School’s been out for two weeks. I haven’t seen Scott or heard from him. So weird. Last summer we hung out a lot. And we’ve always studied together. We didn’t do that once for finals. He’s working at the Save-A-Lot this summer. I’m not making milk runs. I leave in five days for Europe. Maybe he’ll be normal when I get back. I hope so. I want it to be like it was.
I deleted that song we danced to from my diva playlist. I can’t ever listen to it again. All it takes is a few notes and I want him all over. It’s kind of exciting to feel like that—passionate like Meadow and Sarah go on about—but I can’t be that way. It’s never going to happen. Scott’s my friend and I’m the Beast.
“Hey, Mom.” I chuck my bag in the corner and head for the kitchen. I hope she cooked.
The kitchen is bare. Great. I open the fridge and rip a drumstick off a rotisserie chicken. There’s a noise in Mom’s study. “Mom? Did you eat without me?” I walk down the hall and push open the door.
Mom is sitting at her computer, tears streaming down her face. I’m across the room in a stride and lean over and put my arms around her. “What?”
“Aunt Linda lost her baby.”
This happens to poor Linda a lot. “That’s awful.” Pregnancy and miscarriage talk used to make me squirm, but now it’s fascinating. I gaze at Mom. She would have liked more babies—I’m sure of it.
“This was her sixth miscarriage.”
“I’m really sorry.” I squeeze Mom’s shoulders. “Can I get you some herb tea? How about that violet kind you like?”
“I’m fine. Can you sit a minute?”
I perch on the edge of one of her wingback chairs. I feel stupid with the chicken leg in my hand.
“They did some testing on the fetus.”
I’m not so hungry anymore. The smell of the chicken is turning my stomach.
“And ran some genetic tests on Linda.”
“That’s all she needs. They should leave her alone.”
“But now she knows what’s going on.”
“They found something?”
Mom nods. “It’s genetic.” She pauses, looks at me intently. “Linda is a carrier of what’s called a trisomy—a triple chromosome. Very rare.”
“And it causes miscarriages?”
“Babies that have it either die and miscarry”—Mom swallows hard—“or are born with severe mental and physical handicaps. Linda’s doctors told her not to try anymore.”
“But Anna,” my cousin, “is fine.”
“She could be a carrier.”
A shudder goes through me. “I’m sorry, Mom. Poor Aunt Linda. That’s all she needs.”
“Honey.” Mom looks down at her hands and then forces her eyes back to my face. “You need to be tested. You could be a carrier.”
“What do you mean?”
“From . . . him.” Dad? Even gone—ruining my life, finding a way.
“That means . . . all my babies . . . ” Will die? Be severely handicapped? I’m not sure what they mean by that. There’s a kid in a wheelchair at school. He’s kind of twisted and talks weird, but he’s smart. I could deal with that. I could love a child like that. Even a baby who wasn’t smart. I think you’d end up loving them even more. They’d never grow up. Always be with you. I’d like that. I’d never be alone again.
But all of Aunt Linda’s babies died. Except Anna. “Did you have miscarriages, Mom?”
She shakes her head. “I just got pregnant the one time. With you.”
I guess nature made me a beast for a reason. Too ugly to attract a mate and pass on the curse. Would an adopted baby love me or be frightened like those kids at the library last summer? Do they give children to single beasts?
Mom gets up and hugs me. “You’ll be fine. It’s nothing to worry about.”
I hug her back and try to believe, but the quiver that runs through her body makes it difficult.
Over her head I catch a reflection of myself in the window behind her desk.
Dyed, straight blonde hair.
Perfect clear skin.
No thick glasses.
I’m beautiful.
But inside, I can’t escape. I am what I am.My world was close to change.
Breaking these shackles,
My bid for freedom
So near this time.
But chains still bind me tight.
All my cries
For love, for hope
Fade in the night.
Just run away.
That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll get on that plane, fly to Switzerland, sing to the world. Even this new curse, this awful new power my father may have over me, can’t stop me.
chapter 10
INFECTED
“Oh, baby, look at that.” Meadow jabs my ribs with her elbow.
Two way-hot guys wearing jeans and red and white hockey jerseys are talking to the guy who seated us. One of them is a tall guy I remember seeing on the Amabile guys’ Web site and the other one—
Catches me staring—
And grins at me.
My eyes hit my plate, and I jam a forkful of pork schnitzel and buttery noodles into my mouth. I blush to the tips of my fingers. He’s got a magnetism that didn’t show up in his pictures online. Angel face, medium height, slim build, dark, soft hair. Pale, pale skin. I can’t believe I actually chatted with this guy. I can’t believe I was such a snot. He doesn’t know who I am—doesn’t have a clue that the awkward scarlet-faced girl staring at him with her mouth hanging open is the mysterious Bliss soloist. He’s awful, right? Horrid. As bad as Colby. For sure.
“It’s him.” Meadow perks up. “Derek.”
Poor Meadow. The trip up here this morning was brutal. Debilitating stage fright is merely one of her conditions. It’s all real, too—no act. She’s okay now. We’re sitting in a cozy restaurant, the Crystal something or other, all windows, snow-covered peaks smack up against them, that reflect so much sunshine it makes your eyes hurt. All this balanced on top of a peak in the middle of one of the most famous mountain ranges in the Swiss Alps. The Jungfraujoch. Don’t ask me how you say it. It’s part of this giant installation worthy of a James Bond-villain hideout. They call it the Top of Europe. When we first arrived and saw giant peaks right in our faces, we all stopped at the same time. Staring. Amazed. Alps on steroids.
Down in Lausanne, where we started today’s journey, the Alps across the lake are a striking blue granite with hints of snow at the top. The quaint old city is rich with green grass and trees, the blue lake and bluer skies, red geraniums pouring off every windowsill—perfect summer, cool and sweet down by the water. Such a relief after the heat in Rome. The place is like a fairy tale come to life compared with the humid, overcast Great Lakes summer we left behind.
Up here on the edge of the skies where clouds and birds and the very tip-tops of mountains live, it’s freezing white perfection. The glaciers on the peaks are pure and lovely, like an everlasting first snowfall.
To get up here, we took train after train, and the last one went straight up through the middle of the solid granite mountain. All we could see was the rough stone walls cut a hundred years ago for tourists like us. Tunnels and Meadow don’t mix.
She was breathing fast and shallow, head down, a sheen of sweat seeping through the makeup coating her face.
I remembered that awful panic feeling when I was getting my face lasered. Meadow’s mom was in a different car. She always fades away when Meadow is in meltdown. Guess she doesn’t like to watch her own handiwork gone wrong.