The Weight of Blood (9)
Tanya: So what does this have to do with Maddy?
Michael: Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but my theory is that Maddy’s abilities or powers had some sort of delayed side effect that only affected kids, and no one put two and two together.
Tanya: Oh, come off it! What about the teacher? She was in the room as well.
Michael: No symptoms reported, and she’s not alive to give her own account.
Tanya: Fine. Let’s say that is the case. A question for you, then: Why hadn’t anyone complained about it before?
Michael: What do you mean?
Tanya: These so-called “powers,” they had to come from somewhere, right? They didn’t suddenly appear out of the blue. This incident, while traumatic, couldn’t have been the inciting source. What was the change agent? Did she have these powers all her life and decide that moment was the right time to reveal her talents? I find it improbable that in seventeen years, no other students experienced these side effects until Maddy’s senior year of high school.
May 1, 2014
The air was humid and sticky as Maddy made the long walk home through the winding neighboring streets, hoping to use the tall white oaks as protection against the brutal sun. The rising heat erased all traces of the downpour that had ruined her carefully crafted facade. Mid-May in Georgia could reach hellishly hot temperatures, and ten minutes into her journey she realized that she should have accepted Mr. O’Donnell’s offer for a ride. With her hair swelled beyond recognition, the entire town could see her from a mile away. They would know her darkest secret, not that it mattered. They would all find out eventually. But in a last-ditch effort, she ripped a plastic string off a nearby garbage bag and tied her hair into a ponytail. She stuffed the thick poof under her sweater, refusing to take it off, no matter how much sweat pooled in her collarbone. The rain must have washed clean the three layers of sunblock she applied every morning. Bad enough her hair was in disarray; she didn’t dare come home with a tan on top of it.
How many people can see me? she thought. How many people were staring out their windows, saying, There goes Thomas’s daughter. Did you see her hair?
Her stomach lurched. What was she going to tell Papa? How would she begin to explain that their biggest fear had materialized? How would he punish her? She walked faster, concentrating on the Betty Crocker cookbook sitting by the stove at home, considering potential meals she could prepare to soften Papa’s rage.
Two blocks from home, a bee zipped in front of her face, rounding about. Maddy dodged out of its way. She wasn’t used to being out in the sun for more than minutes at a time and didn’t know if she could be allergic to bee stings. She tried to outrun it, whimpering and swerving, but the bee seemed determined.
Go away, she thought. Leave me alone!
The bee buzzed closer to her ear, and she jerked wildly, her ponytail coming loose. She yelped, and her vision pulsed. Once, twice, three times . . .
“Stop it!”
The bee went silent, shooting up like a rocket into the clouds just as a squirrel plummeted from a tree, landing on its stomach with a loud smack to the concrete road beside her. She shrieked, hands covering her face. The squirrel flipped back on its legs, shook its head, and sniffed the air. Its pitch-black eyes looked directly at her and froze. Stunned, Maddy glanced around, wondering if anyone had seen or heard the animal fall.
Are you okay? she thought desperately. Please be okay.
The squirrel shook its head once more. Maddy stood paralyzed in its gaze. Finally, it scurried off, up a nearby tree, disappearing among the leaves.
Maddy took a deep breath, her shoulders easing. She stuffed her ponytail back inside her sweaty sweater and continued heading home.
Maddy. Maddy. Maddy.
The name that ran through Wendy’s head all day, speeding and throbbing through every artery, rang loudest in the hectic cafeteria. The headache she’d complained about earlier had not relented, even after two aspirins. Her phone buzzed. An email, another scholarship secured, but still short the three thousand she needed for first semester housing. All her friends had already turned in their security deposits, some parents paying both semesters in full. Her parents probably used their checkbook as a drink coaster.
Wendy massaged her temple, only catching snippets of the conversation Jules and the girls were having across from her.
“Ha! There’s no way Maddy’s momma was all dark like Kenny and she come out looking like that.” Jules laughed. “She had to have been, like, really light-skinned or something.”
An arm wrapped around Wendy’s waist.
“Why do you got that look on your face?” Kenny whispered, gnawing on a plastic straw.
She stabbed at her salad, too queasy to eat. “I keep thinking about Maddy.”
“Feeling guilty?”
“No, nothing like that. I just . . . can’t get her face out of my head.” She laughed, waving her hand. “It’s nothing.”
“Maybe. But Kenny doesn’t talk all Black either,” Jules said. “He talks regular.”
Kenny looked up at the mention of his name, his face unreadable. Wendy tensed as she always did at the small comparisons people made about her boyfriend. But he only gave a smile and returned his gaze to her. She exhaled, happy he remained unbothered, and was leaning over to steal a kiss when Jason elbowed in.
“Hey, bro!” Jason tossed a football up. “Me and the guys are getting in a game of touch after school. You in? I know you’re about to be big time, but you down to slum it with us?”