Chapter Four
. . . 9-1-1 . . .
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"See? You didn't need a bustier," Mom says as she spins me around to face the mirror in the hallway.
It's kind of difficult to see through the window shutters of my fake eyelashes, and while my face feels weird with all of this makeup on, I barely recognize the girl I'm facing. My eyebrows are twice the size they normally are, and slant dramatically over gold-and-umber-dusted eyelids. Mom even gave me cheekbones, although they're green and gold. My ankle-length cape, with its noisy, crinkling decoration of fake leaves that took me two days to superglue to the fabric, matches the green velvet catsuit I'm wearing.
And then there's the bodysuit, because no way are you wearing a bustier, young lady: an ugly, shiny black with vertical rips that let the green peek through. Like tree bark, I guess.
It'll do.
"Wow," Jasper drawls. He's dressed in gray and navy as a Union Soldier from the Civil War.
I smirk and turn to face the boys, tossing my red-tipped hair over my shoulder . . . just like Johanna Mason did when she found Peta and Katniss and Haymitch in that elevator.
Under his red Flash hood, Emmett's all eyes.
Edward, a.k.a. Captain America, is less flattering. "Where's your pickaxe?"
"Are you gonna take your clothes off for us?" Emmett grins.
"No, she's not taking her clothes off," Mom snaps.
Maybe I won't be taking them off for the boys, but God help me when I have to go to the bathroom, because I have to remove my cape, unsnap the bodysuit, and then pull it all the way up to my shoulders just so I can wiggle the catsuit down my hips.
"You boys get going to the party and let me finish up here," she continues.
Down the block, Mike Newton is having a Halloween party, which Rose and I plan to attend only after we make sure the whole neighborhood sees our costumes. Specifically, one Seth Clearwater.
"We're waiting for Alice," Jasper tells her.
Speak of the devil. The door ding-dongs, and then Alice bursts in, skirts swirling. She's wearing a gold, glittery turban and a beautiful cascade of black, gold and purple. I'm immediately jealous.
"What are you?" Emmett asks.
She presses her palms together and bows her head. "Swami Allie at your service."
"Who?"
"I tell fortunes," she says in a tone of voice that communicates he's being an idiot.
They leave in a crush of noise, telling me to hurry up or I'm going to miss the best games at Mike's party.
"Lot of weirdos out tonight," Mom tells me as she bands one of my wrists with a thick, silver studded bracelet. "Don't eat anything you get, not until you've given me and your dad a chance to look at it."
"I won't, Mom. I'll save my sweet tooth for Mike's party."
She hooks the second bracelet on. "Atta girl."
Rose meets me at her front door wearing a peach gauze baby doll dress. She's beautiful, just perfect as The Hunger Games' Glimmer on Arena Night. Somewhere, she found a pair of peach arm warmers to go with the dress. On her feet are low heeled silver booties that glitter.
"It's perfect," I breathe, jealous again.
She touches the red part of my hair, which is crunchy from the spray-on color. "So is yours. Now you just need the swagger."
It's in the mid-forties, though, so it's a bit too cold to swagger; I'm pretty sure I look stiff as a tree.
"Ready to dazzle?"
"Let's dazzle," I say. We hook arms and stride up to the porch with a single pumpkin on it. The light isn't on, but Seth's old maroon Nova is parked in the driveway. He's not fooling us. We know he's here.
Rose and I pound on his door and yell his name until he finally opens it. His wavy, dark hair is wet, and he's wearing a black shiny robe that shows his chest muscle definition. My mouth drops open.
"Shouldn't you kids be at a party or something?" he growls.
"We had to come see you first," Rose says and twirls. "What do you think?"
"I think you're going to catch a cold in that thing, princess. And you," he turns to me. "Not bad, but what are you supposed to be?"
Seth is in his mid-twenties and hand washes his car almost every Saturday, which is how we met him. He goes out all the time, searching for that perfect girl, he says. The boys think he's cool. Us girls think he's yummy.
"I'm Johanna Masen. From The Hunger Games?"
