Deadgirl

by B. C. Johnson

  “This isn’t an argument,” Dad said.

  “No stun-gun, no party, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then no party. I won’t go.”

  Dad laughed.

  “All right, I didn’t expect that,” Dad said. “But you still have to carry the thing.”

  I groaned. It was actually the answer I expected—I’d much rather go to the party anyway, even if I had to carry it. Mostly I was just calling his bluff.

  “Then I’m going,” I said, quickly.

  “I figured,” Dad said.

  “But I’m not—”

  “Take the damn stun gun, baby,” Mom said and sat down next to me. “Keep it in your purse, no one will see it. Just…stop arguing.”

  I groaned and scooped up the stun gun. Before I could put it into my purse, Dad stopped me.

  “Wait,” he said. “Push the trigger.”

  “Dad—”

  “I want to make sure you know how to use it,” Dad said. “Push the trigger.”

  It wasn’t hard to find. The button nuzzled my index finger when I grabbed the stun gun. I touched it, and a little blue arc zapped between the metal fangs. It made a horrific clacking noise, and I nearly dropped it.

  “Upper shoulder, under the ribs, or above the hip. Got it?”

  I rolled my eyes again and dropped it into my purse.

  “I gotta go shower,” I said. “The girls will be over soon.”

  Dad nodded and waved me away. I ran up the stairs to get ready.

  As I showered, I let my mind wander.

  I’d left school early after my disastrous kiss with Zack—I didn’t even want to think what would have happened if I’d let the kiss go on any longer. Would it be possible to hold my breath? Was it even air I was breathing?

  I wasn’t exactly able to go home without incurring parental wrath. I’d hung around the Orient Express take-out, because I was both hoping to run into Puck again and I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. By the time school ended I trotted back over and intercepted Morgan.

  I deflected most of her queries about my truancy, just explaining that Ms. Crane had asked a few questions I wasn’t happy with and I’d bailed. Morgan frowned at that—I had promised to explain to her the reason I’d fled to her house in the middle of the night, something I’d yet to do, and I think the continued secrecy was digging at her. Still, she listened, unhappily, when I told her to keep the information from my mom. As far as she was concerned, I was at school all day.

  I’d gotten home and been ambushed by my father. He demanded phone numbers for Benny’s house, his parents, his neighbors, his distant relatives, his ancestors, his pool boy, etc. I’d provided them all, and after a short discussion with Benny’s parents—who were in actuality Benny himself and Daphne on a three-way-call—Dad agreed to let me go.

  By the time I left the shower, Daphne, Sara, and Wanda were already lounging around my room. Daphne lay across my bed, her head hanging off of the side facing me, and she was staring at me upside-down with her purple-black hair streaking across it like surreal streamers. She stuck her tongue out when I walked out of the bathroom. Sara sat in the window sill, and Wanda held her cheeks in her hands at my desk, staring at the wall.

  “Ladies,” I said, and began collecting garments.

  “Hey, Lucy,” Daphne said, and rolled around right-side up. She made a face and clutched her forehead. “Whoa. Brain rush.”

  “Don’t you need a brain—” Sara began.

  “—for that to work. Ha-effing-ha,” Daphne interrupted. “Your jokes are pedestrian and cheap.”

  “So—” Sara began.

  “—is my mom,” Daphne laughed. “Try again.”

  Sara flashed her teeth at Daphne, threw her arms across her chest, and stared out the window. Daphne flashed me a victorious look, hopped off the bed, and cleaved to my side.

  “So…did your dad buy it?”

  Daphne grinned and waggled her eyebrows at me and threw her hair up into a quick faux ponytail—I imagine it was her attempt at miming mom-hair.

  “How did I do?” she asked, inexplicably, with a British accent.

  “You…didn’t use the accent did you?”

  Daphne’s sour look answered that question.

  “Well, Dad believed you were Benny’s mom,” I said. I couldn’t disguise the lilt of shame in my voice. “So I guess it worked.”

  Daphne was, as usual, more perceptive then I gave her credit for. “Unhappy, babe?”

  “Just worried.”

