Zee, on the other hand, was strangely exuberant-more so than was natural for a thirteen-year-old boy, if you asked Charlotte. Whatever trepidation he had had when he first arrived seemed to be gone, and he bounded through school like a prisoner on his first day out.
He went through the hallways saying hello to people Charlotte didn't even know. Of course, since their schedule was the same, Charlotte had to walk from class to class with him and his red sweater and his bright chatter, while everyone in the school greeted him as if now their lives were shiny and free too. Thanks to her cousin, the great malaise had gone away, and Charlotte very much missed it.
Nothing was right anymore. All the social structures were being thrown off. Zee was friendly with the mean boys, the smart boys, the cool boys, and the formerly fat boys. And those boys, as a result, were being-if not friendly-at least civil to one another. The girls, mean while, had all started to be nice to Charlotte, as if she could get to Zee for them. She'd liked it better when they were all angsty, she decided. At least then they'd stayed out of her way.
In the locker room after gym she was accosted by one of the Ashleys, who had never spoken to Charlotte before in her life.
"Char!" she said brightly. "How are you?"
"Fine," Charlotte said, letting her suspicion show. Ashley smiled toothfully. "You know, that's a nice sweater. It really tones down your hair!"
Charlotte sighed. "Thanks."
"Not that your hair's not pretty."
"Yeah," Charlotte turned back to her locker.
"Hey, I was wondering… you know your cousin?"
"Yes," Charlotte said. "I do."
"Well, um… does he have a girlfriend? Like, back in England?"
"Yes," Charlotte turned to face the girl. "He has six girlfriends, and they all have their natural hair color."
Ashley reddened and bit her lip. Charlotte felt a momentary pang of regret, which she quickly stifled. What would happen- the girls would never speak to her again? They didn't now, and she didn't think they had anything interesting to say anyway. Whatever. The world was too gray and heavy for regret. None of it mattered.
The rest of the day girls with dark roots in their hair were whispering and pointing at her. Charlotte walked along staring at the ground, trying to will the flushed color out of her cheeks. Even Zee stopped trying to communicate with her, and Charlotte found herself trailing along well behind her cousin and whatever bright bunch was traveling with him.
By the end of the day the entire school was cutting a wide swath around Charlotte, as if they had all gotten the memo. In English, Gretchen-the-goth-girl nodded approvingly. Charlotte spent the class running her pen back and forth across her notebook just to see how black she could get the paper, and darn the consequences.
But after class, as she was stalking through the door, Mr. Metos stopped her.
"Ms. Mielswetzski?"
Charlotte's neck prickled. Perhaps consequences should not be taken so lightly after all.
She turned slowly. "Yes, Mr. Metos?"
He stared down at her, his dark eyes precise and unwavering. "Ms. Mielswetzski, I am told that you are collecting assignments for Ms. Ruby. Is that correct?"
"Oh!" Charlotte exhaled. "Yeah, I am." This morning one of the counselors, Mrs. Spackelor, had asked her to keep collecting the homework until Maddy was back at school. She had not gotten anything from Mr. Metos, since she was in his class too and could just tell Maddy the assignments. Anyway, she was too terrified to talk to him. Like, say, now. With any other teacher she could spin a golden tapestry of lies, but Mr. Metos scared all the artistry out of her and she became a bumbling idiot. Talking was her only skill, and he took it away from her. "I told her about the reading and the test and stuff," she sputtered. "I didn't think-"
"No, no, Ms. Mielswetzski. It's perfectly fine," he coughed. "Would you tell her not to concern herself with the rest of this unit? Madeline seems to have things well in hand."
"Oh!" Charlotte blinked. "I will!"
"Good, good." He leaned back on his desk. "Mrs. Spackelor said Madeline might be out for some time. Do you know… do they know what she has?"
"Um…" Charlotte bit her lip. "No. Not yet."
"I see." He nodded slowly, still looking at Charlotte. He opened his mouth but then shook his head slightly. "Well, you tell her to feel better," he said briskly.
Charlotte nodded, wide-eyed. Mr. Metos released her from his gaze, and she began to make for the door, when he added:
"Oh, and Ms. Mielswetzski? In the future, if you would like to practice your modern art, would you not do it during my class?"
"Yes, Mr. Metos," she squeaked, and scurried out the door.
Perhaps everything would have unfolded differently had Zee not gotten a concussion at a soccer game on Sunday morning. Perhaps the whole story would have come out earlier, and Charlotte could have taken precautions or warned everyone or something… Perhaps then the Footmen would have moved on to some other plan at some other school, and this would have been some other girl's story, and Charlotte could have gone on with her ordinary life, which really wasn't so bad once you looked at the issue carefully.
But it didn't.
Because Zee got a concussion at a soccer game on Sunday morning. It was just one of those things that shouldn't have happened, except that it did happen. It was late in the game, and the score was tied 3-3; Zee had two of the team's three goals, and the Mielswetszkis couldn't have been prouder. Until…
The goalie for the other team was an All-Metro senior and had a particularly high drop kick, which he aimed at a very burly midfielder, and Zee ran in to make the steal. The two jumped for the ball at the same time, and the midfielder threw his elbows out to push off Zee, headed the ball, then headed Zee. The heads knocked with a sickly thud that seemed to reverberate through the field, and both players were on the ground. The midfielder got up. Zee did not.
The referees appeared around him, then the coach, then the team, then the other team, then the ambulance. The Mielswetzskis had gone to the game, of course, and Charlotte's mother rode in the ambulance with Zee, while Charlotte and her father drove to the hospital.
They were back at home three hours later. He would be fine, he had a concussion, he needed to lie down for a few days, they should watch him carefully, they should wake him during the night, and absolutely no soccer or any other physical activity for two weeks. Any strange signs, any vomiting, any difficulty in speech or movement, any personality change, and they should take him straight back to the ER.
At home they propped Zee up in the den with blankets, lots of root beer, and just about every new release the movie rental place had. Once he was set, Charlotte watched as her mother sat next to him, held his hand, and began to apologize.
"Oh, Zachary, your father's going to kill me."
"It's not your fault, Aunt Tara," Zee said sleepily.
"He's absolutely going to kill me. You're here barely a week-"
"It's all right, Aunt Tara."
"It's not all right! You got a CAT scan!"
"Which was normal. Aunt Tara, I promise he won't kill you. I won't let him. He really hasn't killed anyone in a long time." Charlotte watched, wide-eyed. The attempt at humor would not work, she knew; Charlotte had seen her mother like this before. Her imagination was more out of control than Charlotte's. It was best just to agree with her before things got out of hand.
"I should never have let you play soccer with the upper-school boys."
Like that.
"Aunt Tara!" Zee's eyes widened. "It has nothing to do with that, this happens all the time!"
Charlotte winced.
"Oh, it does?" Mrs. Mielswetzski exclaimed.
Charlotte tried to signal to Zee to cut his losses. This was not the time to reason with Tara Christine Miller Mielswetzski, and if Zee kept talking, she might never let him leave the house again. But he was opening his mouth, even though his face was pale and his eyes were shadowy and his head looked so heavy against the pillow.