Magic Touch Nails
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When I was ten, my mom made me wear nail polish.
The day she finally allowed it—I mean like a proper grown-up manicure, complete with French tips and glitter—she took me to the salon in downtown Raleigh. It was an hour’s drive there, then we had to wait until they opened at noon because my mother is not one for punctuality.
We sat in the waiting room while my dad played chess on his iPhone. The place looked fancy, but inside all of the women wore their hair up and didn’t smile. When my mom went to pay, I saw her credit card declined when the cashier tried to take the payment.
She had no money or checkbook either, so after much confusion over our account details, she gave them some random cash, which made me even more anxious about how this entire thing must look to the other customers.
“They probably think you’re an addict,” Mom said as she rubbed my hands with a cloth to dry them.
I’d never felt so embarrassed in my life. My nails were too long, so I could only do three each hand before I ran out. They’d have to cut off the rest when we got home. I wanted to cry from humiliation. And then there’s the nail polish itself …
“You are such a girly girl,” my mom said when I asked why she would allow such a stupid practice in the first place. “But that’s okay.” She smiled, but my father was shaking his head and rolling his eyes behind her back. He knew better than to argue with a woman who had already spent an hour and a half on this manicure.
Now, two years later, I sit here looking at myself in the mirror wondering if it was worth it. What did it matter? If I want to grow my hair long, will that be bad too? Or should I just stop shaving my legs altogether?
My hair, though: That can’t go away. It’s my power. So maybe if I keep going, someday I’ll have enough power to become a sorceress like the one in The Princess Bride. But that means getting through high school first.
I wonder where he is now. I wish I’d known what was really happening during those months we weren’t together, instead of being kept in the dark by my parents. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so trapped.
But I’m pretty sure my magic isn’t strong enough yet to escape these walls, so for now, I suppose I’ve been put into training. Training that seems to involve learning how to live with a curse that no one understands.
And the worst part? There’s nothing I can do about any of it except try to figure out a way to use it without losing myself entirely.
***
“So tell me again exactly what happened to Mr. Gresham,” Ms. Lafferty says when she walks back into the library a few minutes later. Her heels click against the floor as she makes her way toward me. “How old was he?”
“Nineteen,” I say. “He was nineteen.”
She sits down on the sofa next to me and rests her arm across the back. “That’s pretty young to go off and die alone like that.” She taps her nails nervously against the armrest.
“Yeah …” I don’t know what else to say. It doesn’t help knowing how much she thinks my dad hates me now, and I’ve still got another year left with her. At least until my senior year, when I’ll get to transfer schools anyway.
The doorbell rings and both of us turn our heads to see Mrs. O’Leary walking in with a large manila envelope under her arm. She sets it down on the counter beside her and begins rummaging through a box of folders stacked beneath it. “Did you hear about that boy, Tyler?”
“Yes,” I reply. She knows his name. Everyone in town knows him.
“Well, you know your father wants to go over everything with you tonight before we send off for his funeral arrangements tomorrow. Can you make it?”
My mouth goes dry at the thought of going to church with my family. I hadn’t gone since Christmas Eve last year. “Um … yeah. I guess. Why?”
“There are some people coming in to talk about the funeral arrangements,” Mrs. O’Leary says as she picks up the phone.
“Why can’t my parents handle that themselves?” I ask, but Ms. Lafferty interrupts.
“It’s not something a single parent should have to deal with, Miss Montgomery. Your father has his own grief.”
“Oh, he’s fine with talking about Tyler all the time. But asking someone else to do the same for their own child …” She shakes her head. “No. It’s not right.”
Ms. Lafferty sighs heavily into the receiver as Mrs. O’Leary continues to speak with another voice on the other end of the line. She hangs up and looks at me seriously. “Your father doesn’t want you to miss the service.
He wants to take care of every aspect of himself, and he believes this is best because it keeps the community together during such a tragic time. This is his town. He feels he needs to protect it in every way possible.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the sound of her words. They echo in my ears and run through my mind over and over again. Protect his town. Protect it in every way possible. What does she mean by that?
“Are you ready to go home yet?” Mrs. O’Leary asks after I’ve been staring at the carpet for what seems like forever. I think she’s forgotten we were even talking about anything else.
“Uh, yes ma’am. I’m ready.” My hands tremble as I pick up the envelope and pull the flimsy sheet of paper inside free. A small envelope falls out of the stack and slides to the ground. Without thinking, I bend down and pick it up.
