Poor Little Dead Girls

by Lizzie Friend

  As their last syllable died out, she had the oddest feeling the room was much larger than she had thought. She could hear a rustling that she had originally assumed was the ocean, or tree branches scratching against a window, but now it seemed unmistakably like the sound of bodies shifting in seats, like the soft white noise in the movie theater during a tense moment. Sadie swallowed, and she heard the voice behind her clear his throat.

  “Whatever. I swear.”

  Her voice came out clear and strong, but her mind was working furiously trying to piece everything together. She thought about the cryptic e-mail, the cheesy dramatic robes, and her dad’s joke about prep school secret societies. She wasn’t sure whether to cry with relief or laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it all. Minutes ago she was sure she was going to die, all for some stupid high school charade.

  First hood looked to her left and right, then all three spoke as one. “The oath has been made.”

  Right hood, the one who called herself “the inevitable,” spoke next. “If you break this oath, you will be punished — harshly and without mercy. Know that no matter where you are, or how long from this day, if you betray us, we will find out.” She paused, and the room filled with menacing silence. “And we do not forgive oath breakers.”

  “The device you are hooked up to is a polygraph machine. The truthfulness of your answers will be recorded, and if we are not satisfied, there will be repercussions.” She looked back to first hood. “Clotho — you may begin.”

  “What is your name?” she said. The bellow was back.

  Sadie cleared her throat, forcing herself not to answer in the same ridiculous baritone. “Sadie. And yours?”

  “Watch yourself,” the voice hissed in her ear.

  “Where were you born?”

  “Portland, Oregon. It’s fantastic this time of year.”

  This time his voice was harsh, biting: “Last warning, Sadie.”

  She clenched her teeth and leaned as far away from him as the ropes binding her would allow.

  “How old are you?”

  She sighed loudly. It was the middle of the night. She was cold, and the ropes around her wrists and ankles were starting to chafe. The cuff on her arm was making her hand go numb. And she didn’t want to be in some stupid secret society, anyway.

  “I’m twelve — I skipped a few grades. Is that a problem?”

  The light above her head went out, and suddenly there were hands around her neck. She froze, eyes wide in the sudden darkness. The hands squeezed tighter, and she felt her lungs start to strain. The voice was there again, closer — hotter — against her neck.

  “I warned you.”

  She felt beads of spit spraying against her earlobe. One of the hands slid forward until a thick arm was wrapped around her neck. As the grip circled tighter, it forced her chin upward until she was blinking at the ceiling, her mouth breathlessly pumping the air like a fish.

  The terror was back now.

  It squeezed harder, slowly crushing her throat until the blood was screaming in her ears and her whole face felt like it might explode through her eye sockets.

  “No matter what you think you know about us — who we are, what we’re capable of — know that you know nothing,” the voice whispered.

  She was getting dizzy, and the pressure was fading. She thought about her dad at home in their kitchen, and she was just starting to feel herself drift away when the voice whispered again, softly this time.

  “Don’t you ever forget that.”

  And then, as suddenly as they had come, the hands were gone and she could breathe. She drew in breath after breath, leaning forward and gasping into her trembling knees. The light above her head flipped on again, and she buried her face further into her lap. She clenched her eyes shut and willed herself to wake up back in her bed in Portland, realizing that the last two months had all been just a horrible dream.

  Instead, first hood spoke: “We will begin again now. That was your only warning. Fail to show respect for this tribunal again, and you will be punished.” She spoke the last word carefully, as if she relished its taste.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  Sadie should have been shocked, but at this point she was too far past that. She squinted in the dim light and tried to make out something, anything about the Moirae’s faces, but all she could see was darkness beneath their black hoods.

  “No sex.” She felt the blood pulsing around the cuff that was still strapped around her arm. “Other things, though.”

  “What things?”

  Sadie felt herself start to fold, the roomful of eyes boring into her like leeches.

  “I dated a guy for a few months. We hooked up, just not … never all the way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wasn’t ready, I guess. I didn’t want to.”

  “Did he?”

  “I guess.”

  “What did you do instead?”

  Even after everything, she couldn’t believe they were asking her this.

  “Third base, a few times. Mostly just out.”

  “Did you like it?”

  She couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I said, did you like it?”

  The hand was on her neck again, playing with her earlobe, flicking it back and forth. She swallowed hard and tried to fight back tears.

  “Fine. Yeah, of course I liked it. I’m not a robot.”

  “Have you dated other guys?”

  Sadie shook her head.

  “Speak your answers,” the hood demanded. “Have you been tested for STIs?”

  Sadie folded in on herself further. “No.”

  Right hood leaned over and whispered something in first hood’s ear. They bent their heads together, then turned back to Sadie. This one wasn’t a question.

  “Tell us about your mother.”

  Sadie’s anger flared, and her shoulders jerked back. They could humiliate her and scare her and do whatever else they wanted, but they didn’t get to bring up her mom.

  “No,” she said, teeth clenched. “She’s dead.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She killed herself.”

  “How?”

