Thief Of Souls

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” answered Lourdes. By now, even the defeated players began to gather around her. Such was her new gravity—it no longer attracted stray paper and lint as it had in the days when she was hideously fat. Now people were drawn to her instead. She was wildly popular, and everyone wanted to finagle their way into her circle of friends.

Well, almost everyone.

“Good for you, Lourdes,” said Cathy Burns, her in­sincerity painted on like lacquer. She had always been one of “the beautiful people,” and had watched the game from the sidelines with several of her debutante friends. “Hope you’ve enjoyed your fifteen minutes of fame,” she said, with a cutting snideness in her voice that had taken years to cultivate.

“I’m still in my first minute,” said Lourdes, not al­lowing the girl a moment of satisfaction. “Happy diet­ ing.”

Cathy frowned and strode off with a flick of her hair, adjusting a belt on jeans that were growing too tight. Cathy and her friends were the few hold-out hatemongers, whose attitude of disdain was strong enough to resist Lourdes’s magnetic personality. They were social butterflies and beauty queens who longed for the good old days when tormenting Lourdes was a school pas­time. Well, their reign wouldn’t last for long, because those girls had already found themselves gaining a pound a week, as Lourdes slowed down their meta­bolisms to a crawl. Soon they would know the social joys of obesity. For Lourdes, revenge wouldn’t be sweet; it would be fat.

In the aftermath of the volleyball game, her thoughts went back to Dillon, and the certainty that he—and maybe all of them—were in trouble once more. And yet the more she thought about it, the more she was excited by it—for she realized the opportunities it sud­denly opened.

It was a chance to see Michael again.

Just thinking of him filled her with potent anticipa­tion.

Michael had told her she was beautiful, even when her body was wrapped in dense rolls of flab. And when she had grown too large to move, he refused to leave her side, even when it would have meant his own death. But things had changed once they returned home—as if being in Hampton Bays brought back to Michael the old pain of his life there. Soon after, Michael and his father moved to the West Coast.

Perhaps Michael wanted to escape his old life, but Lourdes wasn’t interested in escape. She wanted to conquer, to become the victor of Hampton Bays High, instead of the victim—to be the one that everyone looked up to; the center of attention and admiration.

Certainly, as she reveled in the victory of today’s game, all eyes were on her; but it wasn’t enough, be­cause Michael wasn’t there to share it with her, and she found herself longing for him more and more. Now Dillon was calling them all together again, and Lourdes was more than happy to go, if it meant Michael would be there, too.

“I’d like to start you and the other girls on a training program,” the coach told Lourdes. “I think you’d be great additions to the team.” Although Lourdes knew he meant “replacements” rather than “additions.” It was a tempting offer, as it was one more step in that con­quest she so desired. But there were other considera­tions now.

“I can’t do it now,” she told him. “I’m going away for a while.”

“Not for long, I hope. You’re not leaving Hampton Bays High, are you?”

“No,” answered Lourdes. “Just a short trip.”

“To finish her treatment,” she heard Ralphy Sher­man whisper to a friend.

She chose to let it go at that. Let them wonder, she thought.

***

The next day, she had her parents buy her an airline ticket west.

“I have to visit Michael,” she told them. The mention of his name always filled her parents with an appre­ hensive awe. They knew that somehow that strange boy, Michael Lipranski, had played a major part in the miraculous transformation of their daughter. Her father was dead set against letting her go, yet he found him­self lifting the phone and making the reservations, as if his hands were not under his own control.

Her brother and sisters were devastated by the thought of her leaving.

“You can’t leave!” her brother and sisters cried, for so much of themselves revolved around Lourdes now. She had slipped deep into the center of all of their lives. Lourdes was going to help Lita choose a college, and Gerardo buy a car, and Monica pick which boys to go out with. Although they were all older than her, they now looked up to her as if she were the eldest in the family.

“This is a good thing,” Lourdes told them. “I’ll be back. You’ll see.”

The next morning, with little more than Michael’s street address, Lourdes said good-bye to her family at the gate, and boarded a jet. As the plane lifted off from JFK, Lourdes filled her mind not with thoughts of find­ing Dillon, but with images of Michael.

***

Michael Lipranski was not obsessed by images of Lourdes. He had far too many thoughts and feelings to maintain these days, without sorting through his feelings for the girl who had shared his misery.

He stood at dawn in a flurry of snow, on a beach in southern California, which hadn’t seen snow during his lifetime, until this week. As he stood at the edge of the pounding surf, Michael slipped on his Walkman’s ear- phones, and listened to the rhythms and riffs of Insurrection, one of his favorite bands. The music helped him to dig deep within himself and find the bright, warm emotions that had been chased away by his night­mares. He thought of peaceful days stretched out on the beach. He thought of cycling down Pacific Coast Highway, and feeling the warm, ocean-scented breeze on his face. Then he turned his eyes upward, and as his spirits began to lift, they punched a hole in the dense cover of clouds.

A pinpoint of blue appeared, and as the clouds peeled back, the hole widened. The last of the snow wafted down through the air, and a chill breeze blew, but it rapidly turned warm.

Michael brushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes, and looked toward the horizon. He didn’t have to push back the cold that far—only about five miles, for that was as far as his mood reached. He pushed forth strong, sun- filled thoughts, and struggled to roll back the cold layer of clouds pressing in on him.

Those clouds had first rolled in on the morning of his dream about Dillon. That was three days ago—and even though Michael did his best to ignore it, each night the dream would replay itself over and over, with greater urgency, bringing a morning snowfall that he had to chase away.

Well, what am I supposed to do about Dillon ?

Michael knew there was an answer, but he chose to roll that away with the clouds as well, keeping it far from his thoughts.

Soon the retreating clouds were forced back to the edge of Michael’s reach, leaving a narrow rim like a smoke ring, ten miles wide, in the middle of clear skies. He could already feel his new mood begin to infuse not only the skies, but the people in the neighborhood around him. His gift was one of emotional resonance—a resonance so strong it seized the very skies around him, putting them in his control, forcing them to mimic the weather patterns of his own powerful emotions. It was a force so strong, it affected the nature of anyone he came in contact with, filling them with joy, or con­sternation—whatever was in Michael’s heart at the time.

The sun climbed out from behind Saddleback Moun­tain, and Michael turned to let its rays warm his face.

“What’s with you?”

Startled by the voice, Michael stumbled, nearly fall­ing into the high-tide surf. He ripped the headphones from his ears, and turned to see the face of his friend and running partner, Drew Camden. Had Drew seen him change the weather? How would Michael explain it if he had? “How long have you been there?” Michael asked.

“Long enough to see you staring at the sky like a psycho,” said Drew casually. He didn’t seem concerned or confused; he just stretched his arms and legs, pre­paring for their morning run. Good, thought Michael. He didn’t make the connection. Michael glanced at his watch. It was already seven o’clock. He always lost track of time whenever he futzed with the sky.

“So what’s the deal with this weather?” said Drew, zipping open his running jacket. “It was freezing when I left my house. How did it get so warm?”

“It’s called the sun, Einstein,” said Michael.

Drew began jogging in place. “So, are we running or not?” he asked. “Let’s go; it’s time to get some color