The Witching Wind, page 12
“I dread this worse than the dentist,” Mars says, looking out at the gym like it’s some barren desert we have to cross. “Not good at sports, ya know? I’m more into trivia.”
“Same,” I tell him. “Too bad there’s not a trivia club.”
He laughs nervously.
“Is that what assessment means?” I ask. “It’s sports?”
“I think it’s something worse.”
“Morning, Camelot Knights!” a blond woman says, striding toward a big whiteboard in front of the bleachers “I’m Afton Belle, and I’m your PE coach! WOO!”
(Then, I kid you not, she jumps up in the air and does a toe-touch.)
“WOO!” she shouts again. “Had to get some of that energy out!”
Her energy should probably be contagious. But I mostly find it terrifying.
Coach Belle pulls a small wheely table in front of the board and uses her laptop to project a giant image on the screen: an illustrated human body. The kind where you see the heart and veins and kidneys.
“Ew,” somebody says behind me.
“This,” Coach Belle says, slapping her hand against the board, “is you. And me. We’re all the same, deep down.”
I don’t know if I agree with Coach Belle on this matter. Sure, we’re all similar in some ways. We all have insecurities and fears and hopes and dreams. But just because we all have bones and teeth and heartbeats doesn’t make our bodies the same, does it? No snowflake in winter is the same even though there are billions of snowflakes. So how can humans all be the same?
“We all need food, water, shelter, and companionship,” she adds, clicking through lots of cheesy stock photos. The only one that makes me smile is of a girl and her dog. That makes me think of Huck, and how excited I am to hold him when I get home.
“But food . . . That’s the tricky one,” says Coach Belle. “Because some of us don’t need as much food as other people do.”
Oh no.
My stomach twists into a hard knot. I know where she’s going with this message. Which is why I pray a silent prayer for the gym floor to open and swallow me.
“Some people need to be careful when they eat,” she says.
I feel like everybody in the gym is staring at me.
I suck in my stomach.
Lower my shoulders.
Try to make myself as small as possible.
Before middle school, I never felt uncomfortable just sitting in a room, just existing with a bunch of people. It’s a terrible feeling.
“Because you are what you eat,” Coach Belle says in a weird, musical way, emphasizing each word. “And today, I want to help you learn to eat good things. And to figure out the right number of calories you need to feel strong! There are stations all around the gym today that will help us do exactly that! So, quick! Everybody, pick one! Line up!”
She blows the whistle around her neck so hard that her face turns tomato red.
“This is worse than I even anticipated,” says Mars.
“Yep,” I say. Because if I try to squeak out any words besides that, I’m afraid I’ll barf. He and I walk to the first station together. Since we’re the last in our line, I have plenty of time to look around at Coach Belle’s carnival of horrors.
Each station really is worse than the one before.
One line leads to a push-up and pull-up station.
Another station is called Mix and Match, and it’s about learning the right portions for food. Everyone there is looking at the plates of plastic bananas and apples Coach Belle has placed on the table.
Suddenly, in front of me, Mars Jackson emits a very colorful cuss word. I didn’t think he had it in him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“This is a caliper station.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Calipers are like pinchers. They use them to measure body fat. That’s so dated, and so stupid, who even does that?!”
The Dreads rolled through the pit of my stomach like a thunderhead. Like a terrible storm. I watch Coach Belle’s assistant do exactly what Mars just described—she uses white pinchers to gently squeeze the skin on the back of a girl’s arm.
“This is draconian,” Mars says. “How did we get in the medieval torture line? Roxie? You okay?”
“Nope,” I whisper.
The room feels spinny, like the one ride at the fair that makes everybody sick. So I spin, too, and power walk directly for the gym door.
“Not feeling well,” I say to Coach Belle as I scramble past her, holding my hand over my mouth like I might barf. (I’m not faking it, either. Puke is always possible.) She waves me away like, “Go, go, go!”
I wish I could disappear from this place.
Run away.
Run up into the woods and walk for miles until I stomp out all the bad feelings inside me.