  Sara, from the windowsill, grunted.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I think you should be worried,” Sara said. “I think you’re taking advantage of your dad, who’s just scared and wanting to make you happy.”

  “What?” I said again, because I agreed with her and wanted to hear her take on it.

  “Morgan agrees with me,” Sara said. Both Wanda and Daphne flashed her dirty looks. “But that’s it. I agreed not to say anything else.”

  Daphne let out a sigh that sounded like a zeppelin deflating. She hooked her arm in mine and led me over to the closet. Her quick hands swept through my hangers, dresses, and blouses with a keen eye and a familiarity of my wardrobe that I didn’t like. She removed a red pin-striped pencil skirt from the tangle and spun it on its hanger.

  “No,” I said. Without comment she raised an eyebrow but slid it back into the closet. She began rummaging again.

  “How do I look?” Sara asked, her parental tone either invisible or held well in check. She spun and popped a hand on her hip for good measure.

  “Terrible,” Daphne said, with an annoyed tone and without looking. She remained shoulder-deep in my closet.

  “You look great,” I said, but I wasn’t paying attention. It looked like a designer jeans, fluffy black top outfit of the style that Sara usually whipped out for special occasions. She pulled the look off well.

  Daphne came out with a pink tulip skirt. I made the vomit face, and she tossed it back in.

  Wanda slumped even further into whatever misery-induced coma she was gunning for. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but with the animosity shooting in sparks between Daphne and Sara, it didn’t feel like the right environment. Wanda was fragile as it was—pushing it any further, in semi-public, might make her shatter.

  Sara wouldn’t stop looking at me. She looked worried, pissed, and confused. The kind of combo you might imagine on a friend looking out for your safety and also hoping you don’t ruin their good time.

  “I don’t think anything is gonna happen,” Daphne said, reading either Sara's thoughts or my own.

  Daphne emerged from the closet with a cute black A-line skirt with lace trim and a deep purple scoop-neck blouse hanging from separate hangers. I raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  She turned a box over with her foot, and my smoke-gray wedges poured out and tumbled to the carpet. Sara laughed, a single bark that she couldn’t contain despite her tiff with Daphne, and Wanda said, “Wow.” I gave the suggested ensemble a once-over, nodded, and bowed deeply.

  “Your ability to zero in on taste is second to none, Daph.”

  Daphne grinned. “You’re welcome.”

  When we were all dressed, ready, made-up, and sure that the twenty minutes Zack and Benny waited outside was sufficient, we all headed down in a gaggle. I noticed Wanda typing into her phone diligently for the better part of the prep-time, and she tucked it away with a sharp, annoyed gesture when we left my room.

  I wasn’t surprised to see my dad waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The look he gave me could only be described as crestfallen. I flashed him a sympathetic smile and touched his arm as I passed. Much to my surprise, he locked his fingers around my wrist and stopped me dead in my tracks. I glanced up at Wanda, Daph, and Sara, and cocked my head toward the door.

  “I’ll…be there in a sec,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

  “Okay,” Daphne said, too cheerfully. “We’re gone in five.”
/>   I growled but said nothing.

  “Luce?”

  I glanced up at Dad.

  “I thought it was—”

  “It is,” Dad said, and took in a deep breath. “I want to meet Zack.”

  Blood…draining from face. Skin pale, breath sharp. Fast. Heart setting off firecrackers in my chest. Taste of batteries. Wet hands.

  “Dad—”

  “No, Luce,” he said. “This is my thing. Let me have it.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not asking,” Dad said. “Zack in this living room or your ass upstairs.”

  He said it with that same pleasant, let’s-work-together tone. My fingers were sore from curling into fists. It felt like my hands were being stretched from the inside.

  “Fine,” I said. “Three minutes, tops.”

  He had something up his sleeve, and something I wasn’t going to be happy about. I took a deep breath, left the house, and jogged out to Benny’s minivan.

  The girls were already inside, buckled in, and laughing to each other. Zack was in the passenger seat, and I rapped my knuckle on his window. I took three deep breaths, thinking of the parking lot today. Thinking of him kissing me. Then thinking of me running away like a drama-mama freak.

