by L V Chase
8
Sadie
When Emmy shows up at my house at seven in the morning, the last thing I’m thinking are the words that pop out of her mouth.
“I’m so excited!” she says, after bursting through my door like she lives here. “What are you wearing? You have to change. It’s Pajama Wednesday, and there’s no way you’re skipping out. You can’t even say you don’t own pajamas.”
She’s wearing a blue nightgown that ends right before her knees. She doesn’t wait for me to respond, bouncing up the stairs toward my room, singing some pop song about cherry blossom trees.
Normally, I’d be annoyed by her lack of respect for basic personal boundaries and her extreme cheeriness, but with the way my life has been falling apart, it’s nice to have someone around who seems to be the opposite of self-destruction.
By the time I’ve caught up to her, most of my pajamas are spread out on my bed. She holds up a pink silk camisole and a white pair of silk pants.
“This is perfect,” Emmy says. “If you wear these, all the boys in school will be on one knee, begging you to marry them, just so they can have their honeymoon.”
I must have gotten some attention in the last two years, because I don’t recall anything at all.
“You say that like it’s something I would want,” I say.
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Don’t lie to me, Sadie. Underneath all that proud, independent woman behavior, there’s a hopeless romantic in you. There must be at least one boy that you want to turn into your devoted slave.”
The sensation of Klay’s body heat close to my body flickers in my mind. No, I don’t want him to be my slave, but getting him to squirm like he gets me to squirm would be worth a change in my style.
“I don’t know…” I say.
“It’s supposed to be fun, Sadie.” Emmy pirouettes in her dress. “If you don’t want to do it, you don’t need to. I just think it might help you out right now. Maybe your memory loss is caused by emotional reasons. It would make sense, considering what just happened to your grandma.”
I carefully take my pajamas from her. “Yeah. I know she’s in the psych ward, but I don’t know why. What happened to her?”
She pirouettes again, but this time it’s much slower. “Honestly, Sadie, I don’t know for sure. You never talked about it. But…I’d heard a rumor that she had a breakdown in the middle of the grocery store—Campy’s Market—and that she was angry at God about your dad’s death. I’ve only heard second-hand reports, though, so it could be…I don’t know, exaggerated or something. And a breakdown could mean anything.”
“It can,” I agree. I look down at my pajamas. “I’m going to get dressed in my bathroom.”
“Oh, no, I’ll just go downstairs and wait for you. Your grandma used to buy these store brand cookies that taste like cardboard, but I’m addicted to them. I swear there’s coke in them or something.”
She skips out of my room. She’s exactly what I needed today. My morning had been filled with simmering anger. As I spread a layer of peanut butter on my toast, I resist the urge to stab it and pretend it was Klay’s face. I sit down at the dining table, nibbling on my toast, and imagine my future confrontation with Klay. As I take a sip of my milk, I savor different comebacks I could throw at him when he tries to justify his hot and cold behavior.
But as the morning progresses, I realize the problem is me. Maybe my brain isn’t just suffering from memory loss. Maybe it misreads signs. Maybe it leads me to forget that boys already have girlfriends, and I shouldn’t be throwing myself at them. Maybe his rejection was a Hail Mary for my conscience, telling me to stay within the lines and not wander into the mess of Klay’s life.
But my thoughts keep returning to him, replaying how insistent his hands were on my body. He might be a bad influence, but he’s still an influence, and that’s a hard bias to shake off.
I need a distraction, and Emmy is a pleasant storm of distractions.
After I get dressed in my pajamas—keeping my bra on, just in case—doubt begins to plague me. I slowly walk downstairs, finding Emmy in the kitchen, eating a cookie. She beams at me.
“You look gorgeous,” she gushes. “Like a Hollywood starlet.”
“I think the straps violate the dress code,” I say, plucking the camisole’s thin straps.
