§ § § -- October 15, 1982
Leslie had no sooner gone out of earshot than Lauren turned to glare at her cousin. "Maybe you'd like to tell me what this is all about?" She shook her head. "As if I have to ask."
Camille rolled her eyes. "Like anybody cares."
"You won't let anybody care!" Lauren hissed. "You have a chip on your shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar and you make sure everyone knows it. I think you're trying to guarantee nobody cares, so you can justify hating the world the way you do. Your attitude toward Andrea is totally unhealthy, Camille. You practically idol-worship her. Just because she -- "
"Don't...say...it," Camille warned in a low, deadly tone.
"Someone has to," Lauren snapped. "But I suppose if I do, you'll drown me in this fountain. Maybe it's time we made a big deal out of it and snapped you out of this mean streak you've developed lately. My God, Camille -- Leslie and Frida both think you've always been like this, and you've been driving away Maureen and Michiko and Myeko. It's too bad Andrea's been working herself to death at school ever since it happened. I think she should come home and see just what you've turned into."
"Andrea'll come home when she's ready," Camille said frostily. "And you know she has to be there for the trial anyway."
"So that gives you a right to insult other people?" Lauren demanded. Camille rolled her eyes again.
"I don't insult other people," she said.
Lauren's narrow-eyed stare grew long and thoughtful. "You know, I have to admit you're right about that at least. You don't insult every other person you see...just non-Asian people. It amazes me you're still talking to my father, let alone Leslie and some of the girls at school." Camille stared at her, and Lauren sighed deeply and got up. "I can't take any more of your attitude. From now on, I'm staying away from you. I'd have quit being friends with you long before this if you weren't my cousin. Now I'm beginning to wish I could disown you." She grabbed her bike, jumped aboard and pedaled away as fast as she could pump her legs.
Camille glared after her. "Just wait till the trial's over," she muttered angrily. "You'll see I'm right."
§ § § -- October 29, 1982
Waiting for their bus home from Fantasy Island High School on the last Friday before Halloween, Leslie, Myeko, Maureen and Michiko found themselves explaining to a very bewildered Frida what Halloween was all about. "Why must one dress as something frightening?" Frida asked finally.
"That's the whole idea behind Halloween," Myeko said excitedly. "It's supposed to be the night when the evil spirits come out and have a blast for themselves."
"Don't say that too loudly," Michiko warned, grinning. "Remember, this is Fantasy Island. It's not unknown to see things like that here for real -- and not just on Halloween, either."
"You don't actually have to dress up as something scary, Frida," Maureen put in.
"That's right," Leslie said. "You can dress as a favorite book character, or a celebrity, or whatever you want. When I was little I used to dress up as a Chinese princess."
Frida seemed to relax upon hearing that. "Oh, that would be much nicer than dressing as something not so pleasant." She turned to Myeko. "So we are to wear costumes to your party, then?"
Myeko nodded. "I'm going to give out costume prizes too. The scariest, the prettiest, and the most original. I've got to do some shopping with Mom tomorrow so I can find some nice ones."
Lauren ran up to them then, out of breath. "Where've you been?" asked Maureen.
"Making sure I get the books I need for this weekend's homework assignment." Lauren made a face. "I'll have to have it done before I go to the party, if I know my mother."
"What happened to your cousin?" Myeko asked.
"Who cares?" Lauren returned sourly, and the other girls looked at one another in surprise. Frida merely looked uncomfortable. No one pursued the subject.
The three buses arrived: the one Leslie and her friends rode went to the eastern side of the island, and a second bus covered the western half. The third bus carried Coral Island students to and from the ferry landing at the northwestern corner of the island, near a hamlet known as Village Beach. The six girls found theirs and boarded, finding seats near one another so they could continue discussing Myeko's party. At the last minute before departure, Camille clambered aboard and threaded her way between the crowded seats till she reached the very back of the bus, where she perched on the edge of a seat whose two occupants had to squeeze aside to make room for her. Camille had ignored the girls as she passed by, and now sat staring out the back of the bus.
"What's her problem?" Myeko asked, directing the question at Lauren.
"Oh, she's probably got her nose out of joint because I gave her what-for the evening we talked about your guest list," Lauren said, clearly annoyed. "We haven't spoken since then, and frankly, I don't care. Did you actually give her an invitation, Myeko?"
