by Donna Cooner
Only good dreams … only good dreams … I whisper. But it doesn’t work.
“Watching a haul video is like watching your best friend open their birthday presents.” —Torrey Grey, Beautystarz15
Mrs. Vardeman, the English teacher, turns off the overhead lights and turns on the projector. She’s showing us some poem in a PowerPoint presentation. But it’s all I can do to keep my head propped up on my hand and my eyes half open.
For the last few days, my nights have been filled with skeleton nightmares and my mornings crammed full of Raylene talking and talking and talking. This morning, she talked about some guy who makes the best, blingy-est twirling outfits in town when it’s not hunting season. Then she had to pull the car over to hug Mrs. Berry, who has some new scents of Poo-Pourri on the market. Raylene is evidently a BIG hugger. That took at least five minutes, but I think I fell asleep in the passenger seat waiting for her to come back, so I don’t know exactly.
Luis is sitting in his usual seat in the back. He hasn’t spoken to me since I went to his house, which is fine by me. I glance in his direction to see him lean over and say something to the short girl who always sits next to him. She laughs out loud, showing a mouthful of braces. It makes me annoyed. Probably because I’m so tired.
Mrs. Vardeman shuts off the projector and turns the lights back on. “I thought writing your own poem about one of your classmates would be a great way to get to know each other a little better,” she announces, and there is a chorus of groans. “So pair up, interview your partner, and write a brief poem about him or her. Then I’ll ask you to use the poem to introduce your partner to the rest of us.” Mrs. Vardeman hands a stack of papers to the girl in the front row, who begins to pass them out. “Sound good?”
No, it sounds terrible.
“Can we meet with our partner after school for a little research?” Ross asks, grinning widely at Blair.
“Sounds like a great idea,” the teacher says.
Blair rolls her eyes. “Like that’s going to happen.”
“Okay, everyone, pair up. And try to find out something new about your partner that will surprise us all.” Mrs. Vardeman claps her hands together like she’s at a birthday party and just received all the presents. I scowl at her, crossing my legs and swinging a foot impatiently. I’m not happy about this forced attempt to foster classroom community.
Kids scramble to pick best friends or crushes. I look around for one last unpopular straggler without a partner. No luck. Luis is matched up with the short girl. Even Raylene has a partner. I’m left with …
Blair is standing in front of me. My swinging foot goes still. This is definitely a surprise. What happened to her besties?
“Looks like you’re my partner,” she says. Her two constant shadows, Mia and Emily, look as astonished as I am by this selection. They hover anxiously behind her, and then quickly scoot two desks over as close as possible to monitor the situation.
“I think I need to know someone who’s wearing the Steve Madden buckle boots I’ve been craving for months,” Blair adds, gesturing to my shoes.
“Okay,” I say, and she scoots a desk around to face mine. She sits down, unzips a purple backpack quickly, and pulls out a notebook and a pen. Up close, her dark skin is perfectly clear, and her eyelashes so thick and curled they almost touch the bottom of her brows. I’m thinking CoverGirl LashBlast mascara, but I don’t ask. She makes me nervous, but I can hide that. It’s definitely showtime.
“You first,” she says. “Get to know me.” It’s more of a command than a request.
I look down at the questions Mrs. Vardeman passed out for prompts. “What is your favorite food?” I start.
“Twizzlers.”
I don’t think that’s technically a food, but I write it down anyway.
I read off the next prompt. “What’s your favorite saying?”
“Is that really the question?”
I nod, looking over my shoulder. The short girl is laughing at something Luis said.
Blair thinks for a minute, twisting one strand of black hair around and around her finger. “Don’t touch my hair, phone, face, or boyfriend,” she finally says.
I blink. She’s serious. “I’ll remember that,” I say, and write it down.
“Now you,” she says, and leans forward in her chair, so close I get a whiff of Calvin Klein’s Euphoria. “Why did you move here?”
“That’s not on the list of questions,” I say.
