by E. E. Cooper
My internal alarm went off. “I thought we exhausted that subject a year ago. Why are we going over this now?” I hoped my voice sounded more relaxed than I felt. I’d tried to forget about what happened at Windsor Prep. Madison had convinced me that she wanted me to be a part of her group, and I loved the idea of being chosen, of being special. What I hadn’t realized was that it was just a game for Madison. She twisted everything to make it look like I was stalking her, that the idea that she wanted to be my friend was nothing more than a delusion in my head.
Dr. Sherman smiled. “Often things are connected in a way we don’t always see at the time. It can be useful to look back, now that you’ve got more distance,” Dr. Sherman said.
I made a noncommittal noise. Madison had gotten her group of friends to freeze me out. When I would go up to them they would act like they couldn’t hear or see me. Instead of realizing they were a bunch of bitches, I let it get under my skin. Burrow into my brain. When they acted like I didn’t exist, it felt as if I was fading away. I kept upping the ante, determined to get a response. “I let Madison get to me,” I admitted. I shifted in my seat—it felt like my skin was too small. Getting to me was an understatement; it came to a head in a gym class.
We were playing softball. I was running from third base to home and even though Madison had the ball she refused to tag me as out. That’s when I snapped.
“Hit me,” I screamed at her. “Don’t act like you can’t see me.” I stopped between bases despite my teammates screaming at me to run home.
Madison looked away. Our gym teacher glanced between us and then made a decision. “Run home, Richards,” she called out to me.
Madison dropped the ball and walked away. Linda was at her side in an instant, and I could hear them giggling.
“Richards, finish your run,” our gym teacher called out, but when I didn’t move she blew her whistle. “Okay, that’s it. Hanson, pick up that ball and tag her out.” Madison’s teammate jogged over to the ball.
Instead of running I sank to the ground, closed my eyes, put my hands over my ears, and started screaming. I had a vague memory of my gym teacher leaning over and trying to get me to calm down, but I was beyond reasoning at that point.
“How did it make you feel when Madison said your version of events wasn’t the truth?”
A headache started to build behind my eyes. Madison insisted that she’d never ignored me. Or at least the few times that she did were because I wouldn’t leave her alone. My guidance counselor didn’t even pretend to believe me. Reality was twisted so I was the stalker and Madison the innocent victim. Next stop for me: therapy and eventually having to transfer schools. I was determined this wouldn’t happen to me again. And yet here I was, back in my psychologist’s office. “As far as I’m concerned, what happened in my last school was in another lifetime.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Sherman said, and I winced. Whatever she found interesting was usually not good for me. “Tell me how you feel you’re different now.”
I paused. Talking to Dr. Sherman was like having a chess game with a grand master. I had to be careful about not just what I said, but how those comments might be used several moves down the road. The problem was I usually had no idea where she going. “I guess I just meant that I’ve grown since all that happen.”
She nodded. “How do you think Madison and Britney are alike?”
Where the hell was she going with this? I pictured each of them in my mind. “They’re both manipulative,” I said answering Dr. Sherman’s question honestly. Maybe at some level Dr. Sherman also had some questions about Brit’s story.
Dr. Sherman nodded encouragingly. “And?”
“I wanted to be their friend,” I admitted. “I liked how they were so confident. And fun. They’re the kind of people that other people want to be around.”
I sighed. I wondered how my life would be different if I’d become friends with someone like Sara instead. Hung out with the band geeks, or the girlfriends of Zach’s friends in the improv troupe.
“I didn’t realize what Madison was like. I don’t think I ever really knew her, just the idea of her. Being her friend was about wanting to feel special. If someone like her liked me, then that made me better than I would be by myself.”
“And it was different with Britney?”
“Madison was never my friend, but Brit was. Is,” I amended. There were a mountain of lies between us and our friendship had twisted into something else, but there was no doubt we were still tied together.