  Sadie shut her eyes tight but the tears were already flowing. They seeped out from under her lids and dripped down her cheeks. Her hands were tied, and she couldn’t wipe them away.

  “She hung herself at a hospital.”

  “You mean, a mental hospital?”

  Eyes still closed tight. “Yes.”

  “Was your mom crazy?”

  “She was depressed.”

  “Was she a drug addict?”

  Tighter. “Yes.”

  The next time the hood spoke, her voice was louder, almost baiting. “Was she a whore? Addicts usually are.”

  Eyes open. Wide.

  “No.” Sadie spat out the word. “And my mom is none of your business.”

  The girl cocked her head to the side in a gesture that was both condescending and completely familiar. “Oh, honey. You have no idea how much it is my business. If your mom was a whore, how can we even trust that your dad is your dad? How can we trust that you are who you claim to be at all?”

  Sadie took a deep breath, and when she finally spoke her voice was low and even, perfectly controlled. “My dad is my dad, and he’s ten times the man that your dad will ever be. My mom was not a whore, and she died of a disease that has no cure. And you, Thayer Wimberley, can go fuck yourself. Next question.”

  She stared deep into the shadow beneath the girl’s hood, the tears now dry on her cheeks. No one moved, and nothing but darkness stared back.

  Chapter 8

  She woke up feeling as if she had barely slept, her head pounding like her skull was suddenly two sizes too small. She felt like she was emerging from a bad dream, or from one of those drunken nights on TV where all the actor has left is a bunch of blurry flashes with nothing to connect them. It came back slowly — the hand over her face, the chemical smell, the dark room, and
the voice spitting in her ear. She pulled the covers over her head and burrowed back into the darkness, determined to stay there until her dad could come and pick her up — take her away from here and never mention Keating again.

  The questioning had gone on for what felt like hours. After her mother it was more questions about her past — whether she had ever stolen anything, whether she had ever cheated on a test, whether she had ever tried drugs or gotten drunk or been arrested. Then they had moved onto her family, asking questions about her relatives, how they died, whether they had had cancer, heart disease, questions Sadie barely even knew the answers to. She told them her mom was basically an orphan, that she didn’t even know her maternal grandparents, but that didn’t satisfy them. They had wanted to know everything about her, and by the time they were finished her head had drooped weakly against her chest, and her eyes had felt like they were filled with sand. Then, just as it had begun, it was over. The hands were on her again, pressing something cold and wet against her mouth. The voice was in her ear, and just as she was fading away she heard his last words: “Congratulations, Sadie Marlowe. You passed.”

  She snoozed her alarm clock until the last possible moment, then slowly dragged herself out of bed. Black spots crowded her vision, and she steadied herself on her desk until the room stopped spinning. As she trudged past the twins’ full-length mirror, she caught sight of her dark, puffy eyes and pasty skin. This was going to be the worst practice ever.

  The dining room was completely empty except for the group of girls at the lacrosse table. They were all in their practice uniforms — black, pleated skirts and the green tank tops they had worn Thursday at dinner. Sadie glanced down at her rumpled outfit and resisted the urge to walk back upstairs and go back to bed.

  Instead, she plopped down at the table next to Jessica, who looked like she had rolled right out of bed and directly into her chair. Her hair was mussed, as if she had slept in her ponytail, and she peered grumpily down at her oatmeal through sleepy little slits. Sadie scanned the faces across the table. Brett’s red hair was flawlessly French braided, but she had dark bags under her eyes.

  Jessica looked up at Sadie and paused, a spoonful of oatmeal poised inches from her mouth. “Yikes. Exactly how long did you spend fantasizing about you-know-who last night? You look like you slept for, like, two minutes.”

  Sadie glanced around the table, but no one seemed to have heard. She cleared her throat loudly. “I don’t know, Jess. For some reason I just couldn’t sleep.”

  Most of the girls glanced at her with bored looks on their faces, but Brett kept her head down, staring intently at a grapefruit half like it was about to tell her the cure for cancer.

  “It’s okay, today’s just a practice. You’ll get through it,” Grace offered.

  Sadie forced herself to smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

  Jessica nudged her elbow as the servers finished setting her place. “Food’ll help.” She grinned. “You’re going to need a lot of it.”

  In response, Sadie’s stomach growled, and suddenly a big, greasy meal sounded like the best thing in the world. She trudged up to the buffet and filled a plate with heaping servings, stacking bacon on top of her scrambled eggs once it got too full. She was still angry, but at least the shot of saturated fat would help her think straight. She plunked the delicate china back down on the table and started shoveling.

  “I hope you girls are ready for this,” Thayer sang, sidling up behind them with Charlotte and two other seniors in tow. The girls drew back chairs, sending loud screeching noises through the silent room. Thayer sat down, her gaze crawling over their plates from one end of the table to the other.

  “You all must be hungry,” she said lightly. “I could never eat something so heavy before a practice.” She tossed her thick ponytail over her shoulder, whipping a sophomore in the face in the process. “But maybe that’s just me.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sadie saw Grace slowly put down her fork. Sadie picked up a strip of bacon and crunched into it loudly, chewing slowly with her eyes locked on Thayer’s. Thayer met her gaze, and the corner of her lip curled up in a cold, knowing smile. Sadie stared back, but Thayer just blinked and smiled wider. Apparently they were going to pretend nothing had ever happened, and for now, Sadie could live with that. As long as Thayer and her creepy friends left her alone.

