Red Is for Remembrance

by Laurie Faria Stolarz

  I open the door to our room. Sitting on her bed with her arms folded and her bright pink lipsticked lips pressed in a scowl is Amber. And she isn’t alone.

  Sitting beside her is PJ, his arms folded, legs crossed, and foot bobbing at me, all serious-like. And sitting across from them, on Janie’s bed, are Drea and Chad.

  Drea and Chad.

  “Oh my god!” I yelp.

  But instead of joining me in my enthusiasm, Drea gives me an awkward smile and then looks away, and Chad just sits there, studying me.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, stopping short from giving them a hug.

  “They came because I asked them to,” Amber says. “We’re intervening—just like they do on Dr. Phil.” She reaches into her Hello Kitty lunchbox and pulls out my bottle of pills.

  “Is it true?” Drea asks, looking up at me.

  “Is what true?”

  “Are you hooked on hooky?” PJ asks, bobbing his foot with extra vigor. “Popping the pill-age pleasure?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re off the hook,” Amber explains. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been messing up in class, comatosing for days in a row, downing downers by the fistful.”

  “Not anymore,” I say.

  “Are you kidding?” Amber asks. “Janie told me how you went all wiggy looking for something last night—your pills, no doubt—and then I saw my goodie drawer was broken into.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I won’t deny it. But the reason I’ve been taking the pills is because I wanted to sleep—to dream about Jacob. But the tranquilizers are actually keeping me from dreaming.”

  “So that means you’re not going to take them anymore?” Chad asks. He’s sitting a good distance from Drea on the bed, his posture turned away from her, set to just-friends mode.

  “That’s exactly what it means,” I say.

  “It isn’t so simple, my little witchy one,” PJ says. “I’ve known many a hooked-on-hookie in my day, and believe me, it isn’t a day at the roller rink when they try to quit.”

  “I don’t expect it to be a roller rink.” I sigh. “But I can’t afford to screw up. There are lives at stake here.”

  “Amber told us you’re having nightmares again,” Drea says, swiping a long golden Barbie-doll ringlet from her eye.

  I nod, telling them all about Porsha and how she needs my help—how her experience with nightmares seems a lot like mine. I tell them how her mother’s been communicating to me in my dreams, how she needs my help so she can rest in peace.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Chad says, running his fingers through his sandy blond locks. “This girl’s dead mother is talking to you in your dreams . . . ”

  “It isn’t like Stacey hasn’t dreamt about the dead before.” Drea rolls her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Pardon me for a little reality checking,” Chad says.

  “Care to check my reality?” PJ asks, elbowing Amber. Instead of zapping him with a dagger of a response, Amber lets out a schoolgirl giggle and elbows him back.

  Where have I been?

  “Look,” I continue. “I know it sounds weird, but when doesn’t it? I mean, this is my life.”

  “So that’s it?” Chad asks. “You’re going to help this girl and flunk out of school in the process?”

  “Who’s flunking out?”

  “Um, you are,” PJ says, raising his hand, at least four inches of bracelets sliding up toward his elbow. “I mean, even I wouldn’t cheat off you.”

  “Okay, so maybe I didn’t do so hot my first week of classes. But I’m doing much better now. I just got an A on my holistic health quiz. And I got B on my English paper. I mean, I’m studying now. I’m going to all my classes. I’m getting tutored.”

  “By a hunky junior, no less,” Amber adds.

  “Really?” Drea asks, sitting up in attention.

  “Just some guy,” I say.

  “His name is Tim,” Amber says. “And he’s totally stoked on her—like birds to bees.”

  “Birds aren’t attracted to bees, you nitwit,” Drea says. “Didn’t you learn anything in sex ed?”

  “Wait,” Chad says to me, interrupting them. “Don’t you think it’s a little soon to start dating someone new? I mean, it’s only been a few months.”

  “Jealous much?” Drea snaps, inching even farther away from him on the bed. “Personally, I think it’s fabulous.”

  “Better than fabulous,” Amber says. “I mean, you should see this guy’s butt. Total pinch material.” She squishes the air to demonstrate.

  “Care to practice on me?” PJ asks, pointing his butt in her direction. Amber smacks it instead and PJ lets out a meow.

  “Can we get back to business?” Chad asks. “Does this Porsha girl even want your help?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, she’s lucky to have you,” Drea says.

  “Thanks,” I say. “But there’s more. I think helping Porsha will help me learn about Jacob.”

  “Learn about him?” Drea asks.

  “I think there’s something he wants me to know. Porsha’s mother said he’s closer than I think.”

  “Porsha’s dead mother, correct?” Chad says, arching his eyebrows.

  “Laugh all you want,” I say. “But maybe there’s more to Jacob’s accident than just him falling overboard. Maybe there’s something he didn’t get to tell me, something he wants me to know . . . just like Porsha’s mother . . . like how she’s trying to communicate with her daughter through me.”

  “Well,” Amber says, “speaking as someone who dates inanimate objects on a regular basis, I’m totally behind you . . . so long as you quit the shit.” She shakes the bottle of pills for emphasis.

