Transcendent (25 page)

“Hi,” I started, taking a few small steps closer to her.

“Hi,” she said back, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you mind if I sit on your bed?” I asked.

She shook her head, squirming over a few inches to make room for me.

“I know you're probably sick of hearing this,” I said, easing onto the edge of the mattress next to her. “But I am so incredibly sorry to hear about everything you've gone
through. My heart is broken for you and your mom. For everyone that you lost.”

She nodded, her wide, solemn eyes staring up at me.

“I don't know . . . I don't know what your mom's told you already. But my name is Iris. And I just wanted to meet you. To tell you that I'm here if you want to talk.”

“I know. My mom told me about you,” she said, her voice a little louder now, loud enough that I could hear the deep-down trembling behind it.

I nodded, unsure of what should be said next. I tried to relax the muscles of my face, somehow conceal the anxiousness with at least some semblance of calm. Because as tough as it had been to meet Abby, it was infinitely harder now. Lula
saw
me. She saw all of me—every frown, every shudder, every tear.

“Will my mom and I ever be happy again?” she asked, the words pouring out in a rush—as if they'd been hovering on her lips for days, waiting for their chance. “Because right now I'm so sad. I'm so sad that sometimes . . . sometimes I wish I wasn't here. I wish I was with my dad and my big brother and sister.”

Those words, those terrible words, hit me like a punch straight through the stomach.

“Lula, yes,” I said, reaching out to clasp her small hand. “You will absolutely be happy again. You'll miss them always, every day, I'm sure. It's okay to cry and to
feel sad. But they're still here with you—always. They're a part of you. And they'd want you to keep on living, to be as happy as you can possibly be. Because you deserve that. You and your mom—you both deserve happiness. It just takes time.”

She studied me, unblinking as she bit down on her lower lip with two adorably crooked front teeth. “Do you know these things because you're special? That's what my mom told me. That you're special and not like everyone else.”

“I'm . . . I'm just me,” I said, my heart pounding harder. “I'm just Iris. All I know for sure is that I want you to feel better, and that I am wishing for that so hard.” I squeezed her hand as I said it, shutting my eyes to fight back the dizzy feeling washing over me, the hazy black dots spiraling through my vision. “I believe that you
will
feel better, Lula. Slowly maybe, but you'll feel better again soon. Trust me. Please just trust me,” I whispered, struggling to still the tremors that swept over me, my hand shaking around hers.

“Okay.”

I opened my eyes and we watched each other, silent for a few endless, stretching moments. And then she smiled.

I exhaled, pushing out all the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in.

I smiled back.

“W
ELCOME HOME, YOU
terrible little shithead of a friend,” Ari said, though the cool, cutting words couldn't mask the quake in her voice as she pulled me in close for a hug. “Don't you ever,
ever
do anything like this again, Iris Spero. Do you hear me? This was so not okay. I thought you were gone. For
good
.” She broke on that last word, her body trembling against me.

A pang of guilt seized my stomach. I hadn't meant to cause her that kind of fear, not after she'd gone through it all before, everything with her father . . . “I'm so sorry, Ari, really, I just—”

She sniffled, burying her face deeper in my sweatshirt to hide any tears. “You're lucky nothing happened to you, Iris, that's all. A homeless shelter? There are enough crazies in this city as it is, and there's a very specific breed of crazy that's obsessing over you at the moment, in case you hadn't noticed.”

“Seriously, Iris, we're just relieved you're back,” Ethan said, giving me a massive bear hug after Ari finally released me. “I can't even believe the ridiculous crowd we had to shove through to get inside the house. Were you able to get any sleep last night after you got home? Do they leave at night at least?”

“Some of them stuck around, I think, but . . . I slept okay,” I said. “I played the violin until I pretty much collapsed. It was cathartic.”

He stepped back, allowing Delia to take her turn. But instead of hugging me, she reached into her paint-splattered tote bag and pulled out a small square canvas.

“I painted this after you left. I've been painting nonstop, actually—it's the only thing that could calm me down. So in a way, you were a great inspiration. But don't run away again. Once was enough, okay?” She flashed a tiny smile, handing the painting to me.

I looked down at the dark sweeping lines, blacks and blues and deep purples, the angry swirls of the storm, spilling from all four corners of the canvas. In the center, though, there was a hazy golden bubble, safe and untouched. And right in the middle of all that light, there was a miniature me—on my bench at the park, violin held tight, eyes closed as I drifted off into the music.

“This is how I thought about you, whenever I got scared. I pictured you in your happy place.”

