Change Of Season (13 page)

“Chris-” It was a weak protest, but it was a start.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, sucking on her neck roughly. “I can’t believe you’re with me.”

“Chris, please…”

He paused, his eyes lusty as they met hers. “What’s wrong?”

Autumn sighed, feeling conflicted.
Why can’t I just enjoy this? What is wrong with me?
  But she couldn’t – not without telling him… well, that this movie was staying PG-13 tonight.

“I’m not coming home with you,” she blurted out quickly.

Chris tilted his head in confusion. “I never asked you to-”

“This is getting… I can’t go home. With you, I mean. Of course I can go
home
, but not your home. Shit!”

Chris chuckled, his hand grazing her cheek. “Autumn, you told me this already, remember?” He kissed her gently and she swooned inwardly. “I have more respect for you than that. I know I’m older, but cut me some slack. I do have a right hand and a strong wrist.”

“Eww!” Autumn laughed, nearly falling backwards. “Visual unnecessary!”

He pulled her back into his lap, cradling her to his chest. “You get the point.  I’m just happy to be with you.”

Autumn blushed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No, I’m patient,” he countered. “There will be other dates.”

“Oh will there?  What makes you so sure?”

“Because…” He sighed, tracing a finger along her jaw line. “I always get what I want, eventually.”

“And I’m what you want?” Her heart skipped and stopped, breath hitched in her throat.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

A crackling of electricity – no, just dead leaves, swirling wildly along the cement beneath them.  Autumn’s namesake was mocking her now.  How fitting.  She’d only just leaned in for another taste of Chris when a door in dire need of WD-40 slid across the courtyard.  Cursing under her breath, Autumn settled innocently on the bench beside her date, smoothing her dress over her knees.

“Alright kids, you know the courtyard’s off limits,” a burly teacher bellowed at them from inside.  “Back to the gym, or else.”

Before Autumn could speak, Chris rose and moved forward, smiling apologetically.  “Sorry, sir.  It was my idea to sit out here. I had no idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, just head back in.” 

Autumn was able to make out the teacher’s face now: it was the jerk from the Science department who’d tried to force her to do a dissection.  Keeping her head bowed low, she followed Chris back towards the gym, her hand in his.  Mercifully, she went unrecognized.  The bastard enjoyed taunting her in class on a daily basis.  The last thing she needed was a call home to her parents.

The dance was winding down:  half the crowd had departed, and there was a finality to the DJ spinning Florence + The Machine’s "Dog Days Are Over".  Heather, to her delight, was dancing with Mike Duffie, starting running back on the football team and the latest apple of her eye.  Corrina had disappeared, but she always left early.  With a grin, Chris lifted her into the air, spinning her around before setting her dizzy feet upon the slick tiles and dancing to the upbeat melody.  The lights were blurring into each other, but in a good way:  coherence, unity of a kind.

Were she and Chris a union now?

Autumn dismissed the thought. 
That’s crazy!  It’s just one date!  Okay, maybe it’s number two, kind of, but still!
  Heather swayed closer, hip checking her best friend and returning to the inviting arms of Mike.  There would be a lengthy conversation on the subway tonight, no doubt. Heather would want every invasive detail, right down to the precise taste of Chris’ mouth.  She was a typical gossiping teen in that way, but she also had a good heart.  She’d never abandoned Autumn, in spite of her popularity and social networks.

“And this is our last song of the night!” the DJ announced as the song wound down.  “Happy Homecoming, Jarvis Collegiate, and get home safe.”

Her eyes rolled as the music began, slow and acoustic, prompting Chris to eye her quizzically.

“
Twilight
. A song from freaking
Twilight
,” she explained. “And yeah, it’s nice, but painfully predictable.”

They swayed slowly, her head leaning against his chest wearily.  Iron & Wine played on softly as a scattering of other couples kept them company on the floor.  Her shoe was sticky from spilled punch, her back damp from the claustrophobic heat.  Her toes ached from the narrow heels she wore – borrowed from Corrina’s endless collection of shoes. 

She couldn’t stop smiling.

Her smile lingered through softly-spoken goodbyes, through promises to call tomorrow.  It highlighted the details shared with Heather on the way home, her friend gushing so loudly that the driver of their bus actually shushed her.  It met her mother, telling her the dance was wonderful, that she was off to bed now.  And in her dreams, she smiled, walking along Woodbine Beach with Chris, sharing quiet jokes and enjoying the boats dotting the horizon.

It was the only the next morning, while sifting through her book bag in search of her homework for Math, that her smile faded.

Call me. Please. 