There was never any confusion when it was the three of us that Brit was the one who wanted to call the shots. When she didn’t get her way she would wheedle and cajole until it was easier to give in. Beth and I had joked about it because that’s “just who Brit was.” But Brit was way more manipulative than I ever could have imagined. I would never have conceived that she was sick enough to pretend to be Beth sending messages and use me.
“What can you learn from your experience with Madison that can help you in your interactions with Britney?” Dr. Sherman probed. I wanted to ask her why we had to talk about Brit and Madison at all when I was supposed to be here to get over Beth’s death. However, I knew Dr. Sherman well enough to know if I acted like I didn’t want to talk about something she would be even more focused on that area, certain that my emotional health hinged on what I wanted to avoid.
There was a burst of laughter outside the office window. A group of young kids were walking past. They were linked together, each holding on to a pink nylon rope, led by their day care teacher. I watched them go by as I tried to figure out if I had learned anything. Maybe I was one of those people who seemed doomed to keep repeating mistakes over and over. Everything was connected, like those kids. I could go back and see how each bad decision I’d made led me farther down this path, but I still couldn’t see forward and figure out what I would do differently. “I don’t know,” I admitted.
Dr. Sherman leaned back, and I had the sense she was disappointed in me. Then I leaned forward. I had learned something. No one had believed me with Madison. And even though I was pretty sure Officer Siegel didn’t buy Brit’s full story, I didn’t have any proof that she’d killed Beth. Beth’s body was cremated as soon as it had been found. There wasn’t going to be a CSI moment where a doctor declared that the true cause of death was homicide. I needed evidence or a confession or no one was going to believe me. It wasn’t going to be enough for me to wait for Brit to break down. I was going to have to give her a push.
I sat on the edge of the seat. I was going to have to find proof.
“Okay. What I’d like you to do between now and our next appointment is to write a letter to Madison where you talk about what happened and what you have learned that you want to put into place moving forward.”
I nodded while I turned over a few options to deal with Britney in my head.
“You won’t send the letter; the experience is a part of therapy. It might seem like a waste of time, but if you want things to be better, you need to do things to make it better,” she said.
I forced a smile onto my face. “Super,” I said. “It should be fun.” She was right about one thing, I needed to take action, and I had an idea of where to start.
CHAPTER SIX
I watched Brit apply another layer of mascara to her eyes as she sat in front of the mirror in her pink bedroom. The guys were supposed to pick us up in less than a half hour. Prom hadn’t even started yet, and I was already wishing it were over. I dug deep trying to find a second wind. I had more to accomplish than just getting through a dance. I’d thought a lot since my appointment with Dr. Sherman and I planned to put some of my Operation Push Britney plans into action tonight.
I’d spent the entire day with Brit. It was a professional development day for the teachers, so with the day off we had hours to prepare. We went to the spa in the morning for facials and a massage. The massage therapist recognized Brit from the TV and gave her an extra thirty minutes for free because
Brit was “such an inspiration.” Brit also got an airbrushed tan so that she was the perfect shade. Brit then insisted that we then go all the way across town for mani-pedis because she was certain she’d get some kind of killer nail fungus unless we went to the only place in town she trusted. She snapped at the technician for cutting her toenails too short. Just a flash of bitch before she covered it up again. She was contained, but if all went well by the end of this evening I’d push her closer to the edge.
Brit sprayed her hair one more time. The hair stylist had done an elaborate updo for her, with small tendrils of perfectly Slinky-spiraled curls tumbling down. There was so much spray on her head that her hair wouldn’t even quiver if a hurricane roared down on us.
I caught a glance at my own hair. I hadn’t wanted to do anything too fancy. I wanted to look like myself. My mom had taken one of my grandmother’s rhinestone brooches and had it attached to a barrette, giving me just a hint of bling. Brit kept insisting that it was too simple, so the hairdresser had given me “some volume,” which seemed to consist of backcombing my hair until I looked like some kind of Texas preacher’s wife. I had patted it down a thousand times since we left the salon.