But before I know it, I’m in the girls’ bathroom alone. Again. It’s the only place I know that’s halfway private. The room still spins a little, so I sit down on the gross floor. I pull my knees toward my chest—they won’t get as close as they did last year, though. My chest got bigger over the summer, too.
I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong—to make my body change. I ate the same food I always ate. I swam in the lake and walked the woods with Loretta . . . until she left for camp. Then I danced around, playing guitar with Granny. I did all the same things, but my body still changed. And I hate it.
I wish, so, so much, that I’d told Granny about all this before she left. She’d know how to help me. She’d know what to do. She’d probably tell me to write about it, actually. She’d tell me to put these feelings into words and send them out into the world but . . . I can’t. I haven’t written a single song since she’s been gone. I haven’t picked up my guitar since she disappeared.
The wind didn’t just take my granny. It took the creative fire right out of my heart.
I flop back on the nasty bathroom tile and look up at the fluorescent lights.
I don’t have to suck in my stomach when I’m lying down. It’s already flatter, but I pull my belly button toward the floor, anyway.
I wish I could be thin.
I wish my body was normal.
Whatever that means.
You are what you eat is what Coach Belle just said.
But I know in my heart that’s not true. I’m not the pizza and salad I ate last night for dinner. I’m not a banana or a zucchini. I’m not one thing. And I’m definitely not a food thing!
I’m a girl who loves playing guitar with her granny. I’m Ruthie Darling’s granddaughter! And . . . I’m more than that, too. I’m a dog lover, stargazer, and bright-eyed daydreamer. I’m a writer. I’m an artist. I’m a pretty cool daughter, I think. I try to be a good friend.
“I’m a guitar player for Ruthie Darling and the Dogwood Dozen,” I say.
And then a thought occurs to me: If her car was here in the county, Granny didn’t leave for the tour without me!
She’s waiting in the wind for me. And I’m going to find her.
“She’ll be home soon,” I say.
But it’s hard to say anything with my stomach sucked in so tight. Something about trying to make myself smaller feels an awfully lot like I’m making myself disappear completely. Granny wouldn’t want that for me. I don’t want that for me!
Suddenly, slowly, a brown face with wide, dark eyes appears above me, blocking the overhead lights. I hold my breath, frozen—as if me lying perfectly still will make this moment any less awkward.
“I just want to know . . . if you are okay?” Ameerah asks kindly. Her headscarf today is pale pink.
I hear the clunky sound of Grayson’s walker moving close. Then her grumpy face is over me, too. “What are you doing, Roxie? PE Torture Class is over now. Come to lunch!”
I smile.
“I’m not being nice!” Grayson shouts, jolting me so hard I sit up. “You have to come to lunch! We have to make plans.”
“Plus, Ernie is looking for you,” Ameerah adds gently. “While we were in PE Torture Class, he had an epiphany. Like the kind his granny has, ya know? You’re gonna want to hear this, Roxie. It has to do with the wind . . . and us.”
Before they leave the bathroom, Roxie checks her face in the mirror. Ameerah stands beside her and encourages her, because that’s the kind of comfort Ameerah is good at providing. Comfort is not Grayson’s specialty.
So she checks her phone. There’s a text from Donna Chin!
11:00 a.m. Hi, Grayson! Donna Chin here! Just wanted to let you know that I haven’t heard from Beanie yet. But I think she might have gotten a job in Atlanta.
11:02 a.m. Wait … what? Atlanta? That was never on our list!
11:03 a.m. I’m not positive yet, but I think she’s working at a restaurant there. She met some friends online last year and she’s living with them. I’ll confirm and let you know for sure that she’s safe.
11:04 a.m. That’s definitely not where she’s at, Donna.
11:05 a.m. Oh! Has she contacted you?
11:06 a.m. Not yet. But she would if she was just working in Atlanta, right? That’s only like four hours away. That’s a day’s drive. If she’s just working at a restaurant or something, she’d call and tell me. She wouldn’t just go dark.
