by Deb Loughead
Whatever it is, if there’s ever been a better time to ask him to the Sadie Hawkins, this is it. And I decide that I will, as soon as we get off the bus.
When the bus rumbles to a stop back in our own neighbourhood, we’re still holding hands. It roars off and leaves us standing on the corner in the same intersection where I knocked him flying with my backpack.
Now, I tell myself, but before I can speak, he grabs hold of my other hand. Then he gazes straight into my face: no shifty, blinking eyes.
“Look, Clem, this is probably a lame thing to do after what just happened with Kit’s mom. I mean, it’s like I’m totally milking a brutal situation. But I was wondering if you … if you haven’t asked anyone yet, if maybe you’d …”
“Yes, I will. Definitely a yes.”
“But you don’t even know what I was —”
“Yes, I’ll go to the Sadie Hawkins with you Saturday. Or should I say, will you come with me? I mean, that’s how it’s supposed to work, right?”
Jake’s serious face dissolves into a smile. “Whew, I was thinking about it for the whole bus ride, so scared you’d say no.”
“Great minds think alike,” I say. “And the thing is, I was sure someone would have asked you already.”
“Someone did.” He grins. “A couple of girls, actually. I said no because I was waiting for you. And I seriously hoped that you hadn’t already asked someone yourself.”
When his fingertips brush my cheek, that’s it. I’m instantly smitten. Jake was waiting for me!
But I need to tell him what happened with Ellie today. I can’t put it off any longer. We have to be totally honest with each other now.
“Jake, something else happened today. Something that could raise the stakes.” I hold both of his hands in mine. “Just listen, and let me finish, okay?”
He listens, and he doesn’t even move as the news about Ellie’s threat sinks in. Then he clenches his jaws and his nostrils flare like a furious bull’s.
“It was her. She’s the one who started that fight rumour.”
“Yeah, I think so, Jake. But I promise you, somehow we’re going to figure out why.”
“Sure hope you’re right,” he says as a hint of calmness settles over his taut features.
We set off slowly for home, making new plans along the way. First, we want to find a measure of closure for ourselves. To say our own apologies and goodbyes to Kit.
Second, we need to try and figure out who else might know more about what happened to Kit at the field party. We need to beat Ms. Stitski at her blame game. Because as much as we feel sorry for her, she seems more than eager to find someone else to point the finger at for her son’s awful death. Prime suspect in her eyes being Spencer — thanks to Ellie.
His name needs clearing whether I like him or not. I’ve actually reached the point of feeling sorry for him — how can someone so young get so messed up? He must have plenty of his own crappy issues to deal with. And maybe if we figure out what really happened to Kit, we can take our information to the police and get Spencer off Ms. Stitski’s hit list. That’s third. Figure out what Ellie knows, and why she’s trying to frame Spencer.
I’m not sure we accomplished what we set out to do on our visit to the Stitskis’ place, but one thing is undeniable. We’re getting closer to a measure of closure. It already seems as if a heaviness has lifted just by spending some time with Kit’s family. Because as much as Kit’s mom is still looking for answers, just meeting with her has answered a few questions for Jake and me. She is not about to let this thing go. And maybe Kevin provided a missing piece of the puzzle for us, just by admitting that she won’t stop blaming herself. Maybe that’s why she’s so determined to blame someone else for what went wrong that night.
The best thing about the whole experience is that I think I made Kevin happy by offering to help him out with science. At least I got past the Keeper of the Castle, and managed to earn his trust. Oh, and the dance, going with Jake. Best part of the whole year so far!
At dinner that evening, I explain to Mom, Dad, and Zach about what happened when we visited Kit’s mom. I tell them about how Jake and I decided we should meet with Kit’s family once and for all, because we’ve never really had a chance to talk to them, and to tell them how well we knew Kit. And how much we appreciated his sweet nature. I also describe the heavy sadness that lingers in their beautiful home, especially with pictures of Kit everywhere we looked. And how I offered to help Kevin with his studies. They listen in dismay to every word.
“That took a lot of nerve, honey,” Mom says when I’m done. “And it’s very helpful to me, too. At least we know why Ms. Stitski won’t answer her phone. Maybe we should send a social worker to the door at some point, in case she’d like to talk.”
“I guess, if you need to try something. But Kevin stands guard at that house. So good luck to anyone who tries to get inside.” I smile at the memory.
Zach is trying not to scowl. “Will you still help me with science and math?” Figures my brother would worry about something like that. I nod to reassure him.
Dad is still staring at me and smiling wide. “I’m proud of you, Clems. That was a very good thing you did today.”
It’s bittersweet, the thought of it, just remembering that Jake and I had gone there seeking clues, only to leave with a better understanding of how grief is affecting Kit’s family. “I’ll tell you one thing for sure, Dad. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”
When I turn my phone back on after the family non-line time, there’s still nothing from Ellie. I must still make her “absolutely sick.”
Knowing Ellie, and how sketchy she’s been acting lately, I’m certain she has something nasty up her sleeve as payback. Her threat to expose Spencer might be part of her plan, but that’s getting pretty worn out now, since there’s no actual proof that he did anything. So, what if she decides to throw me under the bus, as some twisted sense of revenge?