The letter slips from my fingers, lands on the table, and bounces onto the floor between us. I stare at it for a moment before I reach down and retrieve it, and as soon as I touch it, it begins to move. It starts moving across the hardwood with its arms stretched above its head before falling flat onto the couch.
When I look up at Ms. Lafferty, her eyes are wide and she’s looking straight at me with a confused expression on her face. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the movement stops. And there’s a long silence, save for the ticking clock on the wall behind us.
“You’re quite talented,” Ms. Lafferty finally says in an amused tone, and I realize that she’s been watching the thing on the sofa for a while.
Mrs. O’Leary picks up the envelope and pulls out more paperwork from within. She glances around the room, then leans forward to peer over Ms. Lafferty’s shoulder. “Do you think the family would prefer traditional funeral services or cremation?”
“Cremation is best for us, Ma’am. As long as Tyler can be present—”
“Of course,” Ms. Lafferty replies. She stands and walks slowly toward me, reaching down to pick up the letter.
I stand quickly and hold out my hand to stop her from touching it, afraid it will begin moving again without warning.
“What’s wrong?” she asks when I don’t immediately hand over the letter, but her smile tells me she already knows. “Is it alive?”
“It was only a moment ago,” I whisper as she takes it from my hands and sets it back in the pile.
“Maybe he didn’t like your answer,” Mrs. O’Leary teases, though her tone sounds nervous. “He could tell you weren’t giving him the good news.”
She reaches out to shake my hand as if trying to reassure herself of who I am, but I refuse to let her touch me, and so she settles for pulling me into a hug instead. I wrap my arms around her waist and squeeze tightly, burying my face into her shoulder.
Her arms tighten around me until we both break into laughter and release one another. “I’d better get home now, Mr. O’Leary. Thank you for your time today.” She gives Ms. Lafferty a quick wave as she turns to leave and heads down the stairs.
I watch her go and try to focus on my surroundings, but my thoughts drift away somewhere else entirely.
When she gets to the bottom of the staircase, she pauses. There’s a sudden burst of energy and then she spins on her heels to return upstairs but freezes in place when she sees me sitting in the chair next to the sofa.
Her gaze goes to Ms. Lafferty and they exchange a glance. “Excuse me,” Mrs. O’Leary says, but she hesitates before turning around again and hurrying out of the house.
I sit there, waiting for my heart to slow its rapid pace, and wait some more as I stare at the closed door that blocks my view of the porch and sidewalk.
The silence is deafening, and I wonder where my mother is now. Where are all those other children she spoke of? Did any of them survive? Are there still people who want to hurt them?
I feel Ms. Lafferty’s eyes burning into my skin, and she reaches a hand out to touch mine gently. I turn and meet her eyes, and I see that she too has questions swirling through her mind. We have no answers for one another, but we can at least agree on something—we need to protect these kids.
***
Dinner is cold when I finally return home. I take a bite anyway, wash it down with a glass of milk, and then go to my bedroom to change into my pajamas.
After a bath, I climb into bed with the blanket pulled high to block the cool draft coming in through the window beside me, and I close my eyes and pretend that this is the first night I’ll ever spend alone, that Mom won’t come walking through that doorway tonight. But as much as I wish it were true, I know that it’s not going to happen. The dreams will continue; she’ll never leave us behind.
There’s nothing in life that can be taken for granted anymore. And as I lie here under the covers, listening to the wind howl outside, I realize just how far from normal my world has become, and what lies ahead for me isn’t going to be easy.
I pull my knees up to my chin and rest my elbows on them as I stare at the ceiling and consider all of the things I’ve learned today. My mind is full of information and ideas that seem to be rushing faster than I can process, and even though my head feels numb from everything I’m learning, I don’t sleep well because of it.
I lie there until morning, unable to shut off my brain, and I don’t remember falling asleep or waking up again.
When I do wake, the sun is blazing through the curtains and my eyes ache from staring at them so long. I reach blindly over to find the edge of the bed and then roll myself out onto the floor with a loud groan.
“You okay?” Dad calls from the kitchen. It’s hard to make out his voice over the pounding of my headache, which hasn’t gone away since the day started.
“Yes, thank you,” I reply.
