Another Little Piece (9 page)

“Logan,” the principal warned, but he sounded slightly less pissed off.

“I’ll find you at lunch,” Logan said to me, and then headed down the hallway.

Mr. Hardy turned to me. The stern expression was replaced by a more assessing one, and I found myself squirming beneath its intense scrutiny.

“Sorry,” I squeaked, thinking this was what he was waiting to hear.

“I’m sure you are.” He sniffed, and then transferred his attention to a clock on the wall. “Now why don’t you hurry to the last few minutes of homeroom, or if you would prefer, we can call your parents to pick you up.”

Call them. Tell them to take me home. Yes, please. Except I didn’t have a home, not really. Or parents. I was supposed to be looking for answers. Trying to figure out why I would’ve wanted to take Annaliese’s life. And the only way to know that was to continue living it, even if it meant staying at this horrible school.

“Homeroom.” I immediately started walking, wanting to put as much space as possible between myself and Mr. Hardy.

“Excellent choice,” he said, from behind me. “We wouldn’t want the parents to know too much. They might start wondering exactly what they brought home.”

His words were quiet but absolutely clear, as if he’d hissed them directly into my ear. When I spun around, though, Mr. Hardy was at the other end of the hallway, his shoes clacking against the linoleum floor.

I stared after him for a long moment, then hunkered down into Rice Sixteen’s hoodie and took off running through the long, empty hallways.

UNCERTAIN

I survived the rest of the day. The student body seemed shaken, uncertain how to deal with me in my
RICE 16
armor. I had become something too complicated for them to sum up with one word painted in red nail polish.

So for the most part they avoided me. And I avoided Logan. I spent lunch hiding in the bathroom. It wasn’t the most original place, but Logan wasn’t the most original boy. He didn’t find me.

Unfortunately, the redheaded boy did. He stood directly outside the door, waiting when I emerged with the bell. Before I could think to run, he’d grabbed hold of my arm.

“Leave me alone.” I jerked away and started walking fast. With his stubby legs, he had to trot to keep up.

“If you had any sense, you’d thank me,” he hissed. “You’re in position now.”

I didn’t want to know, and yet still I asked. “In position for what?”

He smiled. “To wear the glass slippers, Cinderella. Then you live the fairy tale until it’s time to sell it to the next little ash girl.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Oh right, your amnesia. I mean brain damage. Let me spell it out for you. You date Logan. Every girl wants to be you. You pick one of those girls and tell her that she can live the dream too. And then she gets to be you . . . for a short time at least. Until it’s time to pay. Then you get to be her.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I said again—except that this time I was afraid that I did.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, and then grabbed my hand and pressed something into it. “Found this in the hallway during the fight, must’ve been with your books.”

The hall widened, and he moved away from me. I stopped, wanting as much distance between us as possible. Then I opened my hand. He’d given me a pen. Or half of one. It was a clicker type. I had the top half, and someone had wedged a bit of paper inside. I steadily tapped the pen against my palm until two little balls rolled out. As soon as I saw them, I knew. These were more of Annaliese’s spitball poems.

POPPING

TRY

To the born losers

who watch the golden

girls and boys

effortlessly achieve.

And to the lost,

those lonesome wanderers

roaming roads at night

peering into windows

where all is bright.

To those on the outside

shut off from the

smiles and light

of the luckier ones.

To those who have

given up

’cause their dreams

never took flight.

To those who cry themselves

to sleep.

Who for one reason

or another

can’t help but weep.

To all out

there who know

they were

born to merely

try

and

try

and

die.

—ARG

SILENCE IS GOLDEN

“Annaliese!”

A short roundish girl with a headful of curly hair that she’d scraped back into a little pom-pom of a ponytail came barreling toward the car.

It was Tuesday, and amazingly I was at school once more. I’d been half certain the mom would’ve heard what happened and never let me near the place again. Instead, totally clueless, she’d asked, “How’d it go?”

I’d hesitated before answering. I didn’t want to upset the mom. And she had that look on her face too. The one where she couldn’t decide between hope or fear. She was an optimist, dog-paddling like crazy to keep from drowning in a glass she’d insist was half full.

Finally, I settled on: “Okay, I guess. Kind of strange, but I survived.”

That was the right answer, because the mom laughed. “You sound like a typical teenager.” And for the mom, that was the best thing I could be.

Now I looked to the dad to see if this girl outside our car alarmed him. After yesterday, I was prepared for the worst. “It’s okay. That’s Gwen. She’s your friend.”

Not really reassured, I nodded and slid out of the car.

