by Gayla Twist
“Good one,” a buddy of his said, high-fiving him.
“Don,” a low voice snarled from off to the left somewhere. I turned to see my ex-boyfriend, Fred Lighton, swiftly striding across the parking lot. He stopped about an inch away from Don and looked down at the smaller boy. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Fred was tall and muscular and on the football team. In fact, I was kind of an idiot because I’m the one that broke up with him. It didn’t feel right to be with anyone but Jessie. If I was sane and living the life of a normal high school girl, I would have been madly in love with Fred.
Don Updike, on the other hand, was on the squirrelly side. He was always getting in trouble for being obnoxious to teachers or other students or anyone who was in earshot. He was definitely the kind of boy who would throw paper airplanes at a woman who had lost her son in a plane crash. I could tell he was intimidated by Fred standing so close to him, but he didn’t want to show it. “I was just making a joke, dude,” he said, trying not to flinch. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem,” Fred said, leaning menacingly over the smaller boy, “is that you’re being insensitive. How would you like it if someone in your family was murdered and then some little twerp was making fun of you for it?”
“That would be cool,” Don said. “I’d love to have a mummy in the family.” He was still trying to show off to his friends.
Fred slowly shook his head back and forth. “You think it would be cool for someone in your family to be murdered?”
“Totally,” Don insisted. “I would think it’s a riot.”
“Let me get this straight,” Fred said, still looming over him. “So your mom’s crying and your grandmother’s so upset they have to put her in the hospital, and that’s somehow funny to you?” A couple more people had stopped to watch what was going on.
“Yeah,” Don said, although you could tell he was no longer sure of himself with the way Fred had phrased it. “It’s hilarious.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Fred asked, giving the smaller boy a concerned look. About a dozen people were now taking in the show.
“Nothing,” Don insisted. “Hey, I’m not the one acting all uptight. I was just making a joke.”
“No, I think there’s something wrong with you,” Fred told him. “Maybe you should go see a therapist or something.”
That’s when Don busted out the F word. He took two steps back before he said it, of course.
“Seriously?” Fred asked. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Don repeated his expletive while simultaneously trying not to appear like he was scared witless. He probably assumed he was reasonably safe, seeing that Tiburon High had a zero tolerance policy for fighting on school grounds, but you couldn’t spend your life on school grounds.
“You’re pathetic.” Fred shook his head again. “Seek help, dude.”
“Whatever,” Don said as he slunk off, tail between his legs.
Fred turned to me. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I told him. “But thanks for standing up for me.”
“My mom told me about your grandma,” he said. “Is she okay?”
That was a complex question, and I wasn’t sure of the answer, but I said, “I think she’ll be all right. It was pretty horrible, though.”
Nodding, Fred said, “Sorry to hear that.” A bell rang, causing all us students to start scurrying. “You know where I am if you need me.” With that, he turned and headed into the school. I stared after him for a moment. When Fred first started flirting with me, I thought he was just a friendly jock. Then we tried dating and he got all sexually entitled, like some guys tend to do, and I thought he was a bit of a jerk. But he quickly matured past that nonsense and was turning into a pretty awesome guy. The kind of guy girls dream about. The kind of guy I should have been dreaming about if I wasn’t totally in love with a vampire. I wondered, and not for the first time, if I needed my head examined.
“Wow,” I heard someone say, interrupting my thoughts. That’s when I noticed my best friend, Blossom, was at my elbow, her gaze trailing after Fred. “Now that’s something you never see in a teen movie.”
“What?” I wanted to know.
“A handsome jock standing up to a geek bully.”
“Yeah.” I had to agree with her. “That was pretty bizarre.” It was time for school to start, but I sincerely did not want to go to class. Don Updike wasn’t the only wag out there. I knew more “humor” would be directed my way, and I was feeling pretty fragile.
“I think I might start crushing on Fred a little after that,” Blossom said, grabbing my arm and towing me toward the building.
“Go for it,” I told her. “Fred’s great.” And I sincerely meant it.
“I would,” she said, “if I didn’t want you two to get back together so much.”
The mummy joke was a hit at Tiburon High. There wasn’t a dork in the school who didn’t feel the need to get in on the hilarity. I was mercifully spared the jocks’ humor on the subject by way of Fred. Even though we were no longer dating, he obviously felt very protective of me and made it known in the locker room circles that he would not feel very friendly toward anyone who made a joke at my family’s expense. I was profoundly grateful, and I wished I could think of a way to show him my appreciation. Besides getting back together with him, of course.
“Let’s sneak out for lunch,” Blossom said as we passed each other in the hall between classes.
“It’s Monday,” I pointed out. Seniors had off-campus privileges for lunch but not on Mondays for some reason. It was something about “starting the week off right.”
“Oh, please.” Blossom rolled her eyes. “If anyone tries to stop us, I’ll say that you’re too stressed out from everyone in the school being insensitive and that you need a break.”
“And what about you?” I had to ask.
Blossom laid a hand to her chest and said in her sincerest voice, “I am being a good friend.”
Once we had successfully made a break from school and were happily munching on fries in the closest fast food restaurant, Blossom asked, “So, how are you holding up?”
