Beastly Page 6

  “Okay, so what?” I yelled, before wondering if Sloane could hear me.

  The face in the mirror changed back to Kendra’s.

  “Can she hear me?” I whispered.

  “No, only me. With everyone else, it’s a one-way thing like a baby monitor. Anyone else you want to see?”

  I started to say no, but again, my subconscious betrayed me. I thought of Trey.

  The mirror returned to Sloane’s apartment. Trey was the one with Sloane.

  After a minute, Kendra said, “What’s next for you? Are you going back to school?”

  “Of course not. I can’t go to school as a freak. I’ve been bonding with Dad.” I looked at the clock. After ten, and Dad still wasn’t home. He was avoiding me. The few weeks with the doctors was the most time we’d spent together in…well, ever. But I’d known it wouldn’t last. I was back to my former life of only seeing Dad on television. I hadn’t cared before, when I had a life. But now I had nothing and no one.

  “Have you given any thought to how you’re going to break the spell?”

  I laughed. “You could change me back.”

  She looked away again. “I can’t.”

  “You won’t.”

  “No, I can’t. The spell, it’s yours to break. The only way to undo it is by its terms—finding true love.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m a freak.”

  She smiled a little. “Yeah, you sort of are, aren’t you?”

  I shook the mirror. “You made me this way.”

  “You were a hateful jerk.” She grimaced. “And stop shaking that mirror!”

  “Does it bother you?” I gave it another shake. “Too bad.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t wrong to transform you. Maybe I was wrong to consider helping you now.”

  “Help? What kind of help can you give that I’d want? I mean, if you can’t change me back.”

  “I can give you advice, and my first is, don’t break the mirror. It might help you out sometime.”

  And then she disappeared.

  I put the mirror—gently—down on the nightstand.

  5

  Sometimes, when you’re walking in New York—probably anywhere, but especially in New York because it’s so crowded—you see these people, like guys in wheelchairs with stumps of legs just reaching the edge, or people with burns on their faces. Maybe their legs got blown off in a war, or someone threw acid at them. I never really thought about them. If I thought about them at all, what I thought was how to get past without them touching me. They grossed me out. But now I thought about them all the time, how one minute you can be normal—beautiful, even—and then something can happen the next minute that changes it. You can be damaged beyond repair. A freak. I was a freak, and if I had fifty, sixty, seventy years left, I’d spend them as a freak because of that one minute when Kendra put the spell on me after what I did.

  Funny thing about that mirror. Once I looked in it, I got obsessed. First, I looked at each of my friends (former friends, as Kendra said), catching them in weird moments—getting ragged on by parents, picking their noses, naked, or just generally not thinking about me. I watched Sloane and Trey too. They were together, yeah, but Sloane had another boyfriend, a guy who didn’t go to Tuttle. I wondered if she’d cheated on me too.

  Then I started watching other people. The apartment was empty those long August weeks. Magda made my meals and left them for me, but I only came out if I heard her vacuuming in a different part of the house, or if she went out. I remembered her saying she was frightened for me. Probably, she thought I’d gotten what I deserved. I hated her for thinking that.

  I started this thing where I’d take out my yearbook and choose a page, then point to some random person—usually some loser I wouldn’t have bothered with when I was at the school. I’d read their name, then look in the index to see what activities they did. I thought I’d known everyone at that school. But now I saw that I hadn’t known many of them. Now I knew all their names.

  The game I played was I chose a person then tried to decide where they’d be in the mirror. Sometimes it was easy. Technogeeks were always by the computer. Jocks were mostly outside, running around.

  Sunday morning, the picture I chose was Linda Owens. She looked familiar. Then I realized it was the girl from the dance, the one I’d given the rose to who’d gotten so jacked up about it, the one who’d gotten me my second chance. I’d never noticed her at school before that day. Now I looked at her yearbook pages, which were like a résumé: National Honor Society, French Honor Society, English Honor Society…well, all the honor societies.

