Another Little Piece (22 page)

“Mom locked her away, told her she would never see daylight, much less Steven, again. Jaclyn ran away. I guess she would’ve disappeared and we would have always wondered what happened to her, except Mom wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. She tore apart the house looking for some sort of clue. And she found it. Oh boy, did she find it. A letter from a girl saying she was in love with Jaclyn and knew Jaclyn felt the same way, and she wished things hadn’t gone so badly between them. It was from some girl in Buffalo, and, funnily enough, when Steven’s parents found out he was missing too, they used his cell to track him to the same place.”

Jess laughed, and it had the same bitter edge as the one I’d heard from Jaclyn. “If she’d thought Jaclyn running away with a boy was bad, then the thought of her running away to a girl . . . well, that was just the end of the world.

“Mom left with Steven’s dad on a Friday night and came back early Sunday morning in a rental car. I woke up and it was still dark out. Mom was standing over me. ‘Get up,’ she said. ‘I need your help.’ I followed her out to the car, and it was only when she unlocked the trunk that I saw her hands were red, and that the rest of her was too. The trunk opened and by then I knew that Jaclyn was dead and I expected to see her body, but there was only a wad of bloody rags.”

Jess’s voice was cold and emotionless. As if she was merely reporting a story she’d been told, instead of one she’d lived. I understood that. The need to distance yourself. As much as I wanted to reach forward with a touch, I didn’t. That kind of comfort—especially from me—could break her.

“‘You killed her,’ I screamed, and Mom slapped me. Then she told me that she hadn’t killed Jaclyn, that she had saved her. Not her body, but her soul. She tried to bring Jaclyn’s body home to bless it and bury it, but it had crumbled to dust in her hands. Only her heart survived. That was all we had left of Jaclyn and we had to keep it safe.”

We’d reached the house, and Jess walked up to the sagging porch and sat on the top step, facing us. “She unwrapped that bunch of rags, and put Jaclyn’s heart in my hands. I didn’t know what to do, so I started walking toward the trees, and as I did I remembered an old hollow where we used to hide things when we were kids. I put it there, and by the time I was walking back to the house, I could hear the sirens of the police cars coming to take Mom away. Later I found out she’d called to hand herself in.”

Jess stood and turned toward the front door. “I don’t get to be here much anymore. They sent me to live with a foster family. On the weekends, I get a friend to drive me out here. It’s home, you know? Anyway, I gotta go in and clean up after the stupid ghost hunters that like to get drunk and come down here. Drive careful, and tell the girls Jaclyn says hey.” Reaching around the loose board, Jess pushed the door open. Instead of a horror-movie squeal, it slid open silently. Jess squatted down to duck beneath the board, but then turned back to me.

“Hey, Jaclyn wants to know. You get the name of the next girl yet?”

I nodded, feeling sick as I guessed what question was coming next.

“You gonna do it? Cut yourself outta this one and be eaten into another?”

The way she put it, I should have been on my knees puking again, but instead my stomach twisted with something else. Something worse. Hunger. Still I wanted to tell her no, act horrified and offended at the very suggestion.

And not just for her and Jaclyn. Beside me I could feel Dex tense, waiting for my answer. Make the right choice. I could sense him silently urging me on. My very own Jiminy Cricket.

The hunger screamed inside me, a growing baby demanding to be fed. Every day it became harder to make it hush. To pretend it wasn’t there. But Jess’s story was also inside me. Screaming in another way. Dividing me. Could I take another girl after hearing all that? After looking into Jess’s eyes and seeing Jaclyn there too?

It was too late to save Jaclyn. It was beginning to look like it was too late to save myself too. Funny, because that was what I’d come here for—a way to save my own skin . . . or Annaliese’s. It had never even crossed my mind to worry about the next girl up on the chopping block. But now I made myself remember her, not as a name on a paper but as a real girl.

Lacey. The paper said Lacey Lee Beals, but I’d known her as just plain Lacey. She was a real girl who had rolled her eyes at her mom even as she followed orders. A real girl who confessed she’d started smoking as a weight-loss strategy, but after six months of it still hadn’t lost a pound. A real girl who complained that babysitting her brother was a chore, but who also would kiss his little head every time he toddled by.

That was her life, not mine. I shouldn’t be able to put it on as easily as the sweater she’d given me to wear on my way to the hospital. The sweater that I’d thoughtlessly left behind, tangled in the sheets of the hospital bed.

I clenched my teeth against the hunger’s wail, uncertain how long I could keep it locked inside.

Dex and Jess stared, still waiting for my answer.

“I hope not,” I finally said.

