The Weight of Blood (38)

“Powerful,” Maddy mumbled.

Yes. That’s exactly what she was.

“You want to watch a movie tonight? My parents will be home late, so I can skip curfew.”

Wendy gripped Kenny’s hand as they strolled down the hall.

He shrugged, giving her a fake smile. “Yeah. Sounds good, babe.”

Wendy ignored the panic tugging the back of her brain. She couldn’t catch a good read on his mood. They used to be so in sync, but the closer they sailed toward graduation, the further he seemed to drift.

Maybe he’s nervous about us going to different schools, she thought, wondering if she should tell him about her change of plan.

“Hey,” she started. “I . . . got something to tell you.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

But just as Wendy opened her mouth, Mrs. Morgan flew around the corner, her face lighting up as she spotted them.

“Ah! Just the two dummies I was looking for!”

“Excuse me?” Wendy blanched, realizing she sounded as bitchy as Jules.

Mrs. Morgan ignored her, glaring right at Kenny. “You asked Maddy to prom?”

He stiffened before his shoulders sagged. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

Wendy tried to keep the shock off her face. He had asked her and never mentioned it? How could he keep something like that from me?

“Why?” Mrs. Morgan spat, crossing her arms.

Kenny opened his mouth but stopped himself, eyes flickering away, full of something close to shame. Wendy ping-ponged between them and went into protective girlfriend mode.

“That’s really none of your business,” Wendy said, her tone clipped.

Mrs. Morgan scoffed and continued to address Kenny. “After everything that’s happened these last few weeks, you really think this is a good idea?”

“Yes,” Wendy snapped, refusing to be ignored. “That’s exactly why. After everything that’s happened, we owe it to Maddy. Right, Kenny?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, eyes on the floor. “Right.”

He didn’t sound super convincing. Why did he seem so defeated?

“Maddy is in a very delicate place right now,” Mrs. Morgan explained. “After being brutally outed and humiliated by your friends, if you can even call them that, she’s now in the middle of a self-discovery journey. So whatever you have up your sleeves—”

“She wasn’t outed by anyone! It wasn’t our fault she got her hair wet. If anything, she brought this on herself.”

Mrs. Morgan chuckled. “Well, aren’t you the perfect little Jules Marshall clone?”

Wendy’s jaw dropped. Could a teacher even talk to them like this?

“So, you’re okay with this, Kenny? The most popular guy in school taking Maddy Washington to the prom?”

He looked up at that comment, his eyes going dark. The same way they did during spirit day.

“What’s so wrong with Maddy Washington?” he sneered.

“Absolutely nothing,” Mrs. Morgan balked.

“Then why are you asking me like that?” he barked. “Like there’s something wrong with her. Like I should be embarrassed to be seen with her!”

Mrs. Morgan’s face fell as she tripped over her words. “That’s not what . . . I just mean . . .”

“Yeah, I know what people like you really mean. Always looking for some sob story so you can play savior. You think you helping by pitying her?”

Wendy glanced down at Kenny’s hand, balled into a tight fist.

Mrs. Morgan quickly collected herself. “Well, I can say the same with the stunt you two are trying to pull.”

Wendy moved to end her ambush. “This isn’t a joke. We’re not pulling anything, and we don’t pity her. Besides, prom has nothing to do with school, so it has nothing to do with you. Right, Kenny?”

He shook his head. “I’ve gotta get to class,” he grumbled, and stormed off, leaving a stunned Wendy behind.

Two periods later, his anger had not cooled. In the past two weeks, she had seen him more worked up than she had during their entire relationship. Even after losing a game, he seemed firmly indifferent and rational about it.

When she later inquired why he didn’t tell her about asking Maddy to prom, he shrugged it off and said he forgot.

Wendy stared straight through his lie, trying to detect the reason but finding none.

Maddy sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the hurricane lamp sitting on the windowsill, the tall white candle unlit. They had candles all around the house, some collecting years of gray dust. Papa said many of them were from his father’s church. She wondered why they never used them.

The four books on telekinesis she’d checked out of the library floated around her, spinning like little planets. She rubbed the invisible threads between her thumb and forefingers. The faster she rubbed, the faster they went. She let go of the threads, and the books came to a halt, hovering arm’s length over her head. She breathed in and concentrated on the lamp. The books talked all about focusing one’s energy, but practice was key. She called to the lamp.

Move.

The lamp shook and glided across the room, bumping into a hairbrush floating nearby.

Maddy had been practicing with smaller items around the house. Ones she could explain if they happened to fall or break. The bed had a strange creak that hadn’t been there before she dropped it, and she’d found a small crack in the vanity mirror.