He looks puzzled. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Cute costume, Bella. Your lips are blue."
Not exactly what I was looking for in a compliment, but it's better than what Rose got.
"I have a date, gotta go. You girls be safe."
And he's gone.
"Well, dammit," Rose says to his door.
. . .
Alice thinks she's psychic. She's somehow gotten Mike to set up a cloth covered table in one of the corners of the room. Payment for a "reading" is a candy bar, full size. A snowglobe with Frosty inside is her crystal ball.
"You are going to make The Honor Society at school this semester," she tells the palm of my hand. She's bent so far forward that her turban is starting to slide.
"There are some challenges to be faced this year, but I can tell by these lines here‒" her finger taps me, "‒that you will overcome these hurdles." Then she raises her head and gives me an intense look.
"But it's going to be difficult."
"Why?"
Her eyes turn stern. "I don't know why. Have a cup of tea. Maybe I'll see more if I can study your tea bag."
"Don't you mean tea leaves?"
"Don't question the swami," she barks and shoves her turban back into place.
Despite my plan to avoid all liquids, I still have to go to the bathroom, so I get up and let someone else take a turn.
Mike's basement, which is decorated by black lights and a strobe light, is packed with people. Everyone looks like glow-in-the-dark robots. It was cool at first, but now it's giving me a headache.
Thankfully, there's no one waiting to use the bathroom, but the door is closed. After a couple of minutes, I tap on the door, but there's no answer.
"Hello? Anybody in there?"
"Just a sec!" a girl's muffled voice says. And then I hear laughter.
My situation is growing desperate as the minutes pass, and I'm about to knock again when the door opens. Captain America and a nurse emerge. I'm struck dumb. It's Edward and Tanya.
He pauses and then gives me a big smile.
"C'mon, Edward," Tanya says and sticks her tongue out at me.
Gross.
. . .
That night when we get home from Mike's party, Mom is face down on the couch. On the coffee table, her phone is ringing, but she's not even moving to get it. I pull my cape off and then wonder where I'm going to put it.
"Mom?"
I want to rip these eyelashes off yesterday. I don't understand how girls can wear these. They're awful. And why isn't Mom answering her phone?
Edward stays at the foot of the stairs as I move over to the coffee table to see if it's Dad calling from the night shift.
"Mom? We're home," I say and pick the phone up. It's an unidentified number, though, so it's not Dad.
She still hasn't moved, so I sling my cape across Dad's recliner and shake her arm. That's when I become aware of a sour smell, like vomit. Grabbing her shoulder, I manage to turn her enough to see that the couch cushion under her face is covered in runny, yellowish vomit.
"Mom!"
I back up so fast that I fall onto the coffee table. And then Edward is there, bending over her to see what's wrong. I hear her moan.
"Call 9-1-1," he tells me in an urgent tone. I feel the blood drain from my head and sway, but I do as he says. Never in a million years would I have dreamed that I'd be making such a call.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" I'm glad it's a woman who answers.
"It's my mom, she's passed out on our couch. And she's vomited."
"Is she conscious?"
"No," I wail. "Please help."
"What is your name and address?"
I give her the information and ask if they're coming. She repeats what I've just told her and asks me if the information is correct, and I feel like I'm going crazy. They're coming, remain calm, I need to make sure the front door is unlocked, that our porch light is on, leave Mom on her stomach, and keep her warm. Oh God.
I want to clean up the couch, but Edward won't let me. He says it might be helpful to the paramedics, so I just wipe off Mom's face, which is an ashen color that is terrifying to see. Her head is heavy. She's like dead weight. Her hair, which was so shiny tonight, is now slimy and crusted. As tears clog my throat, I think that she's never seemed less like my mom than at this moment. Distantly, I hear the sound of sirens and suddenly need to hear my dad's voice.
My hand is shaking so badly, I can barely push the buttons.
"Dad, you have to come home," I sob. "Something's happened to Mom. We had to call 9-1-1."
Dad arrives just as the paramedics do . . . in a police car with sirens wailing. Being a cop has its advantages, although I realize fully for the first time that it can't keep horrible stuff from happening.