Jess nodded. That wasn’t exactly the answer she’d wanted to hear, or maybe she didn’t believe me. I had no chance to convince her further. Without another word, she slipped into the crumbling house and the door thumped closed behind her.

“You hope not?” Dex said, and I could feel him pushing for something more concrete.

I didn’t have any certainties to give him. “Sorry, should I have said, ‘Definitely not’?”

Dex looked back at the house, and I knew he’d read into Jess’s tight nod too. “Sometimes a tiny lie can be a big thing.”

He was right, and that was why I didn’t tell him how close I’d been leaning toward a yes, instead of my mostly no. I forced a grin. “Lie? To a ghost, a girl who talks to a ghost, and a boy who sees the future? I honestly didn’t think that was an option.”

Dex smiled at this. Of course he did; with all the burdens he carried, somehow his smiles were still so easy to coax out.

As one we turned away, retracing our earlier path through the overgrown yard. Glancing over my shoulder, I gave the house one last look. There was no sign of Jess. Or Jaclyn.

“Will she be okay?” I asked, wondering if he knew how things ended for Jess.

Dex shook his head, but I couldn’t tell whether that meant he’d seen something terrible, or that he simply didn’t know.

I decided to believe the latter. It gave her the benefit of the doubt, the same one I’d given myself. At least that option gave both of us a chance.

HOW

TOMORROW

Tomorrow is a lie

I have already told.

Tomorrow is a party

I am not invited to.

Tomorrow is a boy

I wished for and received.

Tomorrow is the virginity

I will be losing.

Tomorrow is three words

I must confess.

Tomorrow is hoping

I don’t give more than I gain.

—ARG

GOOD-BYE

“Home sweet home,” Dex yawned as he drove the car into the garage. For the last two hours I’d watched him struggle against the weight of his eyelids, while he pushed harder against the gas pedal, determined to get me home on time. And he’d succeeded. The clock on the dashboard read 11:13.

“I should get inside, they’ll be back soon.” But I didn’t move. I couldn’t . . . until Dex leaned in to kiss me, and then I threw myself at him, clinging tight. It wasn’t like our other kisses. My birthday was no longer Monday, a day somewhere in the distance. It was tomorrow. And that made this kiss feel like good-bye.

I didn’t even realize a few tears had leaked out until Dex’s fingers gently brushed them from my cheeks.

“Ugh.” I scrubbed the wetness away. “Stupid blubbering. I’m sorry. It’s just—there’s not enough time.”

“I know,” Dex answered. “Why do you think I broke the speed barrier getting us back? I wanted to be able to spend some time with you without being squeezed into a car or in the presence of a girl who talks to ghosts.” He tapped the clock, which had ticked away to 11:20. “Noon was your cutoff time, if I remember correctly. That gives us forty minutes. Want to join me in making the most of it?”

“Yes.” My answer was immediate. As was Dex’s response. He threw his door open and slid from the car.

“Race you to the door.”

I ran after him. Halfway around the house, he let me catch him. Or he caught me. Grabbing hold of my hands, he swung me out in a circle. Clinging tight, I leaned back and watched the world spin by. Then our lips met, and the world spun in a different way.

Without coming up for air we somehow found our way into the basement. Once the door closed, we pressed closer, wanting—needing—more. “Anna, we don’t—”

“Yes, we do.”

“But you . . .”

My fingers on his button fly stalled. “Don’t you want to?”

Dex laughed. “Oh no, I do. I really do. But do you? Really?”

I kissed him again, pulling away long enough to murmur against his skin. “Yes.”

And it was true. Maybe it could’ve-should’ve-would’ve waited, except the ticking time bomb of an eighteenth birthday made me think that I had a limited number of laters. Seize the moment. Seize the boy. I was frantic to be closer—to complete the bond between us. We’d shared secrets, horrible visions, and now . . . and now something else.

That seemed to be enough reassurance for Dex. Awkward and giggling, we pulled and tugged at our clothes until at last they fell away. Dex snagged a packet of condoms from his bottom desk drawer and presented them to me with a sheepish shrug.

“To be safe,” he said. “And just so you know, I didn’t have these here prepared, expecting this or anything. They’ve been here since the last time, my first time, kind of. . . .”

“Who was it?” I don’t know why I asked. It was the last thing I wanted to think about right then. I was supposed to be seizing, not quizzing.

“No one!” Dex shook his head hard, emphasizing the point.

“No one?”

I didn’t mean it as a criticism, but Dex took it as one. “Not like that. It was a someone. A girl someone. A friend. Well, a friend of a friend. Okay, to be completely accurate, the friend of a former friend. It was after I became notorious for supposedly leaking that video. The friend of the former friend wanted an introduction. I don’t think I was exactly what she expected. She had the idea I was some dark rebel raging against the machine. But I guess she figured she was here so she should just make the best of it. . . . It didn’t go well. I had a vision in the middle of us, er, you know.”

