CHAPTER 3

Tommy's right. They're awed! Mostly, people smile in surprise. Every one of Chris Hargensen's disciples keep their distance. Norma, Tina, Heather, Nikki and Lizzi all sneer at me, each with an equally mean guy in tow. Chris herself couldn't be here, of course. She's banned from prom like she deserves, the first time anybody got into trouble for anything they did to me.

No one's ever offered to stand up for me before. Does Tommy mean it? He has restraint I don't. I can shove Tina off her high heels, but I'm more likely to put a pencil in her eye. Unlike Chris, I fear Hell.

I don't have a lot of experience using my power with other people present. Half of practicing my telekinesis was learning its strange rules, one being that the presence of other minds can interfere. I'd have to direct my power through waves and currents of other minds; I don't know if I could do it, and it'd at least be obvious. Once I do anything in a crowd, my secret is out, and I'll be even more of a freak than I was before.

Strange rules, like I thought lifting a baby bird into its nest would be much easier than lifting a dresser to the ceiling and holding it there while I do my English lit homework. No, as it turns out, lifting any animal is much harder. It has a mind, and that makes it slippery. On the third try, I got the bird in its nest, but by then, my heart was running a suicide.

Moving Momma was much easier on my heart this evening. At least I didn't sweat or get winded. A good thing, because Tommy was at the door right when I had to shut her mouth and lock her in the closet. My heart was just a little fast, but I lost control of my arm, which reached toward Momma. I didn't want it to do that, but the same power I used to move Momma sort of echoed back and moved my arm. I guess some parapsychologists would call it a side-effect, but they don't mention it on any of the websites. That makes me suspicious.

I wonder how hard it would be to squeeze Tina Blake's windpipe? Or stop Chris Hargensen's heart. I smile at the thought. Not that I've ever been tempted to do such a thing . . .

Yes, I'll let Tommy defend me. I want to see him do it.

I'm star-struck and speechless by all the Glamor. The detailed stars all hung from the ceiling. Everybody and everything look so beautiful here. I see the people here every day, but they've never decked themselves out with such elegance. For a second, I don't feel hostility but warmth.

Tommy spars with his friend, George Dawson. They're kind of rough with each other, it worries me. George's date Ericka says, "Don't worry. If they kill each other, I'll dance with you."

She's joking, of course. Of course? Is she? I'm confused. How much of that is a joke? I've heard of girls liking girls, and some like boys and girls, too. That's a really bad kind of lust, worse than murder even, to judge by the way it riles up Momma. She always said dancing is really filthy lust barely disguised, but she sees through it. How deep in sin am I going tonight? I get curious. Then repulsed. Then worried.

I feel hostile eyes gazing at me from back in the shadows. The twins and Tina. They have dirty smiles. No, those are really the sinful people. I'm not.

Into my awkward silence Ericka says, "I love your dress. Where did you get it?"

"I made it." She doesn't believe me. I never realized making your own clothes is strange. I always had to. Momma's rules, and I had to make them by Momma's design. Baggy. Drab colors. Dull green, brown and gray. Skirts to the ankles. Sleeves over the elbows. Never should a woman wear pants, never anything pretty, Momma says, but that's nowhere in the Bible. My clothes made me look like a freak. But I stop thinking about that so I won't get too angry.

Momma in the closet. Slam!

I realize Ericka is talking. "No kidding. Really?" she says. "It's amazing. I could never make something like that." I look her in the eye and realize that Ericka is being sincere. She goes to Dover, not Ewen. She knows nothing about me. I have a fresh start with her.

"You could with enough practice," I say. "I've been making my own clothes my whole life. Isn't there something you've done your whole life that you're great at?"

"Dance," she says. "I do choreography. For Dover's plays mostly. Ever think of getting into theater? I bet you could be a great costumer."

"My Momma wouldn't allow that," I say.

Momma would call Erica a whore and a heathen, but I can't see a trace of meanness or trickery in her eyes. She's being sincere and I needn't be afraid. I feel more warmth. I can put high school behind me, like forgetting a nightmare when I wake up. I can start again, leave the memory of ol' prayin' Carrie, the butt of everyone's antics and jokes, behind.

I shush Momma's voice within me, which wants to tell her how sinful dancing is, and that plays are all full of exhibitionism. Ericka is one of the children of Ham, inferior to the Chosen People, so prone to choosing sin.

