You Must Not Miss

by Katrina Leno

  “Are you still hungry?” Ann Marie asked. “There’s Chinese. From the other night. It should still be good.”

  “I’m fine,” Magpie said, because the thought of eating her mother’s leftovers turned her stomach in an unpleasant way.

  She went into the kitchen.

  The mouse’s shadow that was Hither sat on the faucet of the kitchen sink looking at her.

  “What do you want?” she whispered.

  “What, sweetheart?” Ann Marie called from the living room.

  “Nothing!” Magpie shouted. Then, lowering her voice again, she asked, “Are you just going to stare at me for the rest of the night, or are you going to make yourself useful?”

  How would you propose I make myself useful? I only want to make sure I do exactly as you wish, otherwise you might feed me to an impossible thing, too.

  Magpie narrowed her eyebrows. “If it was an impossible thing, I wouldn’t have been able to feed him to it.”

  “Magpie?” Ann Marie said, her voice closer now.

  Magpie whirled around to find Ann Marie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, swaying a bit, holding on to the doorjamb for balance.

  “What, Mom?” Magpie snapped. “What could you possibly want?”

  Ann Marie looked stricken. She raised her hand to her chest and started to open her mouth but couldn’t seem to think of anything to say.

  “Go to sleep,” Magpie continued. “Take a drink with you. Do whatever you want. Just leave me alone.”

  “Were you talking to someone?” Ann Marie asked hesitantly, peering behind Magpie into the kitchen as if she might find something hiding there.

  “I was talking to myself, okay? Maybe if you had been here at any point in the past six months, I could have talked to you and I wouldn’t have had to invent a fucking imaginary friend!”

  The word fucking, when spoken in front of one’s mother, has a curious way of inflating. Each letter acts like a balloon, and together the seven of them floated up to the ceiling, expanding and thriving and sucking all the air out of the room.

  Ann Marie, for her part, looked less stricken this time and more like she was dipping into the territory of dangerous. A quick glance at the sink told Magpie that Hither was gone, and she was on her own.

  Fine. She was used to being on her own.

  She went to push past Ann Marie, but her mother moved as quickly as a whip to block Magpie’s path.

  “Get out of my way,” Magpie said.

  “Don’t you ever—”

  “GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!”

  And there was a movement of a hand so quick it was only a flesh-colored blur.

  And Ann Marie slapped Magpie across the face.

  Hard.

  Magpie took a staggered step backward and raised her hand to her cheek. The pain took a few heartbeats to settle in, and then there was a rush of warmth to her face, a burning sting that brought tears to her eyes more out of surprise than anything else.

  Ann Marie began again: “Don’t you ever talk to me that way again, do you understand me? I don’t give a shit what you think you’ve been through or what you think you’re entitled to; you are still my daughter, and I am still your mother, and you will show me the respect I deserve. Do you understand?”

  Magpie blinked slowly—and while her eyes were closed, she saw her Near-sister’s jaw unhinging. She saw the look on Mr. James’s face in the exact moment he realized what was about to happen. She saw the way the sun glinted off the spit that had collected on her sister’s enormous teeth.

  She could make that happen again.

  She could lead this version of her mother into the garden shed.

  She could call Eryn up the hill, and she could feed her mother to one of her own daughters.

  Wouldn’t that be something?

  But she took a deep breath instead, and she let it out slowly, and she said, “I need to go. Excuse me.”

  But Ann Marie didn’t move from the doorway. “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “I need to go,” Magpie repeated.

  “You are not leaving this house until you acknowledge me, young lady,” Ann Marie said.

  Magpie took a moment to look at her mother.

  Ann Marie’s face was as red as Magpie imagined her own cheek was. Her eyes were wide and wild, some combination of empowered and frightened. She looked as if she might hit Magpie again—or as if she might turn and run away. She looked as if she was deciding between the two.

  “Do you realize that if I told Dad you hit me, he would be here in ten minutes to pick me up? What makes you think I’ll stay with you forever? You’d be all alone.”

  “I hardly hit you,” Ann Marie said, but her voice tipped a note or two away from where it had been a minute ago, and now she sounded just a little bit scared.

  “Please get out of my way,” Magpie said. “I have somewhere to be.”

  This time Ann Marie took a step to the side, and Magpie pushed past her so violently that her mother was thrown back. Her shoulder collided with the doorjamb, and Magpie wondered idly whether she’d even felt it. Vodka had a tendency to do that to a person; it made the pain go away. Sometimes it made the hard things easier, the necessary things doable.

  But Magpie didn’t need any help.

  Any hesitancy she had felt when she’d led Mr. James into Near was gone.

  She had decided what she would do, and she would do it.

  She didn’t need vodka. She didn’t need anything.

  Just a little silver pen.

  Magpie took the long way on an already long walk to Clare’s, arriving at the house nearly an hour after leaving her own. Her stomach was growling painfully at that point, and she was happy to reach Clare’s driveway just as the pizza delivery guy was pulling out of it. Clare hadn’t even shut the front door yet; she saw Magpie and squealed and hopped up and down, almost dropping the four boxes she held in her arms. Lucky for Clare, Jeremy appeared behind her and, laughing, relieved her of her pizza burden.

