The Accident

by Diane Hoh

  Megan frowned. “He asked Jenny out? Jenny Winn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think he asked Cappie out, too,” Hilary said. “I saw them arguing in the hall last week. Donny yelled something about girls who say they have to wash their hair when anyone with eyes can see their hair isn’t the least bit dirty.” Hilary grinned. “I thought it was pretty funny.” The grin disappeared. “Now I’m not so sure.” Her blue eyes narrowed.

  “I feel sorry for Donny,” Megan said. “Nobody likes him, and I think his home life stinks. His parents are divorced, and he moves back and forth between two different homes. That can’t be much fun.”

  “My parents are divorced, too,” Hilary said airily, “but I’m not a dweeb like Donny.”

  “Sure you are,” Justin said lazily, grinning. “You’re just prettier than Donny.”

  “It must be awful to be so unpopular,” Megan said slowly. She was remembering the dream, hearing Juliet say again that she’d been popular. Donny wasn’t. But he was still luckier than Juliet had been. He just didn’t know it.

  “Oh, Megan,” Hilary said in exasperation, “You’re always feeling sorry for people! You just don’t get it that there are some really crummy people out there who don’t have good excuses for the rotten way they act. Get with the program, will you?”

  “But that’s what makes her so lovable,” Justin said lightly, giving Megan’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s part of her charm.”

  Megan smiled up at him. Hilary made a gagging gesture, but she grinned as she did it.

  Before they went back into school, Megan turned and looked back at the lawn. No one seemed to be paying any particular attention to her. So why did she have this feeling that she was a specimen under a microscope? It gave her goose bumps.

  Later, passing Donny Richardson in the hall on her way to art class, she found herself smiling at him with more warmth than usual.

  He looked surprised, and his skinny black mustache remained in place, refusing to curve into a return smile. Megan had a feeling that even if he had smiled, it wouldn’t have reached his eyes. They seemed so cold and empty.

  When she reached the art room, she went straight to her assigned cubbyhole at the rear of the room. There was a square of red construction paper sticking halfway out, sandwiched between her latest drawing and her box of pastels.

  She hadn’t used red construction paper lately.

  Curious, she slid the paper out of the cubbyhole and looked at it. What she saw was a crude, childish drawing of a large yellow car with no top, filled with a strange cargo.

  Megan walked over to the big window to look at the picture in better light.

  It was horrible. Seated in the driver’s seat of the crudely drawn car was a … horse? Wearing a string of pink beads around its throat. On the passenger’s side of the front seat sat what looked like a large candy bar beside a fat yellow-and-black-striped blob with wings. A bumblebee.

  What on earth … ?

  Her eyes moved to the backseat. A hat of some kind was drawn there. It had a visor with an emblem on it. A baseball cap? There was a small, green ball beside it. A green baseball? No. It looked more like an oversized green pea.

  As people began to file into the big art room, Megan studied the picture carefully. It was a simple puzzle. The car was clearly Jenny’s. The candy bar and the bumblebee were easy: Bar. Bee. Barbie. And the cap and the pea meant Cappie. But why was there a horse in the driver’s seat?

  What kind of twisted mind would draw such a sick picture about a tragic accident?

  And why was it in Megan’s cubbyhole?

  Was it a joke? If it was, someone at Philippa had a very bizarre sense of humor.

  Shivering, Megan crumpled the picture angrily and tossed it into the wastebasket.

  On her way out of class fifty minutes later, Megan plucked the wrinkled drawing from the trash and stuffed it into her notebook. She didn’t know why she did it. She only knew that it seemed like a good idea.

  When she got home, Megan approached her bedroom door with hesitation, wondering nervously if the room would still feel strange. It had been almost a whole day since the dream. Her bedroom should feel like her own room again by now.

  Megan slowly pulled the door open. Instead of closing it behind her, she stood in the doorway, listening, and searching all four corners with her eyes. The room, its flowered wallpaper faded and peeling slightly in spots, would ordinarily be filled with sunshine at this time of day, but because of the slate-colored sky, it looked dreary and gray.

