell for friend Roberta who then stopped speaking to her.

Creshanne Wolfer, husband left her for best friend.

There was more about Creshanne Wolfer, but the rest of her story was covered up by the German shepherd, and the page was likely to rip if Nickie stuck a fingernail underneath to lift it. She could, however, make out the note next to the photo in faded blue calligraphy. This here dog runs around the Dew and steals my bones.

Printed on the opposite side was something called “Freckled Lady Oil” and, when she turned the page, a hot foot powder. In the crease of another, a crisp envelope from the Louisiana Power and Light Company, along with what looked to be a recipe for pralines scribbled in loopy cursive. On a different page, something called a “Debtor’s Curse,” the ingredient rosewater scratched out underneath. Toward the back of the book, a piece of pink folded construction paper poked out, adorned with a red heart cut freehand with scissors. Her own grade-school printing: I love you Ant Wilow love NICKIE.

A detail on the next page caught her eye, under something called “Thursday’s Attraction Spell.” Someone else may have assumed the writing was just squiggles, but Nickie knew her aunt’s lettering, could decipher her pen strokes with ease.

For Nickie, irresistible to Felix

“What the fuck?” she said as her chest tightened and her stomach dropped. She glanced up. Confident that she was still alone, she spun the knob on the desk lamp, increasing the brightness to help her make out the faint text under the so-called spell.

Blend a batch of Dragon’s Blood (avail. at www.PCIFarmer.com for $12.99 $13.99)

Mix with lemon rind and baking soda

Scrub a clean plate with the mixture using the afflicted’s toothbrush for four minutes, four times a day

Return the toothbrush from where it came without rinsing it off, but please clean the plate

Nickie pushed her tongue against her top teeth, wondering if her aunt had really followed these instructions, a sickly feeling taking over as she tried to remember the last few times she’d brushed her teeth, unable to recall if anything seemed strange.

She wanted to check if her name or Felix’s were listed elsewhere, what other items of hers her aunt might have tampered with, but she knew her mom would be up soon, or Nanagusta, and she didn’t want either of them to catch her. The fact that she’d only just come across the book after all these years told Nickie they’d been hiding it from her. She snapped a picture of the page with her phone, then returned the book to its spot on the floor.