Spellbound

“I feel really…comfortable with him. Which is weird, cause, well, look at him.”

“You do look, all the time,” Cisco teased, then lowered his voice. “Heads up, he’s coming this way.”

“Hey, I’ll meet you guys at the Met. I’m going to stop for a water and some beer,” Brendan said, the wind whipping his hair in a billion different directions.

“Emma, do you want anything?”

“I’ll just take an iced tea, thanks.” I’d had a few beers and the last thing I needed to do to Aunt Christine was show up on her door hammered, after everything that’d happened and all she’d done for me.

Brendan regarded me for a minute standing there with my arms wrapped around my jacket.

“Take this,” he ordered, shrugging out of his black hoodie.

“Won’t you get cold?” I asked, hesitantly taking the black sweatshirt from him with frozen fingers.

“No, I’m good,” Brendan said dismissively. Hell yeah, you are.

I pulled the oversize—well, oversize on me—hoodie around my jacket and instantly felt better. The sleeves hung low, several inches from my balled-up fists.

“I’ll see you guys in a minute,” Brendan said, turning to walk away. With his hands in his pockets, Brendan walked that same slow, deliberate walk to a deli on the corner.

About fifteen minutes later, we made our way across Fifth Avenue and crossed into Central Park. The Met stood there, silent and imposing, and I could hear some noise coming from the right side of the building.

Cisco and I followed Omar, Derek and Samantha, climbing up the rolling green lawn to the right of the massive white building. I recognized the shadowy forms in the distance as some of the people from my class—including Jenn, who staggered over with her arms open. I spotted a two-liter bottle of lemon-lime soda in her hand.

“Emma! You never come out,” she slurred, her low-cut white sweater stained with droplets from whatever she was drinking. Jenn shoved the soda toward me and offered me a drink. The sugary citrus-and-cranberry-vodka smell was heavy and sweet as it wafted up from the bottle.

“Oh, no thanks,” I said, recoiling at the smell. It reminded me of the perfume Ashley loved. “Beer before liquor, you know.”

She looked confused, then stumbled back to the group of people near the trees. I squinted my eyes, trying to make out who was there when I noticed Kristin actually smiling in my direction. I stared, stunned, as she waved to me, beaming a bright smile. I raised my hand up to wave and stopped halfway when I realized she was waving behind me—not actually at me. Kristin hadn’t noticed me standing there, until the person she had targeted in her gaze was right behind me and Cisco. And then her gaze turned ice-cold.

Brendan poked his head between us, throwing his arms around me and Cisco. He had an iced tea in his left hand, and started tapping it against my cheek. The coldness of the glass, coupled with another chilly wind, forced me to shiver again.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, hastily grabbing the drink. “How much do I owe you?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Brendan asked incredulously, dropping his arms and reaching into the white plastic bag at his feet, pulling out a bottle of water.

“Cheers,” he said, tapping his plastic bottle against my still-unopened iced tea. Brendan handed Cisco the bag of beers and Cisco walked away, giving me a thumbs-up as he left. I hoped Brendan didn’t notice.

“No beer for you?” I asked, gesturing to his bottle of water.

“No beer for you, either,” he pointed out, tapping my glass again with the top of his water bottle.

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to—I mean, not get wasted,” I stammered, trying to explain myself. “Um, why aren’t you drinking?”

“It’s not a big deal.” Brendan shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel weird, like you were the only one not drinking.”

“Oh,” I murmured, in shock and half in love with him for squashing one of my biggest social insecurities with a bottle of Poland Spring. “Um, thanks,” I said shyly. “That’s really nice of you.” I can’t believe he’s curbing partying…for me of all people.

“No problem,” Brendan said, playfully taking the hood on his sweatshirt and flicking it up over my head. “So Emma, are you feeling a little warmer?”

“A lot warmer, thanks.” I laughed as the oversize hood fell over my face, covering my eyes.

“So,” I began, peeking out from underneath the hood, “what’s that Halloween movie thing next week at school all about?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I already knew all about the event at school: Austin had been gabbing in my ear for a week about Vince A showing scary movies for Halloween. I had to find out if Brendan was going. Then it might be worth me going.

