PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  I lean back, waving my hands to dry the polish. My toes are separated by small wads of toilet paper to keep them from touching. Annika begins to work diligently on my big toenail.

  On the floor beside us are empty Cool Ranch Doritos bags and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrappers. I’m a little irked because the whole time we were pigging out, Annika kept skirting the subject of Jason every time I brought him up. I ate way more than I meant to, just going round and round the topic with her. Probably exactly what she wants; now my ass’ll blow up like a balloon and Jason will never look at me again.

  This whole time, I’ve played it cool, making small talk about classes, teachers, and our interests so I can get to the bottom of her relationship with Jason, but my patience is wearing thin.

  “Do you like it in the U.S.?” I ask.

  “It is such a big country,” she says, squinting at my big toe and using her fingernail to clean a bit of extra polish away from the cuticle. From this angle, she looks exquisite, like a porcelain doll. I can see why a guy like Jason Brackmeyer would be interested in her. I feel a jealous twinge and wonder if my skin is as smooth as Annika’s. I bet she’s never had a zit in her life.

  “It feels a little impersonal here,” she says. “For example, the people are friendly on the outside but are actually more reserved than where I come from.” She closes the bottle. “It must be the independence in your country. It seems like you are all really cowboys at heart.”

  I hadn’t thought of the U.S. that way but I can see her point. “Yeah, we’re a pretty independent society. It must be hard for immigrants to adapt.”

  “Yes, plus there’s such a lack of culture in some ways,” she says. “I loved visiting different parts of Europe during my holidays. You just drive a few hours and you’re in a completely different country.”

  “That must be neat,” I reply. I haven’t traveled much. Annika seems so worldly.

  “Europeans are not shy to show their affections,” she says. “They hug openly and kiss each other on both cheeks, even the men, especially in places like France, Spain, or Italy. Americans are more reserved.”

  I sit up, alert. This might be my opening. Maybe I can find out once and for all if she’s after Jason.

  She closes the bottle. “I don’t understand how Americans can seem so friendly but are really so . . . what is the word . . . stand-awayish?”

  “Stand-offish,” I say. “But here in America, we do sometimes kiss each other lightly on the lips when we’re good friends. Usually when we’re saying hello or goodbye.”

  “That’s a little odd,” replies Annika. “I have not experienced that.”

  “It’s when you’re close to someone, like a family member, for example. It’s just a peck, like the kind you’d give on the cheek. Nothing sexual. Like this.” I quickly lean over and kiss her on the lips.

  It hits me all at once, an instant “knowing,” faster than any normal thought pattern. It’s as though her mind is connected to mine with an umbilical cord, and her entire life—her memories, her thoughts, her feelings—are now mine.

  I see her sexual abuse as a child, her grizzled uncle hovering over her small body as she whimpers in fear and pain. I see her crying alone in her room, nursing this painful secret she has carried in her heart to this day and never told a soul. I feel her deep despair over the molestation, a pain so palpable it’s like lava searing through my body, a burning fist holding me in its grip.

  The images hit my mind one by one like rapid-fire slaps. The world looks like a bleak place through Annika’s eyes. I see her difficult transition to the U.S., sitting in her room alone, walking home from school by herself, and watching the other students laugh with their friends. I feel her loneliness so acutely I can taste it on my tongue like a bitter, rancid powder. I see her parents gone at work, always gone, and an empty dark house, day after day. She feels like a ship tossed in a rough sea, unmoored and unguided and unloved.

  I even see myself through her eyes, as a person who could be her first American friend. She doesn’t want me to know how grateful she is to be sitting here with me doing normal teenage things. She didn’t want to get too close at first, to get her hopes up, but she desperately wants this friendship.

  Flash, flash, flash.

