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“Never mind that,” Farrin said. “Just do it.”
“When?”
“As soon as you can,” she said. “Today. And when you are done, bring the book directly to me.”
“I don’t know if I can—I mean, we’ll try. But we don’t have the right number of people yet.”
“There’s no such thing as a right number,” she said. “You’ve got to stop being stubborn and do as I say. Without Tashiana, you and your friends are like a speeding car without a driver. She spent hours each day ensuring that Aralt’s energy flowed properly. Things are bad already—but they could easily get worse.”
All of that power, nothing to guide it. I thought of the force that had battered me in Tashi’s garage, and a chill went up my spine.
“Have you noticed any fluctuations?” she asked. “Besides your disastrous interview and my illness?”
Where would I even start? “Um…maybe one or two,” I said.
“Be careful. You may behave erratically; try to make sure no one gets hurt.”
Oh, sure. Easier said than done.
“This is such an enormous catastrophe,” she said. “I wonder if any of us will be able to recover from it.”
I was too frightened to reply.
“By the way,” she said. “You won the contest. This should have been a great day for you.” She hung up.
No such thing as the right number of people? Then why were we obsessed with getting a new member? Would Adrie
I sighed and looked down at the words I’d written:
Tuga
I dodged Kasey long enough to borrow Mom’s laptop and find the translation on a Gaelic web site: We give.
Give—like a sacrifice?
There was a line in the oath—something about a gift, a treasure.…So what were we giving? Farrin had said one girl had to read the spell twice.
I sat back from the computer in confusion.
Then I remembered the last page of the book—the one covered in signatures. I scrolled through the photos on my phone until I found it. The picture was so blurry I could only make out a few of the names.
But there it was: Suzette Skalaski.
Skalaski. Where had I heard that name before?
In my head, I could hear it spoken in Farrin’s satiny voice…at the mocktail party.
Weatherly College. I turned back to the computer and searched for Suzette Skalaski + Weatherly College.
There was a whole section of the college’s website devoted to the Skalaski School of Photography. At the top was a link labeled OVERVIEW.
The Skalaski School of Photography at Weatherly College was founded in 1988 in honor of Suzette Skalaski, a member of the class of 1974 who passed away before graduation. The state-of-the-art facilities were dedicated at a ceremony attended by California governor George Deukmejian, officiated by Skalaski’s classmate Barbara Draeger, the first female (and youngest) mayor of Las Riveras, California. Another classmate, noted fashion photographer Farrin McAllister, served as a consultant on the building and equipping of the college, and spoke at the dedication. “Suzi was passionate about two things: education and helping others, and to know that this program is made possible in her honor would be among her proudest achievements.”
I found several more references to buildings, scholarships, even a residential street named after Suzette. Finally I found a biography, on her private high school’s “Notable Alumnae” page that gave details about her death: 1973, an aneurysm.
I went back to my phone to look for another name. Even zoomed in all the way, the resolution was so low that it was hard to make them out. The one at the very bottom of the list—the most recent?—looked like “Narelle Simmons.”
I typed it in and hit enter. The first result was a hit: Narelle Simmons, White Pine, Wisconsin.
A blog. The graphic at the top read:
♥♥♥ NARELLE’S WORLD ♥♥♥
Her picture came up in the sidebar. She was a pretty black girl, with short, curly hair and a toothy smile.
Beneath it were three lines of bolded type:
REST IN PEACE
NARELLE DANIQUE SIMMONS
FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS
And then a paragraph telling how the bright, ambitious Narelle had passed away of a brain aneu-rysm.
I stared breathlessly at the screen.
One more. The next name I could make out was “Marnie Peterson.”
There were too many results, so I went back and made it Marnie Peterson + dead teenager.
I clicked on an article from the Palm Beach Post, dated five years earlier.
Area teens and parents are distraught over the sud den death of Guacata High School junior Marnie Peterson. Principal Helen Fritsch said that Peterson had begun her high school career as a problem student but had recently turned her life around and begun committing to both her studies and her future. Grief counselors will be available at the school. Peterson’s cause of death was reported as…
An aneurysm.
Farrin stood over a tray of chemicals, tongs in hand, watching a print.
“How can I help you, Alexis?” she said.
“So you sort of left out a minor detail,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, you know. Just that somebody dies.”
There was a cold, mocking edge to her voice. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have a problem with it. Tashiana’s death didn’t seem to disturb you.”
That wasn’t true—or fair. I was horrified by Tashi’s death. I just knew I didn’t have time to let the horror of it get to me.
“The way you said it—I could have just picked someone at random—and they would have died. Because of me.” I tried to suppress the anger I felt when I thought that I might have asked Megan—or Emily—or—
“Well, it won’t be random now. Is that a comfort?”
“No!” I said. “I don’t see why someone else should have to die. And why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I can’t do it,” I said, bringing my fist down on the counter. “I won’t. How can you say being popular or getting out of a few parking tickets is worth a human being dying?”
She hadn’t moved. “You’re still not getting it, Alexis,” she said gently.
“But don’t you feel bad?” I asked. “Suzette Skalaski died for you. And you get to drive a Mercedes. Congratulations.”
She actually laughed—a harsh, short laugh. “I can assure you that Suzette did not die so I could drive a luxury car.”
“Then why?”
Farrin turned away from her print. “Listen to me. Listen very carefully.”
Oh, I was listening, all right.
“Suzette sacrificed herself because she wanted to.”
The phrase hit me like a physical blow.
“Alexis, for thousands of years, men have been throwing themselves in front of ca
“That still doesn’t make it right.”
“When Suzette gave her life for us, she was giving to a cause greater than herself. Suzette’s friends have gone on to be senators, to win Oscars—”
“And Pulitzers?” I interjected.
She nodded. “Yes. And to make incredible medical discoveries, to create timeless sculptures. Every day we’re alive, with everything we do, we all pay tribute to her sacrifice.”
“Yeah, but what did she get out of it?” I asked.
“Have you ever sacrificed for someone you cared about?” she asked. “Have you ever traded one important thing so another important thing could thrive?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
All of my problems seemed to have started because I wasn’t willing to do that.
“Beauty. Popularity. Wi