I’ve had a long time to think about it, and I still can’t really explain why I did it. I’d like to blame it on the wine. I’d had two big glasses that night, and I’m not used to wine.
Robby and I drink beer at our friends’ houses all the time. But we never have wine. And I could really feel it. I mean, my head felt kind of feathery and the room was tilting a little bit.
But that doesn’t really explain all of it.
In the couple of weeks before Marissa came home with Aiden, I’d gone kind of crazy. I’d skipped school a few days to hang out with some older guys by the river. Just for the danger of it, I guess. Just for a little excitement.
Yeah. Excitement. Maybe what I did that night was because I wanted excitement. I mean, is there anything more boring than eleventh grade? When you’re not even old enough to drive?
Well, okay. Maybe I’m just making excuses. And there is no excuse for what I did.
The memory is still so fresh in my mind. And it comes up to haunt me no matter how I try to force it away, to push it back.
I read in a science magazine that brain scientists now know how to go into your brain and remove certain memories. Seriously. They can find the place where a memory lives in your brain and remove the cells that hold it.
If you have a sad memory that you want to lose, they can find it and remove it.
Creepy?
I don’t read a lot of science magazines, but that story seriously freaked me out. And if I could have someone go into my brain and pull out the memory of what I did that night last April, I would say, Do it. I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.
I guess it started when Marissa was mean to me. It was a Saturday morning, and I slept in. When I shuffled down to breakfast, still in my nightshirt, still yawning, Marissa was waiting for me.
It wasn’t exactly an ambush, but I was only half awake, and it felt like an ambush to me. She slid the orange juice carton across the table, her expression thoughtful, like she was going over what she planned to say to me.
“Harmony, I’m having a bunch of my friends come over tonight,” she started.
I didn’t really want orange juice. I reached for the box of Frosted Mini-Wheats. “Nice,” I murmured. “From high school?”
She nodded. “Yeah. You know. Taylor and Olivia and Dani. They’re all in town. A few others from the orchestra. To meet Aiden.”
I nodded. “Cool.” I reached for the sugar. I know it’s crazy to put sugar on Frosted Mini-Wheats, but that’s the kind of person I am.
“I don’t mean to be harsh,” Marissa said slowly.
Uh-oh, I thought. She’s about to be harsh.
“But it’s my old friends and I really want them to have a chance to know Aiden and . . .” She hesitated. Her eyes locked on mine. “Maybe you could make plans of your own tonight?”
I took a breath. “You mean—”
Her cheeks flushed pink. She turned her gaze away. “Well, you’ve been hanging out with us constantly since I got home. Which is fine, of course. But . . . I’m a little worried that you don’t have friends of your own. I mean—”
“Don’t worry,” I snapped. “I have plenty of friends. I have a life, Marissa.”
“Well, you’ve been sticking so close to Aiden and me.” Her voice trembled. She had to know she was being cold. “Like . . . like moss on a tree.”
That made me laugh. “Me? I’m moss on a tree? Are you kidding me?”
“Just saying.” Marissa still didn’t meet my eyes.
I gripped the spoon but I didn’t take any cereal. I could see it getting soggy in the bowl. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you,” I said. I didn’t say it warmly. I said it as a challenge.
“I’m happy to see you, too,” Marissa murmured. “But maybe tonight you could find somewhere else to be so that my friends and I—”
I wanted to smash the cereal bowl in her face. But instead, I said, “No problem. Don’t worry about it. If I’m still at home when your friends arrive, I’ll stay in the basement. I really want to finish up my cabinet.”
Marissa pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “Thanks. Tomorrow you and I will go somewhere, just the two of us. Maybe shopping?” Her tight smile lasted for only a few seconds.
Did she think I was a two-year-old? She seriously thought she could bribe me to stay away from her and her friends?
I dropped the spoon into the bowl, scraped my chair back, and stomped out of the room. Of course I was hurt and angry. But I was also confused. Why did she need me away from her friends? She didn’t want to hurt me, I could see that. She just wanted me to stay away.
Why?
From Aiden?
Was that it? Could she see that I was attracted to him? Did I stand too close to him, talk to him too much, laugh at his lame jokes? Enjoy myself too much while he was there?
Marissa is a very smart girl. And she’s very intuitive. She sees things. Had she seen that?
My emotions were swirling around my head. Yes, I felt hurt and angry. But I felt embarrassed, too. Embarrassed that I’d acted foolishly with Aiden. Embarrassed that Marissa could see through me so effortlessly.
So that night when Marissa’s friends began to arrive, I crept up to the secret attic room at the top of our house. I pulled out a spell book I had used before.