Myeko, momentarily taken aback, looked back and forth between Lauren and Camille a couple of times before admitting, "Well, I haven't seen her to give it to her. I could do it now, I guess." Crouching in the hope of avoiding notice by the bus driver, she managed to reach Camille at the back. Her friends watched her while she tapped Camille's arm with the small envelope and, when Camille turned a scowl on her, handed it to her. Camille took it, glanced at it, shrugged and returned her gaze out the window.
Myeko, miffed, whipped around and nearly lost her balance as a result. The motion caught the driver's attention and he barked, "Hey, you, back there, get back in your seat! You know you're not supposed to stand up when the bus is moving."
Myeko shot him an irritated glance but wisely held her tongue, and more or less crawled back to her seat. "Man," she muttered disgustedly when she was settled again. "That sure wasn't worth it."
"Probably didn't even say thank you," Lauren remarked. "Why bother giving her one, the way she's been acting lately?"
"She's been okay around me," Michiko said slowly, "but on the other hand, I've barely seen her in the last two weeks. She won't even sit with us at lunch anymore."
"Just as well," Maureen observed. "I'm pretty tired of her nasty attitude."
The girls murmured uneasy agreement and talk fell by the wayside after that. Leslie regarded Lauren thoughtfully, wondering if it might be worth asking her exactly what was wrong with Camille.
§ § § - October 31, 1982
On Halloween evening Julie brought Frida over to the main house so that Frida could go with Leslie to Myeko's party. Frida carried a large shopping bag with handles; Leslie was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that said, "My Best Friend Visited Fantasy Island, and All She Got Me Was This Lousy T-Shirt!" She was examining a white cloth hat when Julie and Frida let themselves in.
Tattoo and Roarke, both of whom were watching Leslie, shifted their attention. "Well, good evening, Julie and Frida," Roarke said.
"Happy Halloween, uncle," Julie replied and grinned.
"What's in that bag?" inquired Tattoo, gesturing at Frida's shopping bag.
"Oh, that's Frida's costume for tonight," Julie said, her grin widening. "Uncle, is it okay if she changes in the time-travel room?"
"Yes, it's deactivated at the moment," said Roarke, which remark earned him a dubious glance from Frida. He caught it and smiled. "Don't worry, Frida, there is no danger of your being sent to the past."
"But just to be sure, don't open the door in the back," Tattoo advised.
Roarke awarded him an exasperated look. "Thank you, Tattoo," he said, with just enough sarcasm in his voice that Tattoo shrugged a bit sheepishly, and even Frida smiled. She let herself into the small room off the study, and Julie turned to Leslie.
"So where's your costume, Leslie?" she asked.
"This is it," Leslie said. "Well, mostly. I can't decide whether to wear this hat."
"I keep telling you, you should," Tattoo insisted. "Otherwise, imagine the reaction you'll get when you walk into the party. You don't want them to think you're the Headless Horseman or something, do you?"
"I don't get it," Julie said. "What're you going as, a vacationer?"
Leslie giggled. "No...see, I'm gonna be the Invisible Woman. Mr. Roarke's going to let me use a potion, but he hasn't brought it up yet from down cellar." In the stone cellar of the main house, there was a room in which Roarke kept all the ingredients for his potions. Needless to say, no one other than Roarke ever went down there. Before the end of Leslie's first week on the island, Roarke had warned her that she was to stay well away from the cellar, no matter what; she had been too intimidated to defy this edict.
"Well, if I'm not mistaken, the party starts in less than twenty minutes," Julie said. "Maybe you'd better get her that potion, uncle, so she and Frida can leave once Frida's done changing clothes." She studied Leslie again, this time curiously. "The Invisible Woman, huh? Well, it's a cinch you'll have the best costume there. Now I see what Tattoo meant. Yeah, you really should wear that hat, so people know your head's still attached." Tattoo chuckled; Leslie rolled her eyes. Smiling, Roarke rose from his chair and left the room to get the potion for Leslie.
At that point Frida emerged and closed the door behind her. "I hope this crown will work," she murmured. She was dressed in an ankle-length white satin robe with a long, bright red sash tied around her waist and had donned a pair of clogs that she'd brought from Sweden. Her long golden hair hung free. On her head sat a gold-painted ring of metal into which had been set six electric candles which ran on batteries. Leslie stared at it.
"Where'd you get that?" she exclaimed. "That's amazing!"