I put the painting down on the nightstand and threw myself into her arms. “You're so damn amazing, you know that, right?” She latched on tight in response.

We let go after a long minute of squeezing, and I settled down on the wing chair by the window. Ethan and Delia curled up on my bed, and Ari perched on the arm next to me, scowling as she observed the crowds outside.

“Some of those posters,” Ari started, not taking her eyes off the window, “they're pretty threatening, and I don't like it at all. It looks all
rah-rah, go, Iris
at first glance, but . . . but it's scary. ‘Crucify the Spero.' I mean . . . what the fuck?” She shook her head, squinting as she edged closer to the window. “Equally terrifying, the ladies right behind him, waving around a big yellow banner that says, ‘You must save us all.' I don't know which is worse. I mean, what good do they think standing out there is going to do? What is the end goal here, people?”

“Maybe your mom wasn't wrong about hiding for now,” Ethan said, frowning so deep his eyeglasses slid a few inches down his nose. “I mean, I don't want you to leave us. But it's completely horrifying that all these desperate extremists are right outside your front door. This doesn't feel remotely safe.”

“No,” I said, so loudly that even Ari flinched, nearly slipping from her precarious perch on the chair's arm. “No. That's part of what I wanted to tell you guys today. I
know it's crazy, but I think I have to deal with this. I think it's . . . it's what I'm supposed to do.”

“You don't have to do anything, Iris,” Ari said. “All these signs, it's nonsense. All of it.”

“That's the thing. I'm not so sure it is.”

She turned away from the window to face me. “So you're saying that you don't believe just the part about your mom being a virgin. You believe
all
of it. You believe that you're . . . you're
destined
for something?”

“Maybe. Maybe I do. I don't know . . .” I took a deep inhale, gripping the chair cushion for support. “What I do know is that I've visited two kids in the past two days, two kids who were victims of Disney. And for whatever reason, my being there seemed to help. Maybe in just a small way, but still. It helped. And I don't think I can just walk away from that, silly as that might sound.”

“That doesn't sound silly at all, Iris,” Delia said quietly. “If they want to believe and it helps, where's the harm?”

“Thanks, Delia,” I started. “I just—”

“The harm is when they realize she can't actually
do
anything,” Ari cut in, throwing her hands up in the air. “Seriously, Iris, where did you even get this idea in your head?”

“I'm not claiming to be healing them. I'm just visiting them and sort of boosting morale. And I told you last night, I've been staying with Zane Davis, and it turns out that—”

“Yes, the crazy gangster thug who went to jail before for stabbing someone with scissors. I heard you last night, but I still don't get it,” Ari said, her brow furrowing deeply. “How in the world did he come into any of this?”

“He's not crazy and there were no
scissors
,” I said, my face burning with irritation. I balled my fists even tighter around the cushion, trying to contain all of the many hot, angry words threatening to spill out. After all, hadn't I thought the same things just the week before? “He's not a thug, either. Or a criminal in some gang.” Well, technically he
had
been in juvie. And maybe he still did do illegal things—but if he did, it was only to keep him and Zoey afloat. I hoped. I'd forgotten about the gang rumor, but . . . no, he couldn't be. I'd be able to tell, wouldn't I? I'd have seen more hints?

Ari tilted her head, studying me with her squinted purple eyes.

“What's going on with you and Zane? What other hidden life are you keeping from us? Quite a leap from that sweet blondie-boy Gabe you obsessed over all summer, isn't he?”

“What? No. It's not like that. It's nothing. And anyway,” I said, the words too fast and clipped, suspicious even to my own ears, “this is more about his little sister, Zoey. I happened to connect with them the day after I ran away, and we ended up kind of banding together.
Helping each other out. They lost a cousin at Disney.”

“God, that's terrible.” Ethan sighed. “I can't imagine.”

“Right. She—their cousin, Brinley—was down there for a chorus trip at the time. She died instantly, but her best friend, Abby, lived, and Zoey asked me to meet her. So I did. And it seemed to get her out of bed at least, if nothing else.”

“Well, I think it's cool, what you're doing,” Delia said, looking pointedly at Ari.

“So do I,” Ethan chimed in. “I mean seriously, I told you, after watching your dad's video—”

A knock made Ethan halt in midsentence. The door was already partway open, and Zane stood in the hallway, peering in. He lingered there, looking strangely uncertain with three strangers—relatively speaking—staring him down. We all went to school together, yes, but even in the same hallways, we'd been walking through two very different worlds.