The tiny square of pale blue paper haunted her anew.  Signed by someone named Fiona, it contained a phone number, and had been shoved into her locker.  Autumn knew of no one by the name of Fiona, and with the flurry of dance-related primping Heather had forced upon her, she’d never called the night before. 

“Probably some jealous girl who likes Chris,” Autumn grumbled, setting it upon her desk and diving back into her bag.

Yet it continued to beckon her, its colour in sharp relief to the black lacquered finish of her computer desk.  The cursive scrawl, dainty and neat. 
Fiona
.  Who the hell was she?

Biting her lip, she abandoned her algebra and picked up her cell phone. 
Only one way to find out
.  Dialing the number hesitantly, she continued to search her mind for any Fionas she might know from school. 
Cheerleader, maybe?
  Perhaps the note had been meant for Heather? She did spend a lot of time at Autumn’s locker.
Is she in Art?
  Her brow furrowed as the line rang… and rang…. and was finally answered.

“Hello?”  A weary voice.  Older. 
Parent
.

“Um hi, is Fiona available?”

A pause, and a heavy sigh met her question.  Something felt wrong.  The silence was deafening, until pierced by a soft, shaky reply.

“Fiona’s not… She’s in the hospital.  Who is this?”

Autumn gasped. “I’m so sorry! My name is Autumn.  She left me a message to call her and I forgot until now.  Um… I hope she gets better soon.”

“Me too.” 

The voice didn’t sound hopeful.  A chill ran down Autumn’s spine, and she hugged her knees to her chest.

“Um, thanks.”

She jammed the End Call button, tossing the phone onto the bed beside her.  There was something incredibly strange about this.  Some girl she didn’t know wanted her to call, but she was really sick and in the hospital? 

“Sick joke… Ugh!”

Monday, she’d find out who Fiona was.  Maybe the message was for the locker next door or something like that…

But if she is in the hospital, who left the note?

“Whatever,” Autumn admonished herself.  It wasn’t her business. She’d ask Heather on Monday about it.  In the meantime, algebra awaited.

Beep!

A text message.  Checking the screen, Autumn smiled as she read the contents.

Dinner?  You’ve got to eat sometime.

Chris.  Her heart thumped as she texted her agreement. 
He wants me…
And he had her.  She was addicted to him now.  Why deny herself any longer?

Some things were simply meant to be.

123

Change Of Season

EIGHT

Oakville; October 1
st
, 2011

“Okay, Autumn, here’s your terminal,” the lanky student said, gesturing to a computer nested in a cubicle.  “Simple enough: you’ll be prompted through a series of questions about media advertisements, after which you’ll be asked a few reflective questions.  When you’re done, give a holler and I’ll come sign you off.”

“Easy enough,” she replied, settling into the black leather chair.

With a few taps of keys, the screen launched into a greeting message, and she was left alone to click her way through the experiment.  It was her first Psychology study for extra credit, and although she’d been apprehensive on the way over from the dorm, everything was straightforward.  As best she could tell, the study had something to do with body image, but it was only a guess.  Twenty minutes later, she found herself calling out to David, the post-grad student in charge of the study. 
Easy grades
, Autumn thought, pulling her damp hair loose from an elastic and tousling it gently. 
I could do a ton of these, no problem
.

“All done?” David asked, peering around the far corner.

“I’m efficient,” Autumn answered, stretching her arms overhead with a yawn. 
Well, maybe I’d rather not do tons of these at nine in the morning on a Sunday
.

David leaned over beside her and hit a few commands, then exited the experiment program.  “Thanks so much for coming in. I’m a little behind on my preliminary data and needed to grab five more people by Monday.”

“Happy to help.  So, how does the credit thing work?”

“Follow me back to the main office. I’ll write you a slip that you hand in to Kearney, and he credits your grade.”  David headed back towards the lab entrance briskly, leaving a sleepy Autumn to scurry behind him, her Converse sneakers slapping against the linoleum.  Twice, David looked back at her, eyeing her strangely.  It puzzled Autumn, as David was a total stranger to her. 
Unless he’s someone in Drama I just don’t remember? 
Autumn shook her head, her hands fumbling with her purse straps. 
I’m imagining things.

But she wasn’t.  While filling out her extra credit form, she caught David staring again, his eyes darting downward once noticed.  Unable to bite her tongue due to a lack of sleep, she challenged him on his preoccupation.

Sheepishly, he replied, “I’m sorry, it’s nothing bad.  You just remind me of someone that used to go to Casteel.  It’s uncanny: you could be her sister, maybe her twin.”

“I’m an only child, last I checked,” Autumn stated.  “Who was this other girl?”

David grew anxious, his hand shaking slightly as he passed her the slip for Kearney. “I forget, just remember the face.  Thanks again for coming in so early, Autumn.  If you’ll excuse me, I have to set up for my next student.”