It's not that I feel any of that about Ericka. It's really the only way I can talk. I seal Momma's lips and lock her in the closet once again. She has no power over me anymore. I have the power now.

It dawns on me Momma never did anything to stop them from persecuting me. She knew I was tortured and taunted daily for twelve years of school. She never said a single thing that was right or helpful about it. How could dancing be so rant-worthy evil while what happens to her child every day is acceptable? Yet, I know she loves me, and that just makes it worse.

She even misquotes the Bible, and that's the most important thing in her life. I tried to feel love, but I feel sorry for her instead.

Done sparring with George, Tommy comes over to the table and sits with me while Ericka and George dance. Tommy gives me a smile, and I almost melt. I can't think of anything to say that wouldn't be sad or angry or like preaching, so I just smile. My happiness has nothing to talk about, yet. Sue Snell could talk rings around me. He must feel so bored, but I can't tell from his smile.

He asks me to dance. No way could I! I watch Miss Desjardin. Her dancing looks sinful. If my momma saw it, she would gouge her eyes out with candles. I can't do any of what she does on the dance floor. I don't have that talent, and it would be so sinful, I need to keep myself . . .

And idea pops into my head: There's nothing evil about dancing. Momma is wrong about everything.

Then, oh no, Miss Desjardin comes over to us. I swallow.

You saw me naked and screaming and bloody . . .

I close my eyes to put that awfulness behind me. I tell myself it's not her fault. It isn't. Not really. I open my eyes. I'll never be able to see my senior-year gym teacher and not think of how harshly she treated me during the worst moment of my life. Yes, she was kind when she found out I didn't know about women's periods, but . . .

In a way, I'd rather talk to Chris Hargensen. I can't stand the in-betweeners. I guess bystanders is the word, the one's who aren't bullying, but who do nothing about it. The teachers . . .

. . . and Momma.

She was late, but she was the first one who did punish people for what they did to me. "Miss Desjardin!" I say with a sweet smile, though my skin crawls.

"You look beautiful!"

"I don't. Not really." Flattery will get you nowhere.

Then we have an awkward conversation. She reaches her point. "Carrie, I want you to know anything that happened before . . . well it's behind us."

"I can't forget," I say, avoiding a lie, "but it's over with. Now it's over with."

She smiles, gratified. I guess she thought that settled matters.

Do you even know what I said? I will never forgive what you did to me. What they did to me, and what you let them do for so long.

She excuses herself abruptly. When she runs off, Tommy comes back. "What did she want?"

I sigh. "I think she wanted to say she was sorry,"

but didn't.

Tommy opened his mouth to ask, to my relief he doesn't. I'm thankful. Heaven must have really sent him to rescue me.

"Do you really have to be home so early?" he asks.

"I promised," I said.

He tells me about his friends going to the Cavalier afterward. Why does he bring this up?

Somewhere in the room, someone is pushing computer keys with a soft tap-tap-tap-tap. It's a side-effect of my power that my mind will suddenly wander away and focus on some object or person out of my sight. It's Tina Blake at the keyboard. I can't see the screen, I decide to make the space bar stick.

She says, "Shit! What's wrong with this?" She slams the space bar trying to un-stick it.

"It's a slow song," Tommy says bringing me back into his presence. I hear Tina slamming the keyboard somewhere in the darkness.

"No," I say, and I realize we've been talking, and I don't know what we said.

"Yeah!"

I beg him not to, but he insists.

He takes my arm and drags me out to the floor. He shows me where to put my hands and tells me where he's putting his and we sway together. He's so gentle. No one's ever held me so close in my life. My heart pounds, my soul tastes sweetness and I feel heat. Now I know why Momma considers dancing so sinful, but I don't care whether she's wrong or right. He brings up the Cavalier again, and this time I understand that Tommy Ross is asking me to go with him after the dance.

I promised Momma I would be home by ten. It's a boundary for me. I'm not out to sin. It's a line I drew against the tempting, carnal world. Then I remembered I left her trapped in the prayer closet with the bolt melted closed. She can't get out without me. That should give me extra motivation to get back by ten.

Instead that makes me smile. "Maybe till eleven."

. . . or maybe twelve, I think. She's trapped me in the prayer closet for longer.

When the dance is over, I follow him back breathless. They announce that it's time to vote for the Prom King and Queen. I have no reason to look at the ballot. I don't know anybody well enough to vote. I glance at it anyway and get the shock of my life.

"Tommy we're on here!"