by Cecilia Gray
He cocked an eyebrow. “Mayhem and mischief on your own? Not on this scale.”
Anne asked, “What’s he talking about, Fanny?”
“My red Post-it,” Fanny said. She kept a vigilant eye on Tran and ran around him when he made a move to tickle her.
“Are you getting texts from Lizzie too?” Anne asked.
“Texts. Calls. Midnight visits.” Fanny rolled her eyes. “I know what I’m going to do, though.”
“What we’re going to do,” Tran amended.
“What are you red-posting?” Anne whispered.
Fanny sighed and stood still. “Fine. You’re right, Tran. I need your help. So two seconds of tickling. That’s it!”
Tran grinned like a predator and stalked toward her. He tickled her at the waist, and she screamed. Then he lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder and ran. That lasted about a second before she jumped off him, giggling.
Fanny ran back to Anne and caught her breath. “I’m stealing the track, Anne.”
Anne must have misheard. “Excuse me?”
“The running track. I’m taking it. It’s mine.”
“But… you can’t steal an entire track.”
“Not on her own,” Tran said, stopping beside them. “But together? Not a problem.”
Great. Anne couldn’t come up with one thing to steal and Fanny was going to steal an entire oval track. Lizzie would eat that up. “I’m not clear on how it’s even possible.”
Tran tapped the side of his head. “This is the brain that MIT wants. Trust me, it’s possible.”
“You got in?” Anne asked. “Congratulations!” Tran was a senior and heading to college, which made her wonder what would happen to him and Fanny since she was heading to Olympic training camp in Southern California.
Josh’s head popped up at Tran’s announcement. “MIT? Nice. Will you move over the summer?”
“MIT wants this brain. I didn’t say this brain wants MIT,” Tran said. He glanced at Fanny, who was staring at the dirt, tracing lines with her sneaker next to Anne’s labyrinth. “My mom’s company has an opening for West Coast tour logistics. I help them over the summers, but could take it on full time.”
“Your mom is letting you ditch college to run band tours?” Josh asked. “MIT’s kind of a big deal.”
“So’s this job,” Tran said. “Sound engineers would kill to get on my mom’s tours.”
“You’d be traveling, though,” Josh pushed. “Heading up and down the coast with the tour.”
“No more than traveling for a movie role,” Tran said coolly.
They stood, facing off in silence. Anne looked for a reason to break in, but it was Lucy who inadvertently ended their standoff.
“You guys!” she called. “Come look at this.”
Anne’s relief was tempered when she turned and saw Lucy touching her tree. She stood as though rooted to the ground as Josh, Fanny, and Tran walked over to Lucy’s discovery.
“Whoa.” Tran tilted his head to look up to the top of the tree, where the bare white branches clawed the sky. “Unreal.”
“Rick, you have to take a picture of this tree.” Lucy rested her palm on the trunk, then smoothed her hand up and down once she realized its texture. “Is it dead?”
“It only looks dead,” Anne said, joining the group from behind. “Inside, the tree is still alive and pulls in water from the roots.”
“Rick, c’mere,” Josh called. “You need to take a picture of this.”
Rick abruptly turned and walked to them. He stared at the tree, right at the crisscrossed edges and hash marks that he’d dug into the trunk. He lifted the camera and took two successive snaps. “There.”
“What happened here?” Lucy poked at the marked-up tree. “It looks like a wild animal ripped into it. Do you think there are wild animals here?”
“It is the woods,” Josh said. “But something capable of doing this?”
Fanny ran her fingers into the grooves. “This wasn’t an animal. The hash marks are all different—different lengths and depths. It doesn’t have the consistency of claws. It’s more like someone…” She stopped and glanced over at Anne. “Or maybe it is some kind of animal. What do I know? Come on, Tran, we didn’t do enough stretching and now we’ve cooled down. We should go. Josh? Want to come?”
“Yeah,” Josh said. He frowned as he looked around the group, but seemed to know when to leave well enough alone. “Sure. I’m coming.”