  Hither, who until that moment had been no larger than a fly buzzing annoyingly against Magpie’s ear, was suddenly as big as a lion and blocking her way into the house.

  “Move,” Magpie hissed.

  Just what do you have planned? And why can’t I hear you anymore?

  It seemed worried.

  Good.

  Let it be worried.

  Let the whole town be worried.

  If they knew what was good for them, they would be.

  “Move,” Magpie repeated, and something in her voice this time turned Hither from a lion into the tiniest little cat, no bigger than a football all curled up on the grass.

  Magpie resisted the urge to kick it.

  “Mags, hellooo, do you need a written invitation?” Clare called from the front door.

  Magpie did not kick the imaginary cat.

  She plastered a smile on her face and skipped up to Clare, letting herself be hugged and even, although it went against everything in her current nature, hugging in return.

  “I was worried you weren’t going to show,” Clare said, pulling away. “You still aren’t answering your texts and…” Clare glanced nervously back into the house, where Jeremy had disappeared with the pizzas. She reached back and pulled the door shut so they were alone on the front stoop. “I’m so sorry. About what I said yesterday. I was a complete shithead.”

  It took Magpie a moment to remember.

  A lot had happened since then.

  But then it came floating back to her, what Clare had said.

  We’re not all required to suck the dick of Brandon Phipp.

  It had stung in the moment, how easily Clare had made the joke. How she hadn’t realized what she’d said, what it meant. It had stung, but now…

  “Oh, that,” Magpie said. “Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about it.”

  “I know it was insensitive and rude and… The way you just got up and left, then you didn’t answer any of my texts…”

  “It�
��s been a weird week. I’ve just been a little all over the place.”

  “I wish I hadn’t said it. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Magpie said. She tried to sound reassuring, and she thought she mostly succeeded. Clare visibly relaxed, took a deep breath, smiled.

  “Okay. So we’re okay?”

  “We’re okay. I mean, aside from you insisting I go to this party,” Magpie joked.

  “It will be fun!”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. Let’s go inside—I’m starving.”

  Magpie found a full house crammed into Clare’s living room: Luke and Brianna were already digging into the pizza, Jeremy and Ben were arguing over the stereo, and Teddy was putting on a finger-puppet show for a couch full of stuffed animals. Magpie waved a general hello to everyone and made herself a paper plate with two slices of mushroom pizza. She started eating it at the counter.

  “Damn, girl. I’ve never seen you eat this much in my life,” Brianna said appreciatively.

  “She knows that’s the best pregame strategy,” Luke chimed in. “The more you eat now, the more you can driiiiiink.”

  “Guys, ixnay on the drinking stuff,” Clare said, materializing next to them. “My mom’s upstairs. And speaking of upstairs—Teddy, scram, will you?”

  “I thought your name was Ringo,” Brianna said.

  Teddy shrugged, managed to load up an impressive amount of finger puppets and stuffed animals in his arms, and disappeared in the direction of the stairway.

  “Mags,” Ben said, brushing her arm lightly as he moved to stand next to her. “Hey. I didn’t know if you were going to come.”

  Magpie, her mouth full of pizza, shrugged her answer, then gestured around the room as if to say, Well, here I am!

  Ben laughed softly. “I’m glad you’re here. Do you still want to leave early and see a movie?”

  Magpie swallowed. “I think that sounds great. I won’t need much time at the party.”

  “You won’t need much time?”

  “To get the gist of how boring it is,” Magpie added, winking.

  The wink meant that this wasn’t what she’d meant at all.

  Box by box, the pizza vanished until only a solitary slice of cheese was left. Magpie had eaten four pieces herself—although inhaled might be a more accurate word for it. There was now a plastic water bottle being passed around the living room, the contents of which was, of course, not water at all but a vodka so cheap that Magpie’s eyes watered just smelling it. She declined and passed it on to Ben, who also declined and passed it on to Jeremy.

  “I’ll stay sober,” Ben said. “I borrowed my mom’s car so I can drive to the movies.”

  “I don’t feel like drinking anyway,” Magpie replied. “So if you end up wanting to, that’s fine. I can drive.”

  You don’t have your license.

  Hither had appeared as a tiny bee perched on the top of Ben’s hair. Magpie resisted the urge to swat it away or reply out loud. Instead, she thought, very purposefully and carefully, I made you up and I can unmake you, too.

  And Hither was quiet after that.

  “Thanks,” Ben said. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

  Magpie grabbed the last slice of pizza and put it into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to think of anything else to say.

  The group walked to Brandon Phipp’s house at ten o’clock.

  The darkness of the night reminded Magpie of ink, and ink reminded her of her Near-pen, and she patted her pocket to make sure it was safe, and just feeling it made her swell with a sense of security she had never quite felt before.

  Was this what it was like to be in control of one’s own destiny? To be so meticulously sure of every step that needed to be followed, of every box that needed to be checked?

  Magpie liked it.

  She felt the night hanging around her like something she had to slice through, and she pictured the shining door that would lead her to Near wherever and whenever she wanted to go, and she saw this night lit up with it, with a door that was her own private portal to her one true home.