  She had to be at the library.

  “I want to see Linda,” I told the mirror.

  I watched for the library. The mirror usually panned its location, like a movie. So I expected a shot of the cement lions, then Linda, studying even though it was August.

  Instead, the mirror panned a neighborhood I’d never seen before—and wouldn’t want to see. On the street, two worn-out women in tube tops argued. A junkie slumped on a doorstep, shooting up. The mirror panned up a stoop, through a door, up a staircase with a broken step and a bare lightbulb with wires hanging from it, and landed in an apartment.

  The apartment had peeling paint and coming-up linoleum. There were boxes for bookshelves. But everything looked clean, and Linda sat in the middle of it, reading. At least I was right about that.

  She turned a page, then another, and another. I must have watched her read for ten minutes. Yes, I was that bored. But it was more than that. It was sort of cool that she could read like that, and not pay attention to anything around her.

  “Hey, girl!” a voice called, and I jumped. It had been so quiet up until then that I didn’t realize there was anyone else in the apartment with her.

  Linda looked up from her book. “Yes?”

  “I’m…cold. Bring me a blanket, huh?”

  Linda sighed and put her book facedown. I glanced at the title. Jane Eyre, it was called. I was bored enough at that point that I thought maybe I’d read it someday.

  “Okay,” she said. “Want some tea too?” She was already standing, walking toward the kitchen.

  “Yeah.” The answer was barely more than a grunt. “Just hurry.”

  Linda turned on the faucet and let it run while she took out a battered red teakettle. She filled the kettle and placed it on the stove.

  “Where’s that blanket?” The voice was angry.

  “Coming. Sorry.” With a backward glance at her book, she walked toward the closet and unfolded a skimpy blue blanket. She took it to a man huddled on an old sofa. He was covered in another blanket, so I couldn’t see his face, but he shivered even though it was August. Linda tucked the blanket around his shoulders. “Better?”

  “Not much.”

  “Tea will help.”

  Linda made the tea, and searched through the mostly empty refrigerator for something, gave up, and brought the tea to the man. But he’d fallen asleep. She knelt by him a second, listening. Then she reached her hand under the sofa cushion like she was looking for something. Nothing. She went back to her reading, drinking the tea. I kept watching, but nothing else happened.

  Usually, I only watched a person once. But in the next week, I kept going back to Linda. It wasn’t like she was hot-looking or even did anything interesting. Most people at Tuttle were away at camp, or even in Europe. So I could have looked in on someone at the Louvre if I’d wanted. Or, more like it, I could have seen a camp shower room full of naked girls—okay, I did do that. But usually, I watched Linda read. I couldn’t believe she’d read so much in summer! Sometimes she laughed, reading her book, and once she even cried. I didn’t know how anyone could make such a big deal about books.

  One day, while she was reading, there was a noise—banging on the door. I watched her open it.

  A hand grabbed her. I started.

  “Where is it?” a voice demanded. A hulking shape came into view. I couldn’t see his face, only that he was big. I wonder
ed should I call 911.

  “Where’s what?” Linda said.

  “You know what. What’d you do with it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was calm, and she wiggled away from his grip and started back toward her book.

  He grabbed her again and pulled her to him. “Give it to me.”

  “Don’t have it anymore.”

  “Bitch!” He slapped her hard across the face. She stumbled and fell. “I need that. Think you’re better than me, that you can steal from me? Give it to me!”

  He started toward her like he was going to grab her again, but she recovered herself, stood, and ran behind the table. She grabbed her book and held it in front of her, like it would shield her. “Stay away from me. I’ll call the cops.”

  “You wouldn’t call the cops on your own dad.”

  I started at the word dad. That sleaze was her father? The same one she’d tucked the blanket around the week before?

  “I don’t have it,” she said. Her face had the busted-up look of someone trying hard not to cry. “I threw it out, flushed it down the toilet.”