“I’m being creative. That’s what poetry is all about.” She puts the end of the pen in her pink-glossed mouth and waits for me to respond.
“I know you haven’t had time to finish,” Mrs. Vardeman calls out, and I look toward the front of the room, “but we only have a few minutes before the bell.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Hooray for bad lesson planning.
“Anybody have anything to share about their partner before we leave for today?” Mrs. Vardeman scans the room. There are no volunteers. “Blair, how about you?” the teacher asks.
“I didn’t volunteer.”
“But I’m sure you have something wonderful to say about your partner.” Mrs. Vardeman smiles encouragingly, and Blair rolls her eyes. She stands up, holding her paper out in front of her. The page is completely blank.
“Torrey Grey’s eyes are blue,” she pretend-reads. She glances over at me and then continues, “Full of secrets hid from view.”
Her unexpected insight makes me nervous. There’s more to Blair than I first realized.
Blair sits down as Mia and Emily clap enthusiastically.
“That’s not exactly the format we talked about, but you are certainly poetic. I’m sure you’ll get the idea before Monday, when it’s due.” Mrs. Vardeman says. “And remember, everyone, next week’s quiz is on poetic structure.”
The response is a collective groan as the bell rings.
I stand and gather up my things.
“Not in the mood for running this week?” Luis asks, coming up beside me. His tone is casual but his brown eyes are intense. “I haven’t seen you on the track.”
I catch sight of Blair over his shoulder, hanging by the door with Thing One and Thing Two. Watching. I make a point of frowning.
“I’m kind of busy.” My voice is a little too loud, but I want to make sure Blair hears me. “But thanks anyway.”
“Maybe some other time,” Luis says.
I know Blair can hear everything.
“We’ll see,” I say, hoping he’ll get the picture, and grab my bag to go. I have to push through the group of girls to get out the door. “Sorry. I’m going to be late for my next class.”
“Well aren’t you just the queen of mean,” Blair says behind me.
“Hey, that rhymes. Maybe that should go in your poem,” Mia says. Emily snorts and then starts giggling. I grin. Blair may not know it yet, but I can match her every step of the way.
I’m already out in the hall and walking away, but Blair’s little rhyme pulls a trigger and, in a flash, I remember.
From the very beginning of that horrible day, we were arguing. Probably like most sisters. Zoe always fought with her older sister, too.
“You are the queen of mean,” Miranda said. I was trying to get her to hurry up eating her breakfast so we wouldn’t miss the next bus to the mall.
“Stop sorting the marshmallows and just eat the cereal,” I snapped. I was already stressed with getting everything ready for the on-site shoot. Now her dawdling was going to make me late.
There was one pile of blue moons and another of tiny pink hearts sitting out on the kitchen table beside her bowl of Lucky Charms.
“You don’t have to be in such a panic. All those stupid clothes will still be there,” Miranda said, then stuffed a handful of stars into her mouth. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, chewing. “Why do you want me to go so bad anyway?”
I promised Zoe she’d be in every shot — no behind-the-scenes supporting roles for her today — and she was thrilled.
But I didn’t want to tell Miranda my plans for her to film. Not now, when she could still refuse to go. So I tried to change the subject.
“Eat your cereal. We’re going to be late.”
If only she had slowed down just a little bit more. Maybe three more bites.
“Make me.” Miranda looked at me and grinned. She had smushed all the blue marshmallow moons from her cereal into her front teeth for effect.
“It’s not funny, stupid!”
“Torrey!” Mom called from the bedroom. “Don’t call your sister stupid.”
Miranda mocked me with a pantomimed laugh, careful to not make any actual noise that my mom might overhear.
“Miranda,” I pleaded. “Come on. The bus is going to be here any minute.”
If only we’d missed the bus.
She finally slid out of the chair and grabbed the backpack I was holding out to her. One of her black Keds was untied and she went down on one knee to tie it with excruciatingly slow movements meant to infuriate me. It was a well-honed talent and, of course, it worked.
