Autumn winked. “Oh, nothing huge. He did mention a dance to me, and I told him I had no idea, and that if you had a date, surely I would have heard of such a dance. That seemed to make him very happy. Can’t imagine why.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! I could have been prepared!” Veronica shrieked. “Oh my God, what the hell am I going to wear?”
“Clothes,” Autumn deadpanned.
“Autumn Brody, you suck! I have to look good for this. I mean, this is a date, right? If he asked me?”
“I’d say so, but I have zero skill with the opposite sex, so I’m not the best advisor here.”
Veronica frowned, sitting down on the bed and flipping through her iPhone. “I think I have pictures of these dresses somewhere on here… You have to help me choose. This has to be perfect, you know?”
Autumn smiled warmly. “V, you’d look hot in a garbage bag. Calm down. He’s crushing hard – anyone can see that.”
“Me too,” Veronica whispered. “You’re coming to the dance, right?”
“What? Hell no.”
“But I need you! And we can dance and be sexy, and oh! Keenan broke up with Shana and could use a friendship date-”
Autumn cut her off quickly. “No way, V. I don’t do dances. I don’t do dates. Men are off the menu.”
“Fine, I’ll get you a girl date. Autumn, please?”
Veronica pouted, and it tore at Autumn deeply. As much as she trusted and cared for Veronica, the mere thought of a dance brought her back to him and from there, it was a violent plummet into depression. Things had been a little easier lately, and she wanted them to stay that way.
“Not this one. I’m sorry.”
With a sad sigh, Veronica nodded, returning to her phone. “Hmm… Oh! This one.” She held her phone out for Autumn to see.
“Very pretty, but a lot of cleavage for a first date, which is fine if you’re okay with it.”
Veronica shook her head. “No, no I have a reputation as a heartbreaker or something. I need cleavage, but not sex kitten cleavage…. Hmm… Ugh, no…. AH! This one?”
Autumn leaned over, nodding enthusiastically. “Gorgeous shade of blue, keyhole cleavage is hot… I like that one. Definitely.”
“Phew! Okay, I’ll call my mom tomorrow and get her to run it into the cleaners. It’s been in my closet long enough to smell musty.”
Autumn pulled her pajamas from beneath her pillow. “I’m so glad they let you crash here tonight. It’s hard to sleep sometimes.”
Veronica dug through her bag, seeking her own garments. “Lorraine’s pretty chill. Besides, sleepovers are awesome! You should come stay at my house one weekend. My mom won’t care. We can sing show tunes until the neighbours complain – and then, we sing them louder!”
Tugging on her tank top, Autumn replied, “Yeah, sometime we’ll have to.”
Sometime when there isn’t a chance in hell that he’ll find me, she added silently. There wasn’t a chance she’d risk Veronica’s safety by stepping foot near her home until she felt she could rest safely. The lies grew more difficult by the week, proportionate to their bond. They were so close now – maybe too close.
“Autumn?”
“Huh?”
“You zoned out,” Veronica informed her. “I was asking why you never go home. It’s so close for you. It’d be nice to have company on the bus.”
Autumn swallowed her fear, turning and smiling. “Oh, I will be going home more soon. My dad travels a lot for work, and my mom has always wanted to go along, but she’s one of those moms… I figured I’d stay here for a couple of months and force her to get out of town.”
Thank you, Stephenie Meyer, for that bullshit excuse!
“That’s so sweet of you! It must be nice to have both parents still together and actually happy about it.” Veronica shimmied out of her skirt, kicking it aside as she stepped into her yoga pants. “It’s just my mom and I.”
“What happened to your dad?”
Veronica shrugged. “Total mystery, kinda like that movie White Oleander? She won’t tell me much about him, says he abandoned her when the test went pink plus sign. Frankly, if he ran and left her alone at nineteen, he doesn’t deserve to know me. I wish she’d find someone, though. She lives for her career, and that’s sad.”
Autumn nodded in agreement, slipping between the sheets and gesturing to the computer. “More Paranormal State?”