“Annaliese,” she said again, a gigantic smile on her face. When I took a step toward her, she took one back. “Don’t get too close. I’m recovering from a nasty stomach bug, and I do not want to deal with your mom if I get you sick. She still hasn’t forgiven me for giving you the chicken pox in third grade, even though she never did prove it was me, since half the kids in our class had it, but that’s all water under the bridge, right?”

Words flew from Gwen’s mouth at intense speed, and she kept moving at the same time, walking backward, step for step with me, as we advanced toward the school.

“So I heard about what happened yesterday. Kayla Robins catapulted herself into superbitch territory. They’re not even together anymore. Logan and Kayla, I mean. They broke up a few weeks after you disappeared, and she’s dated, like, five or six guys since then. And he hasn’t dated anyone. So, everyone thought he was pining away for her, but then confession time and, oops, suddenly everyone thinks that maybe he was pining for you. It is all such stupid drama, and I am so sorry I wasn’t here for you. Mr. Hardy actually called my house to say he was very disappointed, and that he’d been counting on me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I told him, ‘Mr. Hardy, I’m sorry, but I’m sick. I didn’t plan on getting sick, but it happened, and I know you wanted me to help Annaliese get through her day, but I don’t think it would’ve helped anything if I puked on her shoes.’ He didn’t have anything to say to that. I mean, what could he do, accuse me of faking sick? We both know my attendance record is stellar. Anyway, that’s when I realized how weird it was for him to call, and that something really awful must’ve happened. So I said, ‘Mr. Hardy, did something happen? Would you like to talk about it?’ He got pretty upset, all, ‘Don’t psychoanalyze me, Miss Durkin.’ I wasn’t trying to psychoanalyze him, of course. Jeez, as if I would need to; I had that guy’s number my first day here. But I only said, ‘I’m just a sounding board. Completely confidential, of course.’ The sounding board bit is what my mom always says to her patients. It usually helps them open up.”

We had reached the front doors at this point, and without pausing in her narrative, Gwen held them open for me. Then she ran up and walked beside me normally.

“My parents are both psychologists, by the way, in case you were wondering. They have in-house offices and I’ve spent most of my life overhearing their sessions. When I was little they thought it was cute, but now they get very upset about it. So if you see them, don’t tell them that I eavesdrop more than ever. Okay?”

Before I could answer, she was talking again. “Anyway, I think Mr. Hardy would really benefit from therapy, and I was about to say so, but then he said, ‘Miss Durkin, I have no intention of gossiping with a student. I only called to determine whether you would make good on your commitment tomorrow, or if I should find someone else.’ As if you had so many friends, and he had specifically chosen me as some great honor, when we both knew that I wasn’t just your best friend, I was your only one.”

Gwen grabbed hold of my arm, pulling me to a stop.

“Sorry, was that mean? It’s not that people didn’t like you, they just didn’t know you. Now me, on the other hand, my lack of friends is definitely a personality problem. As in, I have too much for most people. By the way, have you noticed how everyone is staring at you but kind of pretending not to?”

I had noticed, and was sort of getting used to it.

“It’s okay,” I said, amazed to get some words out.

As if reading my mind, Gwen said, “Sorry. Again. I talk too much. When you used to get annoyed with it, you would say to me, ‘Gwen, silence is golden.’ Which is a lot nicer than ‘shut the hell up,’ which is what most people say. Anyway, that was your signal, and I’d be quiet for at least five minutes.”

I had to laugh at that. Gwen laughed too. I actually didn’t mind her chatter; it was a lot like Dex’s steady stream of words. Having someone else willing to carry the conversation was a relief for a girl with too few memories and too many secrets.

“You can talk, I don’t mind. I guess you just have a lot to say.”

Gwen slapped both hands over her mouth, and her eyes popped open. “Annaliese. Oh my God! That was a memory. ‘You’ve got a lot to say.’ You always used to say that. I mean, when you weren’t telling me ‘silence is golden,’ you would always say, ‘It’s okay, Gwen, you have a lot to say.’ Did you just remember that?”

I waited for all the color to leach away, the way it did when my memories resurfaced, but there was nothing. I had absolutely no memory of Gwen.

Now it was my turn to apologize. “I’m sorry, I don’t really—”

Gwen wouldn’t let me finish. “Don’t apologize. Memory is a fickle thing. And don’t try to force it. But I can tell, it’s coming back.” She gave my arm a friendly squeeze. “You’re coming back, Annaliese.”

“Maybe,” I said with a shrug, as we finally reached my locker.

She started chattering about how after her phone call with Mr. Hardy, she’d had to know what happened, and sent a flurry of emails and texts to find out the whole story. I’d stopped listening, though, because when I opened my locker, a note fluttered out and settled on my toes, and as I bent down to pick it up I watched my fingers go from pink to gray . . . right before the memory carried me away.

