A Girl Called Dust

by V. B. Marlowe

  “Hey, will you throw this away?”

  “No!” I shrieked. “I’m not your maid.”

  Quinn scrunched her face. “You’re going downstairs anyway.”

  “I am not. I’m going to my room.”

  “Please do, and stay in there, weirdo,” Paige shouted before slamming the door in my face. “She’s so annoying,” I heard her tell Quinn.

  I sighed and went back to my room. A small part of me was jealous of their closeness. I would never be a part of their little sisterhood. Just like at school, I was this strange object that didn’t belong. Mom and my aunt Sarah were super close too, and I wondered what was so wrong with me that not even my own sisters wanted me around.

  Chapter Seven

  Most people looked forward to Fridays, but I dreaded them, well at least every other one, because that was when I had my therapy sessions. Dad always left work early to take me to see Dr. Scarlett because Fridays were also when my sisters had cheerleading practice for the neighborhood optimist team. As far as Mom was concerned, cheerleading trumped driving her crazy daughter to her therapy session, so Dad got to do the honors.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Fletcher asked as we walked to my house after school.

  “Homework. Hanging out. You want to come over on Sunday for dinner? I’m sure it’ll be fine with my parents.”

  “Can’t. I’m doing something with my parents on Sunday.”

  I gave him the side-eye on that, but maybe he was. “All right, then the next Sunday.”

  “Okay.” But he didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it.

  “What are you going to talk to your doctor about?” He always wanted to know what Scarlett and I were going to discuss. Maybe he wondered if I talked about him.

  “I don’t know. I guess about Mr. Thompson. There’s really nothing else on my mind.” Usually I talked about whatever popped into my head, no matter how trivial. Anything to make the hour pass faster.

  Fletcher studied his feet as he walked. I wanted him to come home with me and hang out like a real friend. Watch some TV and raid the fridge. I needed that. “I have a little time before Dad comes to get me to take me to Scarlett’s. Want to come inside?”

  “I’m coming next Sunday.”

  “I know that, but I’m asking you if you want to come now.” I felt stupid, almost as if I were begging.

  “I-I can’t right now.”

  “Why? What do you have to do?” I never knew what Fletcher did with his free time when he wasn’t around me, but every time I asked him, he said he was watching TV or doing homework. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t do those things together.

  “Why can you come over Sunday but not now?”

  He sighed and tilted his head upward, squinting from the sun. “I haven’t asked my parents’ permission.”

  Whatever. I’d asked him over a million times before, and if he’d wanted to come in, he would have.

  Fletcher watched a loud pickup truck rumble down the street. “You should stay away from Wiley.”

  My eyes widened at the mention of Wiley. “What?” I hadn’t even realized that Fletcher had seen us together the other day. It was funny that Wiley had said the same thing about him.

  “You heard me.” Fletcher sounded testy, which was rare for him.

  “Who the hell are you to tell me who to stay away from?”

  “I’m your friend. He’s just not a good person.”

  I frowned at this accusation. I couldn’t recall any time I’d seen the two of them interact, so I didn’t know how he’d come to that conclusion. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to mention how Wiley had offered to relieve my stress.

  “I can make those kinds of judgments myself, thank you very much. At least Wiley is straightforward and says what he means. He doesn’t speak in riddles.”

  Fletcher stopped walking. “I don’t want to walk you home if you’re going to act like this.”

  “Then don’t. I never asked you to.”

  Fletcher turned on his heels and stomped in the opposite direction.

  Just how I needed to kick off my weekend.

  I could choke on her cookies or lemon water

  The heavy lighting fixture hanging over us could fall on my head

  A short in the lamp could electrocute us

  I could fall on the pair of scissors on her desk and they could puncture my heart. Why does she have scissors on her desk when she treats crazy people?

  “What are you thinking?” Scarlett asked. She sat in her special mahogany chair against the wall and across from the couch where I lay. She’d told me to make myself comfortable, so I had kicked off my boots and stretched my legs out across the couch like always.

  Scarlett had been talking about something, and I was unintentionally ignoring her. “I’m wondering why you have scissors on your desk.”

  She sighed but moved to her desk and threw the scissors into her drawer. Scarlett settled back into her chair. “I’m sure you’ve been thinking about more than the scissors on my desk.”

  “I’m just saying. You treat crazy people, so you shouldn’t leave them lying around.”

  Scarlett pressed her lips together. “My patients are not crazy, you included.”

  “Okay, unbalanced,” I said, putting the word “unbalanced” in air quotes.

  She chuckled to herself. “What else is on your mind?”

  “That picture could fall and break your neck.”

  A huge framed picture of the ocean was mounted on the wall over her head. I assumed it was supposed to be peaceful, but all it made me do was think of the many ways a person could die in the ocean. The possibilities seemed infinite. Just when I thought I’d run through all the ways, I’d think of some more.

  Scarlett clicked her pen and scribbled something on a pad. “Why are you thinking about that?”

  I sighed. I couldn’t count how many times I’d told the woman I couldn’t help the way my mind worked. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”

  Scarlett raised an auburn eyebrow at me. “You control your thoughts, Arden. If you don’t want to think about death all the time, you don’t have to. That’s your choice.”