  Megan’s searching eyes found nothing out of the ordinary. The unmade bed seemed to hold no secrets, the lace curtains hanging from her canopy and on her windows waited patiently for her to enter the room, and the clothes lying on the floor in small, scattered heaps were as familiar as the stuffed animals cluttering the white shelves at the far end of the room.

  Megan stepped inside and closed the door.

  At last, she let herself glance into the full-length mirror.

  It was empty.

  Of course it is, she told herself, and went to her desk to remove a sheaf of papers from a drawer.

  She had just turned around, papers in hand, when the curtains began blowing wildly and she was hit by a blast of frigid air. Her room darkened and became shrouded in shadow.

  “What are you doing, Megan Logan? Is it something fun?”

  Chapter 5

  SHIVERING WITH RENEWED FEAR, Megan forced her eyes to the mirror.

  Juliet had returned.

  I wasn’t dreaming after all, Megan thought, her breath frozen in her throat. She sank down on the bed, drawing the comforter around her against the chill. “What … what are you doing here?” she whispered.

  “I came to talk. Will you listen, Megan Logan? Please?”

  The gauzy purple image became sharper. The head was wide at the top, narrow at the bottom, the eye sockets sunken and lit by a golden glow, the body no more than a transparent stream of lavender waving about in the glass.

  While the light in the mirror grew brighter, the room itself became murky with shadows, a dark, icy place unknown to Megan. She wanted desperately to leave it, but she was afraid. And beneath the fear, curiosity stirred.

  “Why are you here?” she asked softly. “You don’t belong here.”

  “Why can’t you accept me?” the voice asked. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Leave me alone. You’re scaring me.”

  Someone outside on the lake laughed. Megan wished fiercely that she could suddenly, magically, be transported out there to join them.

  “Well, I’m not trying to scare you. I thought you’d talk to me because you have an open mind. I know that about you. I know everything about you. When I found out that we shared a birthday, I knew that I’d have to know everything. So I studied you carefully.”

  Megan remembered the feeling of being under a microscope. “You … you’ve been watching me?”

  “I had to. When I found out that you were a dreamer, I knew that would make it easier for you to hear me.”

  If only she were daydreaming now. Because Megan didn’t want this … thing … this Juliet … to be real.

  “I’ve been waiting forever for someone who could hear me,” Juliet said, her voice excited. “I can’t talk to just anyone. Has to be someone exactly my age. Someone near the lake, where I died. Someone with an open mind and a kind heart. Someone with imagination and a belief that anything’s possible. Someone just like you, Megan Logan.” The plume waved gently back and forth in the mirror, illuminated in the darkened room only by the strange silvery glow surrounding it. “But I made myself wait to talk to you, so you’d have time to settle into this house. I was scared that if I showed up too soon, I’d frighten you off.” Juliet hesitated, then added, “This was your grandmother’s house. Martha’s house. She left it to your mother when she died a while ago.”

  How could … Juliet … know so much about her? All Megan knew about the thing in her mi
rror was that it had lived, and died, and it was lonely.

  A sigh echoed from the mirror. “It’s been hard not to give up hope! All this time …”

  Nervously fingering the edges of the comforter, Megan asked, “Hope of what?”

  “Of having someone to talk with. Of reaching someone. Of … trading.”

  Mesmerized by Juliet’s velvety voice, Megan failed to notice that her own body had stopped trembling, her hands were no longer shaking, and the lump in her throat had dissolved. “Trading? Trading what?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s talk about your party.”

  “But … you can’t be here. This can’t be happening.” Megan’s voice was remarkably steady. “How did you get here?”

  “It was easy. I had to be here. You’re my only chance.”

  “But it’s … it’s not possible.”

  “Anything is possible, Megan. You believe that, don’t you? Isn’t that what your grandmother Martha always said?”

  It was. Gram had said, “Believe in everything, Megan, until you learn otherwise. Anything is possible in this world. You remember that.”