“Oh no,” I said. “A vision? Like, you saw her die?”

“Uh, no. I saw that when we first met. This was . . .” Dex went bright red. “She, uh, wanted to watch a movie on the computer while we did, you know, and it was someone in the movie that triggered it.”

“Oh no,” I said again. And then, curious, “Who was the actor? Would I know the movie?”

Dex turned even darker. “Not that kind of movie,” he muttered.

It took me a moment. Then, “Oooh. Oh-ooh.”

He nodded. I giggled. Then he did too. In the next instant we were both clutching our stomachs, standing in only our underwear, and laughing so hard it hurt. His laugh was so funny, a deep chuckle with an occasional snort. I couldn’t help imitating him, and that set off the tickle fight. Dex’s long fingers found every sensitive spot on my body, until I flopped onto the gigantic beanbag chair in surrender. Dex fell beside me. Our bodies pressed together warmly. The desperate need of before had dissolved, leaving behind only the low and constant buzz of tension that had been between us almost from the beginning. Still, it felt like the moment I’d meant to seize had passed. I didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Dex’s head dipped toward mine, so our temples pressed together. “I’m glad it didn’t work out with her,” he said softly. “I know I’m a guy and supposedly need to sow oats or collect notches or whatever, and I do sometimes want that stuff, but . . .” I felt his shoulder shrug against mine. “I didn’t even like that girl. She was weird.” He laughed. “Like I should talk, right?”

I found Dex’s hand, resting on his stomach, and gave it a squeeze. “You’re a good weird.”

Another shrug. “I think the former friend meant well. Two weirds make a right, or something. Anyway, it wasn’t good, and I knew it, but I had this horrible thought like this might be my only chance, like I’d never meet anyone who could deal with me, and that I’d have to settle for a girl who was willing to settle for me too.”

My heart squeezed, not with sympathy, but with something larger. It hurt, and it made me want to say something stupid. Something like, “I love you.” I bit back the impulse.

Dex sat up a bit, leaning on his elbow so he loomed over me. “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve waited. I think I—”

Grabbing hold of Dex, I pulled him down on top of me. Our lips met and his unspoken words were swept away. Maybe he was going to say he loved me. It would be too much. Too soon. Or maybe it was only that he liked me. That would’ve been way too little.

The kiss, though, was perfect. It said it all. And yet it wasn’t enough. We pressed closer, needing something more. And when we found it together, it was . . . Not perfect. No, it was simpler than that and infinitely more complicated. It was just right. As if it and we were meant to be.

Afterward, I curled up against Dex as he pulled a fuzzy fleece blanket over us.

“You okay?” He whispered the words, and this, too, felt right, like he wasn’t quite ready to break the spell.

“Yeah, it was definitely better than my first time too.”

Even as I said it, I realized that the first time I’d been thinking of wasn’t mine. It was Annaliese’s.

You were right. Love and lust are different.

That was what she’d said to me. And once more I could see her under Logan from where I watched, silent in the trees. But now I could also feel the tree stump digging into her left hip. And I saw the spider dangling from a tree branch, precariously close. Logan grunted, and I thought, Finally, but he continued pumping away.

It was Dex’s heartbeat, still thudding heavily, that kept me anchored in the present. I pulled away from Annaliese. Still, it was almost as if I could feel her, hovering near, just like Jess had described the stringers.

Dex kissed me. The pull of the stringers faded as I kissed him back.

It was true what I’d told Annaliese. Love and lust were different. But I’d also been wrong. Because sometimes they could also be one and the same.

When it was time to leave, I had to force my feet to move. Turning away from Dex, I focused on the mechanics of lifting each leg, setting one foot down and then doing it again and again until the house came closer. Digging my hand into my pocket, I grasped hold of the key like it was a lifeline. The whole time I could feel Dex, waiting, watching me.

I turned back to him, refusing to let this be the end.

“I’ll see you again,” I promised, and as I said the words it occurred to me that if I became Lacey, I could still see him. And for a few more years—and a few more girls—after that too. As Dex got older we’d have to stop, but by then we’d have had time together—maybe not enough time, but more than the few hours that added all together barely made up two whole days.

I was horrified at the thought. But hopeful too. And then horrified again.

Quickly, I spun away, not wanting Dex to see, knowing he would hate the idea. And hate me for thinking it. For wanting it.

Dex was right. I had a choice; I’d always had a choice. And every time I’d chosen myself.

This time it would be different. This time I would make the right choice.

I didn’t believe it though. Not really.

