Impostor (7 page)
Authors: Jill Hathaway
What exactly does she think she’s doing?
In awe, I watch as Lydia retrieves a small velvet box from the drawer. She holds it reverently in her hand for a moment, caressing it with her eyes. Then she lifts the top and looks inside.
It’s my mother’s wedding ring.
My father has kept it hidden away in his drawer for years. Sometimes, when I was younger, I’d sneak into his room and pull it out. I even put it on once in a while and danced around the house, pretending to be her. My mother.
But what could Lydia possibly want with my mother’s ring?
And how did she even know where to find it?
I duck out of the room and lean against the wall, my heart pounding. I don’t know what Lydia is doing in our house. I don’t know what her intentions are. But I swear to myself that I will find out.
I hear a drawer slam shut inside the room, so I race down the hallway. I casually act as though I’m coming out of my room and heading to the bathroom when Lydia comes out of my dad’s room and shuts the door.
“Oh,” she says when she sees me. “I was just putting away some laundry.”
She beams at me, and all I can think is that I’ve never seen a more fake smile in my entire life.
I
’m sitting in Mrs. Winger’s room, waiting for class to begin. Samantha swoops in and sits next to me. “Wait until you see Regina,” she says wickedly.
“What did you do?” My stomach is in knots as I go over our plan in my head.
“I helped her get in touch with her inner vixen,” she says. “There’s no way Scotch will turn her down.”
At that moment, the bell rings, and Mrs. Winger claps to get everyone’s attention. Samantha slides out of the seat next to me and crosses the room to sit at her own desk. Throughout the period, Samantha keeps looking my way and smiling mischievously.
After class, she grabs my elbow and steers me toward the freshman hallway. I see a cluster of freshman girls, and in the middle is one I barely recognize. Samantha has straightened Regina’s curly hair, giving her a more sophisticated look. Instead of the barely-there lip gloss and mascara, Samantha has lined Regina’s eyes with a pencil as black as coal and stained her lips a dark red.
I realize Samantha loaned Regina some of her clothes. A black miniskirt and a tight tank top with spaghetti straps. She’s wearing strappy black sandals on her feet. She looks like she’s at least nineteen. She’ll be lucky if she goes an hour without getting busted for violating dress code.
“Doesn’t she look great?” Samantha dances around. The girls surrounding Regina agree, telling Samantha what a fantastic job she did and all demanding that they get the next makeover.
“How do you feel?” I ask Regina.
Her eyes are wide, but she shakes her head slightly and I can almost hear her calling on her inner vixen. “I feel good. Let’s do this.” She’s looking over my shoulder at someone down the hall. When I turn, I see Scotch sauntering toward us with one of his football buddies.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
Regina takes a deep breath and risks a look at Samantha, who claps her on the back. “Definitely.”
She pushes past me, as if she’s afraid to wait a second longer in case her determination fades. The group of girls that had gathered around her watches her glide through the hallway and up to Scotch Becker. Sam and I duck around the corner and peek out. I can’t hear what she says, but Scotch looks down at her, transfixed. The guy he was walking with yawns and salutes Scotch before disappearing into a classroom.
It seems Samantha’s handiwork has paid off when Scotch pulls out his phone and appears to enter Regina’s number. Then he leans down and whispers something in her ear. She flashes him a big smile, then turns and comes back toward us. Scotch deposits his phone back into his pocket and disappears into the classroom.
“So?” Samantha demands when Regina returns.
“It’s a date,” Regina says. I can’t help but notice that her face is a little pale, despite the foundation Samantha caked onto it. A twinge of guilt passes through me, but then I remind myself that I’m not just doing this for the girls who Scotch has already hurt. It’s for Regina, too, and all the girls he might hurt in the future.
“It’s a date,” Samantha repeats and then holds her hand up for a high five. It takes me a minute, but then I smack her hand with my own.
After school, I get my backpack from my locker and head down the hall to meet up with Rollins. I’m not sure whether I want to tell him about tonight’s plan. He’ll have his radio show, and I don’t want him to worry about me all night when he’s supposed to be concentrating. I’m sure he’d try to stop me if he knew, say it was too dangerous or something. The best thing would be to wait until it’s already done and I’m home safe. Then we can laugh about it together.
I slow down when I spot Rollins. He’s talking to Anna. I stop and watch. It’s painful to see them leaning together and laughing. She reaches out and touches his arm, shaking her gorgeous black hair back from her face. He bends down and whispers something in her ear, causing her to erupt in another earthquake of giggles, shaking her ample chest beneath her top.
I feel sick.
Before either one can look in my direction, I spin around and speed-walk in the other direction. I pass the bathrooms and the main office, and take the far exit so I won’t risk running into Rollins and Anna in the parking lot.