  But had she been talking about wispy columns of smoke in a mirror? What would she say about this visit from Juliet? Megan knew the answer to that question. Gram would say, “Do whatever you think is right, Megan. Trust yourself. Make up your own mind.”

  Like snow on a sun-warmed slope, the icy, mind-numbing fear began slowly, slowly, to melt away from Megan. As it ebbed, it was replaced by complete bewilderment.

  Megan shifted on the bed, remembering suddenly how long ago Juliet had … died. “Did you … did you know my grandmother? Before … before your accident, I mean.”

  “Everyone knew the Logan family.”

  Realizing that Juliet had known her grandmother stirred an inner warmth in Megan. She had more in common with the image in her mirror than just a shared birthday. “What was she like when she was a teenager?”

  “I didn’t know her very well. I wasn’t here, on the lake, that long. I think she was like you. Quiet, dreamy.” The voice lowered, heavy again with sadness. “How I envy you, Megan! You’ll have the wonderful party I never had. You’ll get to live those years full of fun. Parties, dances, boyfriends … I missed all of that.”

  Tears pooled in Megan’s eyes. Jenny Winn, Barb, and Cappie; all had nearly lost their lives, like this … like Juliet. What would that be like, to have your life end so young? The thought made her pull the comforter more closely around her, as if it could somehow protect her from harsh reality.

  “Are you cold, Megan?”

  “No. Just feeling sad. It … it isn’t fair that your life ended … so early.”

  “You’re nice. I knew you’d understand. I think it was unfair, too. That’s why I can’t be at peace. …” the voice moaned. “If only … no, never mind. You’re not ready. It’s too soon.”

  Megan frowned. “If only what?”

  The light around the plume deepened, easing the shadows surrounding Megan. “Well, I really think you need more time. But since I don’t have much, I’ll go ahead and explain. I know you won’t understand right away, but maybe after you’ve thought about it, we can talk again.”

  Megan stirred. “Understand what?”

  “My life ended too soon, Megan. That’s not ever supposed to happen. But I have a chance to make up for that now. If I can find someone who shares a birthday with me, and if that person can hear me, I can ask her to switch places with me for just one short week. I can ask for her willing consent to let me live her life for seven days and seven nights. That’s what I want to ask of you.”

  Megan could not take in what she was hearing. Juliet’s words whirled round and round in her head. Trade places? With … with that!

  Megan felt the darkened room begin to spin around her. The dark shadows began to move, to reach out for her with cold, clammy fingers. Instinctively she pushed backward on her bed until her back was pressed up against the headboard and she could go no further. “What,” she whispered hoarsely, “are you talking about?”

  “It’s really easy, Megan.” Juliet’s voice became stronger. “And it would only be for a week. A week when I’d have the chance to live the most fun time in a girl’s life. Compared to a lifetime, a week really isn’t much. But it would be enough for me. At the end of the week, I’d go away. I’d be at peace then, forever.”

  Megan was unable to speak. Not a muscle moved, not an eyelash blinked as she sat frozen under the canopy of her bed. The room grew deathly-quiet.

  “Megan?” Juliet said finally. “Megan?”

  But Megan could not find her voice.

  “I’ve scared you. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have told you so soon. But I don’t have very much time. Just think about it, please? Remember, Megan, anything is possible. I’ll come back again, after you’ve had time to think. Thank you for listening to me.”

  The light in the mirror faded and vanished. Megan was alone.

  She sat on the bed and stared at the wooden-framed glass. The voice had been real. Juliet had been real. Nothing had been imagined or dreamed. Even for someone like Megan, who created stories out of images she saw in clouds, it was difficult to accept. But she had accepted Juliet’s presence.

  Yet what Juliet had proposed was so strange and frightening that Megan could barely believe it. Could something like that actually be possible?

  Megan had never had any trouble following her grandmother’s advice: “Believe in everything until you learn otherwise.” But this was too strange, too crazy to think about.

  After wrestling with it for hours, the only thing Megan was sure of was that something had been in her mirror.

