1. Wire and Words #3
After she went to bed, she stared at the ceiling.
The security light on the dairy gate across the road made a little shadow and bar of light near the front window.
She'd be seventeen in January. That wasn't enough to ask the court in Maryland to make her a legal adult—she had to be both seventeen and show proof that she could support herself.
And if her mother didn't want to release custody, the Tainuits couldn't adopt her.
If they wanted to. She hadn't asked if they would.
She needed words, and the right time. She'd also have to talk to Uncle Paul and Aunt B, her mother's brother and sister-in-law, to get their OK.
"I don't want to go back," she whispered to the air, and to God. "St. Joseph, please speak for me. You adopted Jesus, you know what to say, please?"
She saw herself in the mirror again, dressed in what her mother had bought for her to wear during the visit in July.
"You look like a nun," her mother had declared.
"You need to be more fashionable, dress like a woman.
" Her mother had ignored her protests, so she'd hidden her own clothes and wore the new things.
They'd been tight, and she couldn't move as fast or protect herself easily.
Plus the strappy high heels hurt her feet.
Everyone had stared at her as she tried to walk.
Some of the guys had really stared and made her more nervous.
Her mother had hissed, "You are so ungraceful.
You need dance lessons or model training.
You could model if you lost some weight and let your nails grow.
Models make a lot of money. You really should lose weight. " The words still stung.
Once she'd tried to explain to her mother why she liked the Tainuits and Uncle Paul.
She could still hear the shrieks every time she thought about it, felt the heavy cardboard roll hitting, leaving bruises.
Easier to go along, do what her mother wanted.
Her stepdad had been able to calm her mom, even if he couldn't stop all the hitting.
He'd been protecting the boys, she knew that now.
Better to go along with her mother, safer.
She could protect herself, but was it legal?
It might not be. She should look that up, too, or ask Deputy Nagy.
But that might lead to other things ... She'd better look that up, too.
Her stepdad's brother and sister-in-law hadn't tried to make her wear tight clothes.
They asked about school, and if she wanted to live with her half-brothers.
The boys were OK, a lot like her stepdad had been.
Her step-uncle didn't like magic, though.
That was a problem. She'd tried to be careful around them and hid the book on metal magic she'd been reading. It didn't help much.
She rolled onto her side, wiggled, and started reciting the Periodic Table. She fell asleep somewhere around Tin.
"The white and brown doe feels funny," Levi announced the next morning. "She didn't eat much, and looks floppy."
Claire gulped her eggs and hurried after Dad Jude. Indeed, the doe sort of sagged, more than just big rabbit sag, and none of the evening's food had gone away. The other three rabbits all seemed fine. Dad Jude checked the doe's pan, then straightened up. "We need to move her away from the others."
She knew that tone. It meant move now, ask questions later. "Yes, sir." Together they and Levi took the food and water out of the hutch, and carried it over to the sheltered corner where the two parts of the house met. They set it on the ground, then went back inside.
"Wash your hands very well before you finish eating, please."
She scrubbed like she did after doing clay work, then devoured the rest of breakfast. She'd be on time for the bus if she really hurried.
She just managed to sprint out to the road as the bus groaned to a stop.
Levi almost collided with the bus door, but jumped in as well.
Mr. Hertzog wagged one finger at them, but didn't scold this time. They weren't late-late, just not early.
"Oversleep?" Matilda Schwartz asked as she scooted to make room on the seat.
"Rabbit looked sick, so we had to move it away from the others, then wash really well."
"Like Dad and Mom and the cows. First isolate the sick one, then all else follows." Matilda nodded once. "What poems did you pick for English?"
"'Harp Song of the Dane Women,' and 'Red Watering Can.' They both have imagery, and 'Red Watering Can' is from the 1940s, so it counts as modern." And the watering can one was short and in free verse, so she could compare and contrast easier.
Matilda pouted. "I wanted to do the lyrics from Sallee C's latest single, but Mom said no. She says it's not a poem-poem, so I'm doing 'Prairie' and 'Poem Hat.' That one's long."
"I like that Mrs. Johnson let us pick our poems."
"Yeah." She perked up, and breathed, "Oh, have you heard who is going to the Fall Dance with Carl, fancy hair Carl, not wood-shop Carl?"