11:07 a.m. Well, you might be right! I haven’t confirmed this yet, but I’m still checking things out and I’ll let you know what I find, okay?
11:08 a.m. Ok. Thanks. I gotta go to lunch, but I’ll check back in later. I didn’t mean to be rude, btw. I just love her. I’m just worried.
11:09 a.m. I know. I get it. Have a good day, Grayson!
Grayson tucks her phone back into her bag. Clearly, this is a false alarm. And while she appreciates Donna’s help, she doesn’t really need it now. Grayson has a plan in place to find Beanie—all she needs is time, a couple of crows, and Roxie Darling.
I follow Grayson and Ameerah to the cafeteria to find Ernie. I’m super curious. And somewhat terrified. What kind of epiphany has he had about . . . us? I’d love to run ahead and find out. But I don’t want to leave Grayson and Ameerah behind. Plus, I like walking with them.
Along the way, I’m surprised to realize way more people are staring at Ameerah than at me. This is probably because she’s so pretty. Also because, honestly, it’s not common to see women wearing headscarves in Sunny Side, Tennessee. I think this is part of Ameerah’s religion, and I don’t want to ask about it in case that part of her heart is private. But even though I try not to stare, curiosity keeps pulling my eyes toward her headscarf, too.
“I’m not going to try to convert you,” she says with a smile.
“Wait, what?”
“My family is Muslim and someone started a rumor that we moved here to convert all the Baptists. Like it’s some hobby we have—hiking! Game night! Converting!”
“I’m not Baptist,” I tell her. “But I’m a person of faith, too. I get that it’s a special, sacred thing. I’m sorry people have said that to you.”
She shrugs. “I’m used to it. Mostly, I think kids just assume we don’t have anything in common because I wear a headscarf. But I’m kinda basic, honestly. I like Stranger Things. I’m certified in CPR and excel in first aid. I’m going to win the science fair.”
“Now that’s the kind of confidence I like to see,” Grayson says, smiling up at us. “That’s what you should be projecting into the world with your music, Roxie.”
“I knew you were an artist!” Ameerah says, beaming at me. Her dark eyes sparkle. Ameerah is for sure sixth-grade pretty. So is Grayson. I hate that I even notice. But facts are facts.
“The three of us are going to be great friends,” Ameerah says. It would sound cheesy coming from anybody but her. But she makes it sound like a promise. My heart flips like a fish out of water. Like it’s coming back to life a little bit. I’m still worried about Granny. Still stuck on what happened at the pool. But it’s really nice to have new friends.
I follow behind Grayson and Ameerah as we go through the lunch line. I haven’t eaten anything in the Camelot cafeteria since the Incident. I don’t want people watching me eat, or taking pictures of me eating to use for a meme, or thinking I shouldn’t be eating because of my size. But none of that happens, thankfully. We settle into one of the far corner tables all together.
“Are you okay?” Mars asks as he sits beside me. He’s looking at me so sincerely. And he has such a kind voice. I’m kind of . . . touched. And also weirdly embarrassed?
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
“Okay!” Ameerah says, like she’s calling a meeting to order.
“This is more of a theory than an epiphany,” Ernie says, shaking his chocolate milk carton. “But I think the wind is trying to tell us something.”
Grayson’s fork clangs against her tray. “That’s it? The wind tells everybody stuff. It whispers all the time. I thought you’d had some vision of our future, like your granny has.”
Ernie sighs. “I’m afraid I don’t share this ability. But my grandmother did say I’d have a group of wonderful friends. They would all be beautiful.”
“I’ll be beautiful?” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. They sound a little more hopeful than I’d like.
Mars mumbles something I don’t catch. But Grayson hears him. She raises her eyebrows and softly says, “Interesting.”
“I just wish the wind would tell me where my cat disappeared to the other night,” Mars says.
Grayson leans toward Mars, studying him like she’s trying to solve a math problem. “Wait a second. You lost Cheeseburger in the big wind? The one on Thursday?”
