Free White is for Magic by Laurie Faria Stolarz

curls again. "Like, different because it^eit different? Or different because you
    81

8l
    weren't dreaning about Drea this time? Maybe you were dreaming about someone else?"
    "I think I hive a headache." I turn on my heel, making an attempt to beeline it back to my room, but Trish's prying questions force me to stop.
    "I heard about yoga class," she says. "Were you dreaming then? About someone jumping rope?
    About somebody being trapped maybe? Didn't you scream those things out? Weren't you chanting some weird verse?" She starts humming the "Miss Mary Mack" tune.
    I turn around to face her and she stops humming.
    "They're dcing some special service in the chapel Thursday night, yot know?" she says. "Some people were wondering if you'ie gonna go. Are you?"
    Why didn't I hear about any service? Have I been so out of it these past few days that I've failed to pay attention to what's going en outside my head?
    "We could go together if you want," she continues. "I mean, I didn't know Veronica, being new here and all, but I just thought it would be the right thing to do. Is Drea going?"
    Is she sericus? Does she really expect me to go with her--an obvious ghost groupie?
    "I don't think that's a good idea," I say.
    "Maybe not," she says. "Maybe your presence might upset some people, you know? It must be hard for you, showing your face around here after letting Veronica just die like that."
     
    "I didn't let ner die."
    82
    "You didn't try so hard to save her either." A direct hit. Before she can crawl any deeper under my skin, I turn around, walk into my room, and close the door.
    83
    thirk-cn
    Before we head over to the Hangman, I've asked Amber to help me remember the words to the
    "Miss Mary Mack" song I was singing in yoga class. We're sitting on my bed with a notebook between us, a giant letter M written in red at the top of the page, and the words to the song in the middle.
    Drea is doing her best to block us out. She's got her foot propped up on a pre-calc book while she reads CosmoGirl,
    84
    French-manicures her toenails, and hums along to the tunes pumping through her Discman.
    "Totally creepy," Amber says, reading over the lines of the song. "I can just imagine what people are thinking."
    "I already know what they're thinking," I say. "That I'm Linda Blair possessed by the devil."
    "Linda Blair?"
    "Yeah, you know, The Exorcist. . . the girl who pukes up green gunk and then her head spins around?"
    "So right." Amber giggles. She grabs her square black glasses and sets the notebook down in her lap. "Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack," she sings. "All dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. That's why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die, die."
    "I wonder what it means."
    "A knife stuck in her back'?" Amber questions. "I wonder if it means betrayal of some sort, you know? Like, watch your back."
    I shrug. "Why can't she breathe or cry?"
    "Maybe she's being gagged or suffocated in some way."
    'And that's why she begs to die." I swallow hard and focus down on the letter M, wondering if it does indeed stand for murder.
    "I don't know," Amber says. "Maybe we're taking the song too literally, you know? Like, one time I had this dream that I was being chased by tiny baby corn."
    'And?"
    'And I obviously didn't think that that was going to happen. I mean, I don't even like baby corn."
    85
    "Maybe that's why it was chasing you," I joke.
    "Exactly," she says, lowering the glasses to the tip of her nose, staring at me over the frames. "I think it was my brain's way of saying I should try baby corn, you know? Be more adventurous with my veggie intake."
    "Does this phallic little dream of yours have a point?"
    "The point is that sometimes a baby corn is just a baby corn."
    "Translation, please."
    Amber rolls her eyes. "Why read so far into it? I mean, maybe this is just your brain's way of telling you that you're scared.