  At school she sees how I appear to know everybody on the track team, and how Miranda and I are so close. She envies our friendship. She asked Jason about me, and he told her I’m a nice person. She thought about approaching me but didn’t know how. So far, it’s been easier for her to talk to American guys than girls. Guys are easy to be with, they don’t ask personal questions. They just joke around and talk about simple things. Like Jason. They’re buddies. She’ll never think of him as anything but a brother, though, because of what happened to her as a child. Guys as boyfriends are off limits in her mind and heart. Maybe that’ll change when she gets married one day, when she can finally let down her guard and trust.

  She knows she repels intimacy, fears it and despises it. She wishes she had a female friend to share things with. Maybe someone who can help her.

  She hopes it can be me.

  Our kiss is ever so brief, just a small peck, but the grazing of Annika’s lips against mine swiftly opens up her world to me like a tidal wave. A flood of sadness washes over my mind and heart. It’s as if her life is mine, her pain mine, downloaded into my brain in the flash of a second.

  It’s too much. I can’t handle this again, not after Ricky.

  I’m shaking all over, my throat tight. I fumble on the ground for my backpack. I have to get out of here.

  Annika looks at me curiously. “Europeans sometimes kiss friends like that, too. It is no big deal. Don’t worry.” She studies me. “You look weird, like I might freak out or something.” She attempts a laugh. “I don’t like girls, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t either. It’s not that,” I mutter. “I just . . . don’t feel well.” I stand. “I should go.”

  “Okay.” Annika sounds worried.

  I avoid her gaze as I head for the door. It’s all too much. I can barely handle the burden of my own complicated life, let alone someone else’s. I can’t take on Annika’s life and problems right now. She’s so needy it scares me. This is serious stuff, not something to be messed with. If I did try to help her, I would probably just make things worse. I wouldn’t know what to do or say. I’ve got too much to deal with right now: a psychic power I don’t know how to handle, tests to study for, college to think about, Miranda’s troubles with Billy worrying me, Mom always complaining about her hard life. On top of it all, I’ve got Jason on my mind, clouding and confusing things.

  It’s all just too, too much. I don’t have it in me to take on anyone else’s burdens, especially such profound ones as Annika’s.

  I don’t have it in me to be her friend.

  I’m deeply ashamed.

  Guilt and confusion descend on me as I say goodbye. I give her a hug, feeling her wispy body hug me back with the eagerness of a longing friend. Then I get in my car and drive away.

  I blink back salty tears as I drive through the streets, heading for Miranda’s. I need to talk to her about everything. I’m having serious misgivings about my power. It feels wrong to have seen so deeply into Annika’s tragic life without her permission.

  Miranda opens the glass paned double doors with a tear-streaked face.

  My heart clenches. “What’s wrong?” Crap. Do I even want to know?

  “Billy broke up with me!” she wails.

  Her mother quickly ushers us upstairs to Miranda’s room, her anxious expression marring her carefully made-up face. She must be between Botox sessions because her forehead actually has a worry crease—the same crease Miranda gets when she’s upset. She carefully closes the bedroom door behind us, leaving Miranda and me alone.

  Miranda and I sit on the plush carpet since her Bratty Brothers bedspread is covered with used Kleenex. The boy-band’s fresh grinning faces peer out beneath wads o
f crumpled tissues, clueless to the drama unfolding as they grip their neon guitars.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “He sent a text saying he doesn’t want to go out with me anymore. He’s into someone else.”

  “What a jerk!” I’m fuming. How dare he? He always messes with Miranda’s head and treats her like dirt. “Who’s he dumping you for?”

  “I bet it’s that bitch Annika,” she says, her voice rising. “I see how all the guys on the track team look at her.”

  “I’m sure it’s not her,” I say. While guys do notice Annika because of her new-girl allure and Scandinavian good looks, I know the truth. Annika isn’t interested in anyone. I decide against revealing to Miranda what I’ve learned, though. I’ll save it for later when she’s in a more reasonable state. I can’t take the chance of Miranda, in her anger, using Annika’s secrets against her.

  “She’s a sneaky bitch,” Miranda says, balling up another tissue. “Don’t you see the way she flirts with all of the guys in that shy little way of hers?”