Frida smiled. "I don't know where it came from. Julie found it somewhere."
"Who're you supposed to be?" Tattoo asked.
"I am Sankta Lucia - the Swedish Christmas saint," Frida told him. "It's a tradition. On the thirteenth of December, the oldest girl in a family takes coffee and Lucia buns to the parents, very early in the morning. If there are other children, they are attendants to Sankta Lucia. Sankta is Swedish for 'saint'."
"I remember my grandmother telling me about that," Leslie said. "I just never saw the costume before. You look beautiful, Frida."
Roarke returned then with a small vial. "All right, Leslie," he said, "this is your potion. There is enough here for two doses, and each should last approximately three hours. The potion is harmless in itself, but I must caution you strongly not to let anyone else try it. Keep the vial with you at all times, and when you return here later tonight, bring it back to me."
"Okay, Mr. Roarke," Leslie agreed. She studied the vial thoughtfully. "Maybe I should take my first dose now, since we're about to leave. Then you can tell me if it works."
Roarke smiled. "It will work," he said, "but go ahead." Actually, in his tinkering with the formula while he was developing it, he had discovered that under the potion's influence, some people could see themselves (as Tattoo had been able to when he'd accidentally drunk it) and some couldn't (such as Harriet Winkler, the guest Leslie had mentioned who had used the potion in her fantasy a year or so before). There was no way of predicting which category a given person would fall under, and Roarke was interested simply for the sake of knowing. "Half the potion only, Leslie."
She uncapped the vial and tipped it back while everyone else watched, as though she were drinking nitroglycerin and they were waiting for her to explode. When half the formula was gone, Roarke made a quick gesture and she lowered the vial. They all stood still and waited.
Ten seconds passed and Leslie finally looked at herself. "Are you sure it's working, Mr. Roarke? I can still see myself." She stared worriedly at him.
Roarke could see anyone who took the stuff, whether they saw themselves or not; but he could always tell when it had taken effect. "Yes, Leslie, it's working."
"I'll say," Julie put in. "Wow, Leslie, that's incredible. You're gonna knock everybody's socks off at that party. I just wish I could see their faces when you walk in."
Leslie giggled. "I'll tell you all about it, I promise. Come on, Frida, let's go."
Leslie had no sooner gone out of earshot than Lauren turned to glare at her cousin. "Maybe you'd like to tell me what this is all about?" She shook her head. "As if I have to ask."
Camille rolled her eyes. "Like anybody cares."
"You won't let anybody care!" Lauren hissed. "You have a chip on your shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar and you make sure everyone knows it. I think you're trying to guarantee nobody cares, so you can justify hating the world the way you do. Your attitude toward Andrea is totally unhealthy, Camille. You practically idol-worship her. Just because she -- "
"Don't...say...it," Camille warned in a low, deadly tone.
"Someone has to," Lauren snapped. "But I suppose if I do, you'll drown me in this fountain. Maybe it's time we made a big deal out of it and snapped you out of this mean streak you've developed lately. My God, Camille -- Leslie and Frida both think you've always been like this, and you've been driving away Maureen and Michiko and Myeko. It's too bad Andrea's been working herself to death at school ever since it happened. I think she should come home and see just what you've turned into."
"Andrea'll come home when she's ready," Camille said frostily. "And you know she has to be there for the trial anyway."
"So that gives you a right to insult other people?" Lauren demanded. Camille rolled her eyes again.
"I don't insult other people," she said.
Lauren's narrow-eyed stare grew long and thoughtful. "You know, I have to admit you're right about that at least. You don't insult every other person you see...just non-Asian people. It amazes me you're still talking to my father, let alone Leslie and some of the girls at school." Camille stared at her, and Lauren sighed deeply and got up. "I can't take any more of your attitude. From now on, I'm staying away from you. I'd have quit being friends with you long before this if you weren't my cousin. Now I'm beginning to wish I could disown you." She grabbed her bike, jumped aboard and pedaled away as fast as she could pump her legs.
Camille glared after her. "Just wait till the trial's over," she muttered angrily. "You'll see I'm right."
§ § § -- October 29, 1982
Waiting for their bus home from Fantasy Island High School on the last Friday before Halloween, Leslie, Myeko, Maureen and Michiko found themselves explaining to a very bewildered Frida what Halloween was all about. "Why must one dress as something frightening?" Frida asked finally.
