The Face Page 5

  But it was just such a thrilling sight. Such an innocent scene. I guess it made me think of being younger. It made me think of happier times.

  “How come the hill looks so much bigger than it used to?” Laura asked, ducking out of the way as two little boys came sliding down on plastic garbage bags.

  “Don’t wimp out,” Adriana scolded her. “The hill is the same as it always was. Let’s go.”

  Slipping and sliding, we leaned into the wind and made our way up to the top of the hill. Halfway up, the wind from the top blew the plastic sled from my hand, and I had to go chase it.

  I finally made it to the top.

  Where were Laura and Adriana?

  I shielded my eyes from the bright sunlight with one gloved hand and searched for them.

  They were already preparing to slide down. They had found an open spot on one side, just past a group of serious-faced boys. Now they were lowering themselves onto their sleds.

  Laura was sitting on hers. Adriana had plopped down on her belly.

  I darted over, planning to surprise Adriana and give her a hard shove.

  But they were too fast for me.

  They both took off with happy squeals. The sleds dropped fast.

  Laura hit a hard bump. Her sled flew into the air. But she managed to hold on.

  Adriana reached the bottom and just kept going. Her sled took her halfway across the field below.

  I laughed. What a great ride!

  My turn, I told myself.

  I tried to remember the last time I had stood up here on Miller Hill, the last time I had sledded down.

  I was probably ten or eleven, I guessed.

  Well, why should the ten-year-olds have all the fun?

  I gazed down to the bottom of the hill—and saw Adriana and Laura standing together, sleds at their sides. Adriana had pulled off her ski cap and was brushing snow from her black hair. They were both staring up at me. Waiting for me to join them.

  “Here I come!” I shouted, cupping my gloved hands around my mouth. I don’t think they could hear me.

  A gust of wind gave me a hard shove from behind.

  I lowered my sled to the snow, resting it on the edge. Then I lowered myself to my knees.

  I gripped the sides of the disk and dropped on top of it.

  Another wind gust sent me sliding down. Before I was ready to go.

  I nearly fell off as the disk slid down. Picked up speed. I bounced over a sharp bump. Held on.

  Screaming.

  Oh, no.

  The white snow whirring past. A blizzard of white.

  So white. White and cold.

  A cold wall of white.

  No. No.

  I’m buried in it. Buried in the white.

  Falling deeper, deeper …

  I realized I was screaming now.

  Not a scream of fun. Not a scream of delight.

  I screamed in horror.

  Screamed out pure terror.

  Screamed until I felt my lungs about to burst.

  And still I screamed.

  Screamed so hard. Screamed so loud.

  And the walls of white closed in.

  As I screamed. Screamed. Screamed out my horror.

  I knew I couldn’t stop.

  I knew I’d never stop.

  chapter 11

  I don’t remember exactly how I got home.

  Of course, Adriana and Laura must have helped me.

  I can still see their troubled faces as they ran to pull me off my sled at the bottom of the hill. They had to pry my hands off the edge, then pull me to my feet.

  I can see their wide eyes, their red cheeks. They were frantically talking to me. Shouting at me.

  But I couldn’t hear them. I was screaming too loud.

  Screaming my throat raw.

  Screaming. Screaming.

  I saw the puzzled faces of the kids all around. I saw a woman pull two little girls away. The girls were covering their ears with mittened hands, trying to shut out the shrill screams.

  I saw them all. Saw their alarm. Saw their fear.

  But I couldn’t stop.

  I couldn’t control myself. I felt as if a creature inside me was struggling to burst out. Screaming and screaming—and forcing its way out of me.

  What triggered my horror?

  The snow? The sled? The feeling of sliding down, down, down so fast?

  The feeling of being out of control?

  Or was it the whirring walls of sparkling white snow?

  What drove me over the edge like that?

  I think I screamed all the way home.

  I don’t really remember. I don’t remember returning home. And I don’t remember finally closing my mouth, shutting off the horrible shrieks.

  My throat felt raw. It burned as if on fire.