Mom still hasn't regained full consciousness when they take her away in the ambulance.
. . .
They gave me a blanket at the hospital because I forgot my cape when we left the house. I pull it tightly around my shoulders now as I watch Dad standing a few feet away, where he's listening to the doctor.
He doesn't raise his eyes once on the way back to where Edward and I sit, and I wonder what that means. With a heavy sigh, he sinks into a chair across from us and cups the back of his neck. He clears his throat, then meets our gaze head-on, and his face is just . . . it keeps changing, like he doesn't know what he's feeling, either.
"She, uh, overdosed," he says, and it's like the words don't want to come out. "You know . . . she's been on this pain medication for her back, and, well . . . she just took one too many tonight."
He's visibly fighting tears and I don't want to make it harder for him, but I don't understand. "How can you take one too many?"
"She did it on purpose," Edward says angrily.
When I look at him, he's furious. His face is almost as white as Mom's was, and there are deep grooves between his eyebrows.
And I'm sinking under water. I've forgotten how to kick, how to float.
"Yes, Edward, I think she did it on purpose," Dad says with an uneven breath. "But we're going to get her some help, okay?"
I can't seem to unclench my hands. "What's happening to her?"
"She'll get some rest and medicine here—"
"Yeah, because more medicine is just what she needs," Edward bites.
"And then they'll have someone come and talk to her. She'll probably go away for a few weeks." Dad turns his face away from us, then, and I see his shoulders shaking.
On shaky legs, I stumble up and over to him, then throw my arms around him tight, tight. "It's okay, Daddy," I whisper. "It's not your fault."
He hugs me back and sniffs, looks behind me. "C'mere, Edward."
And then Edward is next to me and we're group hugging each other, and I'm trying not to cry. But the harder I try not to, the more I seem to lose the battle, until I'm full out sobbing.
. . .
They won't let us see Mom. Dad says it's because she's ashamed and feels like she let us down, that she wants to heal first before she tells us how sorry she is.
Edward is still mad. "Whatever."
"It wouldn't do any of us any good if we saw each other right now," Dad says. It's the day after all hell broke loose, and he looks like it. "She's not strong enough to see our pain or our anger, even if we have every right to feel that way."
"So she gets to ignore us."
"She's sleeping," Dad says. "They had to pump her stomach, and then induce vomiting. She's in pain, too, Edward."
"When is she coming home?" I ask.
Dad sighs. "I'm not sure. But meanwhile, I need you two to step up around here. Help out with cooking, cleaning, the laundry. Okay?"
We agree. Anything to help him out. He looks so sad.
"Is this what you guys fight about?" Edward asks suddenly. "Her pain pills?"
"One thing at a time, Edward. Let's just take it one thing at a time, now, and focus on today."
"That's not fair."
"Well, life isn't fair. Better get used to it. Have you done your homework?"
. . .
"He doesn't want to tell us what's wrong," Edward says to me later. "I know it's more than just Mom scarfing down too many damn pills."
I look up from my math book. "What do you think it is?"
His expression twists into something sardonic. "If you have me, you want to share me. But if you share me, you no longer have me. What am I?"
"That doesn't even make sense," I tell him.
"It means that I think she wants to divorce him."
I gasp as tears instantly fill my eyes. "No, she doesn't. She can't do that to us."
He ignores me. "I won't go with her," he says through clenched teeth. "I'm staying with Dad."
"They're not getting divorced!"
"You should go with Mom."
He's all blurry. I can't see him anymore. Suddenly, I hate him. I hate him for making me feel this way. I'm not sure how I got there, but I'm standing above him and pounding at him with my fists. He pushes me away and stands, but I come right back at him.
"You're wrong!" I scream. "It's not going to happen, so shut up!" Smack! "Shut up!" Double smack! "Shut up!"
He lets me scream and hit him until he's had enough, then he catches me up in his arms and we're crying together. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Maybe I'm wrong."
The thing is, I'm afraid he isn't.
. . .
Answer to Edward's riddle for Bella: a secret