“Lucy?” Fanny snapped. “Come on.”
“I’m not as fast as you guys,” Lucy said. “I think I’ll wait for Rick to help, if that’s okay.”
“I’ll help too,” Anne said before Fanny could protest or try to maneuver her and Rick alone together. She appreciated Fanny trying to make things easier for her, but she wasn’t glass and she wouldn’t break. She’d been handling Rick’s indifference toward her for years. A few more weeks wouldn’t kill her. At least, she hoped not.
“Do you have enough pictures?” she asked Rick.
“Enough,” he said. He set his arm around Lucy’s waist. While the rest ran ahead, Anne and Rick walked Lucy back into the woods. Occasionally their arms brushed against each other. Anne was hyperaware of the hairs on his arms, the warmth of his skin.
“I’m so sorry,” Lucy said over and over to Rick. “I’m sure you would rather be running ahead than sitting behind and helping me.”
“It’s fine, Lucy,” Rick said, his voice deep and reassuring.
Lucy beamed up at him. “You probably get tired of girls asking you to help them and being expected to be the strong one all the time.”
“It’s not as tiring as you’d think.”
Anne bit back a smile.
“But still,” Lucy pressed, “you probably prefer a girl who can stand on her own two feet. Someone as strong as you are.”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“I don’t believe you,” Lucy said with a flirtatious smile. “You can’t like being a knight in shining armor all the time. Or do you? Is there something else, then? Something you need to have in a girl?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes focused ahead on the trail. “Someone who knows her own mind.”
* * *
Anne sat on the edge of her bed, pressed the phone to one ear, stuck her finger in the other, and yelled, “Where are you again?” She could hear music in the background and loud conversation.
“Florence,” her mother said. “At the gardens at Pitti Palace. There’s a party—Well, you know there’s always a party.”
“But I thought you wanted me to meet—”
“It came up at the last minute, dear. How could I say no? The Pisanos invited me, and they mentioned a chalet in San Gimignano that we can have for a pittance. What do you think of living in Italy?”
She thought it sounded expensive and far away. “Do you want me to email you the final list of historic locations?”
“Just tell me over the phone, dear.”
Anne listed off the locations. At least her mother didn’t interrupt. She felt as though she were speaking to an entire room full of Italians. Their rushed conversation, the honk of car horns, all muted through the phone. “The courtyard tree and the meteor field,” she finished.
“But what of the library windows? Or the theater’s colonnades?”
“I tried, Mom.”
“Can you imagine them all gone?”
Anne did imagine it then. The mall that would stand like a block of buildings. Fluorescent lights and linoleum floors and floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Instead of a sinking feeling in her gut, she felt a strange sense of relief. Because while the colonnades and stained glass and bricks and wood would all be gone, Lizzie and the rest of them—everything that actually mattered—would not.
The door opened, and a sheepish Lizzie stepped inside.
“Call me if you need anything else, Mom.” Anne hung up, a little guiltily, before her mother could continue to mope about the Academy while not wanting to lift a finger her
self to change anything.
Lizzie’s eyes were bright and shiny, and she grinned uncontrollably as she changed out of her jeans into a fresh pair. “Did you hear about Fanny’s red-post idea?”
She fixed Lizzie with a stern look. “Don’t think we aren’t going to talk about it.”
“About what?” Lizzie asked innocently.
“About you spending the night with Dante.”
She blushed and pulled her shirt over her head. “I just can’t handle Lucy. You know how I feel about her.”
“But you stayed the night with Dante.”
“He slept on the floor!” Lizzie bit her lip. “Most of the time.”
“Lizzie!”
“Did you like my morning surprise?”
Conversation with Lizzie could sometimes be like getting whiplash. “Do you mean Rick?”
Lizzie nodded, then looked around the room. “Where did Lucy sleep?”
And they were back to Lucy. “My bed. I slept in yours.”