  I couldn’t speak. I could only whisper.

  Martha, you’re a total mess, I told myself.

  Where was I?

  Lying in my bed. The quilt pulled up to my chin.

  Mom and Dad downstairs, making me a cup of tea. A bowl of hot soup. Dad on the phone, trying to reach Dr. Sayles.

  I’m still shaking. My whole body shuddering. My throat throbbing and aching from my screams.

  Lying in bed, staring up at the white ceiling.

  The bright white ceiling.

  And I had another flashback. Another picture slid into my mind, as rapidly as a sled racing downhill.

  Another memory.

  Of white. The cabins covered with snow. Powdery drifts up to the windows. Silvery icicles, stabbing down from the rain gutter like dagger blades.

  I saw Justine. Laura. And then Adriana.

  A snowball fight.

  I heard a thwock. The sound of a snowball hitting the back of Adriana’s parka.

  I heard laughter. Boys’ laughter.

  More snowballs flew.

  Then I saw Aaron beside me. Brown hair tumbling down from a brown-and-white-checked cap. A grin on his face. Cheeks red from the cold. Steam rising up from his open mouth.

  Another thwock.

  I felt myself duck as a snowball whirred close overhead.

  Everyone was laughing. Shouting. Having such a good time.

  Lying in bed, my eyes shut, I could feel myself smiling. It seemed like so much fun.

  The snow sparkled. Aaron tossed a snowball at Laura. She ducked and dropped to her knees in the deep snow. A snowball hit her in the head, knocked her ski cap off.

  Laughing, she scrambled to make fresh snowballs. “I’ll get you!” she was screaming at someone, pretending to be angry. “I’ll get you!”

  Who was she screaming at?

  I struggled to see.

  Aaron?

  No. Ivan.

  Ivan was there with us. In his leather jacket. No hat or gloves.

  I saw his leering grin. Saw the small goatee under his chin.

  Thwock. Another snowball caught Laura smack on the chest.

  She laughed. Grabbed Ivan by the jacket collar. Struggled to pull him down into the deep snow.

  Everyone laughing.

  Everyone having so much fun.

  I could see clearly now. I was remembering. My memory—this was a piece of it—coming back to me.

  Ow!

  I felt a shock of cold. Saw myself in the scene. Saw myself wiping a wet clump of snow off my forehead.

  Heard laughter. Cold laughter.

  Felt another snowball, hard and icy, smack just under my jacket collar.

  Who was throwing them? Who was attacking me?

  I squinted harder, trying to see the whole scene. Trying to remember, to bring it all back.

  And saw Justine. Such an angry expression knotting her face.

  Justine, pelting me with snowballs. Forming them furiously between her green gloves. Then heaving them. Heaving snowballs at me as fast as she could.

  “Justine—!” I saw myself calling to her. “Hey—whoa!”

  Justine ignored me. Threw even more furiously, let
ting out short grunts with each toss. Throwing as hard as she could.

  Trying to hurt me?

  Why is Justine angry at me? I wondered. Why is she picking on me?

  And then I saw myself fight back. Saw myself fling snowballs back at her. Scooping up handful after handful of snow. Squeezing it hard. Heaving it before it was even shaped into snowballs.

  The two of us crying out, shouting now. Heaping snow on each other. Both of us moving frantically, furiously.

  The shouts all angry now.

  Our expressions angry, too.

  And then, feeling hands tugging me back. Seeing Ivan and Aaron, pulling me away. Seeing Laura and Adriana stepping in front of Justine.

  Hearing Justine’s angry shouts. But I can’t understand her words.

  What is she shouting about? Why is she so angry at me?

  Laura and Adriana having to hold on to her, having to pull her to the cabin. While Aaron and Ivan are grabbing my shoulders, trying to keep me still.

  All that happiness. Everyone so cheerful. It disappeared so quickly. And I felt as cold as the snowy wind.

  The white fades. The scene darkens.

  What is happening?

  Lying in bed, I struggle to keep the picture bright. To keep the scene alive.