  “Yes, Madame?” Zack asked, the top of the window whizzing past his face. He didn’t seem upset. Allow me to fix that.

  “You have to come inside.”

  I gave him a look. Zack didn’t even try to hide his smirk. He unfolded from the cramped seat, shoved the door open, and hopped down into the damp grass. Zack smoothed his clothes and hair, an unnecessary move—he looked great. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, faded-but-stylish blue jeans, and a pair of brown shoes.

  I took a deep breath, desperate to negate a powerful need to up-chuck. Zack laid his hand across my back, his palm hot against the thin cloth of my shirt. I shivered.

  He led me to the stoop like I didn’t know the way. I stared at him, but his sideways smirk didn’t shake. The door opened, and I nearly jumped out of my stylish yet comfortable wedges.

  Dad leaned against the door frame, bouncing a stare down off of Zack’s implacable features.

  Unfazed, Zack stuck his big hand out and flashed a dazzling smile.

  “My name is Zack, Mr. Day,” he said. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

  “You, too, Zack,” Dad said, and shook his hand. “Happy birthday by the way…”

  My dad let the sentence fade and his last breath hang. It was a trick, and I sucked in a little tight breath. I tried to look at Zack without looking at Zack. Not easy, let me tell you.

  “Oh no, sir,” Zack said. “It’s not my birthday.”

  “Oh, right,” Dad said. “Benny’s?”

  “Yup,” Zack said. “My best friend. He’s a good guy, Mr. Day.”

  Zack was smoother than a gravy sandwich. The thought made my stomach jolt—just how many girls’ fathers had he schmoozed into complacence?

  “I’m sure, but—”

  Zack took a deep breath and held out one hand. I saw my dad inflate at the interruption, but Zack barreled through anyway. I had to say, I was impressed. Terrified, but impressed.

  “Mr. Day,” Zack said. “I promise to take care of your daughter. Where she goes, I go. She doesn’t leave my sight unless she’s in the bathroom, and even then I’ll demand she never stop whistling. I searched for Lucy for six hours when she disappeared, and I would have looked for sixty. She might end up hating me, but she won’t be in danger. That I promise.”

  I slipped my hand slowly over my mouth during his words, trying to fight an urge to either sob uncontrollably or leap at him and kiss him so hard his shoes would turn to dust.

  Dad inflated even more—I half-expected his eyes to turn red—and took a step forward.

  Zack and Dad stared at each other, and after a long beat, Dad nodded.

  “Home at 10:30,” Dad said to me. “Got it?”

  Zack flashed me a liar look and crossed his arms. I’d told him 11:30, and he didn’t look joyous about the deception.

  “You bet,” I said, and smiled wide. “See ya, Daddy!”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Day,” Zack said, and shook hands with my dad again.

  Dad looked suspicious but oddly comforted. Zack touched his hand to my lower back again, a feeling I was definitely not getting tired of, and lead me back to Benny’s car.

  The reception was inevitable. As soon as we both got in the car, a chorus of “oooooohs” and “oh yeahs” erupted through the little minivan. I slugged Sara in the arm as hard as I could, not that it mattered. She was solid muscle, and I think I bruised my knuckles.

  Benny glanced back at us from the driver’s seat, and Daphne leaned forward to smash her hand against the back of his headrest.

  “Hiyo, Silver, away!”

  We pulled up to Benny’s and flooded out of the car. Benny and Zack had been engaged in a near-violent discussion of music choice, and as soon as Benny stopped the van in front his house the two of them threw their doors open and power-walked up the front steps, arms waving wildly. Benny was positive that only ’80s punk rock would do, while Zack argued for a more varied palette. The girls and I exchanged amused looks and followed them up.

  The house was nice—I’d never been there before, but it was clear evidence of an upper-middle class upbringing. The stereo, currently eclipsed by Zack and Benny’s gesticulating forms, could have been in a professional nightclub. Speakers on stands were arranged at key locations around the living room. Lamps lit the spacious house at the moment, but I spotted a number of theatrical-looking lights scattered around, none of them on. Oh. A disco ball. I laughed and pointed it out to Daphne, Wanda, and Sara, who all groaned in unison. Benny let out a short, sharp bark at our reaction but otherwise kept to his music collection.

