Red is for Remembrance (18 page)

I make my way in that direction, marveling at the lavishness of the place-- the creamy marble floors, the giant picture windows that look out at the yard, and the swirly peach-colored oriental carpets.

The door to Porsha's room is open a crack. I rap lightly against it. "Porsha?"

I hear her moving in the room-- the creaking sound of her weight on the floorboards. A second later, the door slams shut.

"Porsha," I call, knocking louder now. I try the knob, but she's locked it. "You have to listen to me. I want to help you."

196

I wait several seconds for her response, but, unsurprisingly, there isn't one. "Listen to me," I say.

"I have stuff to tell you about your mother. She wants me to tell you the bracelet is in your pillowcase.
Her
bracelet. Please," I plead. "Just check it out."

I shake my head, wondering if she's even listening to me, hoping more than anything that my dream predicted correctly-- that there actually
is
an onyx bracelet, that Porsha misplaced it, and that it's sitting at the bottom of her pillowcase right now. I take a deep breath, wondering if maybe I should go back downstairs and ask Tamara if she has a key to Porsha's room.

I turn on my heel and begin down the stairs. A moment later, the door to Porsha's room creaks open and she steps out into the hallway, the sterling silver black onyx bracelet dangling from her clutch.

197

My heart jolts, knowing that my nightmare predicted correctly. Porsha moves out of the doorway, silently inviting me into her room. I take a step inside. Aside from the cream-colored walls, it's hard to believe I'm in the same house. Her room is anything but mansion-like. There are heavy metal band posters covering the walls and ceiling. Naked Barbie dolls hang from telephone-wire nooses in front of the windows. The mattress is bare-- no sheets to speak of-- but 198

she's got a skull and crossbones comforter that she's scribbled over with pen. There's a laptop sitting on the floor amidst everything, including a heap of clothes, and a plasma TV hanging purposefully crooked on the wall.

"How did you know?" she asks, standing just behind me now.

I turn around to face her, noticing how she's trying to put the bracelet on one-handed. "I've been dreaming about your mother," I say, taking a step closer. "Her name is Jessica, right?"

Porsha nods, running her finger over the bright black stones. "What did she say to you?"

"She said she doesn't blame you. She said she knew she shouldn't have left you that night. She did it because she was angry and wanted to hurt you. But it's not your fault."

Porsha turns away, her eyes filling up.

"What happened to her?" I ask.

"She went out for a jog," Porsha says, her voice all broken from being upset. "We'd gotten into this huge fight. She was mad because I was seeing this older guy."

"So what happened?"

"She got hit by a car. It was night and the lady said she couldn't see my mom because she was wearing dark clothes on her jog."

'And so you blame yourself because of the fight?"

Porsha shakes her head. "I blame myself because I knew she was going to die. I dreamt it. I saw the whole thing play out in my dream, but I didn't say anything because I was so mad. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before, you know?"

199

More tears fall down Porsha's cheeks. I wrap my arms around her, telling her that it's not her fault, reminding her that she isn't to blame, that her mother loves her and wants her to be happy.

"She tried to tell you herself," I say. "Were you having dreams about her recently?"

Porsha wipes her eyes and moves to sit on her bed. "Yeah. About a month ago. I kept hearing her voice in my head. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, picturing her lying dead in that casket. The way they did her eyes up-- with this bogus green eyeshadow-- and what they made her wear-- this horrible checked yellow dress."

"She was trying to communicate to you," I say, "to tell you not to blame yourself. It's sort of like what happened with me. I never knew that my premonitions about Maura would come true, but they did, and I've had to forgive myself."

"But Maura wasn't your mother," Porsha snaps. "I never got to apologize for our fight. I never got to tell her I loved her-- not once."

I sit down beside her and she collapses against me. This time I don't say anything. I don't tell her that it will all be okay. And I don't try to compare my past experiences to hers. I just fasten the onyx bracelet around her wrist, pull her close, and silently acknowledge the obvious-- that, regardless of the stakes, this is no longer about me.

