Unspeakable Things(20)
Except this didn’t seem like the Clam I’d grown up with.
I thought of Evie’s story, that he’d spent the night in the hospital, that he’d been put in a diaper. My mouth grew dry. I’d been a baby to think this was some Nancy Drew mystery.
“You here alone?” He moved a step closer.
I could smell him now, the scent of fried food on his clothes. His eyes held a wildness that I’d never seen before, something between terror and danger.
I couldn’t run past him. Trapped, I made myself larger, hoping he couldn’t see my knees shaking. “You come one step closer and I’ll slap you.”
Now I was in Dynasty? But I still couldn’t make sense of what was happening. I was in Lilydale Elementary and Middle School, standing in a lit room. Mr. Connelly wasn’t more than fifty feet away. I could even hear Charlie Kloss’s ragged notes splitting the air. But my stomach held a bag of ice suddenly, and I grew light-headed. I was afraid, really and truly, and I’d known Clam my whole life.
Just not this Clam.
He sneered, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. His flood pants were thick denim, the grommets and zipper an ugly copper. “I could hurt you,” he whispered, “but I won’t if you do what I say.”
His words sounded weird, like an echo, or a new language he could recite from memory without understanding it. My brain pinged off reassuring markers, like the light switch that I’d flicked on a hundred times or the rainbow Trapper Keeper stored under my clarinet case. None of it helped. Something was wrong with Clam.
“I know someone attacked you,” I said.
He grew still and clear, like his colors became brighter. “You don’t know shit.”
“Who did it?” I asked. It came out as a rush. My jaw felt locked, and I couldn’t seem to draw a full breath.
Clam opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then he slammed it shut. The movement worked like a bellows, lighting the crazy fire in his eyes. Somebody had hurt Clam, and he was going to do the same to me.
Charlie continued to squeak through his piccolo lesson a million miles away, and I found I couldn’t even yell, because I’d feel stupid if I was making a big deal out of nothing. Clam must have seen the surrender in my eyes, because he lunged closer. I stepped back, tripping over a cornet case that hadn’t been pushed fully in. My fall brought a stack of cymbals crashing to the ground.
A door opened in the main band room. Footsteps rushed toward us. Mr. Connelly appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide. I could have cried with relief at seeing him there.
“Heavens, Cassandra, are you okay?”
I nodded, jumping to my feet to stack the cymbals. My right wrist smarted from where I’d landed on it, and my scar pulsed with my racing heart. I hated how ashamed I suddenly felt.
“Good. Glad to hear it.” Mr. Connelly’s face tightened as his focus shifted to Clam. “Mr. Clamchik, I can only assume you’ve decided to take the yard-work job I offered you?”
Clam’s shoulders slumped, and his thumbs dropped out of his loops. Mr. Connelly deflated him just like that, letting all the bad air out of his balloon. “Naw,” Clam said, pushing past Mr. Connelly.
Mr. Connelly watched him go before turning back to me. “You sure you’re okay, Cassandra?”
I blinked back tears. I didn’t want Connelly to see me crying because it was stupid, this was all so stupid. I didn’t even know what had just happened. “Yep, just putting my clarinet away. Is Charlie’s lesson done?”
“We might as well finish early.” He was looking at me funny. “Want me to walk you to class?”
“No, thank you.”
Connelly stepped to the side to let me pass. My legs were still trembly, but I grabbed my popcorn brochure and Trapper Keeper, putting one foot in front of the other toward the exit.
I shrugged off the crummy panic of having Clam go all animal on me. No one had seen it.
I made it all the way to fourth period civics before a worried-looking secretary called me to the principal’s office.
CHAPTER 12
My fingers and toes itched on the walk to Mrs. Janowski’s. I’d never been called in before. Did she know I’d spied on her and Mrs. Puglisi in the bathroom? My heart sank. Maybe it was even worse. Maybe Connelly had told them about Clam being weird in the instrument room this morning. Were they asking me in as a witness, to tell on him? This theory gathered strength when I spotted Clam sulking out of Mrs. Janowski’s office at the end of the hall. I shuddered at the sight. He didn’t glance my way.
The secretary led me straight back to the principal’s office, where she was on the phone.
“She just walked in,” Mrs. Janowski said into the mouthpiece.
My ears burned. Who was she talking on the phone to about me?
She hung up and indicated the chair in front of her desk. I collapsed into it, I think, but my body had gone cold and I couldn’t really feel anymore.
“Do you know why I called you here, Cassandra?”
My full name didn’t sound as good in her mouth as it did in Mr. Connelly’s. “No, ma’am.”
Her lips tightened. “Can you empty your pockets for me?”
I was falling, plummeting deep down inside myself, looking up toward the holes that were my eyes. Heather’s chocolate chip cookie compact was still in my front right pocket, where I’d shoved it when Clam surprised me. I glanced down at its outline in my jeans, then back up at Mrs. Janowski. She looked so disappointed. I yanked out the cool plastic and held it out to her.