From Grace Lee’s Journal—September 9
Something came for me today. An invitation. As soon as I saw that it was addressed with my full name, I knew that it was going to change my life.
Grace Ai-mu Lee.
No one knows my middle name. Not even Kate. I told her and Maddie it was Anne. Cameron was there when I got it. Not sure if he saw it or not. Hopefully he at least missed my middle name.
The invitation told me to wait. To tell no one. To find some special seal in the woods Friday during the Spiritus bonfire.
But I’ve never been very patient, and the seal was just begging to be found. I ditched the girls, although they didn’t seem to really care. Honestly, they both seemed a little distracted. Part of me expected to see Kate at the seal waiting for me with an invitation in hand. We both love a good mystery.
But when I finally found the seal at Station 11, the old chapel, it was just me. I’d never noticed the bronze plaque on the ground before. Dirt and leaves partially hid the antique-looking symbol. I have no idea how I missed it.
The crest looks almost identical to our school’s except for the S at the center and a different motto below. Audi, Vide, Tace. “Hear, See, Be Silent.”
I still can’t believe that I saw it. I can’t believe that it’s real. The Sisterhood is real.
I had a favorite babysitter when I was little. Sarah Hartwell. I loved when she came, all blond hair and perfect makeup, dressed in pretty clothes like she was going to a party instead of babysitting for a loser nine-year-old. She’d bring magazines I was never allowed to look at and teach me how to put on makeup or talk to boys.
I never wanted to go to bed, and she’d let me stay up until my eyelids weighed a million pounds and were impossible to keep open. And when I lay in bed and begged to go back downstairs, she’d tell me stories. About a group of sisters who held the key to everything. They wore a special necklace and their only rule was to Hear, See, and Be Silent. She’d touch her finger to her lips as she said it. I remember her sparkly nail polish catching the glow of my nightlight. Shhh.
But then she stopped coming. My mom found a new girl who was awful. She just talked on her phone all night and put me to bed early so she could watch trashy TV without me ratting her out to my parents. I begged for Sarah to come back but I was ignored as usual. Eventually I just stopped asking.
But this one day when I was shopping with my mom, I saw Sarah. She wore dark sunglasses and her hair looked dull and stringy, but I knew it was her. I rushed over to her right away and yanked on her blazer. She bent and pulled me in for a hug, and I noticed a dark scar that ran down one cheek. I knew enough not to stare and instead told her how much I missed her, how my new babysitter was mean, how I wanted to hear more stories.
“They’re dangerous. The stories are dangerous,” Sarah whispered.
My mom dragged me away without letting me say good-bye. I saw her eyeing Sarah’s scar, but she didn’t ask her about it. Part of me thought that had to be worse than people just asking the questions. The noticing and then the silence. If it were me, I’d rather answer their dumb questions. Seems like it would be better than letting them guess.
Anyway, I never saw Sarah again. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve thought of her in years. But I know there’s something dangerous about these words.
Audi.
Vide.
Tace.
I need a plan.