  Scarlett was right about a lot of things, but she was wrong about that. Did she really think I wanted to think about death? I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I hadn’t. When my parents took me to see The Nutcracker at age six, instead of enjoying the show like a normal child, I imagined the Prince dropping Clara during a lift and her skull smashing against the stage. At Bailey’s eighth birthday party, I pictured the inflated water slide collapsing and suffocating us. I was twelve when we discovered that Paige was allergic to strawberries. For days all I could think about was her lips swelling and turning blue while her throat closed, making breathing impossible. Of course I’d rather be thinking about the boy I had a crush on or the next dress I was going to design, but I couldn’t. When death wanted to invade my thoughts, there was nothing I could do to stop it. That was one part of me Scarlett would never be able to cure.

  I decided to change the subject. I knew I didn’t want to talk about Mr. Thompson. Fletcher never came up in any of our conversations because he was hard to explain. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my friend, Bailey.”

  Scarlett placed her pad on the small table beside her and leaned forward. “It’s been a while since you’ve mentioned Bailey. What’s going on with her?”

  “I’m not sure. This year when we came back to school, she was completely ignoring me. Now her friends are treating her kind of bad. I want to say something to her sometimes, but I don’t know what. I feel like she doesn’t really want me to talk to her.”

  Scarlett stared at me for a moment as she formulated my prognosis—loser who can’t get over a friend who has clearly gotten over her.

  “As I recall, Bailey stopped being your friend. Why do you still want to be friends with her?”

  I shrugged. “I still care about her. We were best friends for a long
time. I feel like she wants to be friends with me again, but she won’t because of Lacey Chapman.”

  “Do you really want a friend like that? Someone who will ignore you because of what Lacey said. Someone who’s friends with the girl who treats you poorly.”

  “No. I guess not.”

  “Why don’t we focus on making some new friends. You’re a wonderful person, Arden, and you could have plenty of friends if you really tried.”

  She sounded like Mom. I didn’t know if they were right, but maybe if I tried, I could make a friend or two.

  Scarlett ran her fingers through her frenzied curls to pull down the glasses perched on her head. Why, I don’t know. Maybe she needed to see me better. “What about the teacher who was killed in the woods? He was a teacher at your school.”

  I cringed. I’d been hoping to avoid that conversation.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know him personally. I’d never had him for any classes.”

  “Still. That has to be scary. You have to be feeling some type of way about it.”

  “It makes me sad and worried. Something bad is killing people, and no one knows what it is. They’re only guessing.”

  “Whatever it is,” Scarlett said, “it seems to be confined to the woods, so I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

  “My parents said the same thing.”

  Scarlett winked at me. “Then we must be right. Can I see your journal?”

  I reached into my backpack and handed it to her. She would usually skim it and only discuss things that popped out at her. I watched her as her eyes darted from left to right and then stopped. “Let’s talk about what happened in speech class.”

  Groaning, I sat up and faced Scarlett. I wasn’t proud of my outburst, and everyone in my class, Mrs. Martin included, thought I was a lunatic. “I don’t know. I hate speech class. It’s hard enough to get up there and talk in front of a group of people, but they make it so much harder. They’re always laughing and whispering when I’m up there, and I just got tired of it.”

  Scarlett nodded. “I love the fact that you’re speaking up for yourself and saying how you feel, but I’d like you to work on something. Speak up more often. Right when something is bothering you. That way your anger doesn’t build up and explode the way it did that day.”

  “I feel like if I shut up and take it, I’m wrong, but then when I say how I feel, I’m still wrong.”

  Scarlett smiled and closed my journal. “You’re not wrong for speaking up. You just have to find the right way to go about it.”

  We talked some more about school and Bailey. Though I’d never tell Scarlett or my parents, it felt good to get some things off my chest. My goal for the next two weeks was to reach out to someone new and try to make a friend.

  Maybe the session helped just a little bit.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday, school was slowly returning to normal. A substitute had been hired for Mr. Thompson until a permanent replacement was found. Apparently a teacher for drama was a little harder to find than other subjects, although from what I heard, no one would be able to fill Mr. Thompson’s shoes.

  The day was going fine until second period, which was usually my favorite time of the day. Ms. Melcher, who taught biology, was my favorite teacher so far. She was interesting, and she never let the kids call me Dust in her class. I liked to think that she was kind of like me when she was younger, so she understood me. Most teachers didn’t, or else they couldn’t remember how traumatizing high school could be for the socially tragic.

  That day we were doing partner work. Ms. Melcher had split us up into pairs, and of course I was the odd man out since no one ever wanted to sit at my station.

  “Arden, you can work with Trista and Marley,” Ms. Melcher offered since they sat at the station beside mine. They both scrunched their faces like they smelled rotten meat. Lacey and Bailey were working together at the front of the room.

  I swallowed hard. “I’d rather work alone, if that’s okay.”

  Ms. Melcher frowned and thought for a moment, probably wondering if it would be best to let me be a loner or force me to work with someone. “Okay, I suppose it’s all right this once.”