  I want to see more. I want to remember. I need to remember.

  Darker now. And later. I am inside a cabin. I see a fire dancing in the fireplace across the room.

  I am back against a wall. In deep shadows.

  I struggle to see through the shadows. I am sitting on a long, low bench. My back against the wall.

  Someone leans against me. Someone sits next to me.

  It’s so dark back here. As if we’re hiding.

  I struggle to see his face as he kisses me.

  It’s Aaron. It has to be Aaron, I know.

  Who else would I be kissing back here in the shadows, away from all the others?

  Aaron.

  I kiss him again.

  It’s so dark. I still can’t see his face.

  Aaron—why can’t I see you?

  Because it isn’t Aaron.

  I feel a strong shudder as I struggle to remember. And see the boy lean forward in the darkness and press his mouth against mine.

  I feel his lips. Pushing. Pushing against my lips. So hard. So insistent.

  And it isn’t Aaron.

  I’m kissing another boy.

  Not Aaron. But who?

  He pulls back. Smiles at me.

  And I see his dark, serious eyes.

  See the turned-up nose. The tiny white scar across the dark eyebrow.

  I’m kissing him. Kissing him in the shadows.

  I see him clearly now.

  I see his face.

  The face I’ve been drawing again and again.

  chapter 12

  The next afternoon I gathered up my drawings of the boy. I shoved them into my backpack. And I sneaked out of the house.

  Aaron, you’ve got to help me, I pleaded silently. My boots sank through the hard crust on the snow as I walked quickly to his house. I pulled my parka tighter, leaning into a steady, cold wind.

  Mom and Dad wanted me to stay in bed another day. They hadn’t been able to reach Dr. Sayles. He was out of town at a conference. They wanted to keep me home safe and sound.

  But I didn’t feel safe and sound, even in my own bed with the quilt pulled up to my chin. Hot soup and cups of tea wouldn’t calm me, wouldn’t help me to rest.

  Only knowing the truth will help, I decided.

  Only knowing what happened last November will help to calm me down.

  And Aaron can tell me. Aaron can help me.

  A strong gust of frozen wind blew open my parka. I pulled it closed. Shifted the backpack on my back. Leaned forward as I trudged over the deep, crusty snow.

  Aaron’s house came into view in the next block. Two tall evergreens, covered in white snow, stood guard over the driveway. The driveway and front walk had been shoveled, the snow piled up on the sloping lawn. A single icicle, thick as a carrot, hung down over the front storm door.

  I tried to push the doorbell, but it felt frozen. Stuck. I jabbed my finger against it again. No bell ringing inside the house.

  So I knocked. I had rushed out of the house without any gloves. My frozen hand ached as I pounded three times on the door. Then three more times.

  I could see lights on inside. I heard a cough. Then footsteps.

  Aaron’s little brother Jake pulled open the door.

  “Hi,” I said, my hand still raised, ready to knock again. “Is Aaron home?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Jake stared up at me. He had a Kit Kat bar in one hand. He didn’t move out of the way or invite me in.

  “Well, can I see him?” I asked impatiently.

  Aaron appeared before Jake could answer. He shoved Jake out of the way. Jake shoved him back, then disappeared.

  “Martha—hi!” Aaron brushed back his brown hair with one hand. He was wearing baggy jeans and a maroon-and-gray Shadyside High sweatshirt. “I didn’t expect—”

  “I have to talk to you!” I blurted out. I didn’t mean to sound so excited. So desperate. But I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath.

  “I want to show you something, Aaron. I want you to tell me some things. I need some answers.”

  “Well …” He glanced back into the house. He frowned. He seemed tense.

  What’s his problem? I wondered, studying his face.

  First Jake won’t let me in. Now Aaron is making me stand out here in the cold.

  “Can I come in?” I asked finally.

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure.” His cheeks turned pink. He stepped back.

  I stamped my boots on the welcome mat and stepped into the warmth of the house. I could feel the cold follow me in. I pulled off the backpack, then the parka and tossed them onto the floor beside the living room couch.