It’s been a long while since I walked home alone. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I didn’t ride with Rollins. The path I usually walk, once so familiar, seems to take longer than I remember. I turn at the blue mailbox and watch my feet as they carry me toward home.
A yellow school bus passes me. I don’t look up.
Finally, I reach my street. The houses all look dark and empty. Even though it’s spring, the afternoon is gray, and everything seems muddy and drab.
I cheer slightly when I see that Lydia’s car isn’t in our driveway.
Hurrying up the sidewalk, I reach into the pocket of my hoodie to pull out my house key. As I slip it into the lock, something blurs in the corner of my eye. I turn my head quickly and see a blue station wagon at the intersection a few houses down. It pauses at the stop sign and then continues on.
Behind the wheel is a woman with her hair pulled into a bun.
Before I know it, the car has disappeared.
It’s a coincidence, I tell myself.
There are probably plenty of women with buns in Iowa City, driving blue station wagons, creeping by my house.
Stop it. You know it was her.
Diane.
If I’d been thinking straight, I would have looked at her license plate, memorized the numbers and letters. I could have slid into Officer Teahen at the police station and had one of the secretaries look up the woman’s last name and address.
But it all happened too fast.
Next time I see her, I will be prepared.
But I’m hoping there won’t be a next time.
Approximately an hour before Regina and Scotch are supposed to meet up, I am standing in my room, pulling a black T-shirt over my head. I’ve also found a black wool cap to pull over my blond hair to make sure no one will see me.
“So what’s the plan again?” I ask Mattie, prompting her to repeat the details we’ve gone over several times already.
“I’ll tell Dad you weren’t feeling well and went to bed early.” She glances over at the blankets on my bed, which I’ve arranged to look like a sleeping body. “Sorry, Vee, but it’s all over if he comes in here. That doesn’t look like you at all.”
“Then don’t let him come in here,” I say. “Make it believable.”
She frowns. “I wish I were going with you. This job sucks.”
“Look,” I say. “I’ll tell you everything as soon as I get home. It’ll be just like you were there.”
She crosses her arms and taps her foot.
“Hey. Do you want me and Rollins to go to the movie with you and Russ this weekend or not? Dad won’t let you go otherwise.”
Mattie glares. “That’s low.”
“Come on. I need you here.”
She sighs and finally says, “Okay. Fine. Just make sure you’re not too late.”
I give her a quick hug. “Thanks, Matt. Okay, you know what to do.”
Mattie grabs her math homework and opens the bedroom door. I follow her downstairs. She takes a right and goes into the living room, where Dad and Lydia are watching TV. I hear Mattie loudly ask my father if he could help her with an equation, and I take advantage of that moment to slip out the front door.
Samantha is waiting a few houses down, as we planned, her car idling.
“Shall we?” she asks, putting the car into drive.
“Let’s go,” I reply.
We reach our destination a few minutes before ten. Samantha parks her car next to the crumbling pavilion, and I get out and hike the rest of the way to Lookout Point. I find a small grove of trees not far from the spot where kids park. I sit down beneath a tree to wait, feeling the small piece of cloth I tore from last year’s Homecoming dress tucked away in my pocket. I’ve used it before to slide into his head.
Five minutes pass, and I wonder if Scotch and Regina are going to come after all. I panic as I consider the possibility that Scotch could have taken her somewhere else, and she’d be alone with him.
They’re ten minutes late.
Fifteen.
I’m just about ready to go find Samantha and suggest that we call Regina when some headlights flash through the trees above my head. The familiar sight of Scotch’s Mustang crunches by on the gravel, and the car stops about twenty yards from my hiding spot, facing the city lights.
I squint, trying to see what’s going on, but all I can really make out is the back of Scotch’s head and Regina’s profile. They seem to be lost in conversation. After a few minutes, Scotch leans toward Regina.
What are you doing, Regina? You’re supposed to get out of the car.
I decide I can’t wait any longer.
Lying down, I rub my fingers against the fabric, concentrating on the sensation of silk against skin. The whole world starts to fade away, and then I am gone.
The car smells of liquor and leather.
Scotch hoists a bottle and takes a huge drink. The liquid burns all the way down. He looks over at Regina, who’s gazing at him with bedroom eyes. Perhaps she has been drinking, too. This plan isn’t going to work if Regina
wants
to make out with Scotch. She doesn’t know him, doesn’t know what he’s capable of.
“I’m just . . . so fragile right now,” Scotch says.
The line makes me want to gag.
Regina reaches over and grabs his hand. “It’s going to be okay. You know, after my brother died—”
How am I going to pull this off if she doesn’t leave?
Scotch leans toward Regina, cutting her off midsentence. I decide I’ve had enough. I take control of his limbs, his mouth. I yank him back into an upright position.
“Are you okay?” Regina asks, her eyes wide.