“Get outside,” I hissed, shoving her out the door in front of me.
“Okay. Okay. Don’t push.” She swung her stained backpack up over her shoulder. “I’m going.”
The bus was rounding the curb. We were going to make it. I was relieved.
If only we had missed the bus.
When we arrived at the mall, things got worse.
“I left my book at home,” Miranda said, pawing through her battered backpack frantically. She was really into graphic novels, which were mostly just the same as comic books as far as I was concerned. I told her those kind of books were for boys. She didn’t care.
“It’s not like it’s even a real book.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the shops.
She stopped. “I’m going home.”
“The bus going back that way won’t be here for twenty minutes,” I said. “I’ll buy you another book.”
“They don’t sell that one here. It’s special. Not like your stupid earrings or eye shadows,” she snapped.
“Miranda, please,” I said. “Zoe is waiting. Come on.”
Miranda scowled and stomped off to park herself on a bench, digging through her backpack for her sketch pad.
Zoe came out a shop door with an armful of bags, wearing a purple tee and capris. She piled the purchases on the ground next to my feet, then dug around in her Coach bag for her pink flip cam. “Where’s Miranda?”
I make a shushing noise, glancing around to see if Miranda could hear. “I haven’t asked her yet,” I whisper.
“You promised.” Zoe froze with the camera in her hand.
“I know. I know. Just give me a minute.” I walked over to Miranda’s bench.
“You can just prop it up,” Miranda said, not looking up. She knew all along what I was going to ask.
“Just do it, Miranda. It’s not that difficult.”
“Is that lipstick tested on animals?” She nodded toward one of the bags on the ground at Zoe’s feet.
“How would I know?” I asked, frustrated. I should have just said no.
Miranda’s attention went back to the open art pad, and she looked up only long enough to give me a quick frown. “Then it’s not going to happen,” she said.
“You promised,” Zoe whined behind my back.
I waved an open palm at Zoe. “Don’t worry. She’ll do it. Give me a minute. Just go scope out the best lighting.” I turned back to my sister. “Miranda …” I pleaded with her, getting angrier and angrier that I had to beg.
This time she didn’t even look up at all. “Busy. Don’t care. Not doing it.”
“Please,” I said, between clenched teeth. I glanced over at Zoe, who was already filming some of the background shots.
“Do you know you can support a bonobo for one year on what that one bag of makeup costs?” Miranda said, standing up.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I said.
“You should,” my sister said, in that oh-so-judgmental twelve-year-old voice.
I had hit my limit. I grabbed Miranda by her shoulders, shook her, and screamed right into her face, “Grow up, Miranda.”
Then she left, stopping only to yell that she was going home.
And those were the last things we said to each other.
But you don’t know it’s the last thing you’re going to say when you say it. If you did, you would probably say something completely different.
“Don’t have an opinion? Don’t worry. If you watch long enough, you will.” —Torrey Grey, Beautystarz15
My brush-off of Luis in English must have been the right thing to do. At lunch, as I’m standing in the cafeteria, looking for where to sit, Blair materializes by my side.
“Come sit with us.” It’s not really an invitation, more like a command, but I’m ecstatic to follow her over to the prized spot. I’m in! Mia glares at me when I sit down next to her, but doesn’t say anything.
“Hey,” says Ross, and I nod at him. He reaches across the table to dip a chicken nugget in Blair’s ketchup and she swats his hand away, laughing. He grins at me and pulls his Don’t Mess with Texas baseball hat a little lower on his head.
I can already tell Ross’s signature is constant jokes, wide grins, and baseball hats with changing slogans. Everyone seems to laugh around him. Even teachers. Sometimes they even laugh before he finishes talking because they just expect everything that comes out of his mouth to be funny. It’s his thing and he plays it to the max.
“I see you’ve given up on jackets,” Mia says, looking me up and down. Our eyes meet and I don’t look away.
I smile brightly. “But I see you haven’t given up on fake tans.”