  “I’m just here watching Jake,” Aaron offered.

  “Your parents aren’t home?”

  He shook his head.

  “I had to see you,” I said.

  “I—I heard about yesterday,” Aaron stammered. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and turned his blue eyes to the front window. “I’m sorry. I …” His voice trailed off.

  He’s never this tense around me, I thought. What is his problem?

  I rubbed my hands, trying to warm them. I could hear a TV on down the hall. Funny voices. A cartoon show. I heard Jake laughing.

  “Aaron—” I started. “I want to show you these drawings I made.” I bent down, reaching for the backpack—and heard a crash in the kitchen.

  He gasped.

  I stood up. “Is someone else here?”

  His face reddened. “No. I—”

  I crossed the room quickly. Made my way down the short hallway. Pushed open the kitchen door.

  “Justine—!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

  chapter 13

  Justine stood hunched over the sink, picking up pieces of the glass she had just dropped. I saw a puddle of spilled water on the floor.

  She spun around as I burst in, and her mouth dropped open as if she wanted to scream.

  “Justine came over to borrow my graphing calculator,” Aaron explained, stepping up behind me. “The batteries wore down on hers.”

  “That’s right,” Justine agreed quickly. She pushed a tangle of red hair off her forehead. And turned to Aaron. “I’m sorry. I was getting a glass of water. I dropped it, and—”

  “But you were hiding back here!” I exclaimed. My voice came out shrill and angry. “Justine—why were you hiding in the kitchen?”

  “I—I wasn’t!” she insisted. “Martha, really—I—”

  “I told her to,” Aaron broke in. He stepped between us. He scratched his wavy, brown hair tensely with one hand and kept gazing from Justine to me.

  “You what?” I demanded.

  “I told her to wait in the kitchen,” Aaron explained. “I thought you would get the wron
g idea.”

  “Excuse me?” I cried.

  Justine dropped a jagged shard of glass onto the counter. “Calm down, Martha. Everything is okay,” she said softly.

  Aaron stepped up close behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Yeah. Everything is okay,” he echoed.

  “We both heard about yesterday,” Justine said. “We heard about how you lost it on Miller Hill. When you knocked on the door, we saw you through the front window. Aaron said I should go in the kitchen. We didn’t want to get you upset again or anything.”

  Aaron turned me around. His blue eyes burned into mine. “It was stupid. I’m sorry, Martha. It was totally dumb. But I did it for you.”

  “We didn’t want you to get upset again,” Justine added. “I just stopped by for the calculator. That’s the truth.”

  I lowered my eyes to the floor. The black and gray dots on the linoleum flashed and shimmered. I shut my eyes. “Sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t mean to sound so suspicious. So … crazy.”

  Aaron slid his arm around my waist. Justine said some more comforting things. Aaron gave her the graphing calculator. She apologized again. Then she pulled on her coat and hurried out the front door.

  I watched her through the living room window. She strode quickly down the driveway, her head lowered, biting her bottom lip. As I watched her, I tried to decide whether to believe them or not.

  Aaron had been so great this whole time. He’d been so wonderful to me. So caring.

  I decided I had to believe them.

  I could feel Aaron’s eyes on me. I turned to find him on the couch, tapping his fingers on the arm.

  I hurried over and sat down at the other end of the couch.

  “Sorry about the … mix-up,” he murmured, tapping the couch arm a little faster.

  “My memory is slowly coming back,” I told him.

  I could see the surprise on his face. Saw his jaw twitch. He swallowed.

  “I keep seeing pictures,” I continued. “Whole scenes. It’s all coming back to me, bit by bit.”

  He sighed. Then he spoke in a soft, hushed tone just above a whisper. “When it does come back, it’ll be hard for you.”

  He took my hand and squeezed it. I wanted him to keep holding it. But he quickly let go.

  “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Why will it be hard for me?”

  He hesitated. “You know I can’t tell you that,” he said, still in a whisper.