"That's the whole idea behind Halloween," Myeko said excitedly. "It's supposed to be the night when the evil spirits come out and have a blast for themselves."
"Don't say that too loudly," Michiko warned, grinning. "Remember, this is Fantasy Island. It's not unknown to see things like that here for real -- and not just on Halloween, either."
"You don't actually have to dress up as something scary, Frida," Maureen put in.
"That's right," Leslie said. "You can dress as a favorite book character, or a celebrity, or whatever you want. When I was little I used to dress up as a Chinese princess."
Frida seemed to relax upon hearing that. "Oh, that would be much nicer than dressing as something not so pleasant." She turned to Myeko. "So we are to wear costumes to your party, then?"
Myeko nodded. "I'm going to give out costume prizes too. The scariest, the prettiest, and the most original. I've got to do some shopping with Mom tomorrow so I can find some nice ones."
Lauren ran up to them then, out of breath. "Where've you been?" asked Maureen.
"Making sure I get the books I need for this weekend's homework assignment." Lauren made a face. "I'll have to have it done before I go to the party, if I know my mother."
"What happened to your cousin?" Myeko asked.
"Who cares?" Lauren returned sourly, and the other girls looked at one another in surprise. Frida merely looked uncomfortable. No one pursued the subject.
The three buses arrived: the one Leslie and her friends rode went to the eastern side of the island, and a second bus covered the western half. The third bus carried Coral Island students to and from the ferry landing at the northwestern corner of the island, near a hamlet known as Village Beach. The six girls found theirs and boarded, finding seats near one another so they could continue discussing Myeko's party. At the last minute before departure, Camille clambered aboard and threaded her way between the crowded seats till she reached the very back of the bus, where she perched on the edge of a seat whose two occupants had to squeeze aside to make room for her. Camille had ignored the girls as she passed by, and now sat staring out the back of the bus.
"What's her problem?" Myeko asked, directing the question at Lauren.
"Oh, she's probably got her nose out of joint because I gave her what-for the evening we talked about your guest list," Lauren said, clearly annoyed. "We haven't spoken since then, and frankly, I don't care. Did you actually give her an invitation, Myeko?"
Myeko, momentarily taken aback, looked back and forth between Lauren and Camille a couple of times before admitting, "Well, I haven't seen her to give it to her. I could do it now, I guess." Crouching in the hope of avoiding notice by the bus driver, she managed to reach Camille at the back. Her friends watched her while she tapped Camille's arm with the small envelope and, when Camille turned a scowl on her, handed it to her. Camille took it, glanced at it, shrugged and returned her gaze out the window.
Myeko, miffed, whipped around and nearly lost her balance as a result. The motion caught the driver's attention and he barked, "Hey, you, back there, get back in your seat! You know you're not supposed to stand up when the bus is moving."
Myeko shot him an irritated glance but wisely held her tongue, and more or less crawled back to her seat. "Man," she muttered disgustedly when she was settled again. "That sure wasn't worth it."
"Probably didn't even say thank you," Lauren remarked. "Why bother giving her one, the way she's been acting lately?"
"She's been okay around me," Michiko said slowly, "but on the other hand, I've barely seen her in the last two weeks. She won't even sit with us at lunch anymore."
"Just as well," Maureen observed. "I'm pretty tired of her nasty attitude."
The girls murmured uneasy agreement and talk fell by the wayside after that. Leslie regarded Lauren thoughtfully, wondering if it might be worth asking her exactly what was wrong with Camille.
§ § § - October 31, 1982
On Halloween evening Julie brought Frida over to the main house so that Frida could go with Leslie to Myeko's party. Frida carried a large shopping bag with handles; Leslie was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that said, "My Best Friend Visited Fantasy Island, and All She Got Me Was This Lousy T-Shirt!" She was examining a white cloth hat when Julie and Frida let themselves in.
Tattoo and Roarke, both of whom were watching Leslie, shifted their attention. "Well, good evening, Julie and Frida," Roarke said.
"Happy Halloween, uncle," Julie replied and grinned.
"What's in that bag?" inquired Tattoo, gesturing at Frida's shopping bag.
"Oh, that's Frida's costume for tonight," Julie said, her grin widening. "Uncle, is it okay if she changes in the time-travel room?"
"Yes, it's deactivated at the moment," said Roarke, which remark earned him a dubious glance from Frida. He caught it and smiled. "Don't worry, Frida, there is no danger of your being sent to the past."