Brit pulled me up so we could stand together in the mirror. I gasped when I inhaled—rosemary and mint. It was the same kind of shampoo that Beth had always used. The smell filled my head and rocked me back. For a fraction of a second it was as if Beth were standing there, and I forgot all about my plans. With my eyes closed I could almost imagine the whisper touch of a strand of Beth’s dark hair brushing across my bare shoulder. When I blinked and saw Brit next to me in the mirror, the absence of Beth, the void where she should be, was like a punch in the gut. I almost bent over from the pain. I let out an involuntary gasp and had to tap my foot on the thick cream carpet in beats of six to regain control.
Brit’s mouth was screwed into a tight knot as she pondered our reflection. “Your dress totally clashes with mine,” she said.
“It’s blue. Yours is silver. How is that clashing?” I said, pushing the words past the lump in my throat.
Brit rolled her eyes like she couldn’t believe I was that much of a fashion idiot. “The fabrics are all wrong together. We should have coordinated better.”
A hot stab of anger ran through my heart. Who gave a shit about fabric when Beth wasn’t here and never would be? “Then you should have worn the dress you picked out to start with,” I snapped. “I chose this dress to match the one you had originally.”
Brit pulled back at my tone. “Excuse me for wanting things to look nice in pictures. Maybe you don’t care, but this is my senior prom.” She sniffed.
“It’s just a stupid dance,” I said. If anyone else were around she wouldn’t be acting like a dance mattered. I was the lucky one who got to see her selfish side. She’d been dreaming of a picture-perfect prom since she was a kid, and the murder of her best friend wasn’t going to get in the way of it now.
Brit’s eyes iced over and I felt my heart freeze. I’d gone too far. I wanted to push her, but not make her irritated at me.
Brit sniffed again. “I stand corrected. I didn’t realize I was being so silly over a stupid dance,” she said.
Oh, shit. She was pissed. I’d let hunger and irritation overwhelm me, and I’d dropped my mask as her personal ass kisser. “I’m sorry. I know how important prom is for you,” I mumbled.
“There was a point when I didn’t think I’d be here for this moment. I thought you’d understand that.” Her finger trailed down the hand-painted custom wallpaper stripes. “This dance matters more than you think it does,” she said.
“I do understand. I’m really sorry. I think I’m just nervous,” I said. I had to remind myself I had my own plans for tonight.
Brit had already turned her back to me and was pulling on her shoes. “Why are you nervous? No one is looking at you, and you don’t even like Zach romantically.”
I scrambled to make things right. “It’s not Zach, it’s that I miss Beth. It’s not the same without her.”
“But she’s not here and we are. I’m sorry she’s gone, but you can’t let her death suck every moment of happiness out of the rest of our lives. You know what, she should be at graduation, but she won’t be there either, or for her birthday, or next Christmas, or any other major life event.” Brit’s words were clipped and short. This was what she really thought, and it chilled me to the bone. I wished someone else had heard her, but when anyone else was around her act never slipped. This was why I needed to get her drunk tonight—let her façade crack a bit in front of other people.
Brit spun around to face me, and her mouth with its dark red lipstick was pressed into a thin line. I couldn’t tell if she was really angry, or simply letting me know I wasn’t playing the role she’d cast for me—endlessly supportive friend. I swallowed hard. I had to get the night back on track or I ran the risk of not being able to pull off part of my plan. “I’m really sorry, Britney. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.” I reached for her, but she yanked her arm back. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m not saying this dance has to be important to you, but I thought if you were my friend you would understand why it’s so important to me,” she said. “Beth can’t be there tonight, and we have a responsibility to make sure people remember her.”
I felt the sinking weight of guilt and had to push it off. It was as if she were dancing me into a corner. “You’re right, Brit. How can I make it up to you?”
In an instant she swapped her grimace for a grin. “Take off that necklace and wear the one I picked out.”
