The Roses Academy- the Entire Collection

by Tara Brown

  “You’re crazy,” I retorted.

  “Speaking of crazy”—he smacked me in the arm and frowned—“did you see the Facebook posts coming off my mom lately?”

  “No.” I hadn’t logged in to Facebook or any other social media in eight months.

  “I’m starting to think older people don’t get the whole—it’s for connecting or reconnecting with people. It’s not Twitter. My mom posts what she ate for lunch yesterday. She posts that she went to her yoga class, she bought a new bra, and for her friends to check that store out. What the hell? I told her from now on I’m posting everything I do in a day so she can see how annoying it is.”

  His face was red as he ranted. I loved his rants.

  “I told her tomorrow my Facebook status is going to read, ‘Blake McGinnis had a great crap today, came out with very little pushing. I just want to thank Kellogg’s for upping the fiber count in the cereal.’”

  I laughed again as we walked to our usual lunch table, where the other nerds raised eyebrows at me laughing.

  He continued, “I think then, about three hours later, I will put, ‘Blake McGinnis just held his cat Chuck down and sniffed his neck fur.’”

  I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to. The laughing started to get painful.

  His arms flailed about at this point. “Later, around seven I will post, ‘Blake McGinnis is questioning his humanity and had a bad thought about his neighbors.’ Then at least my mom will have something to worry about. Jeeze, I get tired of reading her crap.”

  I was the Grinch. My chest expanded and my heart seemed to shake off its icy winter coat and let in the spring sunlight. Even the school looked brighter. I noticed the other kids talking and making movements and wearing colors.

  I sat down as one of the girls at the table leaned in and whispered, “Did you guys hear some girl got date-rape drugged at a party a couple of days ago?”

  “What?” So much for feeling better.

  Blake’s eyes darting across the cafeteria. “Who?”

  “I don't know. They aren’t saying who it is, just that a girl who was seventeen got drugged and assaulted.”

  “What is the world coming to?” Blake nudged his glasses up.

  “My dad works for the town and they said she’s not doing so hot. She’s been taken to the city.” She sat back, as if the news hour was over and now we were all well informed.

  Another girl joined in, “I heard it was Angela Marshall. And she was found like in the woods on the far side of town. Dying. I hear she isn’t the first one either. The sheriff is keeping it quiet until they know more. They don’t want to scare the town.”

  “Creepy.” I shuddered, glancing about the massive room of all my peers.

  It was possible one of the people in here was a pervert, statistically speaking.

  After lunch we walked into class and I noticed I was still in an all right mood. Even with the knowledge of the raping.

  I chalked it up to chemistry being my favorite class. For me, chemistry was simple. The reaction was caused by the chemicals or elements involved. No surprises and no guessing. I loved the predictability that came with knowing the elements. It was a controlled environment.

  Blake loved chem too, but it was because Mr. Mac was his hero. He held three degrees and a master’s by the time he was twenty-four.

  Mr. Mac was my favorite teacher but not for the same reason as the other girls. Every girl in school had a crush on him. He looked much more like a student than a teacher, having only just graduated with his master’s. It earned him hottie-teacher status which he was oblivious to.

  He was handsome, but I only noticed it after my sister had pointed it out to me. Something about his face didn’t do it for me. He wasn’t my type. My type hadn’t changed in ten years. The only problem with “my type” was his current status as my sister’s boyfriend.

  Chapter 3

  The spot

  On the way home from school I took my usual detour, instead of the bus or a ride with Satan, aka Alise.

  I hurried when I saw it and sat down on the roadside, clutching the new dandelions of the year I had gathered along the way. “Hey, Mom.” I smiled, closing my eyes for a moment. A warm breeze trickled along the cement sidewalk. In my mind she was there. She was the tornado sucking my hair up into the air.