Mars nods.
“That’s when Beanie went missing,” she says. Then adds, “That’s my sister.”
“My granny disappeared that same night,” I tell them.
Now I’m looking at Grayson. And she’s looking at me. “It’s a pilfering wind. I told you.”
“Greetings, Wagoners!” Eli says suddenly, sliding up under the table. “What are we talking about?”
“Stuff the wind took,” Mars says. “The other night, specifically.”
“Oh yeah, the wind stole my dad’s tomato plants on Thursday night,” says Eli. “We saw tracks in the garden. So I guess a coyote could have snatched them. Do coyotes like ketchup?”
“People see stuff in the wind every year,” Ernie says with a shiver. “Just ask Hannah True. Lots of people believe she’s still in it. Or still up in her cave cooking it. Or something like that.”
“Stop saying her name!” Eli says, flinging a french fry at him.
“Wait!” I shout. Because a puzzle piece just clicked into place in my brain. “What if Granny was on her way to the cave? What if it snatched her? Or kept her there?”
And then, because I feel just enough trust to take another step, I set the slip of paper—the one I found in her car—down on the table. Yes, I gave Colette a copy. Mostly, I trust my cousin. But I watch police procedurals. I know how easily evidence disappears! That’s why I made an extra copy as soon as I got home. “I think the wind took my Granny’s gnome. No, I know it did. The gnome was gone when we came back outside.”
“A real gnome?” Eli asks. This might be the most excited I’ve ever heard him sound.
“Sadly, no. Fake one. Granny loves those things. The wind snatched it and she said she’d go after it. What if the cave is here? And these numbers . . . What if they say where she was going? Because she couldn’t remember exactly where the cave was at—”
“What cave?” Mars asks.
I lower my voice to a whisper. “There’s a cave where the Witching Wind begins and ends. Granny says she’s seen it. But she didn’t remember the exact spot. What if she figured it out? And what if wind snatched her when she went to find it? The cops found her car yesterday. But she wasn’t inside it. Just this . . .”
I push the slip of paper to the middle of the table, expecting them to laugh. But they don’t.
“Coordinates,” Eli says. “I think that’s what those are, for sure. GPS coordinates. Like you’d find on a map.”
Little bursts of hope bubble deep inside me. “She never figured out how to use the map on her phone . . .”
“So you think that’s a cave coordinate?” Grayson asks.
Ameerah nods. “And if we find that cave, we could find her granny.”
“And my cat,” said Mars.
“And Beanie,” I say softly to Grayson.
I see that look again—the one I can’t describe—flash in her eyes before she looks away.
“I don’t really care about the tomato plants,” Eli says. “I think the wind blew them out of the ground, sure, but I was just trying to be funny. Sorry. I didn’t realize how serious this was going to get.” He picks up the paper and studies it. “But I could help you find this exact spot. I’m great at maps. And I have a drone.”
“We might not even need the coordinates,” Grayson says, looking around. “Or the drone. If we can get close enough, we can find the cave easy. Y’all . . .” She lets out a sigh, before she shares her deepest secret with the group. “I speak Corvus.”
Everybody else stares at Grayson the same way I did. I wonder if it’s because they also don’t know Corvus is another word for crow.
“I talk to birds,” she says, flinging her hands up in the air. “It’s my family’s knack.”
“Oh!” Ernie says, understanding. It helps when your own family is weird the way somebody else’s is.
“Don’t you think it’s possible the wind took Beanie, too?” I ask.
I see a sad shine in Grayson’s eyes, but only for a second.
“I’m pretty sure the Bean is just . . . having some time to herself. Or something. I think she’ll come back. But, I mean, I guess it could be the wind. It’s worth looking into this cave. Wherever it is.”
“I think it took my favorite book,” Ameerah says, leaning forward. “It’s an old story, The Secret Garden. I left the book under my willow tree. Then the wind came, and it was gone. So . . . every single one of us lost something that night? Isn’t that weird?”
