boisdemoon

NORMA

For a minute, it’s peacefully quiet. The crowd in the distance and the siren of the firefighters are dim, like when I walk around my neighborhood in the evening and catch a little bit of people’s TV shows inside their houses.

I stare at the dark forest ahead, at the stars above my head, and the round and yellow moon. The smell of buttery popcorn drifts through the breeze all the way to my nostrils, and I get this urge to go back to the fair and pretend everything is normal, that life didn’t just take a really terrifying turn. I’d grab popcorn on the way home and settle in my room to work on my main character’s arc.

But I know I can’t do that.

“Okay,” I mumble. “Sure. It’s fine.” I take my phone and dial Jaden’s number. It goes straight to voicemail.

I dial Harlowe’s. Straight to voicemail.

My thumb hovers over my father’s icon. He’s not working tonight, but he’s reminded me a million times since my birth that I should always dial his phone if I ever need to call the cops, that he’d find me before his colleagues at the station did. But what would I even say?

That a fortune teller made everything disappear and then Jaden made me see? That Harlowe has sudden amnesia and ran away?

My father already hates Harlowe. He’s been telling me the Wickens are trouble before I even met them. He’d find a way to lecture me again about the dangers of hanging out with her and convince me burning down a carnival tent is her twisted idea of a fun night out.

And part of me would want to believe it too.

But the way Jaden looked into my eyes and apologized, asking me if I trusted him before saying all those weird things in the phone to that fortune teller… There’s no way his utter panic was part of a sick joke.

So I tuck my phone in my jacket pocket, grab Jaden’s keys and make my way back towards the parking lot. Panting, I find the car and scramble inside, the keys jingling in my shaky hands. I’m revving out of the lot when someone calls my name. A guy jumps in front of the car, forcing me to pull the brakes.

I roll down the window to raise an arm up in annoyance. “What the hell, Vitt! I could’ve hit you!”

“I saw the flames!” he says, jogging to the side of the car and putting both hands on my door, the ukulele slung over his shoulder. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

“She’s … unharmed. I have to go, sorry.” I press the gas pedal lightly, hitting barely two point five miles per hour, because Vitt’s stupid hands are still on the door and he’s walking right next to the car and my father the police officer drilled every goddamn traffic law in my brain before letting me start my driving course.

“But where is she?”

“I don’t know, okay? Please, let go of the car.”

“She won’t answer my calls.”

I simply don’t have time for this. I start honking. “LET.” Honk. “GO.” Honk. “OF.” Honk. “THE CAR.” Very long honk.

Vitt raises his arms with a sigh. “All right, all right. Just please, tell her I’m worried and that I still—”

By now the window is rolled up and I’m driving away. “Break up with them properly, Lowe, would you,” I mutter under my breath as I turn into the main road.

I have complained approximately a million and five times a day about how small a town Redmarsh is. I have judged the menus of every restaurant and their lack of vegan options. I’ve certainly mocked the fact that we can count all the traffic lights with the fingers of one hand. But tonight, I thank the universe for this small blessing, because it takes me exactly four minutes to get to Cliff’s Hanger, the part-time theater, part-time exhibition center with occasional band gigs that stands at the end of the little park. It gets its name from the fact that it’s a popular hang-out spot, but also because if you follow the narrow trail up behind it you reach the cliff within fifteen minutes and get to look out at the ocean, or even climb up the lighthouse for a better view.

Sweaty and ashy, I decide to leave my half-burned jacket in the car before I make a run through the small parking lot. When I enter Cliff’s, the familiar scent of the red pentas the mayor keeps in a vase at the entrance of most public buildings hits my nose. A girl I know from school is working the ticket booth tonight, and she yells at me when I run past her, but not because I haven’t paid.

“You’re leaving dirt all over the floor! I’m going to have to get the mop. Are you happy, Norma?”

I ignore her, heading toward the only movie room and slamming the doors open. AC hits me just as hard as the realization that I have no idea what I’m going to say to Clare and Peverell. But then Clare’s voice calls my name from the small restaurant section.

“Norma? You okay, sweetie?”

I turn to see her sitting at a table in a corner, legs spread over a chair and a book open on the tabletop next to a gigantic paper bag of popcorn. She frowns with worry as she takes a better look at me, at my singed clothes and sweat-drenched hair.

“What happened?” she asks. She slams the book shut, tucks it under one arm, grabs the popcorn and strides through the lobby to me. She puts her free hand on my shoulder as I catch my breath, the wide sleeve of her colorful shirt spreading between us like a bridge of chiffon.

“I have no idea.” I rub my forehead, scared that I’m going to lose it right here at Cliff’s when Harlowe and Jaden need my help. “I have no freaking idea.”

“I’ll get Peverell,” she says. She opens the doors to the movie room and screams, “Peverell! We’re leaving now!”

The sounds of a few people complaining and the movie soundtrack reach us, but then the thick doors shut and quiet returns. When they reopen, Peverell stumbles out of the room as though pushed by someone. There’s popcorn in his hair.

“Okay, calm down,” he says, flicking the popcorn off his greying, curly hair. “We all know they’re going to end up together anyway.” He turns to glare at Clare, but his tone remains just as calm and composed as it always is. “Was that really necessary, Clare? There were just a few minutes left.”

“Pev!” Clare snaps, waving a hand in my direction.

Harlowe’s father looks at me. He registers my state and straightens his shoulders, then stares at the entrance.

We follow his gaze to see my schoolmate frowning at us with the mop in her hands. “You done?” she asks. “I’d like to clean this mess.”

“Yes, thank you,” Peverell says quickly as he leads us outside.

Clare grabs my hand automatically and we hurry after him. The three of us gather in front of Jaden’s car, where Clare gives my hand a little squeeze.

“I need to know everything,” she says. “Everything. Every little detail, understood?”

“In normal circumstances, I would make a joke about my wife’s obsessive habits but in this case, I must agree. Don’t leave anything out, Norma. Please.”

“Even the weird parts that you fear will make you sound crazy,” Clare adds. “Especially the weird parts that you fear will make you sound crazy.”

But I’m too freaked out.

I don’t even know where to start.

“All the parts are weird parts that will make me sound crazy.” I gulp with difficulty, my throat still completely parched. I can feel tears burning at my tired eyes.

“Just start with the most important thing,” Peverell says calmly. “Are they okay?”

“I don’t know.” I start crying, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop until a considerable amount of fluid has been released from my eyes. “I’m so sorry, I have no idea what’s going on or even where they are.”

“It’s okay, honey. Hold this.” Clare hands me the popcorn, which I take automatically. “Have some, okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble, voice shaky.

She smiles kindly, in a way that makes me think of Jaden so bad my heart jerks.

“I’ll find them,” she says.

Clare and Peverell exchange a nod, then Peverell turns to me.

“Now, don’t panic, Norma. It’s just a blink.”

“Just a what?”

Then to my utter bewilderment, Clare closes her eyes, clasps her hands around the necklace she always wears, and disappears out of thin air.

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Read chapter 8.

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