That story about her mom smacking her is still eating at me. I couldn’t ever imagine my mom being furious enough to slap me that way. But then again, my family hasn’t been through what the Denton family has. Ellie’s mom is dealing with a major personal struggle. And having a daughter like Ellie, well, it has to be a huge challenge. Especially with the way she’s been acting lately. That’s not a reason to hit her, because there’s never a good enough reason for doing something so awful. But if it’s true, maybe Ellie should tell someone. And if it’s not, then who is she protecting? God, she’s been so unreliable lately that it’s too confusing to even think about.
I hear from Jake, though, which makes for a perfect distraction. His message is waiting as soon as my screen lights up.
Back online yet? he asks.
Yup. You still there?
Yup, So we still doing this thing tomorrow after school?
My stomach flips at the thought. We have to. To start finding some closure, like we said. Don’t forget to bring a candle. Doesn’t matter if it isn’t dark out. It’s symbolic.
It’s already in my backpack, he tells me. And matches ☺
We text about other stuff for a while after, and we plan our costumes for the Sadie Hawkins, since it’s a masquerade. We figure we should go as some sort of superhero team, but haven’t figured it out yet. Then I sign off for the night. I still have homework to do, and it’s getting late.
It’s hard not to stay fixated on Jake, though.
Is it the uneasy bond we share that prompted him to grab my hand today? To invite me to the Sadie Hawkins? If he feels anything stronger for me, I haven’t really picked up on it too much yet. But the fact that he turned down other girls because he was waiting for me is a very good sign! At least we have the dance to look forward to.
Because of our decision to try and reach some state of peace ourselves, just like Ms. Stitski and Kevin are doing, we’ve d
ecided to hold our own, private, candlelit memorial at the quarry tomorrow after school to say a proper goodbye to Kit. How will I be able to focus on anything else until then?
But focus I must. I have no choice. First, there’s a pop quiz in health, ugh.
Then there’s an announcement from Ms. Raven in theatre arts class. She wants us to produce a revue by the middle of next month. She knows we all have our phones on us, and she often lets us use them as a means of instant research. As soon as she says the word “revue,” she tells us to search the meaning. We all do it. Then groans all around!
She points at me. “Read it out loud, Clementine.”
“A light theatrical entertainment consisting of short sketches, songs, and dances,” I read.
Again, loud groans.
Ms. Raven smiles at all of us. We’re spread around the stage floor, where we always start class with strange drama exercises, like floating in bubbles, or pretending we’re some sort of mythical animals. Even now Ms. Raven tiptoes around, weaving between us, almost as if she’s doing ballet. She’s truly the picture of grace.
“Some of you excel at singing, others at dance. Others still prefer to act. I want you to pool your talents. Break up into groups, depending on your specialties, and put something together. It only has to be brief. But first you need to decide on a theme. And you have to figure out a democratic way to choose it, too.”
I glance toward Ellie, for about the tenth time since drama class started. She still won’t look my way, and she’s sitting as far away as possible across the stage. She’s being very quiet. Her split lip has settled down; it looks like nothing more than a crack now. Aubrey, on the other hand, is squirming madly beside me.
“This is so cool. I totally love singing and dancing.”
I can only sigh. I wish I could feel excited about it, too. But the messed-up part of my life is undermining the good stuff. Like I don’t have enough to stress out about already. Now this.
We listen as Ms. Raven explains the rules for choosing a revue theme. By next week, anyone who comes up with an idea has to present it. Then we’ll all vote and take it from there.
My cluttered mind can’t possibly inspire me with a half-decent idea before then. But what a relief that I can leave the thinking to somebody else. All I have to do is vote on the theme I like best. At least one thing is going my way for a change.
It helps make up for being obsessed with visiting the quarry after school. During every class, as each teacher drones on, my mind won’t stop straying to that desolate spot where Kit died. And the candle in my backpack, waiting to be lit.
“Why do I feel like I’m going to a funeral?” Jake says beside me.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. We are, sort of, aren’t we? This’ll be tough.”
We’ve just gotten off the bus on the other side of town, the closest stop to the quarry. We still have to walk about ten minutes. The last time I was here, I was riding my bike through the balmy late-night darkness in the opposite direction, away from the quarry. I’d left Ellie behind, already wrapped around Mac, so thrilled that he’d finally noticed her after a couple of years of crushing on him, and I was sure she’d never even notice I was gone.
That night I felt completely abandoned by her and resentful because Jake didn’t speak to me the entire time. Basically, I was feeling sorry for myself. As I’d madly pedalled, I contrived my lie for my parents, about feeling sick at Ellie’s place and riding my bike home from there. I was starting to build a whole mountain of lies, and already feeling crappy about it. The last person on my mind was Kit.
What a difference four months can make. I haven’t stopped thinking of him since.
Jake and I pause at the end of the rutted gravel pathway leading to the party spot. The area is flat and weedy, with stunted trees and bushes. It’s surrounded by mounds of broken rock and larger ridges of earth, where small avalanches of dirt and gravel have broken loose.