“Oh, they absolutely do,” Emmy’s grin widens. “But nobody cares about the dress code, especially not when it comes to the seniors. Trust me, at least three of the senior girls will be escorted to the principal’s office for wearing lingerie, and I’d bet one of these cookies that one of them will get away it. We should get going. You want at least a few minutes to catch some eyes and give them something to fantasize about all day.”
She wipes off her mouth, puts the container of cookies away, and grabs her keys. As I follow her out, a white Maserati pulls up close to her orange Fiat. Emmy stiffens at the sight of it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She shakes her head, silent for once. We both watch Ethan step out of his car.
Ethan nods toward Emmy and smiles at me. “I was going to come drive you to school, but it looks like you already have a ride. You two look great. Did you have a sleepover last night?”
Ethan didn’t show up on Tuesday before the bus came to pick me up. I wish I could say that I’d assumed we had some type of schedule I was unaware of, but I hadn’t been thinking about him at all this morning.
“A girl never tells her secrets,” Emmy says, looping her arm around my arm. “But we were just about to leave.”
“I’ve generally found that all women reveal their secrets in the end,” Ethan says. “How else would I know about what you were truly up to when we were in the Bahamas?”
“I was doing the same as everyone else,” she says. “So, save your judgments for someone who values your opinion.”
Ethan glances at me. I try to smooth away the confusion on my face, but it’s too late. He smirks.
“Oh, I see. Your good friend here doesn’t know your familial relations, does she?” he laughs. He makes a dramatic gesture to Emmy. “Sadie, let me introduce you to Emmy—Roman’s cousin.”
I glance over at Emmy. I don’t see any family resemblance, and their personalities are polar opposites, but the hardened expression on Emmy’s face tells me it’s true.
Why would she keep this from me?
Ethan claps his hands together. “Well, it looks like you were right, Emmy. A girl never does tell her secrets, especially you. I’m going to get to school. You two better get going, too. It’s going to be a great day!”
He winks at me before jumping back into his car. I keep my eyes on the Maserati until it disappears after the turn.
I pull my arm away from Emmy, facing her. “Why didn’t you ever mention Roman was your cousin?”
She shrugs, a slow smile returning to her face. “You’ve kind of always known, so I forgot that you wouldn’t remember. It’s not really something that matters, anyway. Roman is a tragedy of worthlessness, and I have no interest in having any connection to him or any member of his family at all. Let’s get going. We have some flaunting to do.”
As she moves to the driver’s side of her car, she fumbles with the keys. They nearly fall to the ground, but she catches them mid-air. I suspect she’s particularly talented at improvising when a mistake is made.
9
Sadie
When I walk into homeroom, I’m prepared to deal with Klay. I’ve prepared myself to ignore him, to deal with further rejection, or for him to pretend that I didn’t try to kiss him. I was even prepared to see him in pajamas.
I wasn’t prepared to see Ethan sitting on the desk closest to the door with two shopping bags at his feet. He jumps to his feet when I stop in front of him.
“Hey, sorry I left so abruptly before,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see Emmy there. I didn’t expect you two to be friends.”
“Haven’t we been friends for a while?” I ask, scrunching up my n
ose.
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to those things,” he says, picking up one of the bags. “Anyway, I didn’t just stop by your house to pick you up. I noticed you weren’t prepared for Spirit Week, so I bought you some clothes in case you wanted to dress up for it. If you want something else, we could go and pick it up after school.”
He offers the bag toward me. I carefully take it.
“Wow,” I say. “You didn’t need to do that. I don’t think I could take such a big gift—”
“There are no strings attached,” he says. “And it’s nothing to me. I mean, they’re not cheap clothes, but I earn a fair amount of money helping my parents on court cases. If you don’t take them, I’m just going to throw them out. They’re no use to me unless you take them.”
I fidget with the bag’s ribbon handles. Tissue paper blooms out of the bag.
“Check it out,” Ethan urges.
The prickling sensation of being watched creeps up on me. I turn to my right. Klay is sitting at his desk, texting on his phone. He’s not watching us at all, but his jaw is clenched, making his facial bones more prominent. The most sensible answer is that he’s angry at whoever is texting him, but underneath my rationality, I hope he sees Ethan and overheats with enough jealousy to burn him with regret.