Without awaiting her reply, David jogged down the hall into the lab, leaving Autumn irritated and bewildered. 
He totally lied just now
.  She could feel it in her bones.  So why wouldn’t he tell her who she resembled?  Was she the campus crazy or something? 

Glancing down at her cell phone, she gasped and rose abruptly to her feet.  Veronica’s audition was in fifteen minutes: if she ran across the grass instead of taking the winding road from Post-Grad studies, she could slip into the back of the auditorium in time and silently cheer her on.  Slinging her purse across her shoulder, she broke into a run, sneakers sinking into the rain-soaked grass with a slurping sound.  Water seeped into her shoes and she immediately regretted not donning her Doc Martens instead. 

She muttered as her left sock grew wet.  Nothing she could do about it – there wasn’t enough time to take the main streets to the Media Studies building. 
Veronica better appreciate the sacrifice of pruned toes that I’m making here
, she thought miserably as she dodged a murky puddle in a sinkhole.  It was a ridiculous thought: Veronica was always appreciative of her friends, especially Autumn.  She was anything but a diva, although she was no pushover, either.  She’d held her ground on her booked rehearsal time the night before, exhausting every last second as she ran her songs again and again, despite the whining of a guy Veronica described as a "slacker skeeze". 

The faint strumming of a guitar being tuned greeted her as she approached the theatre, and Autumn sighed in relief. 
She hasn’t started yet
.  Tiptoeing inside, she took her seat ten rows behind the woman she assumed to be the infamous Alexandra Hurst, legend of the London stage and sworn enemy of Headmistress Logan.  Who else, Autumn reasoned, would wear her hair in a tangled mess of black curls atop her crown, several pens protruding from the mess, and a dress reminiscent of a costume from
Repo! The Genetic Opera
?  On stage stood Veronica, organizing sheet music with the audition instrumentalists.  Her one shouldered halter top, carefully torn and layered over a vibrant green tank top, screamed bohemian – Ilse, not Wendla.  The uneven hemline of her wispy black skirt enhanced the look.  She’d decided to go barefoot at Autumn’s suggestion, her hair in a wild blend of braids and loose curls framing her face.

It was perfect, or so Autumn thought. 
Hopefully Hurst agrees
…

“Okay, I’m ready!” Veronica called out, striding to centre stage.

“Excellent, Veronica!  What song will you be performing from the musical?”  Hurst’s accent was thick – hers was a more Cockney sort of British, yet still refined. 
Angela Lansbury with sass
, Autumn concluded.

“For my audition for Ilse,” Veronica began, stressing her preferred character, “I’ll be doing ‘The Dark I Know Well’.”

A nod, and the musicians began, the stage lights dimming to spotlight Veronica before the microphone stand.  Her voice shifted to a bluesy sorrow as she sang, a dropped octave from her standard soprano.  It was haunting, how easily she slid into the role.  It gave Autumn chills, then tears, as her friend sang of sexual abuse at the hands of a parent, and the suffocating secret held within. 
This is her role.  Surely the teacher sees it!
  By the final lines, Veronica’s vocals had grown so loud, so strong, that they would have easily filled the theatre without the microphone, and Autumn was relieved that the entire room burst into applause, as she couldn’t help but give her friend a standing ovation.

Veronica, startled by the support, flushed and bowed her head, adjusting the microphone for her monologue.  For her scripted piece, she’d chosen Ilse’s monologue of her time with a violent artist, and staring down the barrel of a gun.  It, too, was spot on, a performance worthy of the Broadway tour they’d both seen repeatedly. 

Hurst’s voice was warm as she spoke again.  “What will your freestyle performance be?”

Confident now, Veronica proudly announced, “I’ll be doing a selection by Lauren Pritchard.  It’s called ‘Not The Drinking’.  Jamie, Ken?”

The musicians nodded, and the melody began, soft guitars and piano opening.  With a shy smile, Veronica began to sing.  As the drums kicked in, she ripped the mic from the stand, tossing it aside as she shook her hips to the beat and coyly condemned a failed relationship for its loveless nature.  It was a sharp contrast to her first song, but in that regard, it was the best choice.  Ilse’s character was one of contradiction, of playfulness and deep sadness and pain.  Veronica was showing her teacher both sides, in spades. 

Hopefully, it was enough to sway her from casting her as the lead.  Judging from Alexandra Hurst’s enthusiastic applause, the message seemed to be received clearly.  With a breathless leap to the ground, Veronica strolled up the aisle, making a beeline for Autumn.

“Well?” she whispered as another student took the stage.

“You belong on stage with the Broadway cast.  You were Ilse, in every single way.”