  “Did you have a good week? I haven’t been by. I’m sorry.” I started making the crown of flowers, just the way she did. “It’s been a weird week. Remember last time I was here and I said I was getting annoyed with my partner? Well, Mr. Mac said I could just do my own project, since my partner is still absent. I don’t know what’s up with her, but it’s been like two weeks. Maybe it’s the plague. Anyway, I’m lucky it’s Mr. Mac. He treats us like people, not students. He gets that I can’t control her not showing up. I like that he’s an actual chemist too.” I finished my crown and placed it on my head. “There, just like you made.”

  Just as I needed it to, the warm wind brushed against me again.

  A car drove past, dispersing the wind and chasing my mom away.

  I tried to ignore people seeing me here. They made fun of me for coming here to the side of the road, beside the tree where I’d made the mark.

  The fact that my mom hadn’t died anywhere near the tree had dubbed me the town weirdo. In truth though, someone had died here. Me. It was why I haunted it.

  Twenty-eight hundred people populated the little seaside hamlet of Port Mackenzie. Small enough that everyone noticed when Don James’ quiet daughter sat on the side of the road, talking to a tree. I was supposed to be the smart one. If it had been Alise, no one would have batted an eyelash.

  Slowly my gaze lifted to the mark on the tree, filling me with pain and humiliation.

  There, in the torn bark and skin of the tree, my blood made a cross. I had pulled and ripped the bark in a panic, so I would never lose the spot.

  I was surprised the blood hadn’t washed away in the winter rains. The tree held onto enough color that I always found it. The bloodstain was old and brown, but if you knew where to look, you could see the faint outline of the cross. Perhaps the tree knew I needed it.

  But how long would I need it?

  Before my mom’s accident I was on the path to being a woman. I had just come to the realization I was ready for love. I wanted something romantic like in an Austen or Hardy novel. After her death I had lost it.

  Lately, when the sun shone and Shane Bagley smiled at me, I had to fight to be sad.

  “Mom, I can’t fight it much longer. I can’t stay sad forever,” I whispered. “I see Alise being Alise and I hate her. I don't know if I’ll miss you the same amount if I’m not depressed all the time. But I think it’s time to find out.”

  The cool wind twirled around me, not nearly as warm now as it had always been. Maybe it was the winds of change, refreshing and energizing. My mom did want me to be happy. I knew that.

  I stood up and the blood rushed back into my legs with painful pins and needles. “Love you.”

  I turned and left, sad and optimistic about it.

  When I got home my sister was pouting in the corner, with a stormy face that could have devastated a coastline. I assumed Dad had put her on restricted party attendance for a month. Alise hadn’t been to a party in four weeks which no doubt affected her most popular girl in school status. Our father was a marine biologist so his sympathies didn’t lie with social standing.

  Her big silver eyes glistened as if she had been crying. And most likely she had in an attempt to pull out all the stops to get her way. Even at seventeen I had seen fainting, holding her breath, screaming, not talking to people for months on end, refusal to eat or drink, and many, many more dramatics. It always seemed to be in the pursuit of her eternal happiness which only ever lasted about an hour.

  I rolled my eyes as my sister’s gaze fixed on me.

  Like in a cartoon, the cogs began to move as a desperate plan clicked into action. An evil plot formed in the feeble
but wicked mind of the scheming brat. Seeing my sneer, she shifted gears. Her eye twitched as her poor brain worked overtime in desperation to come up with a bargaining chip.

  I imagined a tiny hamster gasping for air on his little wheel, trying to keep her mind moving.

  A façade crept across her face.

  She was so obvious it pained me.

  I hated getting dragged into her schemes.

  She smiled her prettiest smile at me, as if I was a guy to get caught up in her spell. “There’s a party tonight at Shane’s house, a huge party—a fun party.” She looked pitiful. “Can you come with me? It’s senior year. We never hang out, you and me. Come on. Pretty pleeeasse. I have to go. How can his girlfriend not be at his party? This could end our relationship. He could cheat on me, or think I’m lying about not being allowed so I can cheat on him. My love life depends on this party.”

  My heart sank.

  Of course!

  She was the reason Shane had asked me to go to his party. It hurt but it made sense.