I was almost dizzy at her change in emotion. My hand went up instantly to the pocket watch pendant. “I thought it would be nice to have something of Beth’s at the dance.”
“It’s totally wrong for the dress. Wear the one I got you.”
Brit was still smiling, but her eyes were calculating, watching me closely. I reached for the pendant and pulled it over my head. I hadn’t taken it off since I’d gotten it. I felt naked and exposed without it.
Brit pranced over to her vanity and pulled out the necklace she’d picked out. She was wearing one just like it. She motioned for me to lift my hair and the cold stones slid across my neck like a razor as she clipped it on.
“Now we match.” Brit wrapped her arm around me, squeezing me close.
“I told you to check the batteries,” Dr. Ryerson hissed to Brit’s dad. He was fumbling with their digital camera, which had a lens large enough to take a close-up of the moon.
“Don’t panic, I’ve got it.” He motioned for Brit and me to stand together on the stairs. Brit instantly struck a pose, her shoulders cocked at an angle, chin down, and million-watt smile on full display. I most likely looked like a frumpy, frizzy-haired blue cow next to her.
I kept blinking, but all the flashes had made huge white spots in front of my eyes.
“Mom, do not start crying,” Brit said.
I was shocked to see there were tears in Dr. Ryerson’s eyes.
“I didn’t think this was a moment I was going to get to see.” She sniffed. Brit’s dad wrapped his arm around his wife, and they both stared at us with these dopey expressions on their faces.
“Oh, Britney,” her mom gushed, crossing quickly over to us. “Don’t you go crying too! You’ll mess up your makeup, and you look perfect.”
Brit sniffed, but there weren’t any tears in her eyes. “I was just thinking about Beth. I feel like this dance is really for her.”
Brit’s parents exchanged a pained glance. I wanted to pick up the Waterford crystal vase that was on the table next to me and hurl it at her lying face. So much for how we all had to move on.
Dr. Ryerson cupped Britney’s face in her hands. “I know she’s looking down from heaven at the two of you and busting her buttons with pride.”
I wanted to gag. Beth would never even use the phrase “bust her buttons,” let alone look down at Brit without spitting in her face.
The doorbell chimed. The guys were here. I took a step toward the door, but Brit caught my elbow.
“Let them come to us,” she said.
Jason stopped short when he came in the room and then whistled. Brit giggled like she couldn’t believe what a scamp he was.
My mouth fell open when I caught a look at Zach. He looked positively hot in his tux. He’d gotten his hair cut, and the suit fit him perfectly. He winked when he saw me. I could tell he felt out of place in the giant museum-like foyer of Brit’s house.
“Get a picture with their corsages,” Brit’s mom said, elbowing her husband.
Jason was already pulling an orchid out of a plastic clamshell box.
“Is it a wrist corsage? I can’t pin anything on this fabric,” Brit said.
Jason smiled. “Of course. Would I let my girl ruin such a fine dress before everyone had a chance to see her?”
Zach stood next to me. “I didn’t know about pins being bad for the fabric,” he admitted, shuffling his feet on the floor. He held out a tiny spray of three pinkish-white tea roses. Then something caught my eye.
“Is that a My Little Pony ribbon?” I recognized the thin rainbow ribbon from Zach’s sister’s extensive plastic pony collection.
Zach shrugged. “Maddy insisted on tying it on. It came with a white one.” He fished through his pocket. “I meant to change it in the limo, but I forgot.”
I took the flowers from his hand. “I like it the way it is. It’s perfect.”
Zach flushed when he had to reach inside the neckline of my dress to pin on the corsage, and I managed to avoid flinching when he poked me. We then stood for what felt like a thousand more pictures. In every single one Brit managed to make sure she was at the center of the frame.
I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. The dress looked good. Almost as good as I remembered it looking at the store.
When I saw the price of the raw silk dress Brit had picked out for me for prom I flinched. My mom was going to have a cow.