But he didn’t get a chance to answer, since our attention was grabbed by a series of high-pitched squeals across the grass. We turned our heads to Kristin, who giggled loudly and deliberately looked over at Brendan as she let Anthony lick tequila salt off her neck.

“The bar’s open!” she called, holding out a shot and patting more salt on her collarbone—and a little lower. Kristin’s invitation was clearly meant for one specific person. The possessive way she stared at Brendan infuriated me.

“Less than fifty feet from priceless art, surrounded by a ton of people and oh, Kristin’s doing a body shot,” I snorted, then feared I sounded way, way too bitchy. To my relief, Brendan just laughed.

“She sucks,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “So Emma, back home, where did you guys hang out?” he asked, suddenly serious as he turned away from Kristin to stare intensely at me. “The Liberty Bell?”

“What do you mean, the Lib… Oh.” My guard was completely down around Brendan. I exhaled nervously, reminded that he knew the truth. “You know, it’s a landmark and all, so that was impossible.”

“So, you hung out at school, right? At that magical high school on the corner of Made-Up Street and Fiction Avenue?” Brendan smirked a knowing smile. More significant than him standing up for me that first day was the fact that he knew my story was faker than pro wrestling.

I tried to think of an excuse, a good story to tell, when he took another gulp of his water and said, “You don’t have to tell me anything right now. But I’d appreciate you telling me eventually.”

“Why does it matter?” I asked, annoyed. He ignores me, and now I owe him my life story?

“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” Brendan asked. “Don’t you trust me?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but I had no idea what to say. For someone with major trust issues, I already did trust him. And that just felt unnatural. Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer—Cisco called us over to the sloped glass wall of the Met, where he was standing over a very passed-out Austin.

“I think we need to get him in a cab,” Cisco said, chuckling slightly at the slumbering Austin. Here he was, the student council rep, who had spent every lunch period since we first met trying to convince me to join any club, looking like he was the poster child for our chapter of SADD. Which, ironically, was the club Austin had tried to get me to join at lunch that very afternoon.

“I’ll help you,” Brendan said, lifting up Austin effortlessly. It surprised me, since after the way Austin had talked about Brendan on my first day at school, I was under the impression that they weren’t exactly friends. Brendan and Cisco were about the same height, so they balanced the shorter guy between them easily. Austin woke up, stammering, “What? Ma? Time for school?”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s time for school,” Cisco said, grinning, then added to me, “Emma, we’ll be right back.”

They were gone for merely seconds when Jenn came bounding over again, her bottle almost empty.

“What were you guys… Who left?” She drained the rest of her beverage and looked around, dismayed when she noticed Austin was missing.

“Aw, he left me his drink,” she giggled, waving the now-empty two-liter at me. “So sweet. I’ll give it back to him tomorrow,” she whispered loudly. “We’re going skating at Wollman Rink!” She meant for her voice to be low, her statement confidential, but her drunken confession spilled out all over the lawn.

I put an arm around Jenn to steady her and advised, “You should throw that bottle out, you know. I’m sure he doesn’t need it back. But that’s cool about the skating.” I didn’t expect either one of them to be out of bed before 2:00 p.m.

“Let’s go hang out over by the—oh, no. Wait.” Jenn was gesturing at the cluster of trees where Kristin was holding court, until she realized that Kristin had her usual “Death to Emma” glare trained on me. Closer to us, Anthony and a short guy I recognized from math class were arguing. It looked like the conversation was getting heated.

“I think Anthony’s gonna beat Frank up,” Jenn whispered conspiratorially. “They’ve been fighting all night. Too bad. Frank’s kinda cute.”

I looked around anxiously for Cisco and Brendan, my friends—I could count Brendan as my friend now, right?

“What time do you need to be home, Jenn?” I asked, looking again at my phone. Even though I didn’t have a real curfew, I didn’t want to push my luck.

She shrugged, then ran down the green, yelling, “Cisco!” Jenn jumped on him, knocking him down. At the same time, Anthony shouted something I couldn’t quite make out at the other guy—Frank Carney—and my feet started twitching to run in the other direction. Henry was quick with his hands when he was drinking, and his alcohol-fueled rages had taught me at least one thing—I had an uncanny ability to know when things were about to get physical. Even though it had healed, my scar began to throb.