Mia gives me a dirty look and I kind of want to stick my tongue out at her. That’s what she gets for being a hater. The snappy comeback makes me feel more like myself. This was the me before Miranda’s death, and it feels good to be back.
Ross practically spits his milk out all over the table. “Meow,” he says, and swipes across the table at me like his hands are claws.
“Joke!” I say quickly. The balance between confident and friendly has to be just right. “I was joking.”
Smile. Laugh. Play to the camera.
But Mia doesn’t laugh.
“Oh, come on now, Mia. You have to admit Torrey has amazing style.” Blair puts one arm around me and squeezes. I’m shocked, and sit there still as glass until she lets go. I try to wrap my head around the idea that I might actually have friends again and that they might even be the popular crowd.
Emily pipes up to echo Blair. She’s good at that. “I think you always look fantastic,” she says to me. “I would never think of putting together that top with that skirt. Sooo cute. Where did you get it?”
I glance down at my white eyelet skirt and my button-down blue shirt. “Forever 21, I think,” I say, trying to remember. “It’s been a while since I wore this skirt. In Colorado, we’d be wearing sweaters and boots by now.”
“It’s horrible.” Blair frowns, shaking one of Ross’s French fries in my direction for emphasis. “We can never wear fall clothes around here until at least the end of October. Sometimes even later.”
“Maybe we’ll get a cold front before Halloween. If we’re lucky,” Emily chimes in. “And then you can only wear fall clothes for, like, two weeks, so you have to make the most of it before it gets hot again.”
I nod and sip my soda.
Does everyone talk about the weather?
I glance over at Blair. “Cute bag,” I say. “Fossil?”
She nods, patting the smooth brown leather. I can’t help but think it’s so different than Miranda’s brown, beat-up canvas backpack. She took it to school every day, broken straps, pen stains, and all. I told her it looked like something a Cub Scout would wear on a camping trip. I asked her if she wanted kids to make fun of her. I even offered her a cute plaid messenger bag to wear in its place. It didn’t matter. She wore the stupid thing
everywhere.
All of a sudden, Blair is looking over my shoulder and making a face. I turn around and see Luis walking into the cafeteria. He’s with some other boys I recognize from other classes of mine. So I guess he’s not a total outcast.
“Look, it’s Frankenstein,” Blair says, elbowing Ross. “He probably even smells like rotting flesh by now.”
“Or formaldehyde.” Emily holds her nose.
I know for a fact he sort of smells like cinnamon, but I don’t say anything.
“You didn’t used to think he was such a monster,” Mia says to Blair, and I look back and forth between them. I want to ask what that means, but Blair is giving her this scary look like she’s said something forbidden, and Mia quickly says, “Sorry.”
I look toward Ross for an explanation, but he’s looking at Luis, too. I’m surprised to see all traces of his usual grin gone. But then he sees me looking and quickly twists his features back into a smile.
Luis and the other guys disappear out the side of the cafeteria and the table goes back to normal.
“I like your bag, too,” Blair says to me, as if there were never any change in the conversation. “And your top. I’ve seen it before.”
She gives me a look, her eyebrows raised, and I feel a rush of nerves. I manage a smile. “Oh, it was everywhere last spring.”
“I got it.” Blair suddenly snaps her fingers in front of my face. “I know why you look so familiar.”
I blink. My throat feels like I swallowed something burning hot. My heart thumps once, hard. Here it comes.
She knows.
“Wait. I’ll show you.” Blair fumbles frantically in her bag and pulls out her phone, tapping away quickly at the screen. I wait, knowing what’s coming. She holds out her phone at arm’s length so everyone at the table can see the video playing on the screen.
My voice chirps from the speaker. “Hey, Beauty Stars! I’m Torrey Grey, a fifteen-year-old beauty guru who can tell you all the best styles and trends.”
I should leave, but I can’t. I’m frozen, watching the train wreck happen. I must make some sort of noise, because Emily looks at me. Then they are all looking at me. My back stiffens and I brace myself for the onslaught.