you go let Mari know?”
Dana leads us toward the kitchen while Frank heads upstairs. My pulse picks up. I remind myself to stay calm and breathe in cycles of four, but it doesn’t help. This time I can’t stop the tingling running across my skin.
Dana and Horace are talking food—not having a good kitchen in the house is bugging the hell out of Horace—but I barely hear them. I stay near the stairs to keep an eye out for Mariella.
I see the glow before I see her. The orange light is so strong it’s hard to believe the house isn’t on fire, but when feet appear at the top of the staircase, I can finally see that the light isn’t coming from the house. It’s coming from her .
My heart beats so fast I can’t tell the pulses apart—it’s one harsh thrum inside my head. If I’m a Smurf, this girl is an Oompa Loompa. No. Not even. It looks like she walked out of a horror movie. She really is on fire, burning from the inside out.
I’m staring, but I can’t help it. Everyone would be staring if they could see what I see.
Horace nudges me with his elbow, and I close my eyes. The light is so bright it seeps through my eyelids until I switch filters. Opening my eyes and looking through my more normal vision, Mariella’s fire is down to a soft orange shimmer surrounding her body, finally dim enough for me to see the girl underneath.
She’s wearing slightly baggy jeans, black sneakers, and a shapeless, gray long-sleeved shirt. Her hair is bound in a single long braid that hangs over her shoulder and ends at the top of her thigh, and she has something in her hand she’s rubbing like a worry stone.
“Mariella, this is Horace and Hudson,” Dana says, beckoning her daughter closer. “This is our daughter, Mariella.”
“Well, ain’t you the spittin’ image of your mama,” Horace says, smiling at Mariella.
Dana wraps her arm around Mariella’s shoulders and kisses her forehead. Mariella’s lip quivers a little, but she doesn’t quite smile.
“You gonna be a senior this year?” Horace asks. “Hudson here is starting his senior year up at the high school next week.”
He keeps smiling, but now there’s tension in the air. Dana and Frank glance at each other. Mariella tilts her head to the side, watching everything, saying nothing.
“Um, yes, Mari will be a senior this year,” Dana says before the silence hits the highly awkward five-second mark. “She has a condition, though. Selective mutism. Mari hasn’t spoken a word in a few years now.”
Only because I’m watching so closely do I catch the tiny flare of Mariella’s nostrils and the way her eyes lift to the ceiling when her mother says “condition.” She seems amused by the phrase “selective mutism”—her lip tics when Dana says that. And she acts proud when her mother mentions how long it’s been since she last spoke. Her shoulders pull back a bit and that tiny lift to the corner of her mouth gets a little more pronounced.
Mariella’s not trapped by the demons; she’s thrilled by their hold on her. Or she’s impressed by her own silence, at the very least.
Jesus. This girl is locked into their world more than I ever was. How am I supposed to get through to someone who won’t talk and probably won’t listen to a damn word I have to say?
K.T. called Mariella Mission: Impossible . I’m starting to think she underestimated.
Mariella’s eyes meet mine, and in one look, she sizes me up and completely dismisses me.
This is the girl who has the answers I need? This is why I moved across state lines?
Oh, yeah. This is gonna be a fucking blast .
Eight
Mariella
Friday, August 29 – 7:08 PM
Hudson is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. The sheer size of him is insane . Why would anyone need to be that tall? His hands are about the size of my head. He could probably snap my neck in half without blinking.
And he won’t stop staring at me. Why won’t Hudson stop staring at me?
His eyes are the worst. Everything else, even
Dana leads us toward the kitchen while Frank heads upstairs. My pulse picks up. I remind myself to stay calm and breathe in cycles of four, but it doesn’t help. This time I can’t stop the tingling running across my skin.
Dana and Horace are talking food—not having a good kitchen in the house is bugging the hell out of Horace—but I barely hear them. I stay near the stairs to keep an eye out for Mariella.
I see the glow before I see her. The orange light is so strong it’s hard to believe the house isn’t on fire, but when feet appear at the top of the staircase, I can finally see that the light isn’t coming from the house. It’s coming from her .
My heart beats so fast I can’t tell the pulses apart—it’s one harsh thrum inside my head. If I’m a Smurf, this girl is an Oompa Loompa. No. Not even. It looks like she walked out of a horror movie. She really is on fire, burning from the inside out.
I’m staring, but I can’t help it. Everyone would be staring if they could see what I see.
Horace nudges me with his elbow, and I close my eyes. The light is so bright it seeps through my eyelids until I switch filters. Opening my eyes and looking through my more normal vision, Mariella’s fire is down to a soft orange shimmer surrounding her body, finally dim enough for me to see the girl underneath.
She’s wearing slightly baggy jeans, black sneakers, and a shapeless, gray long-sleeved shirt. Her hair is bound in a single long braid that hangs over her shoulder and ends at the top of her thigh, and she has something in her hand she’s rubbing like a worry stone.
“Mariella, this is Horace and Hudson,” Dana says, beckoning her daughter closer. “This is our daughter, Mariella.”
“Well, ain’t you the spittin’ image of your mama,” Horace says, smiling at Mariella.
Dana wraps her arm around Mariella’s shoulders and kisses her forehead. Mariella’s lip quivers a little, but she doesn’t quite smile.
“You gonna be a senior this year?” Horace asks. “Hudson here is starting his senior year up at the high school next week.”
He keeps smiling, but now there’s tension in the air. Dana and Frank glance at each other. Mariella tilts her head to the side, watching everything, saying nothing.
“Um, yes, Mari will be a senior this year,” Dana says before the silence hits the highly awkward five-second mark. “She has a condition, though. Selective mutism. Mari hasn’t spoken a word in a few years now.”
Only because I’m watching so closely do I catch the tiny flare of Mariella’s nostrils and the way her eyes lift to the ceiling when her mother says “condition.” She seems amused by the phrase “selective mutism”—her lip tics when Dana says that. And she acts proud when her mother mentions how long it’s been since she last spoke. Her shoulders pull back a bit and that tiny lift to the corner of her mouth gets a little more pronounced.
Mariella’s not trapped by the demons; she’s thrilled by their hold on her. Or she’s impressed by her own silence, at the very least.
Jesus. This girl is locked into their world more than I ever was. How am I supposed to get through to someone who won’t talk and probably won’t listen to a damn word I have to say?
K.T. called Mariella Mission: Impossible . I’m starting to think she underestimated.
Mariella’s eyes meet mine, and in one look, she sizes me up and completely dismisses me.
This is the girl who has the answers I need? This is why I moved across state lines?
Oh, yeah. This is gonna be a fucking blast .
Eight
Mariella
Friday, August 29 – 7:08 PM
Hudson is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. The sheer size of him is insane . Why would anyone need to be that tall? His hands are about the size of my head. He could probably snap my neck in half without blinking.
And he won’t stop staring at me. Why won’t Hudson stop staring at me?
His eyes are the worst. Everything else, even
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