“Not this close to bed. What’s new in cartoons?”
“I think they added new episodes of Dora The Explorer.”
“Ooh! Come on, vamanos! Everybody, let’s go!” Veronica sang, giggling.
“You just like it because your roommate’s named Dora,” Autumn pointed out, searching for the show.
“She hates it when I sing the song, or call her teddy bear Boots.”
Autumn shook her head in exasperation. “You’re evil.”
“You love me!”
“Not as much as Evan does!”
A pillow sailed by, narrowly missing her head. Tossing it back, Autumn paused, glancing at the clock. Almost ten-thirty. The Nikki Hour arrives soon.
“Hey, V? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, babe.”
Rolling over and placing the computer on the windowsill, she chose her words carefully. “You said once that no one expected Nikki to… that she was sad, maybe, but not like that. So… why do you think she did it?”
Veronica’s face clouded over, considering the question. “I’m not sure, really. I’ve thought about it a lot – wondering if I missed a chance to stop her, didn’t see a warning. I know she was lonely at times, and there was this guy she liked… It sounds like such a weak reason, but it was right around Valentine’s Day, and maybe… Well, maybe it was that proverbial straw and the camel. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” Autumn murmured.
“It’s so easy for people to hide a deep sort of hurt, even from those they love,” Veronica continued. “We all didn’t see it, but maybe she played things so close to the chest that we never had a chance. I can’t be mad at her for that, because it’s human nature to conceal our weak points, our vulnerable places. I’m just sad she isn’t around anymore.”
“Alive, you mean. Because she’s still around,” Autumn countered. “I really hope she doesn’t cry tonight. Maybe she could just rest, or, hell, watch Dora with us.”
Veronica nodded enthusiastically. “I vote Dora and quiet, Nikki, for the record. Whatever it is, it can wait until another night, right?”
Veronica rose and killed the main lights, the faint glow of the bathroom and the computer screen illuminating them as they watched a show made for children far younger. Perhaps that was the comfort of it, Autumn considered as Dora and Boots talked to the audience. Maybe it was a way of pretending that all of the pain and harsh truth of growing up never happened, at least for a little while. When eleven came and went without a single sob, Autumn hoped that Nikki was losing herself in happier days. By the third episode, Autumn’s weary eyes succumbed to slumber, soothed by the faint snores of her wise friend and the light, airy melodies of children’s programming…
***
BANG!
Autumn startled awake, sitting up immediately and scanning the room frantically. Veronica, too, was gasping in surprise, rubbing her eyes.
“What the hell was that?” Veronica hissed.
“I don’t know!” Autumn whispered.
By the red-tinted hue of the computer’s glare, nothing seemed amiss in the bedroom: all chairs and desks were where they belonged; neither of them had rolled out of bed; and the ceiling was intact above them. That only left…
“The bathroom?” Veronica asked.
“You look.”
“Your room.”
“Both?”
Veronica nodded nervously, slipping out of bed and reaching for Autumn’s hand. With a hard swallow, she walked slowly with her friend to the glowing doorway, afraid of what might lie there. Maybe it was upstairs,
Autumn reasoned. Nothing’s ever happened in there before.
Peering around the door, Autumn was relieved to find everything as she’d left it before. Releasing a breath she’d not noticed she was holding, she shook her head, admonishing herself.
“Probably someone screwing upstairs on the floor,” Veronica quipped. “Let’s sleep.”
And yet, even though there was nothing to see, Autumn slept fitfully, troubled by the sense that, whatever the cause, the noise was definitely in her room – and definitely not a good omen.
FOURTEEN
Oakville; October 18th, 2011
“… and I have a short story due Friday for midterm.”
“That sounds crazy! Are you sure it’s not too much?”
Autumn shook her head at her cell phone, smiling. “No, Mom, it’s fine. I think I finally have trigonometry down, so I won’t be flunking Math, and tests suck, but that’s school, right?”
“They work you guys too hard these days. I think teachers are just lazier now,” her mother grumbled.
Autumn laughed loudly. “Uh, Mom? You’re a teacher.”