I shrugged, focusing on dipping a fry in ketchup.
“Sorry I didn’t call you over the weekend,” Blossom said. “I was at my dad’s, and I didn’t even know anything had happened until my mom told me late last night.”
“That’s okay. I knew you were at your dad’s,” I told her. “How was it?”
“The usual,” she said. I couldn’t tell if her indifference was feigned or genuine. “How’s Grandma Gibson?”
“In the hospital. She had a bit of a meltdown,” I explained.
Blossom sipped her soda contemplatively. “I don’t blame her. And how are you doing?”
“Okay,” I said with a shrug. “Seeing the body was pretty scary. She really did look like me.”
“They let you see the body?” Blossom practically choked on her drink. When I nodded, Blossom added, “Whoa.” And a little bit after that she asked, “Were you even tempted to call Fred for a little male comfort?”
“Not really.” Even though Blossom was my best friend, she knew nothing about Jessie and me. I felt like a lousy BFF for keeping it a secret, but my relationship with Jessie had been pretty tumultuous up to that point. But seeing that Jessie had met my mom, I felt like I had to fess up to my best friend as well. Not about the vampire thing, obviously, but that I was seeing someone. “Actually,” I began. “I am kind of seeing someone new.”
Blossom did a double take. “Who?” she demanded. “Is it that Lenny kid from history? Because if you’re dating him over Fred, I am going to strangle you.”
“No. He doesn’t go to Tiburon,” I told her. “But you have met him.”
“Aurora, tell me right now,” she said, almost sounding angry. “Don’t make me beat it out of you.”
I took a deep breath and then blurted, “Jessie Vanderlind.”
Blossom’s mouth lit
erally fell open. She stared at me for a good ten seconds, completely speechless. Finally, she managed to say, “You’re kidding. Dreamboat?”
I couldn’t help but crack into a broad smile. “Yeah. He is pretty dreamy.” The first glimpse I’d had of Jessie was at the library with Blossom. That was back in the fall. She’d started referring to him as dreamboat, and it was a pretty darn apt description.
“How did this all happen?” she wanted to know.
“The library,” I told her. “I ran into him again at the library, and we started talking.”
“The library?” Blossom wrinkled her nose. “That’s like meeting your future husband at the Laundromat.”
I was a bigger fan of books than Blossom was. “Anyway, I ran into him one night and then again the next week, and things kind of took off from there.”
Blossom scowled at me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Are we best friends or not?”
“I didn’t want to jinx it,” I told her. “I mean, who would have guessed that the hottest guy I’ve ever met would be interested in me?”
After a bit more frowning, she said, “I guess I understand. I mean, it’s kind of like seeing a unicorn or something. You’re afraid if you tell anyone, you’ll scare it off.”
I had to laugh. Blossom was being weirdly understanding. “Exactly.”
Leaning in all confidentially, Blossom asked, “So, are you dating dating? I mean, like, have you kissed him and everything?”
“More than that,” I told her, a devilish laugh escaping my lips.
“Why you little sneak. No wonder you wanted to ditch Fred,” she exclaimed. “And here I was, telling you to get back together with him.”
The rest of lunch I spent giving her what details I was willing to share. Nothing of vampires or anything like that—basically, the information I’d already told my mom with a few more details about his expertise as a kisser and how I was ready, willing, and eager to fling my virginity out the window.
“I don’t blame you,” Blossom said with a heavy sigh that came out as a light whistle. “He’s movie star good looking. And you say he’s nice? Geez! I’d fork over my virginity for that in a heartbeat. I didn’t think there were any guys like that alive on the planet.”
I swallowed a sip of my soda the wrong way and had a bit of a coughing fit.
It felt good to tell Blossom the truth. Or at least, part of the truth. I hated keeping secrets from the people I was close to, and Jessie had been the biggest secret of my life.
Back at school, I was sitting in my next class when one of the office ladies came in and had a whispered conversation with the teacher. They kept glancing in my direction, so I wasn’t surprised when I was told to go with the lady back to the school offices. “You need to call your mom,” she told me, then left me alone at her desk for a few minutes so I would have a bit of privacy.
My hands were shaking so badly I was having trouble dialing. We were supposed to go see about springing Grandma Gibson from the hospital when I was done with school, and I had the horrible feeling it was no longer necessary.
“Mom, it’s Aurora,” I said, clamping the phone’s receiver way too tightly to my ear. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, Aurora,” Mom said, sounding entirely too stressed but not all that tearful. “I need you to drive over to the hospital to be with Grams,” she said. “Something bad has happened.”
“What?” I asked, feeling my stomach lurch.
Mom cleared her throat to steady her voice and then finally said, “Somebody stole Aunt Colette’s body.”
Chapter 5
What is wrong with people? That was the question I found myself pondering over and over again as I drove to the hospital. Mom couldn’t get away from work, and she wanted someone to be with Grandma Gibson, so I was let out of school early.