"No. Last I heard it was One-n-Jen." She faked being excited and interested. The last dance she'd gone to hadn't really been fun.
She showed her initial project idea to Miss Harrison. The art teacher tilted her head to the side as she studied the very rough sketch. "What materials do you want to use, Claire?"
"Either silver wire or silver, ma'am. It depends on if I can get permission to do a casting.
If yes, then I'd like to do silver with a green or purple stone.
If not, then wire, sort of filigree?" Silver so no bad magic could touch it.
Too, she'd done the last few with brass or other metals, so something different would be fun.
The teacher frowned a little as she handed back the sketch. "Wire, please. For now, do wire. A lost-wax casting requires some materials that we don't have on hand, and Mr. Hirschmann is not doing outside castings until after the new year."
That was that, then. "Wire, yes, ma'am." Too bad she couldn't carve metal, but buying the tools for that ... And eye protection, and, and, and.
"Well, pfui," she sighed as she sat at her table again. She moped for a minute, then got out the sketchbook again and turned to a clean page. "Right, plan B," and C, because Murphy was an incurable optimist, or so Uncle Paul and Dad Jude both averred.
"... And remember, I need your permission forms by Thursday for the October second field trip," Mr. Wasserman said for the fourth time.
She'd already turned hers in, signed by Uncle Paul and Aunt Lucy. If the Tainuits could adopt her, life would be less complicated.
"This is due at the end of class." A quiz descended onto her desk.
Groans, quickly muffled, rose from around her.
She dug out a different pen and put her name on the paper, then read the instructions.
Halfway through she grinned, then caught herself and hid her glee.
This was one of those quizzes, where you read all the instructions first. She re-read everything, just to be completely sure, then started writing.
By the time the bell rang, she'd finished, double-checked each level of state and federal government, and turned her paper in. Behind her, she heard Tim Schnell swearing under his breath. Not smart if Mr. Wasserman heard him.
"Not fair! Teachers are supposed to warn us about quizzes," Tim complained to everyone around as they stood in the lunch line.
A senior ahead of her rolled his eyes. Claire agreed, but kept quiet.
Tim and his family didn't like Uncle Jude for some reason, probably because he'd reported their loose cattle to the estray officer three times now.
Or did they blame him for Tim's big brother's last speeding ticket?
Not her problem. She saw the choices for main course and groaned inside.
School stew wasn't great but the spaghetti looked funny. "Stew, please, ma'am."
"Stew for you." Mrs. Paulus plopped brown stuff into a bowl, added it to the tray, and slid the tray down to the salad section.
"Thank you, ma'am." Claire chased her tray down the line, then paid and found a place to sit.
One of the band nerds looked up from his book as she sat, then went back to reading.
Would Levi be in band when he was old enough?
He'd probably want to play something loud, like trumpet or tuba. The stew tasted OK.
She ate, listened to the sounds around, and let her brain drift.
Was the rabbit OK? Would Aunt Lucy call the vet for it?
Claire munched salad. Tim and Carl leaned together, then busted out laughing, hard laughter with a mean edge to it.
Two-n-Jenn laughed too, shoulders tight.
Her eyes didn't laugh. Were they joking about Brodie getting his phone taken away by the principal himself?
She finished her lunch, put her trash in the trash bin, added the tray and bowl to the baskets, and refilled her water bottle.
Tim stood in the hall, blocking her from getting to her locker. "The dance Saturday."
Huh? "What about it?"
"You're going with me. Tell your fake uncle to bring you to my house first." The bell rang and he stared at her, as if daring her to say no, then disappeared into the flow of other students.
"Not if you were the last boy on the planet, jerk," she hissed.
The clanging of locker doors covered her words.
By the time she got to science class, she'd calmed down.
Magic workers couldn't lose their tempers, and normal people shouldn't.
Maybe that's what he and Carl and Jenn had been laughing about, a dare to ask her.
Probably. And she'd probably get a bad grade if she didn't get her notebook out before Mrs. Other-other-Mou had to ask.
Matilda slouched into her seat on the bus when they boarded after school. "Mrs. Johnson's no fun."
Claire waited.
"She said 'Poem Hat' doesn't have good enough imagery, so I had to find another. Ugh." She sulked the rest of the trip to their stop.