Autumn could hear her mother’s eyes roll over the line. “Yeah, but I’m a music teacher. Excessive hours of practice is a given, and has been since the dawn of time. I can’t remember ever having 60 problems to complete in a single day for a math class, even in University.”
“How’s Dad?”
“Oh, he’s fine. There was a huge skimming thing in Alberta, so he’s out at the Calgary office for the rest of the week. The joys of bank fraud!”
Autumn sighed. “You’re eating non-stop take-out, aren’t you?”
“Well, why cook and fuss? It’s just me here now.”
“Pandora would love a little filet mignon. Cook for her, too,” Autumn joked.
“Oh hush! I’m the parent here! How’s Veronica doing?”
Autumn’s eyes drifted to her digital picture frame just in time to catch the photo of herself and Veronica on her birthday. “She’s freaking out over the musical. It opens in a few weeks. She’s amazing in rehearsals, but she insists she’s off, or thinks her inflections suck.”
“So she’s as irrational as you are about your writing?” her mother teased.
“No, because she’s gifted, and I am not,” Autumn grumbled, staring at the empty pages awaiting her.
She could imagine her mother's exasperated look as she spoke. “Autumn, as impractical as being an author is, if anyone can make it, you will. You’re just as gifted.”
Autumn sighed, eyes drifting to the setting sun beyond her window. “I’m in a total block right now. Speaking of, I should probably go and get this midterm story started. I’ll call on the weekend.”
“Okay, sweetie. Don’t stress too much, okay?”
“I won’t, Mom.”
“And hey, we’re well on our way to the ninety day deadline. Pandora can’t wait, and neither can I. Love you lots.”
“Love you too, Mom. Give Pan lots of kisses for me.”
Goodbyes exchanged, Autumn hung up, groaning in frustration. For reasons unknown, absolutely nothing was coming to her for her Creative Writing midterm. Maybe it was the lack of defined parameters – it was entirely free choice, with a 3000-6000 word range – or perhaps pure bad luck. Either way, Autumn had spent an hour staring haplessly at her notebook before calling her mother as a diversion.
“Think, Autumn,” she snapped aloud. “Pick something, anything, and go with it.”
Her notebook and pen seemed to be mocking her.
Music wasn’t working. Nothing from her “idea pile” was coming to life. It was already past eight and she had nothing to show for it, save a headache brewing within her temples.
Maybe I should write of a student driven mad by a ghost in her dorm, who finally decides to jump from her window and be a ghost, too! Autumn thought bitterly. I bet Emma will have a blast analyzing that one.
The air in the room hung thick, cloying on her tongue. There was no peace, no room to breathe here these days. Nikki’s crying fits had grown sporadic, something that only worsened the sense of eggshells cracking beneath her bare feet. The not knowing was hell.
You could always go write in the Media Studies building.
Ah, yes: the other ghost haunting her days and nights at Casteel. Ever since their escape via the tunnels and subsequent banter, Autumn had been avoiding her prime refuge and, more importantly, Andrew Daniels. It was part of her re-establishment of Operation Wallflower – and it sucked, tremendously.
“Argh!”
Desperate times called for desperate measures, as the cliché went, and a midterm short story crisis definitely qualified. Besides, Autumn told herself, shoving her book into her purse, you might not even see him.
A devilish voice added, Like seeing him again would be such a bad thing!
“I’m losing it. I’m truly flying over a nest belonging to a Mr. Cuckoo,” Autumn mumbled.
The trek to Media Studies was bitterly cold. The weather had snapped frigid, as was Canadian tradition, after several balmy days. Drawing her sweater tighter around her frame, Autumn slipped in through the atrium entrance, jogging lightly up to the second floor couches where she felt most at home. Mercifully, they were vacant, and she immediately sprawled out, tucking her iPod onto her lap and queuing up her playlist of the week.
Calm rolled over her body immediately. Home. The Muse would be here soon; she simply had to clear her mind and wait for inspiration.