  I wish I could tell Miranda that Annika is not after Billy and that I know for a fact he’s never crossed her mind. I know because I was in Annika’s mind just fifteen minutes ago. But if I tell Miranda this, I’ll have to tell her everything else. I can’t do it right now, not with Miranda’s boiling hostility toward Annika. With what I saw in Annika’s mind, I feel a protectiveness toward her.

  “Can you read Billy’s mind for me?” Miranda asks suddenly, her voice quavering.

  “I hope you’re joking.” My stomach twists in revulsion. I can’t imagine kissing Billy Timmons under any circumstances.

  “Please?” Miranda grabs my hands, gripping tightly. Her face is tear-stained, lips quivering. “I love him so much. I need to know what happened.”

  “No. No way.”

  “Winter, I love him. I need to know!”

  I sigh. “Are you sure you don’t want him more because he’s leaving?”

  “No!” says Miranda. “I love him, I really do. Please read his mind for me. My heart is breaking, and my world is ending. You’re my best friend. You have to do this for me. Please?”

  I should tell Miranda I can’t do this for her, that it feels terribly wrong somehow. But how do I say no when she’s in such a terrible state? She would help me if the tables were turned. Why else have this power if I can’t use it to help my very best friend?

  Begrudgingly, I relent. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Now?”

  “What do you mean now? This moment?”

  “Yes. I know he’s home because I called and hung up when he answered. He’s there now. Can you go do it?”

  “Oh, Miranda. What are you getting us into?”

  “Please help me?” she begs.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll ring his doorbell and lay a quick one on him. He won’t know what the hell to think, but oh well. Then I’ll rush back here and tell you what I see.”

  She jumps up to hug me. “You’re the best friend I could ever have. Thank you so much!”

  “But you owe me. Double on our shopping spree,” I say, half-joking.

  “Done.”

  ***

  Billy opens the door and blinks when he sees me. “Hey, Winter. What are you doing here?”

  I take a deep breath. I’ve never been gladder that my ability to read minds has become so efficient, just needing the briefest of pecks to work. I want this over with quickly. Billy Timmons royally grosses me out. I lean forward and quickly touch my lips to his.

  Instead of pulling back as I expected him to, he grabs my face and forces his tongue in my mouth, kissing me hard.

  It’s just like I fantasized. I knew she would come around after finding out about me and Miranda, even though she plays hard to get and pretends not to like me. I’m gonna take her back to my room and rip that little t-shirt off. I want to see those cute little titties. I’ve thought about this for weeks, especially at track seeing her jog around in those tight shorts. She’s really changed this year. She’s all filled out and way hotter than Miranda.

  I yank away. “Omigod! What the hell are you doing?” I spit and gag, wiping my mouth frantically with both hands as I try to get rid of the pungent, ashy nicotine taste of Billy’s saliva.

  “You’re the one here kissing me,” Billy retorts huffily. “Don’t act all innocent. You must’ve heard about me and Miranda.” He looks me up and down. “I’ve thought about this for a while. Fantasized about you, even when I was with Miranda.”

  “Billy, shut your mouth! Miranda is my best friend! You shouldn’t be saying these things to me. I had no idea. God, what is happening?” I sit down on the stoop and begin to sob. “How am I going to tell her?”

  Billy sits beside me. “What’s the big deal? I told Miranda I liked someone else. It’s not working out between us. She bores me. She’ll get over it.”

  “But it’s me you left her for? Neither of us had any idea you liked me. Billy, you can’t. I have zero feelings for you. You can’t leave her for me. Miranda and I are best friends! You need to call her up right away and tell her this was all a mistake. We won’t tell her what happened just now or the things you said. It’ll be our secret. She doesn’t need to know.” I stop babbling. What am I doing? I don’t want Billy to get back with Miranda. He’s a royal asshole!

  Billy grins. “You’re more my type. I like tall brunettes. Since you’re here, why don’t you just come in?”

  Behind him, a woman’s gravelly smoker’s voice caws out, “Billy, who’s at the door?”