I jogged over to Cisco and helped him off the ground.

“Hey, you’re meeting Gabe soon, right?” I asked, darting my eyes to where Anthony and Frank were getting more agitated. Anthony menacingly shouted something in Frank’s face. Kristin and her posse had moved away from the guys, but she pulled out her cell phone and started recording them, snickering as she clearly enjoyed watching someone else’s misery.

“Yeah, I’m meeting him downtown. What’s up?”

“I just— I want to get out of here before that—” I gestured to the fight “—becomes something else.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Anthony’s always starting trouble,” Cisco said.

I knew it. There is no way Ashley is allowed near him.

“Where’s Brendan?” I twisted my head around, searching for him.

Cisco smiled. “We couldn’t get a cab. He sent me back here to make sure you were okay.”

I blushed a little, almost forgetting where I was. That was sweet. Really sweet. First he stops drinking, now this…he’s probably just a nice guy. Then a shout broke through my thoughts.

With his lips curled back over his teeth, Anthony snarled several choice swear words at Frank before pushing him into a tree. Frank crumbled on the ground, then pulled himself back to his feet, charging at Anthony to shove him in his chest. Anthony barely budged—Blondo towered over the smaller guy. Anthony threw the first punch, hitting Frank forcefully in the stomach. Frank doubled over, gasping as he clutched his midsection. Anthony took advantage of Frank’s vulnerability, kicking him again in the stomach with his heavy boot and knocking him down on the grass. Once the smaller guy was down, Anthony—stumbling a little in his drunken state—hurled himself on top of Frank, throwing a hard punch in his face. It connected with a sickening thud. I wasn’t sure what to do—call someone? Why wasn’t anyone stopping this? Fortunately, someone did, as a third figure ran past me and jumped in.

I realized it was Brendan, breaking up the fight. In one quick movement, he pulled Anthony off Frank.

“Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you?” Brendan spit out, steadying Anthony by holding a fistful of his collar. Frank sat upright, wiping away the thick smear of blood coming from his nose. His eye already looked red.

“Stay out of it,” Anthony growled, trying to stand upright. He couldn’t quite coordinate all his limbs in his drunken state and fell on his rear.

Brendan leaned forward and helped Frank up, leaving Anthony on the ground. “Get up, dummy,” he said to Anthony, sounding annoyed. He turned to Frank. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Frank brushed some leaves off his brown jacket, glaring at Anthony. “We’ll continue this later.”

“Oh, shut up, no you won’t,” Brendan snapped, sounding more and more like a ticked-off kindergarten teacher. “Enough of this crap. Stop being such friggin’ babies.”

Frank stalked away, while Anthony scowled at his back. Brendan leaned in and said some hushed things to Anthony, his hands gesturing wildly—it looked like he was reading him the riot act. Loudly, Anthony told Brendan where he could stick his head and walked—or should I say, stumbled—toward a concerned-looking Kristin.

The whole scene made me very, very uneasy. This was the real Anthony, I figured—not the charming sweetheart that my cousin thought he was. I turned to Cisco and said, “I’m out of here. Tell everyone I said bye, okay?”

“Tell everyone? Or tell him?” Cisco replied, with smart-alecky emphasis on the “him.” Before I could answer, Cisco said, “Actually, tell him yourself.” I looked up and saw Brendan walking over, a little faster than I was used to seeing him move.

“Hey, guys—Anthony and Frank had a fight at practice and clearly are taking things home with them. Anthony said something about Frank’s mother. Anthony’s an idiot. He’s not going to start anything else tonight, though,” he explained, looking back and forth between both of us. Brendan then stopped and turned those emerald eyes back on me.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeeeah.” I drew it out slowly. “I’m— I’ve got to get home. Curfew, you know,” I lied, hastily draining the rest of my iced tea, then shuddering from the cold drink.

Brendan just nodded. “I’ll walk you to a cab,” he said quietly. He stayed silent, walking toward Fifth Avenue with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets until we were back in front of the museum, looking down the street for an available taxi.

“That was nice of you to get Austin a cab,” I said a little formally, leaning against a lamppost. I wasn’t sure what to say to him all of a sudden.