Who breaks into a morgue and steals a body? It had to be some kind of sick prank. Someone must have thought it was hilarious. As if a person who died eighty years ago doesn’t deserve the same respect as a person who died eight hours ago. It made me think of that outlaw, Elmer McCurdy, whose body was discovered, sixty-five years after his death, being used as a prop at an amusement park. He’d been exhibited for so long that no one even remembered he was human anymore. His corpse had been unwittingly spray painted neon and hung from the rafters. The idea that some jackholes had stolen Colette’s body and that she might one day end up as a Halloween decoration brought tears to my eyes. People could be so sick.
When I pulled into the visitor’s lot at the hospital, I was surprised to see several news vans parked there with camera crews scurrying about. For a minute I wondered, “What’s going on?” but then I felt my stomach drop, and a slight sense of foreboding came over me. “Please, don’t be here about Colette,” I whispered to myself.
In the lobby, I approached the information desk and said in a low voice, “Hi, I’m here to visit Lillian Gibson. Can you tell me which room she’s in?”
The lady at the desk gave me a very suspicious look. “What’s your relationship to Ms. Gibson?”
“I’m her great granddaughter,” I told her.
The woman’s face softened a little. “What’s your name?”
“Aurora Keys.”
She scanned a list that was sitting on her desk. I could see there were only a few names on it. When she looked up again, her face had become kind. “Of course, honey. We’re just trying to keep things from becoming a circus around here.” After checking my identification she covertly wrote something on a piece of paper, folded it, and then handed it to me. “Go to the top floor,” she said in a whisper, leaning forward in her seat. “Then switch elevators to come back down to the correct floor. That’s her room number,” she said, indicating the piece of paper she’d just handed me.
My stomach twisted into a triple knot. The camera crews were at the hospital about Colette. I guess her discovery and then disappearance was too tempting of a story for the entertainment media, purporting to be news, to ignore. As I headed for the elevator, a blonde news reporter stepped into my path. She shoved a microphone in my face and said, “Hi, I’m Stacey Coogan with News Channel Five. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Who do you think stole your grandmother’s body?”
Right behind her was a guy wielding a camera that he had been concealing under his coat. The camera had a very bright light on top of it that blasted my eyes, making me see big blurry spots. I threw a hand up in front of my face to shield me from the light, shoved the microphone from my mouth with the other hand, and snarled at the reporter, “Get away from me, you cockroach.”
Security showed up and quickly ushered the news crew out of the lobby. “Who let them in here?” someone in a police uniform barked. “Sorry about that, young lady,” the man said, his voice much kinder when addressing me. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I told him, blinking back tears as I stabbed at the elevator button. “What the hell do they want, anyway?”
The officer shrugged. “They’re just hungry for a story. Never mind about all the wars and shootings and white collar crimes that happen. I guess they think it’s more important to harass some poor old lady in the hospital.”
“Well, thanks for getting them out of here,” I said, hoping the elevator would arrive soon. I was grateful but also desperate to get away from the prying eyes of the lobby.
“Thank you for the best line I’ve heard in a long time,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to tell my daughter that you called her favorite reporter a cockroach.” He glared after the departing news woman. “She deserved it.”
Thankfully, the elevator chimed and the door opened. I stepped in and hit the top button, sparing a smile for the cop before the doors closed again. Once the elevator started moving, I opened the scrap of paper the lady at the desk had given me. Grandma Gibson was in room 444. When I arrived at the correct floor, I knew which room she was in immediately because there was a security guard standing out front. I guess someone had radioed up to
him to tell him I was coming because I didn’t have to say a thing; he just stepped to one side.
I tapped at the door before walking in. “Hi, Gran. It’s Aurora,” I said, tentatively poking my head in the room.
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t to see Grandma Gibson sitting up in bed watching an old episode of Friends. “Hello, Aurora,” she said to me as if a guard outside her door was how things normally went when I dropped by. “Shouldn’t you be at school? It’s not even three o’clock.”
“Mom got me out early so I could come see you,” I told her. “She was worried that … um … well, she just thought you might like some company.”
“You mean because of what happened to Colette’s body?” she asked, almost matter-of-factly.
“Well, yeah ...” I said, taken aback by her frankness. “I mean, it’s not like anyone expected that to happen.”
“I did,” she said, turning her eyes back to the television screen.
“You expected someone was going to break into the morgue and steal your sister’s body?” I asked, a bit incredulously.
She nodded. “I saw it happen. And I saw who did it,” she informed me, nodding toward a deck of cards on the nightstand next to her bed. Cards were how Grandma Gibson tried to read the future. She must have persuaded someone on staff to get her a pack from the hospital gift shop.
Oh, no, I thought. Not future-predicting great grandma. Of all the different flavors of Grandma Gibson, the fortune-telling version was the one I liked the least. I really, really didn’t want to know but couldn’t help myself from asking, “Who do you think took Colette?”
“You know who did it,” she said, not bothering to look at me. “I saw him break into the morgue. He took her body to hide the evidence of his crime.”
“He wouldn’t,” I stammered. She didn’t have to say his name for me to know who she was talking about. “He loved her.”
“Sometimes people kill what they love,” she said, steadfastly staring at the television screen but not really watching it.