  “Flushed it? Hundred bucks’ worth of horse? You—”

  “You shouldn’t have it! You promised…”

  He threw himself at her, but he was unsteady on his feet, and she got away and ran to the door. Still holding her book, she ran from the scummy apartment, down the cracked, cobwebby stairs toward the street.

  “Run away!” he yelled after her. “Just leave like your slut sisters did!”

  She ran into the street and to the subway station. I watched her down the stairs, until she got onto the car. Only then did she burst into tears.

  I wished I could go to her.

  * * *

  Mr. Anderson: Thanks for coming. Today, we’ll be talking about living arrangements after transformation.

  Froggie: i nvr lkd ponds & I sur dont lk em now

  SILENTMAID: Froggie, why not?

  Froggie: why not??? theyr wet!!!!!

  SILENTMAID: But you’re an amphibian.

  Froggie: So???

  SILENTMAID: So you consider living on dry land to be preferable to water, even though you can breathe underwater. Why? I really want to know!

  Froggie: for 1 thing my stuf keeps floting awy!

  BeastNYC joined the chat.

  BeastNYC: You all can start now. im here.

  SILENTMAID: We started.

  BeastNYC: I wz kidding.

  Mr. Anderson: We can’t always be sure with you, Beast. But welcome.

  BeastNYC: I’m moving this wk. Not sure where.

  SILENTMAID: I had a bit of an announcement today.

  Mr. Anderson: What is it, Silent?

  SILENTMAID: I’ve decided to go through with it.

  Froggie: go thru w the trnsformtin?

  SILENTMAID: Yes.

  BeastNYC: Why would u do a stupid thing like that?

  Mr. Anderson: Beast, that isn’t polite.

  BeastNYC: But it’s stupid! why would she risk a spell when she doesn’t have 2?

  SILENTMAID: I’ve thought long and hard about this, Beast.

  Grizzlyguy joined the chat.

  SILENTMAID: I know there’ll be a risk involved, a huge risk. If I don’t get the guy, I’ll be reduced to sea foam. But I think it’s a risk I have to take for true love.

  Grizzlyguy: Sea foam?

  Froggie: tru luv is worth it

  BeastNYC: Can i say something?

  Froggie: Cn NE1 evr stop u?

  BeastNYC: All guys r jerks. U could be giving up your chance for some guy who doesn’t deserve it. No one’s worth being turned to sea foam.

  SILENTMAID: You don’t even know him!

  BeastNYC: Neither do u. U r undersea & he’s on land!

  SILENTMAID: I know all I need to know. He’s perfect.

  Froggie: im sur he is.

  BeastNYC: I’m just being realistic…. he might not notice you. didn’t you say you have to give up your voice?

  SILENTMAID: I saved him from drowning! Oh, forget it.

  Froggie: beest is a beest, slnt. Dont let him get u down.

  SilentMaid has left the chat.

  BeastNYC: sorry but it’s really hard being a beast in nyc.

  * * *

  PART 3

  The Castle

  1

  The next month, I moved. My father bought a brownstone in Brooklyn and informed me we were moving there. Magda packed my stuff with no help from me.

  The first thing I noticed was the windows. The house had old-fashioned stick-out windows with fancy frames around them. Most houses on the block had windows with sheer curtains or shades that looked out on the tree-lined street. Dad obviously didn’t want me looking at trees—or, more to the point, anyone looking at me. Our house had thick, dark, wooden blinds that, even when opened, blocked most of the light and view from the front of the house. I could smell the fresh wood and the stain, so I knew that they were new. There were alarms on every window and surveillance cameras on every door.

  The house was five stories, each story almost as big as our whole apartment in Manhattan. The first floor was a complete private apartment with its own living room and a kitchen. That was where I’d live. A huge plasma screen took up most of a wall in the living room. It had a DVD player and the entire stock of Blockbuster. Everything an invalid needs.

  In back of the bedroom was a garden area so bare and brown I almost expected tumbleweeds. A new-looking wooden fence stretched across the back. Even though there was no gate, there was a surveillance camera trained on the fence, in case anyone broke in. Dad didn’t want to take any chances someone would see me. I didn’t plan to go outside.