TWO NAMES

“Jaclyn, stop avoiding me. Please, whatever it is, just talk to me.”

I laugh as I spin the combination of my locker. But it’s forced, and I can’t meet her eyes. “Jess, please yourself. Everything is fine. Better than fine. It’s perfect. I found a guy so great that Mom lifted the no dating rule. What more could I want? And I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve been busy. Steven takes up a lot of my time.”

“Steven.” She spits out his name. “Jaclyn, look at me.”

She grabs my hand as I reach for the latch to pull my locker open. Having no other choice, I look into the face that is identical to my own. Choosing a twin was a miscalculation on my part. Jess knew almost immediately that something wasn’t right. Maybe that’s what I’d been hoping for. After all these years, for someone to finally suspect.

“Jac?” Her eyes stare into me, digging. “Are you even in there?”

Pulling away, I force another little laugh. “Are you high again?”

I yank the locker open, and as I do, a piece of paper comes floating out, landing at my feet. I don’t need to look closer to know what it is.

It’s time, and it doesn’t matter who suspects. It changes nothing. Jaclyn’s birthday is only a month away, but she will never blow out her birthday candles.

Quickly, I grab the paper before Jess can. As I knew there would be, two names are written on it.

Two girls, and I have to pick one. It gives the illusion of having a choice.

Glancing down once more, I focus on the first name.
Annaliese Rose Gordon
. Long but pretty. Not that the name matters, any more than the face or body does. They are all temporary.

“What’s that?” Jess asks, suspicious.

“Nothing.” I crumple the paper into a ball. “It’s nothing.”

MAKE IT RIGHT

“What’s this?” Gwen asked, plucking the paper from my hand. “Oh.” She shoved the paper back at me. “A note from Logan. Supergreat.” Pulling a face, she also stuck out her tongue, in case I hadn’t caught the heavy sarcasm.

The note was short.

Sorry about yesterday. Meet me at lunch today? Please. Logan

I sighed and shoved it into my pocket.

“Seriously?” Gwen raised one eyebrow at me. “That’s it? You don’t want to squee and jump up and down for a bit? I mean, I know you don’t remember, but you were seriously in . . . well, you would’ve said ‘in love.’ Actually you did say it, many many many many many times. It was the only thing you ever talked about. You were totally obsessed with him, and he barely knew you existed. At the end of sophomore year, when you finally got up the nerve to ask him to sign your yearbook, he didn’t know how to spell your name. Granted your name is not the easiest, but that’s not why he needed you to spell it out. It was his way around not admitting that he had no friggin’ clue what your name was at all.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” I said, not even sure why I was sticking up for him.

Gwen groaned. “You used to defend him too. Well, let’s hear your defense for why he took your virginity and then left you for dead.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You
remember
?”

Too late, I realized what I’d inadvertently admitted.

“No, no, of course not. I just know what he said about it, and now I think he’s trying to make things right.”

As I said this, I knew that I would be meeting Logan for lunch and wearing his hoodie too. I needed to find out his version of what had happened between him and Annaliese, see if it lined up with my still fuzzy theory that some sort of love spell had been cast, and that he’d somehow been forced to feel something. Just the idea of it was crazy, and that was what made me believe it was true. And if it was, maybe that meant I should try and make amends for my part in the whole him-and-Annaliese mess.

Gwen had gone silent. One of my few allies at this school was now mad at me.

“I’m not in love with him. I have no memory, so he’s just another person I don’t know.”

The warning bell rang. Gwen still said nothing. I pulled Logan’s hoodie out of my locker, making sure to hide his name and number. “I probably shouldn’t be late two days in a row.”

Gwen nodded and walked beside me until we reached my classroom door. “This is me,” I said. Trying one more time to salvage the situation, I added, “I’ll see you between classes then?”

The kids in my homeroom watched us with interest, blatantly trying to listen in, but Gwen didn’t seem to notice them anymore.

“You never told me.” Her eyes met mine, and for the first time I could see the hurt there. “You just stopped talking about him, and I thought it was because—” Suddenly Gwen seemed to notice our audience. “I knew you hadn’t stopped liking him, so I figured you didn’t want to talk about that kind of thing with me anymore.”

There was something she was trying to say, without saying it, but I didn’t have enough information to know what that might be. Once again I felt the need to fix it. For Annaliese or for myself, I didn’t know.

“Maybe I felt weird about it ’cause he had a girlfriend? Otherwise, I’m sure I would’ve said something. I mean, we were friends, right?”

Gwen took a step back. “You know, I’m having trouble remembering too.” The bell rang, and Gwen spun away, ducking into a classroom three doors down. A moment later her head popped out again. “And you have his hoodie, you don’t need me for protection.”

Just like that, I was on my own again.