“Hey, Zane,” I practically squealed, cringing at the sound. “Meet my friends. Ari, Delia, Ethan. Guys, this is Zane Davis. You know him from school,” I said, plastering a grin on my face as I bobbled my head back and forth between them. “Delia, I think you guys had art together, right?”

“Yep, last year.” She gave a little half wave.

“Hey,” Zane said, nodding his head in general
acknowledgment of the group. But he kept his gaze on me.

“I was just filling them in on everything. Disney's Children. Abby.”

He looked away, his eyes moving down to my shiny wooden floor.

“Yeah, about that. It's why I came up. Her parents just called me. They said she won't stop talking about you and asking when she gets to see you again. I know you have a lot of people to see, but . . . you know. She's special, Abby. To me, at least.”

It took a lot for him, I was sure, to be that open—especially in front of strangers.

“Sure. Of course, I'll go back.” I didn't know what else I could say to her, but I would go back. For Zane. Just as I was about to say that, my eyes shifted to the violin case propped up against my chair.

I grinned.

“I have an idea.” Maybe my words had been enough for Abby and Lula the first time—had lulled them into some temporary kind of calm—but for a second time, a third time? What more could I possibly say? If there was anything I knew for sure, it was that sometimes, the most important things weren't said with words.

They were said with music.

•   •   •

“Do you want to come, too?” I asked Zane, as soon as I'd told the four of them what I wanted to do. I would play the violin for Abby, for any of the other kids whose families wanted me to visit. “And can you call her parents back and see if later today's okay for them?”

“What about us?” Ari asked, loudly and pointedly kicking up off the arm of the chair to stand. She landed right in front of me, arms crossed, blocking me from getting up. “Why him?” She gave a quick sideways glance to Zane before pinning those sharp purple eyes back on me. “Don't you want
us
to be helping? We are all musicians, you know. We could play, too.”

“Zane knows Abby,” I said softly, afraid to hurt her more than I probably already had. “It's because of him that I went to her in the first place. That I'm doing anything at all right now except sitting here feeling scared and useless. I don't want to overwhelm her, but . . . maybe another time?” The words sounded halfhearted, even to my own ears. Why
did
I want only Zane there, and not one of my best friends?

Maybe . . . because Zane knew only this new me. The old Iris—her normal life, her normal problems—she didn't exist for him. We'd both been running when we met.

But we had stopped now. Together.

“You could have talked to us about it,” Ari said. “We
could have helped you brainstorm, figure something out if that was what you wanted to do. You dropped a bomb on us and then ran away while you tried to figure it out. Without us.”

She was right. Maybe I hadn't given them enough of a chance. But still—I couldn't regret those days away. Those days had changed everything.

“Ari,” I said, desperate for her to understand, “I didn't know what I wanted to do, either, or if I even wanted to do anything at all. Until Zane and his little sister convinced me to try it, for Abby's sake.”

“Fine,” Ari said, backing up so quickly she bumped up hard against the window. She blinked a few times, her dark eyelashes glistening, before turning away from me. Ari crying, twice in one day. It was unheard of. And it was because of me.

“I'll need you guys, trust me,” I said, wrapping my arms around her from behind, nudging my chin against her shoulder. “I have no clue what's next. All I know is that right now, tonight, I want to play the violin for Abby. That's all.”

“I get it, but . . . just know that we do want to help,” Delia said. Next to her, Ethan enthusiastically bobbed his head up and down in agreement. “It feels strange to see all this happening to you, and not actually be doing anything to make it better.”

“I know, it's just that . . . I'm not sure I know quite what
better
is yet,” I said, giving Ari's shoulders one last squeeze before letting go. “But when I figure it out, you guys will be the first to know.”

“I'll go call Janelle,” Zane said, his feet already moving toward the door, “let her know we'll head over soon. It was, uh, nice to meet you guys. See you around.” He flashed a tight, unconvincing smile as he stepped out, boots clomping quickly down the hall.

“I want to like him, Iris,” Ethan said quietly. “For your sake. I do. The rumors are so ridiculous and I hate myself for believing them. It's just hard—it's hard to let go.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. I'd needed to hear that more than I'd realized. “There's a lot I don't know about Zane yet, true. But everything that I do know . . . He's a good guy. I have faith in his motives here.”

“No offense, but you trust a lot of people who seem questionable to me,” Ari said, still not turning back to face me. “You're lucky with all the random people you've talked to on the streets that you've never gotten yourself into any worse situations. Not everyone is good, Iris. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.”