200

Even though I have so much to ask Porsha-- about her nightmares and the letter the, about the camp she's supposedly been dreaming about, and the boy in danger ... if she knows who he is-- I end up leaving once she's pulled herself together. It's not that I don't want to get down to business. It's just that I feel like we had a major breakthrough today and that, coupled with the message from her mother, is more than enough progress for one afternoon.

201

201 I open the door to our room. Sitting on her bed with her arms folded and her bright pink lipsticked lips pressed in a scowl is Amber. And she isn't alone.

Sitting beside her is PJ, his arms folded, legs crossed, and foot bobbing at me, all serious-like.

And sitting across from them, on Janie's bed, are Drea and Chad.

Drea
and
Chad.

"Oh my god!" I yelp.

But instead of joining me in my enthusiasm, Drea gives me an awkward smile and then looks away, and Chad just sits there, studying me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, stopping short from giving them a hug.

"They came because I asked them to," Amber says. "We're intervening-- just like they do on Dr.

Phil." She reaches into her Hello Kitty lunchbox and pulls out my bottle of pills.

"Is it true?" Drea asks, looking up at me.

"Is
what
true?"

"Are you hooked on hooky?" PJ asks, bobbing his foot with extra vigor. "Popping the pill-age pleasure?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're off the hook," Amber explains. "We're worried about you. You've been messing up in class, comatosing for days in a row, downing downers by the fistful."

"Not anymore," I say.

'Are you kidding?" Amber asks. "Janie told me how you went all wiggy looking for something last night-- your
pills,
no doubt-- and then I saw my goodie drawer was broken into."

202

202 "Okay," I say. "I won't deny it. But the reason I've been taking the pills is because I wanted to sleep-- to dream about Jacob. But the tranquilizers are actually
keeping
me from dreaming."

"So that means you're not going to take them anymore?" Chad asks. He's sitting a good distance from Drea on the bed, his posture turned away from her, set to just-friends mode.

"That's exactly what it means," I say.

"It isn't so simple, my little witchy one," PJ says. "I've known many a hooked-on-hookie in my day, and believe me, it isn't a day at the roller rink when they try to quit."

"I don't expect it to be a roller rink." I sigh. "But I can't afford to screw up. There are lives at stake here."

'Amber told us you're having nightmares again," Drea says, swiping a long golden Barbie-doll ringlet from her eye.

I nod, telling them all about Porsha and how she needs my help-- how her experience with nightmares seems a lot like mine. I tell them how her mother's been communicating to me in my dreams, how she needs my help so she can rest in peace.

"So, let me get this straight," Chad says, running his fingers through his sandy blond locks. "This girl's dead mother is talking to you in your dreams ..."

"It isn't like Stacey hasn't dreamt about the dead before." Drea rolls her eyes toward the ceiling.

"Pardon me for a little reality checking," Chad says.

"Care to check
my
reality?" PJ asks, elbowing Amber. Instead of zapping him with a dagger of a response, Amber lets out a schoolgirl giggle and elbows him back.

203

Where have
I
been?

"Look," I continue. "I know it sounds weird, but when doesn't it? I mean, this is my life."

"So that's it?" Chad asks. "You're going to help this girl and flunk out of school in the process?"

"Who's flunking out?"

"Um, you are," PJ says, raising his hand, at least four inches of bracelets sliding up toward his elbow. "I mean, even
I
wouldn't cheat off you."

"Okay, so maybe I didn't do so hot my first week of classes. But I'm doing much better now. I just got an A on my holistic health quiz. And I got B on my English paper. I mean, I'm studying now. I'm going to all my classes. I'm getting tutored."

"By a hunky junior, no less," Amber adds.

"Really?" Drea asks, sitting up in attention.

"Just some guy," I say.

"His name is Tim," Amber says. 'And he's totally stoked on her-- like birds to bees."

"Birds aren't attracted to bees, you nitwit," Drea says. "Didn't you learn anything in sex ed?"

"Wait," Chad says to me, interrupting them. "Don't you think it's a little soon to start dating someone new? I mean, it's only been a few months."

"Jealous much?" Drea snaps, inching even farther away from him on the bed. "Personally, I think it's fabulous."