Yes, a spell book. I’m a Fear. Dark sides and weirdness are our birthright.
I lit the black candles I kept in a circle on the floor. And I chanted a few words, reading them carefully from the old book.
I didn’t do anything terrible or dangerous. I just gave Marissa a very bad case of hiccups.
I was careful. I used a weak spell. It would last for only an hour or so.
I admit it. I laughed to myself. I knew Marissa would try every remedy. And her friends would keep suggesting cure after ridiculous cure. And, of course, there is no cure for magic.
Back downstairs, I made sure Mom and Dad weren’t nearby. I stole a half-empty bottle of whiskey that no one would notice missing. I listened to the voices from the den. I recognized Marissa’s friends Taylor and Dani. I heard a loud hiccup. I’m so evil, it made me start laughing again.
I carried the bottle down to my basement workshop, along with my anger and my hurt and my disbelief that Marissa could treat me like that. Like some kind of mangy family pet, banished when the company was around.
The sweet smell of the cherrywood lumber usually calmed me, delighted me, and brought my senses to life. But not tonight. I took a swig right from the bottle before I started to saw a couple of shelf boards down to size.
My uncle Kenny is usually a pain. But when he heard I was into woodwork, he sent over a ten-inch table saw and a nice-sized table drill press. They were left over from the tool warehouse Kenny had owned, until he ran it into the ground like all his other businesses.
I tried to force my angry thoughts away as I moved a three-quarter-inch square of cherrywood through the saw blade. But even the whiskey didn’t seem to be helping to calm me.
I swore as my hand slipped—and I ruined one of the sheets of wood. I should have stopped right there. I knew I should have. But when you’re angry and bitter and confused and alone . . . well, you don’t always think so clearly, do you?
This is all a long preview leading up to what happened. I know I’m trying to explain myself and not doing a very good job of it. So . . .
I took a break and went upstairs, wiping sawdust off the front of my sweatshirt and jeans. I could hear Marissa and her friends in the den. They all seemed to be talking at once. Their voices rang all the way in the kitchen. I heard Marissa repeating in a high, laughing voice: “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
I crossed the hall into the kitchen—and stopped when I saw Aiden.
He had his back to me at the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer. He wore a maroon hoodie over faded jeans and, for once, he wasn’t wearing the little hat.
I stood there watching him. My head was spinning. Things were a little out of focus. Maybe I had more to drink than I remembered.
He turned when I took a few steps across the tile floor. “Oh. Hi.” He has the most awesome smile. It really is like his face lights up. “I wondered where you were, Harmony.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you really?” Why was I putting on that teasing voice? Hadn’t I been sufficiently warned by my sister?
He waved the beer bottle toward the den. “Are you coming in with us?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m working. In the basement. On my cabinet.”
“Cool,” he said. “Can I see it?”
He wants to go down to the basement with me.
“Sure,” I said, my heart beating a little faster. “It’s . . . it’s just boards.” And then I blurted out, “Hey, maybe you can help me with something.”
What made me say that? I’ll never be able to explain it. And believe me, I’ve thought about it ever since.
“No problem,” he said, following me to the basement door.
“I can use an extra hand on this one thing,” I said. “The shelves, see.”
An amused smile crossed his handsome face, just for a second, but I caught it. I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re surprised to see a girl who likes to do woodwork?”
He waved a hand. “No. Of course not.” I could see my question made him uncomfortable.
“Just teasing,” I said. I led the way down the stairs and across the basement to my workshop against the wall.
Aiden studied the table saw and the drill press. “Impressive,” he said. “This is serious stuff.” He took a deep breath. “Mmmm. Smells so good. What kind of wood?”
“Cherrywood,” I said. “When I apply the finish, it’ll be even darker.”
He tilted the beer bottle to his mouth and took a long swig. “I like it.” He set the bottle down on the floor. I could hear the girls’ voices from upstairs right through the basement ceiling.
“Here’s my problem,” I said. I picked up one of the rectangular shelf boards and shoved it into his hands. “I’m not using nails or screws or anything—I’m going to connect the shelves to the frame with wooden dowels.”
He nodded. “Nice.”
“I need to drill holes for the dowels in the corners of each shelf,” I explained. “Very carefully. I don’t want to drill all the way through. See?”
He nodded again. “I get it. So what do you want me to do?”
I stared at him and didn’t answer his question. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples. I didn’t answer. I didn’t think. This is where I lost it.
I lurched forward and threw my hands around his neck. I pressed myself against the board he held in front of him. And kissed him. Not just a kiss. But a full-on passionate embrace.
Holding him tightly, I moved my lips over his and waited for him to kiss back.