I throw my arms around Ethan, hugging him tightly. The gift bag, still held in my hand, bounces off his back. “This is so nice of you. You’re a saint.”
I pull away from him as a slow smile grows on his face. In the corner of my eye, Klay scowls.
I open the gift bag wider. I pull out a lacy white dress with small angel wings outlined in gold on the back of it. It’s the definition of luxurious, though elegant would also be a fitting description. It’s almost too cutesy for my own style, but the subtlety makes it perfect.
I hold it up against my body. “How did you know my size?”
He laughs. “Ah, well, I wish I could say that having an older sister made me an expert on dress sizes, but I’ve just spent enough time around women to be able to look at them and come up with approximate measurements. Don’t judge me on that too much. I’ve been trying to get my head on straight before college.”
“I’m not judging you at all,” I say. “I value honesty.”
“I do too. That one is for Heaven or Hell Thursday, so the second gift is less impressive.”
He picks up the other bag and hands it to me. I open it, taking out a sweater with the school’s logo on it.
“It’s still perfect,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
“I also bought you some pajamas, but I saw you already have some,” he says. “Luckily, I also bought you this silk robe that will go well with your outfit.”
He takes the bag from me, sticking his hand deeper inside it, pulling out a stunning night robe. It’s an indigo blue with peacocks who are a mix of periwinkle, grayish blue, and silver.
“Can I help you put it on?” he asks.
I turn around, pulling my hair out of the way. “I’d love that.”
He holds it out for me. I slip my arms in, the fabric drenching my skin in a sleek softness.
“This is beautiful,” I tell him. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you so, so much.”
I hug him again. As I pull away, the silk robe slides against my arm. The material feels like water, cool and slippery.
I storm out of the room, barely grasping my raincoat.
My clothes are still soaking wet. When I step outside, the chill hits me like a slap. I keep moving. I’m not going to stay here. I’m not going to be lied to simply because he can’t grow the balls to tell me the truth.
“Sadie!” he yells.
I hear the door slam shut as he follows me. I pick up my pace, using my anger as fuel. I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.
He grabs onto my arm, yanking me around. I use the momentum to backhand him. My aim is off. It smacks near his eye. He winces, but he doesn’t let go of me.
“Sadie,” he says again. “I know it’s crazy. It’s insane. But it’s the truth.”
“No, it’s not!” I yell. “God, why did you think I’d ever believe something like that? Do you think I’m stupid? If you wanted to break-up, you should have just said it!”
“I told you the truth because I care about you,” he says.
He lets go of my arm. We face each other, the rain coming down in sheets.
“No,” I say. The prick of tears is burning on my eyelids. “No. What you don’t get is that I’ve been waiting for this. I knew you wouldn’t want to stay with me, and you’d leave me someday. I knew you’d want to find some better woman, but I never thought you’d be a coward about it.”
“There isn’t a better woman.” He grasps onto me. “You don’t think I’ve tried to move on? You don’t think I’ve tried to move on with every woman who’s crossed my path? You don’t think I’ve tried to hate you and punish you for making me feel so dependent on you? I have. I have a thousand times, and every time, I just want you more. I love you, Sadie. I can’t stand it, but I love you.”
He kisses me, gripping my shoulders with an intensity that’s nearly as scary as what he’s just told me. I know I should pull away and not let my attraction to him take over my actions, but when he told me he loved me, I believed him. And if I believed that, I know I have to believe everything else he said.
I pull away from Ethan. Like my previous memory, the face isn’t clear. But Ethan is the one who evoked it, and Ethan has been more generous toward me than anyone else has ever been in my life. I just don’t know why he wouldn’t mention we’d dated before.
Either I broke up with him and he’s trying to earn his way back into my arms, or he broke up with me and is trying to apologize through his money. It’s a convoluted way to do things, but all of the boys in my life have acted irrationally.