"Better than fabulous," Amber says. "I mean, you should see this guy's butt. Total pinch material." She squishes the air to demonstrate.

204

"Care to practice on me?" PJ asks, pointing his butt in her direction. Amber smacks it instead and PJ lets out a meow.

"Can we get back to business?" Chad asks. "Does this Porsha girl even want your help?"

"I think so."

"Well, she's lucky to have you," Drea says.

"Thanks," I say. "But there's more. I think helping Porsha will help me learn about Jacob."

"Learn
about him?" Drea asks.

"I think there's something he wants me to know. Porsha's mother said he's closer than I think."

"Porsha's
dead
mother, correct?" Chad says, arching his eyebrows.

"Laugh all you want," I say. "But maybe there's more to Jacob's accident than just him falling overboard. Maybe there's something he didn't get to tell me, something he wants me to know ...

just like Porsha's mother .. . like how she's trying to communicate with her daughter through me."

"Well," Amber says, "speaking as someone who dates inanimate objects on a regular basis, I'm totally behind you ... so long as you quit the shit." She shakes the bottle of pills for emphasis.

"Of course we're behind you," Drea says, standing up from the bed. She comes and wraps her arms around me. "We just want you to be okay."

"Thank you so much for coming," I say, hugging her back. 'And I
will
be okay." And maybe for the first time in my life, I think I'll be just fine.

205

After the third degree, we all head across the street to Pizza Prison before Drea and Chad have to make the long drive back to school. The whole place is set up like a jail-- the floors and walls are nothing more than crude cement, the waitstaff is dressed in striped prison uniforms, and there are groupings of tables set up in cells, behind bars.

"This is my kind of place," Amber says, eyeing one of the servers passing by with a tray full of handcuffs.

206

The host leads us down a long corridor of prison cells already taken up, finally seating us at a table in one of the solo cells at the very end. He closes the bars behind us, locking us in, but leaves the key in the lock so we're not completely imprisoned.

"Is it me, or is this all a little too real?" Chad asks.

"Maybe that's why I'm feeling extra hot," Amber says, snuggling in close to PJ. "There's something about being caged that gets me all-- "

"Thank you
very
much," I say, interrupting the thought.

"So what are we eating?" Drea asks, peeling her menu open.

A moment later, our cell unlocks. I look up. It's Tim, dressed in one of the prison uniforms.

"Hey, there!" He beams at me.

"Hey, roomie," PJ says. "My stuff's all moved in. Thanks again."

Tim flashes him a slight smile but then focuses back on me. "Did I mention I work here?"

I shake my head, feeling my face warm over.

"Good tips," he says, smiling even wider now.

"You must be Tim," Drea says, kicking me under the table.

Tim nods, furrowing his brow, probably wondering how Drea even knows about him.

"It's the butt," Amber whispers across the table. "I told you it was pinch-perfect."

I introduce everybody and Tim takes our order-- Second-Degree Zucchini Sticks, Garlic-Cheesy Bankrobber Bread, and a large Handcuffed Pizza, as insisted upon by Amber.

207

"He's 50 cute," Drea says, once Tim leaves.

I shrug, knowing that it's true, that he
is
cute, not to mention unbelievably sweet and thoughtful.

But I also can't help but feel incredibly guilty. I look at Chad and he's staring right at me.

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head, continuing to stare, like my voice of conscience.

"We're just friends," I tell him.

"Too bad!" Amber sighs.

"What's with
you
two?" Drea asks, noticing how Amber is practically sitting in PJ's lap now.

Amber shrugs, resting her head against PJ's shoulder.

"The poor girl was lost without me." PJ growls in Amber's ear and the two end up in a long and slurpy liplock.

"Okay, I've think I've lost my appetite," Drea says, pushing her empty plate away.

Tim arrives shortly after with our garlic bread, but PJ and Amber are too occupied in the corner, rediscovering each other's tonsils, to stop for a bite of actual food.
So
embarrassing.

"Let me refill these for you," Tim says, grabbing our empty soda glasses.

"I'm all set," Chad says.