“Least I could do. He’s your friend, right?” Brendan said matter-of-factly. “I guess.”

“He sits right next to you at lunch every day,” Brendan pointed out. Wait, did he get Austin a cab for me? Does he think I’m dating Austin?

Before I could clear up my relationship with Austin, Brendan spoke. “Did Anthony scare you?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“No,” I fibbed, then looked down. “Well, I wouldn’t say scared….” I mumbled, hiding my embarrassment by picking at some chipped paint on the lamppost.

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you,” Brendan said, his voice almost a whisper. I was taken aback by how seriously he said it. I tore my eyes away from the flaking paint to face Brendan, and was surprised at how close he was to me. His face was mere inches from mine. I took a deep breath, getting lost in those eyes as the lamppost above me flickered on and off. I could see the light dancing in the flecks of gold in his eyes, as he stayed close to me. The light fizzled out with a thin hiss, but I could still see the intensity in his eyes in the shadows. Brendan rested his palm on the iron street lamp behind me. He leaned in more closely, and I let my fingers brush against his side, skimming along his dark shirt. I felt that familiar fluttering in my stomach again, hoping, praying that he was going to kiss me. Brendan was so close I could smell his shampoo again, which overpowered the sulfuric smell from the burned-out light above.

But Brendan stopped short—pulling back and flagging the lone available cab cruising down Fifth. I straightened up awkwardly. If I wasn’t already red from the cold, I would have blushed a thousand shades of crimson.

“Thanks,” I mumbled weakly. “And yeah—thanks for this,” I said, pulling the hoodie off.

“Keep it, it’s cold out,” Brendan said, his tone businesslike as he opened the taxi door for me. He gave me another smile, then, slamming the door shut once I was inside, he turned on his heel.

Chapter 6

I woke up late on Saturday morning, feeling oddly exhausted for having slept so long. I’d had the most vivid, disturbing dreams. They didn’t make any sense—at first, all I saw were images of me. I was wearing my charm necklace—but I was wearing different outfits. They were costumes, almost—it looked like I was flipping through some kind of scrapbook that spanned centuries.

The scrapbook stopped short at one photo; in it, I was dressed in a heavy-looking gown, tending to beautiful roses that climbed up the stone face of a picturesque cottage.

The photo came alive and suddenly I was in the scene, feeling the weight of the heavy gold dress. I removed dead petals from a perfect red rose, which had just started to wilt, when I sliced open my finger on a razor-sharp thorn. I felt it rip through my flesh, shredding my skin. I pulled away my finger, gripping it tightly to stop the bleeding. But it wouldn’t stop. Blood poured down my hand, pooling in the grass as I felt something warm on my chest. I looked down, and blood seeped across the front of my bodice, soaking the front of the gold dress with deep crimson.

I pawed at my chest but couldn’t find the wound, my fingers frantic as I searched my bloody skin for an injury.

A familiar voice called me from behind. I whipped around, and my brother Ethan was standing among the roses. Even though I was dressed in this heavy medieval-looking gown, my twin looked the way I remembered him, in jeans, ratty Converse sneakers and a Ramones T-shirt.

“Emma, it’s starting,” Ethan said, his voice sad. “Stay away from him.”

I bolted upright in bed as if I had been shocked by a Taser. It felt like Ethan was right next to me, his voice as real as the ambulance siren I heard wailing in the street four floors below me.

I hadn’t dreamed about Ethan in some time. I tried to shake the weird dream off, but it was too unsettling. I chalked it up to my subconscious going haywire. I’d avoided telling Brendan about him last night, after all. That had to be the cause of the weird dream. Right?

I stretched out in the bed and rubbed my eyes, looking over at my pile of clothing on the floor—my boots strewn about, my jeans crumpled up with my socks still in the legs. The previous night came flooding back to me when my eyes flickered over to the white-painted desk chair, where I’d carefully laid Brendan’s hoodie. I covered my face and giggled, then frowned when I looked at my grimy hands.

Ugh, I’d forgotten to wash my face when I came in last night! I’d walked to my room in a daze—thanks to Brendan’s near-kiss—and started writing in my diary. I jumped out of bed and padded into the bathroom, trying to remove the now-smeared dark mascara that had taken up residence all over my face. I stopped and looked at my reflection—cowlick sticking up straight, hair knotted, raccoon eyes—and giggled again. I looked like a goth model. I sucked in my cheeks and attempted a serious, model-like pose.