“Oh, thank God.” Lizzie flopped down on her mattress. “Uh, did Rick make your bed? He always does his corners like that. I bet he’s great at wrapping Christmas gifts.”
“Next time, give me some warning if you’re going to send him over,” Anne said.
“It’s not my fault he wakes up at the crack of dawn. But fine. If you want fair warning, here it is.”
“Here’s what?” Anne asked. Lizzie was also such a quick-witted speed demon it was hard to keep up.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Fair warning,” Lizzie repeated. “Rick is on his way over here. Right now.”
* * *
“Don’t leave,” Anne said between gritted teeth. She tucked her hair behind her ears, took a breath, and opened the door.
“Hey,” Rick said, walking past her and into the room.
Anne spun around. She shouldn’t have been surprised to find it empty. Lizzie had apparently opted to dive out the window. While Emma was a fan of entrances, Lizzie was the master of the parting word and the dramatic exit.
“Are you busy now?” Rick asked. His gaze darted around the room.
She didn’t answer until finally his gaze settled on her, and only then did she say, “A little, but I can make time for you.”
He raised his brow and said, “Thanks.”
She offered him Lizzie’s chair and sat on the edge of Lizzie’s bed so they were facing each other, knees a foot apart. He turned on the tablet he carried under his arm. “I have the pictures. I did a few minor edits, just to enhance the lighting. I want to make sure I send my mom the right ones.”
He held the tablet between them, but she had to lean in close to see the screen. Their faces were inches apart. She could feel his breath against her ear and tried to ignore the heat of it against her cheek. Using this thumb, he sped through the photos.
She wished for something to slow him down, anything. The tablet could break; the memory card could futz. She could break his thumb, she thought with hysterical desperation. Anything to prolong this feeling of him sitting next to her.
“Back up,” she said as he whizzed past the chandelier. “Could you fix the lighting on this one? Your mom mentioned wanting to catch the colors it cast on the walls and stairs.”
He grinned. “She would like that. She’s really into chandeliers.” He set the tablet on his lap and set about adding filters to the photo to increase the brilliance of the colors. “I think it’s something she dreamed about when she was a kid—having a house with chandeliers.”
“And now she has them. Several. She’ll have to find something else to dream about.”
“Or maybe she can just be happy with what she has.”
Anne stopped breathing. It had always felt like this with Rick. Like no matter what kind of conversation she was having or to whom she was talking, every point led back to him. “Will you stay in Merrywood after the Academy closes?”
“I think so. My mom says it’s okay if I go back East, but she’s not at the five-year mark yet with her cancer. I’d rather stay.”
“What about college?”
“Something in state. UCLA has a great arts and photography program.” He whipped the tablet back up to show her what he’d done.
Anne almost sighed at the picture, now vivid and alive with color. She pictured herself beneath the chandelier, arms out, spinning.
“So you’d head back to your old school in Merrywood for senior year?” she asked.
Rick tucked the tablet under his arm and leaned back. “I guess I don’t have a choice. What about you?”
She glanced up sharply. He had never asked her about herself, not since coming back, and he seemed to be holding his breath for an answer. “My mom hasn’t decided where to live yet.”
“Sounds like your mom.”
He said it without judgment or censure, but she heard it just the same. As critical as she felt of her own mother, she stiffened at the idea of someone else saying something bad about her. She and Lizzie had butted heads over less.
The seconds ticked away in silence.
“I’m sorry.” He blew out a long breath and pulled at the ends of his hair. With a shake of his head he looked down at his feet. “I have a hard time with your mom sometimes.”
Her heart beat in slow thuds. They were talking—finally talking. “I do, too. But I love her.”
“That I know.” He stood abruptly. “I’ll email you the rest of the photos.” He started to walk out, but as he passed the end of her bed, he drew his finger over Bunritto’s head and pulled at the end of a red stitch. “Looks like Bunritto will still pretty much endure anything to be with you.”
And then he left.