  We all made sure to locate the bathroom, the door to the backyard—which, just from our quick scan, looked like the Secret Garden of Eden—and the kitchen. When we floated into the dining room, I heard Wanda gasp.

  For good reason. The entire white-tile kitchen island bristled with bottles of booze. Not an ounce of spare counter-top shown between the Jack Daniels and the Malibu and a dozen more brands just like them. A stack of red cups I could have made into a second house stood proudly on the kitchen table, next to two-liter bottles of Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, and a prolific plastic serving bowl overflowing with what looked like Cool Ranch Doritos.

  “Holy crap,” Sara said.

  “I’m home,” Daphne said, and had a red cup filled with Captain and Coke before anyone else even left the doorway.

  Wanda grabbed me by the arm and tugged me toward a corner. Sara and Daphne didn’t seem to notice, and were perusing the selection of alcohol like old pros. I’d only ever drank once, at a party last year, and I’d only ended up getting really tired and falling asleep in Morgan’s bed fully clothed. Not terribly exciting, I admit.

  “That’s alcohol,” Wanda hissed.

  I couldn’t help myself. The shock turned her eyes into beach balls, and her voice even trembled. I flashed her a broad sympathetic grin.

  “You don’t have to drink, Wanda,” I said, and squeezed her hand. “There’s plenty of soda.”

  “Won’t…won’t people be mad?”

  I’d be more amused by her innocence if I hadn’t worried about the same thing just a year ago.

  “No,” I said. “That only happens in after school specials, babe.”

  “I don’t know,” Wanda said, and turned away from me. Her eyes scanned the bottles of liquor like they were all little individual time bombs and someone had just handed her a pair of wire cutters. I put my hand on her shoulder and nudged her.

  “Just walk around with a red cup filled with soda and act drunk,” I said.

  She shook her head.

  “Act like you’re kind of tired but everything is funny. And occasionally just sort of stare into space,” I said. “No one will suspect.”

  Wanda twisted a lock of her hair s
o hard it made my scalp hurt.

  “Luce…”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I said, and raised two fingers. “Strike me down with great vengeance and furious anger if I’m lyin’.”

  Wanda nodded, but I wasn’t convinced. Not that I had to be—as bitchy as it sounds, she really had no alternatives. Her only other option was to ask to be taken home, which she wasn’t going to do, or have her parents come pick her up. Wanda was way too loyal to subject us all to parental doom, so that was out. I felt bad for her, and I was pretty nervous myself, but it was an adapt-or-die situation now. For both of us.

  “You’ll be okay,” I said. “Promise.”

  She nodded again, and it looked a little more confident. That’s something I suppose.

  With Daphne’s urging, and hoping it would calm my nerves, I took one of her patented Captain and Coke’s and took a sip. It tasted like CAPTAIN and Coke, and when I made a pucker-face Daphne tossed another splash of rum in there for good measure. I want to stab her in the leg sometimes, I’m gonna be honest.

  I floated back to the living room and sank into the thick plush cushions of the sofa. The drink had hit me hard, and I was in no mood to watch Daphne preen or Wanda cringe. My head felt heavy, and my eyes felt bigger than normal. I let out a deep whooshing breath and let my head cant sideways on the cushion behind me.

  I sat on the couch alone for a time, with Wanda and Daph and Sara for a while, then with Benny as the guests filtered in. Benny and Zack had been worried at first—but the party-goers came in at a trickle, then a rush, and finally a biblical flood.

  The living room, kitchen, and backyard swelled with kids. They seemed to breathe as one, causing the house to expand and creak at the joints. The music, a medley of ’90s songs, ’80s punk songs and top forty spoke to Zack’s influence on the soundtrack. I didn’t know why, but the thought of Zack winning the pointless soundtrack argument made me smile.

  I stuck to my lone drink at first, nursing it for the better part of an hour, hoping no one would notice. The drink left me fuzzy but not much else—either I didn’t possess the gumption to throw myself completely over the deep end or some background track of my brain still kept a judo-grip on an endless strung-together litany of parental warnings and cautionary tales. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I was sure it was the latter.