by C. M. Fenn
At first, I was ecstatic for Tori. They immediately sold their old double-wide trailer and moved into a sprawling, three-story mansion surrounded by acres of horse property. Her parents bought nicer cars for themselves and a thoroughbred for Tori.
They started traveling a lot and went on cruises to exotic places every other month. I hardly saw her anymore. When we were together, we were either bored out of our minds because we couldn’t find a shared interest, or we were at each other’s throats arguing. Suddenly, we couldn’t relate to each other anymore. I couldn’t compete with her expensive toys and exciting new lifestyle. We were on the verge of going our separate ways. Then came that awful day in August and I found myself fatherless and in desperate need of comfort and friendship.
Tori had been my best friend for years, and even though we drifted apart, she knew me better than anyone. I really needed her during that difficult time and she was there for me. Even though we would probably both be happier apart, I believe we’re still friends because of a mutual sense of guilt: She would feel guilty ditching me because my dad died, and I would feel guilty ditching her because she was there for me through the hardest time of my life.
So now we’re “besties” who are nearly complete opposites. She’s a blonde (from a bottle), who has blue eyes (thanks to colored contacts), a figure to die for (yes, she paid for that too), and wears expensive designer clothes and accessories.
I, on the other hand, value comfort over couture, practicality over pretty. And I still have only my natural God-given body parts to work with. I decide not to let the minor public humiliation of her critique on my appearance ruin my day.
“So are you ready for third hour?” I ask, as she perfects her lip gloss in her compact mirror’s reflection.
“I think so. My tutor gave me a practice test yesterday and I aced it. I’m feeling pretty good.”
“This is your last final, isn’t it?” I ask.
She nods her head as she puts her makeup back into her purse. She gets a devious grin on her face and says, “Daddy says if I ace all my finals I can trade in Trixie for next year’s model!”
Trixie is Tori’s cute little red convertible.
“I thought that was going to be your graduation present.”
Her expression gets even more devious, if that’s at all possible. “Nope! My mom finally convinced him to let me go to Paris!” She grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Avec Jordan!” she squeaks.
“Whoa,” is all I can manage. Jordan is Tori’s older boyfriend. He’s twenty-two and attends the local community college. He doesn’t have a job, or any motivation to get one. Why would he? He still lives at home and his parents pay for his car and schooling and endless partying. He is frequently drunk and reeks of cigarette smoke. Tori’s father hates him.
“I know! I can’t believe it! My mom is an angel!”
I’m thinking to myself how I’m not certain what kind of angel would send their teenage daughter on a trip halfway around the world with someone like Jordan. Since their increase in wealth, Tori’s mother Candice has done everything in her power to regain her youth, which includes being the “cool” mom and allowing her daughter to do basically whatever she wants. I do a mental eye roll as I wonder how “Candi” thinks this couldn’t possibly come back to haunt her.
Tori glows, however, looking rather like the cat that caught the canary. Before I get a chance to discuss the matter more with her, the first bell rings. I cram my notes into my bag and glance up in the direction of my first-hour AP government class, which happens to be located across the hall from Kevin Ludlow’s first-hour Spanish 3 class. I see him ahead of me talking with Josh and watch the back of his head as Tori and I walk. While she rambles on about her plan of attack on the tourist attractions in and around Paris, Kevin looks back over his shoulder and our eyes lock.
He is looking right at me. Blatantly and openly. He smiles. I smile. We hold eye contact for a second before he turns around and disappears through his classroom doorway.
Did that just happen? I’m light-headed and giddy and not even hearing Tori anymore. Her chatter is a distant buzz in the background. Did Kevin really turn and look at me? I can’t stop my smile from turning into a huge grin that spreads across my whole face.
He is so adorable with his sweet brown eyes and crooked smile. But why would he smile at me? I’ve never even talked to him, except to lend him a pencil one time in class. Was my infatuation with him so obvious that he had caught on? That would be so embarrassing! But still, if he didn’t like me, why smile at me?
Then it hits me like a runaway train and my smile disappears. Of course he wasn’t looking at me. I’m walking with Tori, one of the prettiest girls in school. It’s nearly impossible to get noticed in her company. How could I have thought that smile was meant for me? I try not to resent Tori for this. I already have enough of that to fight off.