“Get out of here,” I tell her.
“Excuse me?”
“I said to get out of here,” I repeat, more loudly this time. She scrambles backward, fumbling with the door handle. It takes her several tries, but she finally pushes open the door and bursts into the cool night. She doesn’t even bother to close the door, just starts running.
Shit.
I didn’t mean to scare her.
Then I notice that Scotch’s keys are dangling from the ignition. I’ll throw them off the cliff, along with his clothes. Then he’ll have to walk home butt-naked.
A movement catches my eye. Something in the headlights. Someone.
At first glance, I think it’s my sister, and I’m ready to get out of the car and yell at her for not staying at home like I told her to, but then I remember I’m in Scotch’s body.
The girl turns, light bouncing off her blond hair, and I realize it isn’t my sister. The black Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. The torn jeans. It’s what I’m wearing, or what I was wearing before I slid into Scotch.
The girl.
Is.
Me.
Unable to breathe, I push the car door open. The girl is twirling around, inches from the cliff. Doesn’t she know she’s close to falling?
As I watch her, something occurs to me. If I am here, inside Scotch . . . that means someone else is inside me. Making me dance so near the edge.
“Stop it!” I scream. My voice is deep. Scotch’s voice.
The girl pauses. I take a step closer. Her gaze falls on me, and her eyes widen.
“Get away from the edge!” I yell, taking a few steps toward her.
She takes a step backward, closer to her death.
My
death.
A fury takes hold of me. Who the hell does this person think she is, messing with my body? Twirling me on the edge of death? Staring at me like
I’m
the one doing wrong?
I reach out and grab her arm, try to pull her away from the edge.
Just then, I feel myself fading away.
I’m leaving Scotch’s body.
No, not now.
But it’s no use.
I’m gone.
I
awake with my face in the dirt, my head pounding. It takes a moment for me to remember exactly what happened, but then it all comes rushing back. I push myself into a sitting position and look around. The headlights from the car illuminate the night. I don’t see Scotch anywhere. Did he run away? I find it hard to believe he’d just leave his car behind.
My mind swims. What the hell just happened? One minute I’m ordering Regina to get out of the car so I can execute our plan of leaving Scotch stranded here naked, and the next minute I’m in a wrestling match with myself.
Struggling to my feet, I peer into the car.
There’s no one.
“Scotch?” I call out, my voice unsure. I’m not really certain I want to find him. He isn’t the smartest guy around, but he’s intelligent enough to realize it’s not a coincidence that I showed up the same night he brought Regina here. Still, the fact that he’s disappeared into thin air gives me the creeps. I don’t feel right leaving without knowing what happened to him.
A terrible thought pops into my head. I eye the edge of the cliff uneasily. Is it possible that, during our scuffle, Scotch fell over the precipice?
No. Please, no.
Moving slowly, as if in a dream, I approach the edge.
I don’t want to look.
But I have to.
I stare down into the darkness.
There’s something there.
A bit of white T-shirt.
A leg bent at an odd angle.
It’s like my brain refuses to put all the pieces together. But they’re all there. A puzzle of Scotch lying at the bottom of the cliff.
Broken.
Maybe dead.
Probably dead.
Minutes or hours later, I find myself wandering down the road in a daze. I almost walk past a car without noticing it before the driver starts blinking her headlights and honking. The window rolls down, and a familiar face materializes.
“What took you so long?” Samantha hisses. “Hurry up and get in the car.” She stabs her thumb in the direction of the backseat. I follow her directions, opening the door and climbing inside. As soon as the door closes, she makes a U-turn and drives away.
Regina is sitting in the passenger seat. “You guys, I feel really bad for doing this to Scotch. Did you know his mother has lung cancer? He was really opening up to me.”
Lung cancer. Is that what he was talking about in the car? That’s why he was feeling so fragile? Maybe it wasn’t just a line. God, I am such an asshole.
“Just because his mother has cancer doesn’t make him any less of a douche,” Samantha says. She glances at me in the rearview mirror. “How did it go?”
I look dully at her. The image of Scotch’s mangled body looms before me. Suddenly, I become manic. “Stop the car! Stop the car! We have to go back!”
Samantha slams on the brakes. “Jesus, Vee. What’s wrong with you?”
“We have to go back,” I say. “Scotch is hurt. Maybe dead. We have to call 911. We have to get help.”
Samantha stretches around to look at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I cradle my head in my hands. Samantha and Regina don’t know about my sliding. How do I explain what happened? I end up telling half the truth, as it would have occurred if I were in my own body.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s all kind of a blur. I was standing at the edge of the cliff, and Scotch came at me. And then . . . the next thing I remember is waking up on the ground. He must have fallen . . .”
“He fell?” Regina asks, her eyes wide. “How could Scotch just fall off a cliff?”
