IT WAS A WONDERFUL week in school.
There were no appointments with Miss Frisch. There was not a Miss Frisch at all as far as Christina saw.
In English class Mrs. Shevvington did not read Christina’s paper out loud to sneer. The Friday essay was ordinary: Hallowe’en costumes they’d worn when they were little.
Vicki and Gretch were still popular and still ignored Christina, but another girl named Jennie, whom Christina had not noticed before, sat with her at lunch. Jennie was loads of fun — perky and silly. Soon they were joined by Kathleen, and then somehow Jonah and Robbie got the courage to sit there, too. They were the first in the seventh grade to have boys and girls at the same table. The rest were envious; even Gretch and Vicki were envious.
Jonah said he’d forgive Christina for refusing to go with him to the Getting To Know You Dance, as long as she promised to come to the Hallowe’en Party at the Y with him. Christina allowed Jonah to hold her hand for just a moment. Hand-holding looked glorious when seniors did it, but it was pretty icky for seventh-graders.
Kathleen and Jennie giggled, ducking their heads and blushing and making incredibly dumb remarks.
Christina said she would dress up as an island princess for the Hallowe’en Party: what would Jonah be?
Jonah said since Christina thought he had a graveyard name, he was going to be his own tombstone.
Vicki and Gretch said loftily that seventh-graders were too old for that kind of silliness.
Three more kids, who felt being silly was much more fun than hanging around with Vicki and Gretch, moved over to Christina’s table. Hers was now the most crowded. People offered her their desserts. They spoke wistfully of her hair, wishing theirs was three-colored, too. They even asked where she got her jeans.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I can do anything, Christina thought. I will be able to get Anya back in high school. Blake will telephone me. Next time Michael and Benj go home for the weekend, I’ll go, too. Mother and Daddy will love me again. I will get proof for Miss Schuyler and we’ll get rid of the Shevvingtons for once and for all.
It was too bad that Miss Schuyler was sick all that glorious week and they had a substitute teacher for arithmetic. Christina wanted to tell Miss Schuyler everything.
Monday I’ll tell her, thought Christina. She’ll be proud of me.
Christina sauntered home from school.
The sky had cleaned itself up, swept itself clear.
There was something terrible, almost insane, the way there was never any trace of the weather in the sky.
Earth and sea carried debris. Broken tree limbs, downed wires, sunken ships.
But the sky was fresh and new, no ripples, no scars in its deep indigo blue.
The air was a symphony of rustles and shivers: distant wings of migrating flocks, softly slapping waves, the humming of the Singing Bridge.
Even the Shevvingtons realize, thought Christina, gloating, hot with pride, this time they tangled with somebody they cannot frighten. I can walk down roofs during gales. I can save people from drowning. What is a mere school principal to me?
She swaggered a little, although it was difficult on the slant of Breakneck Hill.
Mrs. Shevvington had gotten back to Schooner Inne before Christina.
Mr. Shevvington, strangely enough, was also home early.
Together they opened the great green doors, and, together, smiling, they welcomed Christina home. Because I’m in charge and they know it, thought Christina.
She walked in between them.
Behind her they closed the great green doors and turned the lock.
Christina merely shrugged and carried her book bag up to her room. She had bought her own snack today; it didn’t matter whether the Shevvingtons thought there was too much sugar in it or not.
She ran up the stairs, just to show them they couldn’t dictate anything to her, including the speed of using the stairs.
In her dark green room, her mother’s quilt lay soft on her bed.
Ffffffffffffff, said the house.
Christina stood very still in the hall. She turned very slowly. She walked around the balcony. The boys’ room was the same as ever, Marilyn Monroe smiling down from the wall. But in Anya’s room, the empty second bed was now made. Suitcases sat unopened on the floor by the second bed. Another chest of drawers had been set by the dormer window.
Her mother’s quilt had been taken down.
The poster of the sea was exposed.
No, thought Christina.
The room stank of low tide, of clams and mussels and dead things. Christina reached for the wall but it slid away, like a fish under water. Ffffffff said the walls and the floor and the glass. She tried to stand up, but there was weight on her, as if she were standing under water, with a million tons of green ocean pressing down.
It can’t happen again! she thought. The poster is only a poster. The sea is only water.
She licked her lips and they tasted of salt.
It’s Candle Cove, it’s the tide, she reminded herself. The house is just a house. I identified the evil, and it’s the Shevvingtons.
She grabbed the banister.
She could not remember the way downstairs. She smelled the sweat of the sea. Clinging to the rail, she swam down the stairs.
“Christina,” said Mrs. Shevvington. She was laughing. The laugh rattled, like dried peas in a half empty jar.
Christina turned the corner of the stair where the carpet began. She could see the Shevvingtons now. The surf inside her head ceased. Whose suitcases are those? she thought, confused. Not Anya’s.
Mrs. Shevvington’s little corn teeth matched her laugh. “We have a surprise for you, Christina,” she giggled. The giggle was hideous and out of season, like Christmas tree bulbs in July.
Why did the room seem colder? What draft curled around Christina’s heart?
Christina reached the hall. Mr. Shevvington stood on her right, Mrs. Shevvington on her left.
“You’re lonely,” said Mrs. Shevvington. “You need the companionship of another girl. One closer to your age than Anya, Christina.”
“Of course, a principal has a certain amount of discretion,” said Mr. Shevvington. “Rules of school attendance can be altered for special situations. The rule is, Christina, that a child goes to school on the island until seventh grade. But we petitioned to have that changed, Christina. Your parents are so happy, Christina; they feel you’re going to be calmer now that you have a friend.”
“I have plenty of friends,” Christina said.
There was a patter of feet from the kitchen.
The Shevvingtons turned, laughing, to see who came.
It was Dolly.
Sweet.
Innocent.
Another Val. Another Anya.
How Dolly danced, red curls free from braids. Her body was elementary school size; a fragile collection of bones in bib overalls. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she cried to Christina. “Can you believe my luck? I’m off-island, too!” She turned her pixie smile into the towering faces of the Shevvingtons. “I get to attend sixth grade here!” She took the Shevvingtons’ hands and swung their heavy arms back and forth like a set from a square dance. “The Shevvingtons have been so wonderful to me, Chrissie,” she said. “I’m going to love living here!” She hardly saw Christina. She beamed into their eyes. Mr. Shevvington’s eyes were as blue as they had ever been, and, like the sky, they were swept clean of the past.
They were nothing, they were blanks.
On which to compose the storm that would take Dolly Jaye.
Christina’s pride dwindled away like a ship vanishing over the horizon. She wet her lips. “I told Miss Schuyler,” Christina began.
Mr. Shevvington’s smile spread wider and wider, exposing more and more teeth, like a crocodile. “Your little math teacher? I’m afraid she found another job, Christina. Out west somewhere. Such a loss.”
Mr. Shevvington put his arm around Christina. It might have been a hug or the beginning of a strangle. “You’ll never be able to replace her, Christina. Will you?”
Fffffffff, said the house.
But only Christina seemed to hear.
“Now, Dolly, remember, this is a special privilege,” said Mr. Shevvington. How caring he looked. How fatherly and kind. How blue his eyes were. “You must try very hard to prove that I am right to bring you among us a year early, Dolly.”
“I won’t let you down!” cried Dolly eagerly. “I’ll do anything you say.”
“I know,” said the principal.