  “You’re being quiet,” Ben said. He walked behind her as the rest of the group danced around in the empty streets, tripping over themselves and laughing and skipping and holding hands. In the end, Ben had taken a few swigs from the water bottle full of vodka, but unlike everyone else’s, his tipsiness seemed to present itself quietly, steadying his hands, mellowing his already pretty mellow demeanor. Magpie looked over at him and smiled.

  “Just thinking,” she replied.

  “Thinking about what?”

  “This party. A couple months ago—even one month ago—I never would have gone.”

  “Because of…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to. There were a million possible endings and each one was right.

  Because of what happened that night?

  Because of Allison Lefferts?

  Because of the way Brandon Phipp’s dick smelled, like something salty and unwashed?

  Because of the way Allison had burst into the room laughing?

  Because of the way her laughter had died on the tip of her tongue, only the echo of it surviving as Brandon pulled away so violently that Magpie fell sideways onto the floor, choking on her own spit and something that did not belong to her?

  And there it was. The moment Magpie had spent six months trying her hardest not to think about.

  The moment her best friend had walked in on Magpie sucking the dick of Brandon Phipp—as Clare had so succinctly put it.

  And Magpie had tried to explain, of course.

  But Allison wouldn’t listen to any of it. Allison wanted nothing to do with it at all.

  Now, in this inky-black darkness, beside Ben, who swayed only slightly but did not otherwise give any indication that he was under the influence, it seemed to Magpie that she could see that night more clearly that she had ever been able to see it. She saw it more clearly now, so many months removed, than in the days or weeks after it happened. She saw it so clearly now that it was almost as if she were reliving it over and over. And although she had almost believed Allison’s version of the story, there had always been a little kernel of the truth inside her. There had always been the knowledge, somewhere deep down, that what Allison said happened did not happen at all. Did not even touch upon what had happened. Did not even resemble it.

  She was ready, finally, to put the blame where the blame belonged.

  Ben was still waiting for her to respond, so she smiled, and said, “I have something now that I didn’t have before.”

  She would let him try to figure out what that meant. It could be any number of things.

  Friends.

  Confidence.

  A magical pen.

  A magical world.

  They walked a moment in silence, then Ben cleared his throat, and said, “I know this is a weird time to bring it up, but I just wanted to let you know that I finished the history assignment.”

  “You did?”

  “I just figured… you’ve been under a lot of stress. You haven’t really answered my texts. Which I totally understand, I just—I didn’t want to put it off until the last minute. I thought I might as well just get it out of the way.”

  “It’s fine, I understand, I’ll tell Ms. Peel that I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “No, no, I mean—I finished it for both of us.” Magpie turned and studied his face. His cheeks were a little pink, but she couldn’t tell whether that was from the vodka or something else. “I put your name on it. I already handed it in, actually. I hope that’s okay with you, I just… I know you’ve been having… Well, I know you’ve been having a really shitty year, okay? It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

  Something cracked against Magpie’s heart—or maybe it was her heart itself that was cracking, one long dark line from the left atrioventricular valve right down to the right ventricle. For just one second she saw Mr. James’s face again at the mom
ent he realized what was about to happen. The crack felt like a heavy, solid thing within her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I kept meaning to do it. I really did. I just—”

  “It’s honestly fine. I knew I didn’t have to do it. I knew you’d do it eventually. I just… I wanted to do it. For you.”

  When all of this was over, Magpie could bring Ben into Near. She could give him whatever he wanted—literally anything. But tonight, in this moment, she couldn’t give him much at all. So she gave him one small thing: her hand.

  And when she felt his fingers close around hers, she thought, In another lifetime, in another version of me, this would have been all I ever wanted.

  But in this lifetime, in this version, she felt his fingers, the warmth of his hand, the way he stood a little taller when she touched him, and she felt only a void. The absence of a feeling—something that should have been there but wasn’t. As if something that had once been inside her had been scooped clean out, leaving nothing but space in its wake.

  Did you not listen to me? When I told you these things were made from you? Of you? And you are so very far from limitless, little Magpie. So very, very far.

  Magpie turned her head to catch a glimpse of Hither.

  But if it was there, it was too small now to be seen.

  And in that moment, even with Ben’s hand in hers, even with these people she could comfortably call friends dancing drunkenly around her, even in that inky night that seemed to her more comforting than this world had been in such a very long time, Magpie knew.

  She was completely alone.

  Not even an imaginary friend to keep her company.

  But that wouldn’t matter for much longer.

  Pretty soon she would have an entire world full of people at her side.

  Ready to do anything she asked.

  Anything.

  Starting tonight.

  TEN FOR A BIRD

  Brandon Phipp lived in a ridiculously large house in the middle of several ridiculously large fields that was surrounded by a number of ridiculously enormous barns where his parents kept the many prize-winning horses they raised for the racing circuits. These were not the dull brick-red barns that stored drying lines of tobacco, nor were they the long rectangular barns where the various livestock of Farther spent their nights; these barns were octagonal and ostentatious, and each one looked more like an interestingly shaped house than anything you might think of when you heard the word barn.