  Relieved, I picked up my project sheet and began reading. I loved to dissect things, and I wasn’t squeamish like some of the others.

  At the top of the page in bold letters were the words “Crayfish Dissection.” Directly underneath read:

  You do not have to dissect the crayfish. You may choose the alternative of using the computer software. You must still label the parts of the crayfish and describe each part’s function.

  I thought the computer program was a cop-out and that everyone should have to dissect the actual crayfish. Watching the process on a screen wouldn’t be nearly as educational as performing the task on your own.

  Objectives:

  • Describe the appearance of various organs found in a crayfish.

  • Name the organs that make up systems of the crayfish.

  Materials:

  • safety goggles, gloves, magnifying glass, a lab apron, plastic Ziploc bag, preserved crayfish, pen, dissecting tray, paper towels, scissors, forceps, dissecting needle, and dissecting pins.

  Mary-Kate’s hand shot up, and she spoke before Ms. Melcher even recognized her. “I will not dissect an animal, Ms. Melcher. I don’t believe in the use of real animals for biological studies. The practice is outdated and unnecessary.”

  Ms. Melcher was busy readying trays for those of us who would be dissecting. She nodded wearily. “I know your stance, Mary-Kate. Please take note of the alternative assignment and grab a laptop from the cart.”

  Mary-Kate did that, and almost half the class followed. I went to the back and grabbed the equipment I needed. One thing I didn’t like about dissecting was the smell of the formaldehyde, which was still evident even with the mask, but after a few minutes, I got used to it.

  I took a white tray with a reddish-pink crayfish from Ms. Melcher. The crayfish looked like a tiny lobster. After I put on my goggles, gloves, and mask, I picked up my scalpel and looked at the very first direction.

  *Place the crayfish on its side and locate the cephalothorax and the abdomen.

  Done.

  *Look at your diagram. Note the individual segments of the abdomen.

  By the time I had done that, there was a commotion going on at the station beside me. For some reason, Lacey had joined Marley and Trista. The three of them were huddled over one laptop, their heads bobbing furiously as they whispered about something. At the front of the room, Bailey watched them over her shoulder.

  Whatever was going on with them wasn’t my business, so I tried my best to ignore them. By the time I had located the rostrum and the eyes and the five pairs of appendages, Bailey’s head was bowed and her shoulders moved up and down. Ms. Melcher, who had been circulating around the room observing, stopped by Bailey’s station and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  A moment later, Bailey left the room with a yellow hall pass, and Lacey and her bees were cackling beside me. I threw Lacey a look, and she narrowed her eyes at me. “What are you looking at, Dust?”

  I tried to go back to work, but I couldn’t concentrate. Bailey needed someone, and even though she didn’t deserve my help or sympathy, something inside of me couldn’t help but feel for her.

  I went to the back of the room where Ms. Melcher was organizing equipment.

  I cleared my throat. “Ms. Melcher, I know only one student is allowed out of class at a time, but I really think I should check on Bailey. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Ms. Melcher smiled. She understood, and that’s why I liked her. “I think that’s a good idea. Grab a pass from my desk, but don’t be too long.”

  I grabbed the pass and headed for the bathroom down the hall. Sure enough, I could hear Bailey sniffling from a stall.

  “Bailey?”

  No answer, but she stopped sniffling.

  I stopped in front of the last sta
ll. “I know it’s you in there.”

  “Arden, please. Just go away.”

  “What’s going on? Lacey’s been treating you, well, kind of like you’ve been treating me.”

  Nothing came from the other side of the door for a moment. “I’m sorry. She said we weren’t supposed to talk to you at all this year. Not even to say hi.”

  “You can’t put all the blame on Lacey. She can’t make you do anything.”

  Bailey blew her nose. “It’s not that simple. Arden, you just don’t understand.”

  I understood perfectly. Lacey had made a hobby out of making sure I didn’t have any friends, and she was good at it. “Why is she mad at you?”

  “Because of Trent.”

  Of course, a boy. But I couldn’t recall anyone named Trent. “Who’s Trent?”

  “This guy we met at a Hudson University party. He and I hit it off and started dating, but that was a big mistake apparently, because Lacey wanted him too. She wants me to break up with him, but I won’t. If he were just any guy, I would have, but I really, really like Trent. More than I’ve liked any boy. So that’s why she’s pissed.”

  I stepped away from the door, shaking my head. “Let me get this straight. Lacey orders you not to be friends with me and you have no problem doing that, but when she wants you to stay away from this Trent guy, you refuse?” Why could she stand firm for Trent but not me?

  “Arden—”

  “Whatever, Bailey. See you back at class.” Coming to comfort her had been a big mistake. She deserved whatever Lacey was doing to her. I stomped toward the door. What was I thinking, caring about whether she was okay?

  The lock on the stall clicked and Bailey stepped out. “Arden, it’s not like that. Lacey has nothing to do with why we’re not friends anymore.”

  “Really? Then why aren’t we?”

  She opened her mouth to say something and then shrugged. “I—uh.”