Pressing her body into the cool leather of the seats, her eyes closed gently and her breathing slowed. In her ears, Lana Del Rey sang of video games and beer, and her mind unwittingly drifted to Andrew, to his blue eyes and flushed cheeks. He had no obligation to bail her out that night, yet he’d led her to safety. Plus, he was as quick to make a pun as she was, an admirable talent to be sure.
Would it kill you to make another friend? Autumn immediately answered herself: Maybe. Maybe it would kill him.
Her iPod shuffled up another track and to her disbelief, of 583 possibilities, it chose Elton John next. Specifically, it chose the song she’d once noticed Andrew singing.
Coincidence was the refuge of those living in denial. The universe was trying to tell her something.
Elton sang softly of princesses and electric chairs, and Autumn rose to her feet in frustration. Maybe she should go talk to the poor guy, at least. To ignore him was rude, even for a wallflower.
Her purse slung over her shoulder, she rounded the corner to the far right corridor. Just a quick hello, and then back to my story, she decided. This’ll only distract me from writing until I do. Her hand hovered before his suite, as he’d called it, trembling slightly as her heart pulsed in her ears. She willed herself to just knock already and get it over with, silently negotiating a count of five and action.
At three the door flew open, sending her stumbling back into the opposing wall.
“Autumn! Jesus, you scared me!” Andrew exclaimed, startling backwards.
“Technically you opened the door and thus, you scared me,” Autumn rebutted.
Andrew smiled, waving a coffee cup at her. “I was just heading downstairs to the vending machine. Want one?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” she replied softly.
“Hot chocolate, then. Make yourself comfortable!”
He was gone before she could form her lips into words of protest, his pockets jangling with change as he jogged down the main stairwell that spilled into the foyer. Nervously, she slipped into his suite and tugged hard at her hair in confusion. It was as if he expected her – no, more than that, had expected her as a matter of custom, of routine. Like old friends.
There was that bloody word again, dead set on ruining all of her best-for-everyone laid plans, which had, were she honest, long gone awry.
Studying the room, Autumn quickly determined that Andrew was actively editing footage tonight, although the paused image of dusk and trees gave her little to go on. A large backpack balanced haphazardly acros
s an office chair, papers spilling over the edge and threatening to abandon their leather ship for the hardwood below. Her head tilted to read them but the messy scrawl was even worse than her doctor’s pseudo-hieroglyphics.
“You know the building’s off limits after nine for those not in Film or Drama, right?”
Autumn spun around, surprised. Andrew was grinning, his left hand outstretched with a paper cup. She accepted it gingerly, the scent of chocolate wafted immediately to her nostrils.
“I kinda knew that,” she admitted.
“No worries, you’re helping me with my film. Gretchen will totally cover for you,” Andrew continued, settling into the captain’s chair at the editing station and sipping his coffee. “It’s not Starbucks, but it does the job.”
“I’m sorry, but who’s Gretchen?”
Andrew nodded. “Right, you’re new. Gretchen’s my Film teacher. Super awesome, blonde, wears a lot of black and red. She’s kinda like a very cool mom figure.”
Autumn mulled this over, sipping at her own drink. It was astonishingly good hot chocolate for a vending machine. Casteel obviously spared no expense. Well, except when it came to maintenance on service tunnels.
“Thank you, by the way,” she said quietly, lifting the cup in acknowledgement.
“No big deal. Consider it a bribe for your company. I’m totally screwed this week.”
“Why’s that?”
Andrew sighed, tilting back in his chair as he stared at the ceiling. “I have a rough edit due Saturday of the first five minutes of my film, and I just can’t bring the footage together properly. I have amazing shots to work with but I haven’t settled on the order within the entire thirty minutes, so I can’t even start with the five minutes. And then, there’s the music issue.”
All anxiety and qualms flew immediately out the window. “Music issue?”
Andrew gestured to the screen. “I have some scoring done, courtesy of a friend, but I want an opening and closing montage set to a song that sort of captures the message of the film. But finding the right song has been just… “
“Frustrating?” Autumn offered.
“I would say fucking tedious and exasperating, but that’ll do!”
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