  As Thayer and the others headed toward the buffet in search of egg whites, Sadie popped the last piece of bacon in her mouth and stood up. Seeing Thayer had sharpened her anger all over again, and now she could feel it stabbing her from the inside out. She looked over at Brett, Grace, and Jessica and arranged her features into a smile. “Want to head out early and warm up?”

  “Line it up, ladies!” Coach Fitz bellowed, blowing her whistle in three short blasts. The girls immediately sprinted to the 25-yard line and organized themselves into a perfect row.

  Sadie fell in line between Jessica and Brett and imitated their posture — each girl was standing with her stick out in front of her, shoulders thrown back and head high. She half expected the coach to start barking orders like a drill sergeant, and her prediction wasn’t far off.

  “Welcome to your first practice of the year,” the coach yelled. She stalked from side to side in front of them like a caged panther: head lowered, shoulders slightly hunched, and eyes narrowed. Sadie took a deep breath, trying to mitigate the simultaneous fear and excitement that was bubbling up inside of her. Coach Fitz had been a three-time All-American in college at Virginia, and she was a legend in lacrosse circles.

  “I trust that you all spent your vacations wisely, and that you’re in better shape now than when you left us in June. Many of you were on the team last year, but a few of you are new. Some of you were JV, and you think you have what it takes to move up to the next level. Some of you are transfers, and you’re probably used to being the star.” She stopped pacing and looked them slowly up and down.

  “But no matter who you are, know this: Every second you are on this field, you will work harder than you would have ever thought possible. You will push yourself past your limits, find new limits, and then push past those. You will push yourself until you break, because you know that showing weakness is not an option. If you want to be a member of the Keating Monarchs national championship lacrosse team, you better want this, badly, and you better plan on showing me that passion every single day you are out here. If you don’t want to eat, sleep, sweat, and bleed lacrosse for the next ten months, then I suggest you leave right now.”

  She paused and looked down the line of girls. No one moved.

  “For those of you who choose to stay, lacrosse at Keating is not a spring sport. We will practice every Saturday morning until the season starts, and Thayer will run captain’s practices during the week. I expect you all to go if you want to see the field come March. Understood?”

  “Yes, Coach Fitz!” the girls yelled.

  “Good.” For the first time, she smiled. “Now we’re going to play a little game.”

  Sadie looked down the line, expecting the girls to huddle up and be split into teams, but no one moved. Apparently it wasn’t that kind of game.

  “If you were a starter last year,” Coach barked, “take a step forward.”

  Ten girls stepped forward, leaving the rest on the 25-yard line.

  “If you were all-state, all-district, or all-league on this team last year, take another step.”

  Thayer, Brett, and another girl stepped forward again, leaving the rest of the girls in two lines behind them.

  “If you were on the varsity team last year, step forward.” Everyone except Sadie and five others stepped forward again.

  “Now if this is your first year in the Keating lacrosse program, at any level, including summer camp, take one step back.”

  Sadie looked around, but no one met her gaze. She was the only one to step back.

  “Now take a look around. Look at the girls in front of you, and those behind you. This is where you
stand coming into the season, and anyone in front of you is your competition. If any of you girls back there want to make the team, you’re going to have to overcome at least half the people in front of you.”

  Sadie forced herself to stare straight ahead. She was in dead last, with five rows of girls stretching ahead of her. One of the girls standing directly in front of Sadie looked like she was barely fourteen, and she was holding her stick awkwardly like it was a shotgun that might go off.

  “For the girls in front, look behind you,” Coach continued. “This is your competition, and you can bet they will do everything possible to break you down and take your spot.”

  She watched the girls crane their necks, and she felt her cheeks start to get hot. Thayer glared at her from her spot in the front row, that smug smile back on her face. Sadie knew the coach was trying to prove a point — show her she still had a long way to go, and that she couldn’t relax just because she had been recruited. She squeezed her stick tighter, feeling its rough edges cutting into her palm. The pain felt good.

  Coach Fitz blew her whistle and sent them on two laps around the field. As Sadie fell into step at the end of the line behind the little freshman, she stared at the coach as she passed. Throw whatever you want at me, she wanted the look to say. You won’t break me that easily. She could swear she saw a smile tugging at the coach’s mouth before she turned away.

  When they finally called the practice, it was almost noon. Sadie’s hair was dripping with sweat, and she collapsed on the ground and closed her eyes against the glare. A shadow loomed over her.

  “Don’t tell me you thought that was hard.”

  She opened her eyes to see Thayer grinning down at her, not a drop of sweat on her face.

  “Yeah, it was fucking hard,” Sadie said, still struggling to catch her breath. They had drilled for two hours, then spent the last hour doing interval training, switching off running the stadium stairs, doing ladder sprints on the field, and jogging around the track.