White is for Magic Read Online Free Page B
Author: Laurie Faria Stolarz
"It's even locked . . . imagine that."
She turns around to face me.
"No," I say. "It was there--the letter M. And the window was open a crack."
'Are you sure?" Drea asks. She rests her hands on my shoulders, in an effort to calm me, maybe--
to look into my eyes and understand.
I nod, my jaw trembling slightly. It just doesn't make sense.
'And so what if it was there?" Amber says. "It's probably been there for months."
"No," I say, taking a step closer to the window. "I would have noticed it before."
"What difference does it make," she says. "It's gone now and, in case you've forgotten, your name starts with an S."
"You don't understand."
"Well, then, make me understand--because right now I'm starting to think you're completely funkified."
I look to Drea. I can see she wants to believe me, and maybe a part of her already does.
29
p
29
"Forget it," I say, maybe as much for my sake as for hers. I'm not sure she could handle what's been going on inside my head, what I feel in my heart might be happening again--not after last year. "Maybe I just need some sleep."
"That's it?" Amber's face drops. "What about 'M for Maura? M for Murder?' Have you completely wigged on us?"
"I'm sorry," I say, even though I know the M was there, that it was real. That my nightmare predicted it. I take one last look at the window before turning away to go back upstairs.
30
five.
My day goes by in an absolute blur. After a night packed with enough chaos and conflict to fill up an entire season of daytime drama, my classes seem almost incidental. I mean, how am I supposed to focus on French and astronomy when everything seems to be crumbling to pieces all around me? And yet, if I don't start buckling down, the chances of me getting into a halfway-decent college will be slim to none.
31
31
That's why I've decided to make an actual attempt at studying tonight. That and because I've managed to find myself sleepless once again. It's not that I can't sleep; I just don't want to. Every time I feel myself nodding off, I get that sour feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'm going to be sick. So, while Drea and Amber snooze soundly in their beds, I sit out here in the common room, pounding away at my bio notes, hoping the words in bold will somehow cosmically soak into my brain.
Except I can't stop thinking about last night.
My grandmother's white candle resting in my lap, I close my eyes and picture the letter M--red and splattered--the way it appeared against the window glass. I realize that someone could have been playing yet another stupid prank, or maybe it was meant for someone else--some sort of private joke that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Or, per Amber's theory, maybe I really was funkified. It's true I was beyond the point of exhaustion last night--or, should I say, the wee hours of this morning. I could have imagined the whole thing. And I know I sometimes dream about things that have little or no relevance to real life.
But I know in my heart none of that is true. I know that marking was there--I felt it; I saw it.
And I know it was meant for me.
I bring the candle up to my nose and whisper the letter M over and over again, hoping the magical elements of the whiteness will help lead me in the right direction. It feels good just holding the candle, having it close to me--its mystery, its mysticism. Almost as if my coming across it so
32
suddenly was my grandmother's way of showing or telling me something.
I reach into my pencil case for a red marker and dip the tip into my mug of water. The red ink begins to filter across the surface in puffy cloudlike shapes, turning the water a slight pinkish color. I move into the pantry and stand in front of the sink. The window above the faucet is similar to the one downstairs in the boiler room. I draw a giant M across it, trying my best to make it look messy, the way it appeared downstairs. The water helps, causing the bright red lines to bleed down the glass. I
She turns around to face me.
"No," I say. "It was there--the letter M. And the window was open a crack."
'Are you sure?" Drea asks. She rests her hands on my shoulders, in an effort to calm me, maybe--
to look into my eyes and understand.
I nod, my jaw trembling slightly. It just doesn't make sense.
'And so what if it was there?" Amber says. "It's probably been there for months."
"No," I say, taking a step closer to the window. "I would have noticed it before."
"What difference does it make," she says. "It's gone now and, in case you've forgotten, your name starts with an S."
"You don't understand."
"Well, then, make me understand--because right now I'm starting to think you're completely funkified."
I look to Drea. I can see she wants to believe me, and maybe a part of her already does.
29
p
29
"Forget it," I say, maybe as much for my sake as for hers. I'm not sure she could handle what's been going on inside my head, what I feel in my heart might be happening again--not after last year. "Maybe I just need some sleep."
"That's it?" Amber's face drops. "What about 'M for Maura? M for Murder?' Have you completely wigged on us?"
"I'm sorry," I say, even though I know the M was there, that it was real. That my nightmare predicted it. I take one last look at the window before turning away to go back upstairs.
30
five.
My day goes by in an absolute blur. After a night packed with enough chaos and conflict to fill up an entire season of daytime drama, my classes seem almost incidental. I mean, how am I supposed to focus on French and astronomy when everything seems to be crumbling to pieces all around me? And yet, if I don't start buckling down, the chances of me getting into a halfway-decent college will be slim to none.
31
31
That's why I've decided to make an actual attempt at studying tonight. That and because I've managed to find myself sleepless once again. It's not that I can't sleep; I just don't want to. Every time I feel myself nodding off, I get that sour feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'm going to be sick. So, while Drea and Amber snooze soundly in their beds, I sit out here in the common room, pounding away at my bio notes, hoping the words in bold will somehow cosmically soak into my brain.
Except I can't stop thinking about last night.
My grandmother's white candle resting in my lap, I close my eyes and picture the letter M--red and splattered--the way it appeared against the window glass. I realize that someone could have been playing yet another stupid prank, or maybe it was meant for someone else--some sort of private joke that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Or, per Amber's theory, maybe I really was funkified. It's true I was beyond the point of exhaustion last night--or, should I say, the wee hours of this morning. I could have imagined the whole thing. And I know I sometimes dream about things that have little or no relevance to real life.
But I know in my heart none of that is true. I know that marking was there--I felt it; I saw it.
And I know it was meant for me.
I bring the candle up to my nose and whisper the letter M over and over again, hoping the magical elements of the whiteness will help lead me in the right direction. It feels good just holding the candle, having it close to me--its mystery, its mysticism. Almost as if my coming across it so
32
suddenly was my grandmother's way of showing or telling me something.
I reach into my pencil case for a red marker and dip the tip into my mug of water. The red ink begins to filter across the surface in puffy cloudlike shapes, turning the water a slight pinkish color. I move into the pantry and stand in front of the sink. The window above the faucet is similar to the one downstairs in the boiler room. I draw a giant M across it, trying my best to make it look messy, the way it appeared downstairs. The water helps, causing the bright red lines to bleed down the glass. I
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