  “Of course we’re behind you,” Drea says, standing up from the bed. She comes and wraps her arms around me. “We just want you to be okay.”

  “Thank you so much for coming,” I say, hugging her back. “And I will be okay.” And maybe for the first time in my life, I think I’ll be just fine.

  After the third degree, we all head across the street to Pizza Prison before Drea and Chad have to make the long drive back to school. The whole place is set up like a jail—the floors and walls are nothing more than crude cement, the waitstaff is dressed in striped prison uniforms, and there are groupings of tables set up in cells, behind bars.

  “This is my kind of place,” Amber says, eyeing one of the servers passing by with a tray full of handcuffs.

  The host leads us down a long corridor of prison cells already taken up, finally seating us at a table in one of the solo cells at the very end. He closes the bars behind us, locking us in, but leaves the key in the lock so we’re not completely imprisoned.

  “Is it me, or is this all a little too real?” Chad asks.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m feeling extra hot,” Amber says, snuggling in close to PJ. “There’s something about being caged that gets me all—”

  “Thank you very much,” I say, interrupting the thought.

  “So what are we eating?” Drea asks, peeling her menu open.

  A moment later, our cell unlocks. I look up. It’s Tim, dressed in one of the prison uniforms.

  “Hey, there!” He beams at me.

  “Hey, roomie,” PJ says. “My stuff’s all moved in. Thanks again.”

  Tim flashes him a slight smile but then focuses back on me. “Did I mention I work here?”

  I shake my head, feeling my face warm over.

  “Good tips,” he says, smiling even wider now.

  “You must be Tim,” Drea says, kicking me under the table.

  Tim nods, furrowing his brow, probably wondering how Drea even knows about him.

  “It’s the butt,” Amber whispers across the table. “I told y
ou it was pinch-perfect.”

  I introduce everybody and Tim takes our order—Second-Degree Zucchini Sticks, Garlic-Cheesy Bankrobber Bread, and a large Handcuffed Pizza, as insisted upon by Amber.

  “He’s so cute,” Drea says, once Tim leaves.

  I shrug, knowing that it’s true, that he is cute, not to mention unbelievably sweet and thoughtful. But I also can’t help but feel incredibly guilty. I look at Chad and he’s staring right at me. “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, continuing to stare, like my voice of conscience.

  “We’re just friends,” I tell him.

  “Too bad!” Amber sighs.

  “What’s with you two?” Drea asks, noticing how Amber is practically sitting in PJ’s lap now.

  Amber shrugs, resting her head against PJ’s shoulder.

  “The poor girl was lost without me.” PJ growls in Amber’s ear and the two end up in a long and slurpy liplock.

  “Okay, I think I’ve lost my appetite,” Drea says, pushing her empty plate away.

  Tim arrives shortly after with our garlic bread, but PJ and Amber are too occupied in the corner, rediscovering each other’s tonsils, to stop for a bite of actual food. So embarrassing.

  “Let me refill these for you,” Tim says, grabbing our empty soda glasses.

  “I’m all set,” Chad says.

  “You’ll need a drink for the pizza,” Drea tells him.

  “If I do, then I’ll just have some of yours.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Okay, fine, I won’t.” He sighs.

  “What is wrong with you?” She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “You’ve been acting all prep-school pissy since we got here.”

  “No, I haven’t,” he says.

  “You so have.” She folds her arms.

  “I’m assuming they’re all set with drinks.” Tim gestures to Amber and PJ, breaking a bit of the tension.

  “Drinks—yes,” I say. “But maybe they could use a cell of their own.”

  “For a conjugal visit,” he jokes.

  Amber gives Tim the thumbs up, not breaking her lip-lock on PJ.

  “So yuck,” Drea says.

  “Are we still on for our study session tomorrow night?” Tim asks me.

  I nod. “At 8 o’clock, right?”

  “I was thinking maybe we could go out after.”

  “Out?”

  “Nothing big,” he assures me. “Maybe just out for a burger. Studying gives me an appetite and I hate to eat alone.”

  Drea kicks me under the table, urging me on. But I thought Tim understood. I’m not really interested in starting anything right now. I glance over at Chad, who’s giving me this look—this you-obviously-don’t-love-Jacob-if-you-go-on-a-date-with-this-chump look.

  “Maybe not,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty.

  “Are you kidding me?” Amber asks, ripping her lips from PJ’s ear. “Of course she’ll go.”

  “It’s fine . . . really,” Tim says, turning a bright shade of pink.

  “That’s right,” Amber says. “It’s totally fine. She’ll be there . . . with spurs on.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I say, sensing his misery and sharing in it.

  “Sure,” he says. “It’s cool.” Tim turns on his heel and flees the cell faster than an escaped convict.

  The pizza comes a few minutes later. There’s a set of plastic handcuffs in the center as a decoration. PJ snaps them up, locking him and Amber together.

  I manage to get a couple slices down, despite all the gurgling going on in my stomach. We eat pretty quickly, especially since, with Amber and PJ preoccupado in the corner of the cell and Drea and Chad stuck in one of their usual tiffs, there isn’t much talking at the table. I give Tim an extra good tip and we leave—and not a moment too soon.