  “Just a friend. Don’t worry about it,” he shouts back. He shrugs at me. “My mom won’t care if you come in my room. She’s piss-ass drunk, anyway.” He smirks, eyeing my chest. “She thinks I can do better than Miranda. Me too, come to think of it.”

  I shake my head, choking back sobs. “Miranda loves you.”

  “Whatever. I’m not interested in her anymore. I have the hots for you. I know you feel it too because of the way you look at me sometimes. Now I know it’s not in my head because you showed up here and kissed me.”

  “I’ve never looked at you like that. Your imagination is running wild. And the kiss was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was nothing but a stupid joke. I swear to you, Billy, I’ve never had any interest in you, and I never, ever will!”

  Billy stares at me for a long moment with an expression that slowly turns into angry, humiliated disgust.

  “Get out of here,” he says, backing into the house. “You bitches are all the same.” He slams the door in my face.

  ***

  On the way back to Miranda’s, I ruminate over whether I should tell her. I consider saying that Billy likes a girl from another school. Knowing Miranda, though, she won’t stop until she finds out who it is. Then we’ll be back at square one. No, best to be honest. Billy is a cancer that needs to be cut out swiftly. She’ll experience the pain and then get over him. What better way for her to find out he’s an asshole than the truth? Still, it won’t be easy to break it to her. My chest squeezes tightly as I open the door to her room.

  She looks at me speechless when I tell her. Her eyes well up with tears and her bottom lip quivers. Torrential sobs consume her whole body. My hands tremble as I offer her a tissue. The Bratty Brothers are completely covered in snot rags now.

  I can’t believe this is happening. I hate my power. Things are turning into such a mess.

  “So it wasn’t Annika who was the slut after my boyfriend,” says Miranda slowly, wiping her eyes with quick flicks of each wrist.

  I shake my head. “No. She never had any interest in him. Miranda, you need to forget Billy. He’s not worth your time. You can do way better.”

  “It’s not Annika who’s the slut.” Her eyes narrow. “It’s you!”

  I gasp. “What?”

  She glares. “You want me to forget Billy so you can go after him! Did you enjoy kissing him? I bet you did.” Jealousy, rage, and humiliation are written all over her face.
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  “You don’t mean that,” I say. I know she’s taking it out on me because I’m the closest to her right now, but it doesn’t stop the tears from stinging my eyes. My stomach curls up around itself. Shock and horror rise in my throat. I feel close to barfing.

  “I do mean it,” she snaps. “You’ve stolen Billy from me.”

  “I would never do that.” The words are hard to get out, hot tears spilling over my cheeks. “We’re best friends. You don’t know what you’re saying—” Sobs asphyxiate my words.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again,” she says icily, her arms crossed. “You had a hand in this.”

  “You know I didn’t. You’re just hurt. Don’t take it out on me. You asked me to kiss him!”

  “Not like that, with his tongue in your mouth. It wasn’t supposed to turn out that way. You seduced him! Get out. Don’t ever call me again. Our friendship is over!”

  I’m trembling all over. Nausea rises up. I force back the bile that burns my throat. I gather my purse with shaking hands.

  I turn to see Miranda’s face close to mine, inches away. Her breath is hot and angry. She grabs my face violently and plants a rough, hostile kiss on my lips.

  “There,” she says, drawing back with a sneer. “Now you’ll have no doubt how I feel.”

  And I don’t. In the instant our lips touched, it was like kissing an open flame. I felt all of her hatred and pain and rage blasting at me full force. It physically hurt, like a third degree burn.

  No, there is no doubt how she feels. There is not a miniscule of friendship, not even a pin-speck drop, left in her heart for me.

  On the way home, I sob so hard I have to pull over twice by the side of the road. My friendship with Miranda, the only sister I’ve ever known, my best and dearest friend since I was three years old, is over. All because of this horrible curse of a power.

  I can’t believe it.

  I also can’t believe what else I saw in Miranda’s mind.

  She’s pregnant.

  With Billy Timmons’ baby.