Chapter Five
As the sun rose in the sky, Anne sat up in bed. She was due to spend the day assisting Emma with decorating the ballroom for prom, and she took care to choose her outfit. She rifled through her drawers in the dark while Lizzie slept, discarding one shirt for the next. There was the crisp white collarless shirt from her mother’s fall line. The floral print. The nautical stripes. Nothing was quite right. Everything was something her mother had chosen for her.
Then a memory cut through her in the dimness.
During freshman year, she’d gone to the spring intramural sports decathlon. Anne didn’t participate in any sports, but Rick did, and his school was also competing. She convinced her mother to let her attend as an ambassador. At the opening ceremonies she wore dark-blue trainers and a blue Jane Austen Academy sweatshirt like the rest of her classmates.
She and her classmates stood in a line, just like every other school’s students. They walked toward each other and shook hands, muttering, “Good luck, good luck, good luck” with each passing shake.
A thrill went through her when Rick’s gaze went straight to her. He didn’t seem to notice the other girls who were smiling at him and trying to be flirtatious. He’d held her hand longer than he needed to, drawn his finger over her wrist as their palms slid part.
Afterward, he cornered her beneath the bleachers. “A sweatshirt,” he said. His hands pressed along her sides. “That’s new. I can’t decide if I want you to keep it on or take it off.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled down at the hem, playfully slapping away his fingers. But she’d wanted him to try.
Anne found the sweatshirt shoved in the back of her bottom drawer as if she hadn’t worn it since that day, even though that couldn’t possibly be the case. It had a crew neck and long sleeves—utterly boring in every way. But as she pulled it over her head, it was as though she could feel his hands running up and down her sides.
She felt hopeful. Did she deserve to? To put so much importance in such a small moment, a small gesture, the small words that Rick had spoken to her last night? Was it even worth anticipating anything given the inevitable parting that would soon take place? Probably not, but she felt hopeful nonetheless.
Lizzie had made Anne swear not to wake her and that she’d join them after breakfast, so aft
er a quick stop for a bite, Anne found Emma in the ballroom.
Emma’s bountiful blond hair was uncharacteristically pinned to the top of her head. She wore a black minidress and lemon-yellow gladiator heels that still barely brought her level with Knight’s chest. Her boyfriend, dressed casually in jeans, trailed behind her.
He seemed to know what she wanted even before she asked for it. Emma would reach for a basket of string lights and he would scoop it up and set it on the long table of decorations.
Emma glanced over to Anne as she approached the center of the ballroom. “It’s just the three of us for now, but I think more people will come after breakfast. I’m going to put each of you in charge of different stations.” She waved across the room to the tables, each with a different pile of decorations. “The theme for prom is End of the World, so I want a whole apocalypse feel to everything. Do you like it?”
Anne nodded. She used to be the one who arranged the school dances, but she could admit that Emma was much better suited to party planning than Anne had ever been.
“Knight?” Emma asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Awesome idea,” Knight said.
“I know,” Emma said. “Can you wire and calibrate the sound system? Tran said he’d be by to help, too. I also want the lighting to be blood-red and dark. I’m going to handle the table setup and foliage.”
Knight silently mouthed foliage? to Anne over Emma’s head.
“Anne, can you take the lead on the wall decorations? I have decals of crumbling buildings that need to be pressed up. The ladder is over there. Once more muscle arrives, we have to arrange the couch seating. While I want it to be comfortable, I also want it to look like the end of the world, so maybe you could rough up a few cushions.”
With a few simple words from Emma, they were off. Anne decided where to put the dozen decals, each with the scene of a crumbling building or an overturned car on fire. She marked off the outlines with wall chalk.
Within the hour, there were two dozen other volunteers helping her and Knight and Emma with various aspects of the decorating. Short bursts of music pulsed through the room as Tran and Knight tested speaker placement and the crowd conversation turned to playlists and costumes and whether they should all dress up as zombies or smear the walls with blood.