Arms wrapped tightly around her as Veronica rushed forward, her body shuddering with adrenaline. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Autumn protested.

“You thought of Lauren’s music and I really think that sold it,” Veronica whispered.  “Hurst was mouthing the words.  She knew damn well who sang the song.  You’re a genius!”

“Whatever!”

They stayed an hour longer, supporting other students including Meg, who was noticeably pleased with her audition for the lead.  Veronica made a point of cheering loudly for her at the end of her freestyle number, Adele’s "Someone Like You", earning an intrigued glance from her teacher.  When Veronica’s stomach audibly rumbled, they departed for the Dining hall, snagging an early lunch and settling into their favourite corner table.

“When does casting go up?” Autumn asked, drizzling dressing on her salad.

“Tomorrow, I think,” Veronica replied anxiously.  “I really hope this works. I mean, any role in
Spring Awakening
is wonderful, but Ilse means a lot to me.”

“I think you made it crystal clear, but you know Hurst better than I do.”  She glanced outside, frowning at the overcast sky above.  “Hey V, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything,” Veronica replied, digging into her sushi platter.

Autumn swallowed hard, thinking of David’s odd expression at the lab.  “I did one of those experiment things today, the extra credit?  Anyway, the guy at the lab tells me I look like this girl who went here before.”

“Oh?” Veronica’s face blanched. 

Autumn continued, steeled by her friend’s reaction.  “Yeah, but when I asked who, he couldn’t remember her name.  But he did remember.  He was lying to me.  You’ve been here for years, V.  You know who he was talking about, right?”

Veronica sighed deeply, pushing her food away.  “It might be better if we drop this.”

“I can’t drop it.  This guy’s not the first to stare at me funny.  It’s freaking me out, and I would hope, as my friend, that you could be straight with me.”  Her hand reached across the table, grasping Veronica’s tightly.  “Please?”

“Shit.”  The curse was scarcely audible as Veronica leaned forward reluctantly, glancing around the room.  “If I tell you, will you absolve me of any drama that results?”

Autumn nodded vigorously. “Yeah, of course.”

“No, I’m serious as hell.  You’re better off not knowing, but if you really want to know, I can tell you.  I don’t lie to my friends, but I’m going on the record as saying I didn’t want to explain all this.  Okay?”  Veronica trembled, the table shuddering beneath their elbows.

A sickness settled in Autumn’s stomach as she nodded her assent. 
Curiousity.  Cats.  But I need to know
.

“Her name was Nikki Lang.  She only went here for a year, back in 2008 – transferred in halfway through grade nine.  She was nice – a little quiet and shy, but fun when she opened up.  She was really into dark literature, like gothic shit.  She was in the Film program.”  Veronica swallowed hard, then continued.  “She…  Okay, remember the barrette?”

Autumn’s head spun as the dots fell in line.  “No…”

“Yeah.  Didn’t help Meg out when you found… I didn’t want to tell you, because it’s really,
really
freaky how alike you two are.  I mean, if she didn’t commit suicide on campus -”

“Wait a second. She
killed
herself?”

Veronica nodded sadly.  “Caught everyone off guard.  No one expected it, you know?  She was a little sad at times, but not… So um… If people stare, it’s probably because they’re seeing a ghost.”

Autumn pressed her forehead against the cool table, shutting her eyes tight. 
A suicide… I look like a suicidal girl.  So much for being under the radar at Casteel!
  Her fingers drummed wildly against the oak surface, a rapid-fire staccato. 
A dead girl.  I’m a living dead girl
.

“Hey, are you okay?” Veronica asked gently. “I mean, I kinda thought you knew, considering how late you registered and the single room and all.  Maybe I shoulda-”

Autumn’s head bolted upwards. “Oh, hell.  Veronica,
please
don’t tell me that I’m in her room.”

Veronica bit her lip. “Rooms usually fill fast… But you’ve never been to boarding school so you wouldn’t realize...”

“She died there, didn’t she?”

No reply was all the answer she needed.  Her palm pressed across her eyes and they twitched and pulsed beneath.  Was it possible to develop an instant aneurysm? A stress-induced stroke at seventeen? A hard lump lodged in Autumn’s throat, and she immediately wondered how Nikki died. 
Pills?  Noose?  Wrists in the bathroom?
 

“Autumn?” 

Veronica was at her side, but miles away. 
I’m in a dead girl’s room.  A dead girl’s bed.  Did she die in my bed?
  Her body shook violently and her hand fell, revealing a distraught Veronica, eyes shimmering with tears.

“I never should have told you,” she whispered. “Do you want to see the nurse?  Call home?  I can call for you.”