“What’s up, Zoolander?” I said aloud, splashing water on my face. I was in too good of a mood this morning.

My attempts to wash my face just ended up in streaking mascara all over the place, so I hopped into the shower, turned on the pink plastic shower radio and sang along to a Paramore song, scrubbing my face.

Slipping into my worn plaid bathrobe, I pulled my wet hair back with a large clip, and opened the door to find a giddy Ashley standing there. I was not expecting to see anything but the short hallway back to my room—so I screamed.

She screamed back.

“What the— You can’t just do that to people!” I huffed, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry! I forgot that you had a cell phone now and I could just call you! I was afraid Christine would give me the third degree about you and Cisco if I called the apartment.”

“Ashley, for the last time, me and Cisco are not—”

“Whatever,” she interrupted, “I had to tell you the good news in person anyway.” She was a little waterfall, overflowing with good cheer. Ashley practically skipped back to my room, her high red ponytail bouncing on the top of her head like a genie. I saw my aunt, savoring her morning coffee in the kitchen. “Hold on a second,” I told Ashley.

“Aunt Christine, thank you so much for the cell phone,” I said, giving her a big hug. She hugged me back, a little more tightly than she usually did, then returned to her usual stiff demeanor.

“Well, I couldn’t have you be the only one running around town without one,” she sniffed.

“I love it. Thanks.”

“Well, you’re welcome. Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” I said, beaming.

“Good. I’m glad. Now go see what your cousin wants. That child is persistent when she wants something!” Aunt Christine laughed.

I trotted in to see Ashley, my slippers making a soft “swish, swish” sound on the floor.

“Okay, so I totally want to hear about your night, but first—oh, my God.” She giggled. “Remember how we were talking about Anthony?”

Before I could scream in protest, Ashley continued, “Well, he messaged me on Facebook again and asked for my number!”

I noticed she was tightly clutching her cell phone in her hand. Waiting to answer the second he called, no doubt.

Anthony? I braced myself to cut her daydreams off at the knees.

“Ash, I have to tell you something.” I sat down on the bed and looked at her. Well, I looked at her sneaker-clad feet. All along, she’d been so excited for me, and so supportive of me, and here I was, about to crush her new crush.

I quickly—and as kindly as I could—relayed what I observed the night before. Her jaw dropped so far, I thought it might fall in her lap.

“He’s not a good guy,” I said gently. “I don’t think you should talk to him anymore.”

“Maybe it’s a different Anthony,” Ashley mumbled.

“It’s a small school,” I reasoned. “How many guys in the junior class are blond basketball players named Anthony?”

“Maybe Frank started it,” she suggested hopefully, biting her lip.

“Not from where I was standing,” I said softly. “Regardless, it seemed like Anthony’s a little quick with his hands. I think he might be trying to play you, Ash. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I don’t agree.” Ashley raised her chin defiantly. “Are you sure you’re not just overreacting, because of…well, you know. What you went through?”

I considered the Henry effect for a second. Sure, Anthony was arrogant and ready to punch a guy out at a moment’s notice, but did I really want to put him in the same category as a raging drunk who had no problem backhanding me when I mouthed off?

“I can see where you think I’m overreacting,” I conceded warily. “But just understand that I also have some experience in this area. I think you should be extremely careful around him,” I warned.

“Okay, whatever,” she said, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout. I felt awful. To her, he was so hot, one of the best athletes at the school and definitely one of the “cool” guys at Vince A, whatever that meant. And he had singled her out, a freshman, for attention. And I had to come and rip her little wonderland to shreds.

“Well, tell me about your night.” Ashley sighed, resigned. She flopped into my desk chair and longingly stroked my sticker-covered laptop—a present from Aunt Christine. She probably wanted to open it and log on to Facebook, I realized.

“Did you get to make a love connection with Cisco?” she asked petulantly.

“We’re just friends, Ashley,” I began. “But, that hoodie you’re leaning against—” I paused dramatically “—it’s Brendan Salinger’s.”

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