And a part of me still hoped for some way out of making any choice at all.

FOREVER

“Your mom is three sheets to the wind,” Franky announces, walking into my bedroom without even knocking.

“She’s not,” I answer. A reflex. Deny everything. Even though I’ve been lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering when exactly she made the transfer to two o’clock.

For the longest time, since I was ten at least, she’d held steady at three p.m. If you caught her before then, she’d be hungover, but she got things done. Lunches were made, and laundry was loaded. Slightly after three, she was happy and tipsy. This was a good time to ask for something. A few dollars for a new shirt or permission to do something hungover Mom might’ve deemed too dangerous. As night began to fall, it was best to avoid her altogether—her moods were too difficult to gauge and shifted too quickly.

Franky throws himself onto the narrow bed beside me, pressing his body against mine. “I told her your brother left something up here for me.” Sliding his hand up beneath my shirt, he whispers into my ear, “I don’t think she guessed that it was you.”

I slap his hand away. “Not now.”

“Well, then I’ll go.” But he doesn’t move. He wants me too much. It is one of the things I most like about him.

Several moments pass. Downstairs the TV blares, carrying the sound of canned laughter up to us. “I thought you were leaving.”

He sighs, as if his heart is breaking. “I love you, you know.”

I do know. The words make me feel warm inside the same way a few sips of my mother’s drinks will. It fades, though, and leaves a terrible taste in my mouth afterward.

Franky pushes himself up on one elbow. “Anna, say you love me too.” His eyes boring into mine are intense and demanding. It would almost be frightening if I hadn’t known Franky since he was a little boy. We grew up in the same neighborhood, and he is my older brother’s best friend. Often my own best friend, Katie, and I made a foursome with them, tearing through one another’s yards in a never-ending game of follow the leader. Tommy was always the leader. I followed because he was my older brother and only sibling. Katie followed because she’d been born with a crush on him. But Franky followed because he was shy, clumsy, and not much good at anything besides following someone bigger and stronger and brighter.

Except then he’d gone away to college, once again following Tommy—to the state university this time. A year later, it was like he was a different person. He’d finally ditched the Coke-bottle glasses and let his hair grow out like the rest of the boys. But that wasn’t it. He walked differently, talked differently, and looked at you differently. Like he knew something you didn’t, and thought it was a great joke.

And he no longer followed Tommy. Apparently, they’d had some sort of falling-out. Something to do with Tommy losing his football scholarship, although I don’t know how that could possibly be Franky’s fault. Typical Tommy. Not taking responsibility and blaming it on poor Franky. Truth is, Tommy has never been a very good friend to Franky, and I suspect that half the reason Franky is in love with me is to get back at him.

“You don’t love me,” I tell Franky now. Testing him. Wanting to hear him say the words again.

At this his mouth curves into a smile that makes him seem totally unlike the Franky I knew growing up. He looks almost evil. It’s scary, but also exciting. His fingers pluck at my shirt.

“You’re wearing Tommy’s old high school jersey.”

I shrug. “He left it behind on one of his washdays, and I stole it. It’s comfy.”

“You look like one of his girlfriends. Wearing it and thinking about how you’d like him to screw you.”

I laugh because I know it will annoy him. This is one of the games we play. He tries to shock me with his new bad self, and I refuse to be impressed. “I think you’re jealous.”

“I am. Makes me miss my sister. When I was a sickly little kid, she was the only one who would touch me. She’d give me sponge baths with this rough old cloth and horrible lye soap, but she didn’t scrub hard like some people would have. Sometimes I would purposely make messes, just to have her clean me again.”

I push him away, suppressing a shiver. “You’re sick.”

He smiles at me. “You remind me of her, you know.”

“You don’t have a sister, idiot.” Still I feel chilled. Suddenly not wanting to be so close to him, I stand and take a few steps away.

He follows, putting his hands on my waist and pulling me close. “Maybe I did. In another time, another life. Maybe I’ve lived a hundred years, and a hundred different lives.”

We’ve made out several times, and in baseball terms have been closing in on third base, but now I feel another shiver of revulsion. I don’t want him to know, though, don’t want him to think he’s won.

“Nicotine craving,” I say, slipping away. I cross quickly to my desk and flip open the lid on my faded childhood jewelry box. The tiny ballerina begins her pirouettes while the
Nutcracker
Suite
tinkles. Digging into the space below her, filled with ticket stubs and earrings with no matching pair, I finally find the pack of cigarettes I’ve hidden away.

“Eureka, my Winstons!” I say, overly enthusiastic as the box tips to its side, spilling everything out onto the floor. “They taste good like a cigarette should.”

I toss the pack to Franky, where he is leaning against the window frame. “Light me one.”