  She begged on her hands and knees and pouted her perfectly glossed lips at me, as her silver eyes sparkled under the butterfly wings she had been graced with for lashes.

  “This shit doesn’t work on me. You know I’m a girl, right?”

  “Hardly, with what you’re wearing, Aimes.” She laughed and then quickly recovered back to batting her eyelashes.

  Deep down, the idea of being at Shane’s house was tempting, even if he only wanted me there to be with my sister.

  The real question was whether I was that pathetic or not.

  Just as I was about to admit I was exactly that pathetic, she succumbed, “I can’t go without you. I’ll do your laundry and be nice to you for a month. Even at school. Like really nice.”

  “Laundry. I do hate laundry.” I pretended like I was contemplating the possibility. “Fine.” I ignored the misgivings of making a deal with the devil. “Deal, but you have to be nice to me for a month, and do my laundry according to washing instructions, and drive me anywhere I want. And I want drink service tonight, nothing nasty or filled with booze, but good drinks all night, handed to me from your hand to mine. And I’m bringing Blake, and you have to drive us to the party as you would any other friend. I’m not riding in the trunk.”

  “Blake’s coming?” Her eyes widened and then she stuck her hand out, excited. “Deal.”

  “Please.” I brushed past her, wincing away from her hand. “Like I would touch that. I know where your hands go. Besides, you have no honor; handshakes mean nothing to you. I’ll draw up a contract and tell Blake to be ready for eight.” I imagined she would want it signed in blood, like all evil demons.

  “Whatever.” She laughed. “You’re sort of a bitch, Aimee. A funny bitch. Eight sounds like it’s on.” She jumped up and down excitedly. I had sold my soul to the devil.

  “Keep pissing me off and I’ll make you sign it in blood.”

  Chapter 4

  WoW

  I went to my room to decide on an outfit for the night. I had never been the party type.

  But when I got to my closet I cringed, seeing how bleak it was—or rather black. Some time ago, I went through everything and removed all the color and joy.

  I groaned and grabbed a pair of black skinny jeans and a dark-blue sweater. I changed and checked my reflection. My sister was right which never happened. I looked like death.

  My long blonde hair hung around my eyes that had dulled to a lifeless gray with no zest or expression. My skin wasn’t just white but appeared powdered and flat. I was scrawnier than ever and my skinny jeans were hanging ridiculously off my body.

  I couldn’t help but worry about the girl in the mirror. Her once perky nose seemed slightly big on her horridly thin face. Her full lips were chapped and peeling, not kissable. Her eyebrows were in need of a little weed whacking.

  I could truly pass for a Goth. I couldn’t deny it.

  When was the last time I’d actually looked at myself?

  “Oh my God—you’re not wearing that! Take that off. I’ll be right back.” Alise was in and out before I could register what had happened. Without warning, she stripped the clothes from me, tearing off the sweater and dragging on a pink tee shirt, without caring how roughly she did it. The long top had a big set of red lips on the lower left side. She undid my jeans to tear them off too and then knocked me to the bed and pulled at them.

  She rambled on about being old enough to dress myself, as she tugged on the new jeans. They were dreadful. They were light blue with frayed pockets in the back and subtle whiskers in the front. There was an intentional rip in the right knee.

  I hated the outfit instantly and wanted to undress the minute I saw myself in the mirror. It bothered me that I could pass for one of her friends. I didn’t even want to think about the fact I looked better.

  That being said, in my mind the red lips were a sign that flashed “Look at me!”

  “You’ve gotten too skinny for skinny jeans and black is horrid on you. You’re a spring/summer, Aimee. You need color.”

  She grabbed my arm and dragged me to her room, which could only be described as a cluttered and disgusting mess. I grimaced at the odor I couldn’t quite place. Maybe I could: it was L’eau de Homeless Man who peed his pants and ate nachos.

  “You want boys to like you, Aimes? You need to put a little makeup on and try a bit harder. Guys don’t ask out girls who’ve already crossed over into spinsterhood. Here, try this.” She made me sit in her makeup chair. Her hands flew up at me as she started applying things to my face. I never spoke. I shut my sister out as usual and told myself I could wash my face when the torment ended. Alise tweezed and groomed like Edward Scissorhands, using both hands to do the work.