He comes into view and smiles at me. His dark hair is mussed and he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He must’ve been sleeping when I left, too, although judging by his disheveled appearance he might not have gotten much rest. “How about breakfast?”
“Oh yeah, definitely. Breakfast sounds great.” I stand up and stretch my stiff limbs while Dad pulls out plates for us both from the cupboard. “Are you going into work early today?”
His smile grows wider and he nods enthusiastically as he places the plates down in front of me. “Yeah, I think so. You should probably get ready and head in soon yourself if you’re planning to do some research.”
I grab a glass and pour orange juice as he walks back to the fridge and grabs a carton of yogurt, but when I lift my arm back, it starts shaking violently. When I look down, I see that my sleeve is covered in goosebumps, which means the temperature is dropping quickly. “What happened to the weather being warmer lately?” I ask him as I shake out the wrinkles on my coat.
Dad laughs. “This time of year, you can never tell. It was hot during the summer, and now it’s going to snow.”
Snow? In August? I glance outside again, wondering why there’s a dusting of white powder on my car as I pull it open and slip inside. The interior is already warm thanks to the heat blasting from the vents, but the air conditioner isn’t working either.
My hands freeze instantly when they touch the steering wheel, and I have to force myself to put them on the keys instead of gripping it tightly enough to crush the plastic. I turn the ignition and crank the heater up and down several times, but the only response I receive from it is a constant hissing sound. It’s like the engine is running, but nothing else is happening.
As I drive along the highway toward my school, I try to stay calm and not panic, telling myself that the car might be having electrical problems. But as soon as I arrive at school, I pull into the parking lot and park near the gymnasium, where everyone gathers after class.
I turn off the engine and stare at the dashboard as the red warning light keeps flashing insistently and refuses to go away.
Then I notice that the other cars are starting up with little effort.
That’s when I realize that something is wrong with this vehicle and it could very well be the end of everything, not just my chances of graduating in May.
I sit there staring at the blinking lights on the dashboard, my stomach turning as I worry that someone will come walking around the side of my car before I can get out, or maybe there will be a police officer waiting to take me away in handcuffs, or perhaps a tow truck. I want to scream and cry, and even though I’m alone, I know someone needs to hear me say it.
No, no, no! I can’t lose my license. No way.
I jump out of the car and run through the gravel parking lot toward the entrance of the school. When I get there, I push my hand against the door and pull myself inside with a sigh of relief.
The hallways are deserted now that school hours are over, and all of the classrooms and doors are closed. I hurry upstairs to the main level and run straight past the library into the office, where Mrs. Henshaw sits behind her desk, flipping through paperwork and checking a phone.
I rush up to her and grab her attention. She looks up at me with a worried expression on her face. “Mrs. Henshaw,” I breathe out.
“Honey, what happened?” she asks anxiously. “Is everything okay?”
She doesn’t understand how bad things are. If the police were involved, there would be sirens everywhere, and I’d be sitting in a jail cell right now. But instead, I’m standing here, looking like a complete mess, trying to explain that an electric engine isn’t working correctly.
“It’s just that—” I hesitate for a moment. Should I tell her about everything that happened with Ryan last night? What would she even make of it? Or do I need to keep it from her because I don’t trust her not to tell Dad what I’ve been doing?
I look at her and decide we have more important issues than whether I can afford to pay the insurance premium on our house this month, so I choose my words carefully. “Can you help me out? Please? I need to find some books on electricity and how it works.”
She frowns as she leans forward, placing her elbows on the desk. “Electricity and how it works?” Her brow furrows as she stares at me, her eyes searching mine for any indication that I’m serious.
But I am. Really.
“You said it yourself earlier today. My dad and I used to work on cars together all the time.”
She reaches out and touches my shoulder with a tentative hand. “And he taught you how to fix your own car then?”
Yes. And he also taught me how to build my own car. A lot of people don’t know this about my father, but he actually invented a new type of racing car that made its debut at this year’s Indy 500. I don’t know if I’ll ever drive it myself, but at least I can say that someday I helped design the car.
For a moment, Mrs. Henshaw studies my face as she considers my claim. Then she nods slowly and smiles, as though I’m finally going to prove to her that I’m really capable of accomplishing anything I set my mind to.
“Okay, honey. You’re coming home with me. We can study and figure it out.”
I nod and smile gratefully back at her. After all, who knew that one day, I’d wind up being driven by a teacher?
The End