  Before we make it out to the parking lot, however, Drea pulls me to the side. “I want to talk to you a minute before Chad and I head back.”

  “Sure,” I say, glad that we won’t be letting things just end like this.

  Drea asks Chad for the keys to his Jeep and, while the others wait inside the restaurant, we sit out in the parking lot with the heat in the Jeep turned up to full blast.

  “Thanks again for coming all this way,” I say. “It’s too bad you can’t stay overnight.”

  “Not possible.” Drea sighs. “I have an exam first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ve really missed you,” I say.

  “Me, too.” She smiles. “It’s not the same rooming with someone who can’t whip up PMS sachets on a moment’s notice.”

  “Not to mention spells for zapping zits.”

  “Or spells for getting your ex-boyfriend to notice you exist.”

  “I don’t think there’s any question there,” I say. “Chad definitely knows you exist.”

  Drea shrugs. “It’s hard, you know. We’re still close, but I feel like there’s so much more competition now . . . so many girls. So confident. So pretty. Always hanging all over him.”

  “Yeah, but they’re not you.”

  Drea shrugs again. “You must think I’m some insecure brat.” She wipes at her eyes and looks away.

  I shake my head. “I know you better than that, remember?”

  “I miss you,” she says again.

  I lean over and give her the biggest hug. When it breaks, I grab a tissue and help her blot at her eyes.

  “Thanks,” she says, with a blow to her nose.

  “What are friends for?”

  “I mean it,” she continues. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever known.”

  “And I mean it, too—you and Chad belong together.”

  Drea smiles slightly and we begin to reminisce—about our late-night chocolate binges, the time Amber mooned one of Hillcrest’s landscapers on a dare, and how we always used to do spells together, including the one we did to help Amber’s boobs grow an extra cup (except that spell never worked).

  A couple minutes later, Chad knocks on my window, startling me. I roll it down.

  “What’s going on?” he asks. “There’s just so long I can watch PJ and Amber going at it in their handcuffs.”

  Drea and I say our goodbyes, complete with hugs, kisses, and promises to call each other more often. I step out of the Jeep to say goodbye to Chad as well.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, giving him a hug.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’d do anything for you.”

  Our hug breaks and we just stand there, looking at one another, for several seconds.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been an ass,” he says. “I just worry about you.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I know,” he says, touching my forearm. “You always are.” Chad kisses my cheek and hugs me once more. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  A second later, Drea honks the horn. I wave them goodbye as they pull out of the parking lot, knowing in my heart that they’re two of the best people I know—and that they truly do belong together.

  It’s snowing even harder now. Mason leads Shell inside his cabin. There’s a room in the back that Mason keeps for meetings among the leaders and for private talks with campers—like this.

  Shell clenches the fabric of his empty pocket, wishing the pentacle rock were still inside. He fears for Brick even more than for himself, wondering why Brick would ever confront Clay that way—wondering what Clay will do now that he knows Brick is on to his stealing.

  Mason closes the door behind them. It’s a tiny room with four benches set up in a square, and no windows. He gestures for Shell to take a seat. “How are you getting along?”

  “Fine,” Shell says, taking another deep br
eath.

  Mason nods, sitting down across from him. “I’ve been pleased with the progress you’ve made. I think you have great potential here.”

  “Thank you, Mason.”

  “But I’ve also noticed you’re very quiet . . . very observant. I often wonder what you’re thinking.”

  “Nothing,” Shell says, swallowing hard.

  “Surely, you must be thinking something.”

  Shell shakes his head, wondering if Brick betrayed him by saying something. Or maybe someone spotted the two of them on the beach the other night after hours.

  “I’ve noticed you’ve gotten close to Lily,” Mason continues.

  Shell nods.

  “Good,” Mason says. “Lily’s a nice girl. She’s very passionate about our group. I thought you two would make a good match; that’s why I suggested it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it was my idea. She originally had her heart set on Clay, but I had a little chat with her and steered her in your direction.”

  Shell’s mouth drops open, completely taken aback.

  “Surprised?” Mason asks. “I did it to make you more comfortable here. You’ve been through a lot . . . abandoned on the streets like that. Plus, with your lack of memory . . . I just thought you might like the extra attention. She’s quite beautiful, don’t you think?”

  Shell nods, his mind racing with questions. It’s like a blow to his gut. Why would Mason do such a thing? Why would Lily agree to it?

  “Just tell me how I can make your life more pleasing here, and I’ll see what I can do,” Mason continues, “as long as you do for me and the group in return.”

  Shell clenches his teeth, remembering how Lily told him she loved him, how she kissed him so passionately. Was she lying? Or does she believe it purely because Mason tells her to?

  “Are you okay?” Mason asks.

  Shell nods, though he wants to be sick. “Is Clay upset?”

  “He’ll get over her. Clay’s resilient like that. Maybe Daisy would be a better match for him anyway—more of a challenge. What do you think?”

  “I think he probably cares for Lily.”