  “You do like boys, right?” she asked without waiting for me to answer. “Well, you need to grab the guys you like and tell them you like them. Your friends are smart, but nerdy guys are the hardest. They just don’t get girls.”

  I smiled, trying to pacify her as she ranted. I grimaced at her holding something resembling a torture device as it moved toward my eyes. “You know, when I liked Benny, he never knew for the first few weeks, but then I just told him one night at a pit party and we dated for like six months. Till I caught him with that slut Angela—that was disgusting.”

  This was the story of Alise’s life. She had dated at least fifteen boys in the last four years.

  I had yet to date a boy once.

  It wasn’t from lack of desire but more of a lack of options. The only boy I had ever liked was the one my sister was dating. Shane. The boy who always seemed to be out of my league or dating another girl. A lot of other girls. He was Alise but a dude. And now he was ruined forever, having no doubt had sex with my sister. I threw up a tiny bit in my mouth and cringed at the thought.

  She messed with my hair, ignoring the faces I made while processing my love life. “You can’t, like, graduate a virgin, Aimee. That’s just not how it’s done. College is not the place to lose it. And, dude, if you continue the way you’re going, you’ll be in your twenties and a virgin. No guys want to date a twenty-five-year-old virgin. There. What do you think?” She stepped back and swung the chair to face her mirror.

  I prepared myself for the worst—painted whore like her friends or maybe a clown. I worried about the latter because she had been kind to me. As I took my first look I tried not to think that I had just roped her into a month of extra laundry.

  It was remarkable.

  The girl staring back at me was attractive, and I could barely see the makeup. Alise had respected the fact that I was a minimalist.

  “You have a talent, Alise. This is astonishing,” I whispered as I touched my cheeks, not feeling greasy makeup. My lips appeared full and plump, and my blue eyes were noticeable and sparkly.

  She stood behind me in the mirror, smiling at her work. “You look like we could even be friends, like a cheerleader or something.”

  And there she was—the old mean and nast
y snot of a sister I was accustomed to. “Yeah, well, don’t get your hopes up.”

  She crossed her arms and gave me the look of doom. “Don’t do anything to get dirty or make a mess of yourself, and don’t eat. Just sit somewhere till eight.”

  “Thanks.” I laughed as I left her room and went back to mine to play World of Warcraft while I waited for it to be time.

  A while later I was lost in the game and deep in thought about the Alliance member I was creaming when my father interrupted me.

  “You’re doing this then?” Dad asked, as I slaughtered a noob Alliance player with my fellow guildies.

  “Playing WoW? Yeah. I play every day. Dad, please—you need to start paying attention to our comings and goings. It’s getting frightening in here without any parental control.”

  “I know you play, Aimee. It costs me fifteen dollars every month. I notice. Whoever thought that game up is a genius.”

  I never took my eyes off the screen as I spoke, “Duly noted.”

  “No, I meant the party. It’s not your thing. You don’t have to go.” His flat tone sounded as if he was playing it up but secretly excited I would be going.

  “Yeah, well, she promised me the moon and stars.” My eyes still hadn’t left the screen.

  “Be safe and don’t drink, okay?”

  I turned to face him while the flags reset in my game of capture the flag. “Dad, when do I drink? I think you’re in the wrong room. Sleazy Drunks is next door. This is Dorks with Anonymity. Did you eat yet?”

  He chuckled. “No, I ordered pizza. Vince is coming over later. He wants to watch the game.”

  “Who’s playing?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “Oh well, you know me and sports, kiddo. But adult company and some pizza will be a pleasant diversion.”

  “Yeah, I guess we’re both being held hostage for the evening.”

  His eyes sparkled for a moment. “Maybe it’s what we need, Aimee. We don’t seem to be getting past this on our own. You look pretty, by the way. Want me to get a veggie burger when I pick up the pizza?”