  In keeping with the invalid theme, there was a study off the bedroom with another plasma screen, just for the PlayStation. The bookshelves were lined with games, but no actual books.

  The bathroom on my floor had no mirror. The walls had been freshly painted, but I could see an outline where a mirror had been unscrewed and spackled over.

  Magda had already unpacked my stuff—except for two things I hadn’t let her see. I took out two rose petals and Kendra’s mirror. I put them under some sweaters in my bottom dresser drawer. I walked up the stairs to the second floor, which had another living room, a dining room, and a second kitchen. This place was too big for just us. And why would Dad want to move to Brooklyn?

  The bathroom there had a mirror. I didn’t look at it.

  The third floor had another big bedroom, which was decorated like a living room, but empty, and a study with no books. And another plasma screen.

  The fourth had three more bedrooms. The smallest one had some suitcases in it I didn’t recognize. The fifth floor just had a bunch of junk in it—old furniture and boxes of books and records, all covered in a thick blanket of dust. I sneezed—dust stuck in my beast fur more than it did on regular people—and went back down to my own apartment and stared out the French doors at the garden fence. While I was looking around, Magda walked in.

  “Knock much?” I said.

  “Ah, I am sorry.” And then she started chirping, like a Spanish squirrel. “You like you room, Mr. Kyle? I do for you—a good, cheerful room.”

  “Where’s my dad?”

  She looked at her watch. “He at work. News on soon.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean, where’s he staying? Where’s his room? Is he upstairs?”

  “No.” Magda stopped chirping. “No, Mr. Kyle. He no upstairs. I stay.”

  “I mean when he comes back.”

  Magda looked down. “I stay with you, Mr. Kyle. I am sorry.”

  “No, I mean…”

  Then I got it. I stay. Dad had no room because he wasn’t living here. He wasn’t moving to Brooklyn, only me. And Magda, my new guardian. My warden. Just the two of us, forever, while Dad lived a happy Kyle-free existence. I looked around at the mirrorless, windowless, endless walls (all painted in cheerful colors—the ones in the living room were red; mine were emera
ld green). Could they swallow me up so there was nothing left but the memory of a good-looking guy who’d disappeared? Could I be like that one guy at school who died in an accident in seventh grade? Everyone cried, but now I’d forgotten his name. I bet everyone had, just like they’d forget mine.

  “It’s nice.” I walked over to the night table. “So where’s the phone?”

  A pause. “No.”

  “No phone?” She was a bad liar. “Are you sure?”

  “Mr. Kyle…”

  “I need to talk to my dad. Is he planning on just…dumping me here forever without saying good-bye…buying me DVDs”—I swept out my hand, catching a shelf and sending most of its contents crashing to the floor—“so he won’t feel guilty about ditching me?” I felt the bright green walls closing in on me. I sank to the sofa. “Where’s the phone?”

  “Mr. Kyle…”

  “Stop calling me that!” I knocked down more DVDs. “You sound like a moron. What’s he paying you to stay with me? Did he triple your salary to get you to stay here with his freak son, to be my jailer and keep your mouth shut? Well, your job goes bye-bye if I run away. You know that, don’t you?”

  She kept staring at me. I wanted to hide my face. I remembered what she’d said that day about being frightened for me.

  “I’m evil, you know,” I told her. “That’s why I look this way. Maybe some night I’ll come and get you in your sleep. Don’t people in your country believe in that stuff—voodoo and Satan’s spawn?”

  “No. We believe—”

  “Know what?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t care about your country. I don’t care about anything about you.”

  “I know you are sad…”

  I felt a wave rising in my head, welling up in my nose. My father hated me. He didn’t even want me in the same house with him.

  “Please, Magda, please let me talk to him. I need to. He’s not going to fire you over letting me talk to him. He couldn’t find anyone else to stay with me.”