I stare at her in horror. She’s right. It’s very unlikely that Scotch, an athlete, would accidentally fall over the side. So what does this mean? Could whoever slid into me have pushed him? The thought makes me feel like puking.
Regina starts rocking back and forth and crying. I search for my phone and start to dial 911. Samantha reaches over the seat and grabs the phone out of my hand.
“You can’t call the police,” she says. “How are we going to explain what we were doing? If Scotch is dead, it’s our fault. . . .” Her voice trails off, but the accusatory look she gives me makes her thoughts clear. If Scotch is dead, it’s
my
fault.
Regina sobs even harder.
“But we have to get help,” I say weakly.
Samantha’s right, though. If we call the cops, they’ll want to know what happened. What if they try to pin Scotch’s fall on me? I cover my face with my hands.
Samantha grabs my wrist. “Vee, you’ve got to pull yourself together. I know you didn’t mean for Scotch to fall, but that doesn’t mean the police will see it that way. I don’t want you to go to jail for this.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Regina says, and she pushes open her car door. I hear her retching into the weeds.
“What we need to do now is go home and act like nothing happened tonight. If anyone asks, we’ll say we hung out at my place and watched movies. Jake is at college, and my parents are on a cruise, so no one will know we’re lying.”
I feel myself nodding. What Samantha is saying makes sense. Her parents are nice enough, but they’re always going on some vacation and leaving her at home by herself. As long as the three of us vouch for one another, no one should get suspicious. It’s the perfect alibi.
I rub my temples, my head aching.
What’s wrong with me? I need an
alibi
?
“Regina. Did you hear what I just said?” Samantha demands.
Regina wipes her mouth. She doesn’t say anything.
“Regina,”
Samantha repeats.
“We should call the police.”
“Regina, get real,” Samantha snaps. “Do you want Vee to go to prison?”
Regina cowers in her seat, not responding.
“I swear to God, Regina, if you say a word to anyone about what happened tonight, I will personally make your life a living hell.” Samantha is seething, and I know better than to cross her when she’s this angry.
Apparently Regina knows better, too, because she assents. “Okay, Samantha. I promise. I won’t say anything. Okay? Are you happy now?”
“Tell me where we were tonight,” Samantha orders.
“Your place. Watching movies.” Regina won’t look at either one of us. I wonder if she’s telling the truth. Will she really keep this quiet, or is she just trying to appease Samantha?
I want to do the right thing. I want to call the police and tell them to send an ambulance right away because, even though I loathe Scotch Becker, he doesn’t deserve to be lying in the dark. Dying. Or dead.
I always thought I was a strong person. A good person.
But, when it comes right down to it, I’m afraid this will be pinned on me. What if I go to prison for the rest of my life? For something I didn’t mean to do?
I’m a coward.
I don’t say anything.
“Okay, then.” Samantha puts the car into gear. “Let’s get out of here.”
When I get home, Mattie is sprawled on my bed, fully clothed and snoring. I stare at her for a minute, wishing I could put off breaking the terrible news to her. I don’t want to, but I have to tell Mattie. She’s part of this, too.
I sit down on the bed beside her and gently shake her shoulder. “Mattie. Pssssst, Mattie, wake up!”
She stirs, and when she sees me, she bolts upright. “Ohmigod, you’re back. Tell me everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
“Mattie,” I say, and my somber tone quells her excitement. “Something bad happened. Something really bad.”
She shakes her head. “What? Oh no. Did something happen to Regina?”
“Not to Regina,” I say. “Something happened to Scotch.”
I explain what happened. When I get to the part about him lying at the bottom of the cliff, Mattie puts her hand over her mouth. She looks like she’s going to be sick.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Mattie, you know I’d never joke about something like this.”
“Scotch is . . . dead?”
I think about Scotch, lying alone and cold at the bottom of the cliff, his limbs twisted in unnatural ways. He has to be dead. There’s no way someone could survive that fall. “I’m pretty sure he is.”
Thinking about Scotch, all alone in the middle of the night, his body turning stiff in the cold air, makes me feel ill. Suddenly, I don’t care what happens to me. I can’t just leave him there. I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Mattie asks.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t,” Mattie says, panicked. “Don’t use your phone to call, Vee.”
“I have to.”
“Please,” she says. “What if the police find out about our prank? We’ll be in so much trouble. Let’s just wait until tomorrow. We’ll make an anonymous call. From somewhere it can’t be traced to us.”
I sigh. I can’t stand to see Mattie so scared. Finally, I give in.
“Let’s get some sleep.”
She nods and lies down, but I know she’ll be awake for the rest of the night.
Just like me.
We don’t talk after that, but we both toss and turn into the early morning hours. I know we’re both thinking about the body at the bottom of Lookout Point and wishing that we never, ever met Scotch Becker.