"But just to be sure, don't open the door in the back," Tattoo advised.
Roarke awarded him an exasperated look. "Thank you, Tattoo," he said, with just enough sarcasm in his voice that Tattoo shrugged a bit sheepishly, and even Frida smiled. She let herself into the small room off the study, and Julie turned to Leslie.
"So where's your costume, Leslie?" she asked.
"This is it," Leslie said. "Well, mostly. I can't decide whether to wear this hat."
"I keep telling you, you should," Tattoo insisted. "Otherwise, imagine the reaction you'll get when you walk into the party. You don't want them to think you're the Headless Horseman or something, do you?"
"I don't get it," Julie said. "What're you going as, a vacationer?"
Leslie giggled. "No...see, I'm gonna be the Invisible Woman. Mr. Roarke's going to let me use a potion, but he hasn't brought it up yet from down cellar." In the stone cellar of the main house, there was a room in which Roarke kept all the ingredients for his potions. Needless to say, no one other than Roarke ever went down there. Before the end of Leslie's first week on the island, Roarke had warned her that she was to stay well away from the cellar, no matter what; she had been too intimidated to defy this edict.
"Well, if I'm not mistaken, the party starts in less than twenty minutes," Julie said. "Maybe you'd better get her that potion, uncle, so she and Frida can leave once Frida's done changing clothes." She studied Leslie again, this time curiously. "The Invisible Woman, huh? Well, it's a cinch you'll have the best costume there. Now I see what Tattoo meant. Yeah, you really should wear that hat, so people know your head's still attached." Tattoo chuckled; Leslie rolled her eyes. Smiling, Roarke rose from his chair and left the room to get the potion for Leslie.
At that point Frida emerged and closed the door behind her. "I hope this crown will work," she murmured. She was dressed in an ankle-length white satin robe with a long, bright red sash tied around her waist and had donned a pair of clogs that she'd brought from Sweden. Her long golden hair hung free. On her head sat a gold-painted ring of metal into which had been set six electric candles which ran on batteries. Leslie stared at it.
"Where'd you get that?" she exclaimed. "That's amazing!"
Frida smiled. "I don't know where it came from. Julie found it somewhere."
"Who're you supposed to be?" Tattoo asked.
"I am Sankta Lucia - the Swedish Christmas saint," Frida told him. "It's a tradition. On the thirteenth of December, the oldest girl in a family takes coffee and Lucia buns to the parents, very early in the morning. If there are other children, they are attendants to Sankta Lucia. Sankta is Swedish for 'saint'."
"I remember my grandmother telling me about that," Leslie said. "I just never saw the costume before. You look beautiful, Frida."
Roarke returned then with a small vial. "All right, Leslie," he said, "this is your potion. There is enough here for two doses, and each should last approximately three hours. The potion is harmless in itself, but I must caution you strongly not to let anyone else try it. Keep the vial with you at all times, and when you return here later tonight, bring it back to me."
"Okay, Mr. Roarke," Leslie agreed. She studied the vial thoughtfully. "Maybe I should take my first dose now, since we're about to leave. Then you can tell me if it works."
Roarke smiled. "It will work," he said, "but go ahead." Actually, in his tinkering with the formula while he was developing it, he had discovered that under the potion's influence, some people could see themselves (as Tattoo had been able to when he'd accidentally drunk it) and some couldn't (such as Harriet Winkler, the guest Leslie had mentioned who had used the potion in her fantasy a year or so before). There was no way of predicting which category a given person would fall under, and Roarke was interested simply for the sake of knowing. "Half the potion only, Leslie."
She uncapped the vial and tipped it back while everyone else watched, as though she were drinking nitroglycerin and they were waiting for her to explode. When half the formula was gone, Roarke made a quick gesture and she lowered the vial. They all stood still and waited.
Ten seconds passed and Leslie finally looked at herself. "Are you sure it's working, Mr. Roarke? I can still see myself." She stared worriedly at him.
Roarke could see anyone who took the stuff, whether they saw themselves or not; but he could always tell when it had taken effect. "Yes, Leslie, it's working."
"I'll say," Julie put in. "Wow, Leslie, that's incredible. You're gonna knock everybody's socks off at that party. I just wish I could see their faces when you walk in."
Leslie giggled. "I'll tell you all about it, I promise. Come on, Frida, let's go."