This quarry has been abandoned for as long as I can remember. Under a cloudy, late-October sky, with nothing but the sound of distant traffic and the forlorn cawing of crows, I can’t help but shudder. It’s almost worse than being in his house, because that was the place where he lived. And this? Well, this is the place where he died.
“Let’s just get it over with,” I say, then start to walk in the direction of the last spot I ever saw Kit alive, not far from the quarry’s edge.
Jake is right beside me. Everything looks different in the daylight. Empty and desolate without the blaring music and dancing flames, the whoops and shrieks, and the swarm of writhing bodies. Broken bottles and crushed cans still litter the charred remains of the bonfire. I can barely even glance at it without seeing Kit’s face in the firelight’s flickering shadows.
I remember his distress because he had to go to the washroom. Then the back of him disappearing into a clump of trees. Too close to the place where the quarry dropped off. Then me looking back toward Jake, hoping he might notice me for a change. Forgetting about Kit instead of looking out for him.
I stop and clench my fists.
“I was so stupid that night.” I sob as a couple of un-invited tears squeeze out.
Jake slides his arm around my shoulder and tries to pull me toward his chest. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself, Clems.”
I shake myself free and keep on walking. If he only knew how stupid I was, how stuck I was on keeping my eyes on him, and totally forgetting about Kit, he wouldn’t even want to touch me. We stop at the edge of the quarry. It isn’t so steep a drop, but the rock ledge is crumbly, and if you lost your footing in the dark, you could slide down into watery oblivion. If you bashed your head on the way down, and the water swallowed you up …
“Let’s go down there,” Jake says, and I turn to stare at him.
“Seriously? I’m not even sure I can do that.”
“We have to. We should get close to the last place he ever breathed before we light our candles.” Jake grabs my hand. “Come on. We’ll go down backwards, slowly.”
He crouches at the edge, then turns around and starts climbing in a sort of backwards crab walk down the side of the quarry. The hump of his backpack looks like the crab shell. When I tell him that, he looks up at me and smirks. Then he tells me to start climbing. So, I do it.
It’s slow going, especially whenever the rock crumbles away under my feet. So rough and jagged, and hard on the hands. Plants sprout from the quarry wall, and I try to grab hold. Sometimes they come away in my hands, and I slip. I can only imagine Kit’s reckless tumble into the water below that night, the shock and pain. I try not to think about that, or to look down on the way to the bottom.
“Careful,” Jake says from below me. “There’s a tricky spot right —”
And then my foot slips, and I slide down on my belly for about a metre. My shirt slides up, and the rock scrapes at my stomach and tries to bite through my jeans. Wincing, I grope frantically for something to grip. I finally grab a random root and hang on tightly.
“Clems! You okay?”
“Ow, ow, ow,” I say through my teeth. “I think so.”
When I dare to glance over my shoulder, I realize that I’m not even two metres from the bottom, where Jake waits on a narrow ledge beside the deep pool of water. The place where Kit died. Then I look back at my handhold, a clump of twisted roots sticking out from the rock face like a helpful hand. Something else besides my hand is tangled up in it. I snatch it, and lower myself carefully to the spot where Jake is. Then I look at what I’m holding.
A broken wristwatch.
11
I hold the watch out, and Jake takes it carefully in his hand.
“A wristwatch? That’s bizarre.”
“Yeah, and it looks a lot like one Ellie wears. She likes it because of the glittering gemstones and coloured beads on the strap. Says it goes with everything she owns. Too bad about the cr
acked crystal on the face.”
“So, what’s it doing way down here?”
“No clue.” When he hands it back, I tuck it into my pocket. “Maybe I can get it fixed or something.” I lift my shirt and peek at my belly. The raw scrape oozes tiny droplets of blood. When Jake sees, he grimaces.
“Ouch,” he says, and I shrug.
There’s a sound like the scrabbling of shoes on rock, then a shower of crumbled stone bounces off the rock face like a mini-landslide. I look straight up in time to see the back of someone turning away, stepping quickly out of sight. Someone who arrived at the top as we were climbing down? Someone who was watching and listening?
“Hey! Did you see that? Someone was just up there.”
“Didn’t see anyone, Clem. Just the landslide.” I’m left wondering if I imagined the whole thing, but then we both hear an engine rev in the distance, and tires spinning on gravel.
“Who was that?” I ask. “Did somebody follow us here?”
“Nobody even knew we were coming here. Weird. Maybe someone else was feeling as lame as us, and came back to have a look?”
“Maybe. But why would they try so hard to avoid being seen? This place is totally creeping me out. Let’s just do this and get out of here fast.”
Standing beside the tranquil pool of dark water, we light our candles. Then suddenly the sun peeks out from a tear in the clouds, and a robin begins to warble, and it’s almost possible to imagine Kit’s spirit there watching us.
As I gaze out at the water, I wonder if he can see us. I hope so. Maybe he’s looking for closure himself. Spirits in horror movies always seem to haunt the places of their tragic deaths, but I can’t imagine Kit being vengeful.
What time is it, Clementine? Kit’s voice, or only wind in the branches? I remind myself that this is real life, as goose bumps prickle on the back of my neck.