  All evening, she waited for something more to happen. She couldn’t read or study or concentrate on television. And she couldn’t seem to move from her room.

  But nothing happened.

  The glass remained glass, nothing more.

  Chapter 6

  WHEN HILARY CALLED LATER, it was easy for Megan to keep silent about Juliet. One word about her and practical-minded Hilary would think Megan was losing her marbles.

  Fortunately Hilary had other things on her mind. “Jenny’s regained consciousness,” she told Megan. “They think she’s going to be okay. My mom talked to Mrs. Winn today. But … the worst thing, Megan, is that it wasn’t an accident. Somebody screwed up the steering on Jenny’s car.”

  Megan inhaled sharply. Someone had deliberately tried to hurt her friends? “Hilary, are you sure?”

  “Sheriff Toomey’s sure. My parents are really freaked-out. Three of my best friends are in the hospital, so my mom thinks I might be next. I could be grounded forever. She says, ‘Better safe than sorry.’”

  “This is unreal,” Megan breathed. “Who would do something so horrible?”

  “Maybe a rejected boyfriend? Like the famous Donny Richardson, for instance? Practically every girl in school has turned him down lately. Maybe he hates all of us. And doesn’t he work in his brother’s garage? It has to be someone who knows auto mechanics.”

  “Hilary, practically everyone at Philippa took auto mechanics, including most of the girls.”

  Hilary’s voice became testy. “Well, I don’t know about you, Megan, but when I took it, I certainly didn’t learn how to kill someone by sabotaging a car!”

  When Megan had hung up, she focused on Hilary’s final remarks about how lucky Jenny was. “At least she’s alive,” she’d said.

  Unlike poor Juliet, Megan thought, flinching in pain as she pictured a fifteen-year-old girl being thrown from a boat and sinking rapidly into the deep, dark waters of the lake.

  What was really tough to swallow was the horrifying news Hilary had given her. Someone had deliberately caused the car wreck? Whoever it was couldn’t possibly have known the three girls would survive. The tampering had been intended to kill.

  Suddenly Megan remembered the crude crayon drawing of the yellow car and its weird cargo. It was still in her notebook. She ha
d thought of it as a cruel, sick joke. Now she realized it had been more than that.

  I cut art on Tuesday, she remembered. Hilary talked me into a spur-of-the-moment trip to the mall. I never checked my cubbyhole that day. It could have been in there then, before the accident ever happened. Which would make it not a cruel joke but … a warning.

  If she took the drawing to Sheriff Toomey, would he laugh? He was a nice man, but if she brought him evidence that looked like a child’s drawing, he might think she was wasting his time. She would have to think about it.

  Exhausted, Megan began getting ready for bed.

  Lost in worry, she had just slipped into a pair of white shortie pajamas when the temperature in her room plummeted again. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and turned to face the mirror. It began to glow, and Juliet took shape.

  “Megan. I hope what I told you before didn’t upset you. You’ve been so nice, listening to me.”

  Still wary, Megan sat on the floor in front of the mirror. “What do you want from me?” she asked cautiously. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to do that … trading thing that you talked about.”

  “You won’t even consider it?” Juliet asked sadly. “But I thought you had an open mind, Megan. I thought you believed anything was possible, as Martha did.”

  Megan shook her head vigorously. “Not that. Not … what you said — about trading. I don’t believe that’s possible.” I don’t want it to be, she added silently.

  “Oh, but it is! And it’s so simple.”

  “Simple how?” Megan asked suspiciously.

  “You would step into the mirror, and I would step out. As you. What could be simpler?”

  “It can’t be that easy!”

  Juliet sighed deeply. “All of the hard parts come first, Megan. Finding someone near the lake who shares my birthday. Getting her to listen. Almost no one will listen. And getting her consent to switch is the hardest thing of all. People are too afraid of the unknown.”

  “That’s for sure,” Megan agreed. The thought of becoming, even temporarily, what Juliet was — a smoky, incandescent purple plume —made her flesh feel as if a thousand tiny spiders were making their home on her skin.