Over his shoulder, I look for Klay. He’s gone.
10
Sadie
The moment I step into biology, I know I’ve made a mistake. The lab tables are pushed to the back of the room while all of my classmates are gathered around the center of the room. Several of the girls are white-faced and wide-eyed. Some of the boys have their eyes downcast while others are lit up with interest.
As I’m approaching, I expect to see Klay and Roman in a mess of fists and blood. Instead, there’s a metal tray on one of the lab tables.
With a small dead pig on the tray.
Its legs are splayed open, and its grayish tan stomach is exposed to the class. One of the boys in class is sneaking a photo using his cell phone. One of the girls makes a gagging noise every few seconds.
“Class!” Mr. Miller calls out. “Get your gloves and safety glasses off my desk! We need to start as soon as possible to get through this. Rachel, if you’re going to throw up, go to the nurse’s office.”
The girl who was gagging runs out of the room. Everyone else starts to slowly turn, barely able to look away from the pig. I follow the crowd. The first battered cardboard box on Mr. Miller’s desk is filled with clear packages of rubber gloves. They’re blue like the ones from my memory—only slightly different and untainted by blood.
Maybe this is where that memory is from. It doesn’t feel the same, but I don’t know where else I would have seen someone with blood-stained gloves. I grab a pair of gloves and take a pair of safety goggles. As I tear open the packaging of my gloves—the sound of crinkling echoing around me as my classmates do the same—I bump into Klay. His hand brushes against my shoulder as he steps out of my way, but he doesn’t look at me.
I take a deep breath. The chemical-like odor from the pig stings in my throat. I walk over to the right corner of the combined tables. I don’t look at the dead pig in the same way Klay doesn’t look at me—with indifference and a tinge of disgust.
Klay positions himself on the opposite side of the combined tables, diagonally from me. He’s not fascinated or nauseated by the dead pig. He might as well be looking at
a diagram of the respiratory system.
“Klay, why don’t you do the initial incisions?” Mr. Miller says, holding out the scalpel to Klay.
They exchange a look, which borders on hostile, but Klay takes the scalpel. As he cuts into the pig, he moves with a dismissive efficiency. His index finger presses down on the scalpel while his other hand traces behind the scalpel, keeping the flesh pressed down. The dissection is repulsive, but the fluidity of Klay’s movements is evocative. It reminds me of a river—fluid and formidable.
In my periphery, Roman sidles closer to me. I ignore him, switching my focus over to Mr. Miller as Klay sets the scalpel down on the edge of the table and steps aside. Mr. Miller rambles about the digestive system, but it’s hard to concentrate after Klay’s dissection and with Roman approaching me. Fear stampedes through my body as Roman stops right behind me, but I keep my head up. When Klay looks over at my side of the class, he glances over my face twice. An expression that could be mistaken for concern creases his face.
“I’ve been everything you wanted this whole time, and you’re still getting wet over that stuck-up asshole,” he mutters.
I turn my head to look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper.
“I’ve done everything right,” he continues like I said nothing. “I’ve been as big of an asshole as he ever was, and you’re still acting like I ain’t shit.”
I cross my arms over my chest, looking straight ahead again. “I don’t know what happened that makes you think I’m attracted to assholes, but you’re mistaken. If you want my attention, don’t be an asshole, and don’t treat me like I’m a test you need to ace or a game you need to win. I’m not a test. I’m not a game. And I’m not a whore.”
“Yeah, but you are a pig.”
I turn back to him. “What?”
He shoves me forward. I’m barely able to uncross my arms before I hit the lab tables and the tray holding the small pig. Cold fluid splashes on my arm. I scramble to save myself from falling. My fingers wrap around the edge of the tray. I try to pull myself up. The tray flips over, smacking me in the arm. The dead pig and its organs slap against me. I fall onto my knees, the dissected pig a few inches in front of me and the tray clattering down beside me. The fluid from the tray oozes down my arm.