“So, I was hoping I could get them to let me stay two weeks instead of one but that is going to take some serious charming on my part,” Tori’s still talking away, oblivious to the fact that I’ve not listened to a word she’s said.
“Well, good luck. Knowing your dad, he’ll probably cave in,” I say as we reach my class door. “Hey, have a good morning, Tor. I’ll see you third hour.”
“Yeah, see ya,” she says as she waves over her shoulder and heads off to AP chem.
I duck into class before the warning bell can ring. Today’s an easy day in government. We took the written part of our final on Monday; every day since we’ve spent giving and listening to the oral presentations that make up the other half of our final. Mine isn’t scheduled until tomorrow, so today I sit back and listen. I take notes and try to focus on what the other kids are saying so my mind doesn’t wander back to Kevin and his smile.
Second hour is intermediate art—my favorite class. We’ve been meeting in the library this week trying to set up for the end-of-the-year art exhibit. Each year three students are chosen throughout the art departments (performing and applied) to be showcased as “Tomorrow’s Stars.” They get an entire section of the exhibit for their work. My art teacher, Mrs. McCowen, nominated me this year and I found out last week that I was chosen!
It’s a huge honor and one that I’m sure will look good on my college application – if and when I decide to apply. With money being tight, and mom already paying for Jana’s tuition, I haven’t decided if I’ll even make it to college.
When class starts, I still haven’t made up my mind on which works to display, but by the end of the hour, and with the help of Mrs. McCowen, I’ve finally decided on a lineup for my section of the exhibit.
My third-hour physics final takes almost the whole hour, but when I’m finished I know I’ll earn at least a “B” on it. When class ends, Tori and I walk to our lockers together to drop our stuff off before we go to lunch.
“How do you think you did?” I ask.
“How, you say? Magnifique!” she says in a flawless French accent. She throws her head back and her hands up and shouts, “OH, no more finals! Paris, here I come!”
The rest of the school day goes pretty well. I don’t get up the nerve to speak to Kevin in my fifth-hour class and he doesn’t flash his smile at me, which only confirms my previous suspicions—he’d been smiling at Tori.
I meet her at the lockers when school’s out. She’s talking with some of the other “high-maintenance” girls, so I hang back and wait for her. The sun’s beating down and there’s no breeze today. I’m dreading getting into my truck. The air conditioning usually doesn’t start to kick in until I’m pulling into my driveway. Tori looks like she has news to share when she makes it over my way.
“I got a text from Jordan last hour. He says he’s throwing a party tomorrow night. I was just telling Emily to invite everyone she knows. You should come by. There will be a ton of college boys there!” She smiles and winks at me. I have a moment of complete panic as I search for some valid-sounding excuse not to be there. Then with relief, I r
emember Jana’s in town and we’re supposed to have a girls’ night out tomorrow, just the two of us.
“Oh shoot. I can’t.” I put on my best bummed-out look. “Jana’s here this weekend and I promised to go shopping with her.” As we walk out to the parking lot, I realize I’m actually looking forward to spending time with Jana.
I say good-bye to Tori and head home. Sure enough, I’m sweating buckets by the time I get there so I take a quick shower. When I’m finished and getting dressed in my room, I hear dishes clinking in the kitchen. Mom must be home from her part-time job at the post office. I head to the kitchen to help her unload the dishwasher.
“Hey!” she greets me with a smile. “Sooooo? How did you do?”
I laugh because I know she’s been wondering all day how my test went. “Great, I think. There were only a few questions I wasn’t positive about. It was multiple-choice answers, though, so I still have a decent chance of getting those right.” I can tell she’s relieved. We talk about her day and she tells me a funny story about a friend of hers at work. As she laughs, her blue eyes sparkle and the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle up. I can’t help but be so grateful I have her in my life.
Losing a parent can put life into perspective, forcing you to view everything so differently. You cherish and love the ones that remain with you. You recognize moments like this as precious. You study every detail and commit it to your memory so you have it with you always. Hopefully, someday I’ll have enough of these types of memories to fill up the empty space inside.
Jana gets home from visiting a friend and Mom orders delivery pizza. We all sit around the television and watch the news as we eat. Stories about Hurricane Ilsa and all the devastation it’s left behind are everywhere. Rich Bennet, the lead anchor from Channel 5 news, is on site and stands in front of a pile of rubble that used to be a church. He wears a solemn expression as he tells how the estimated death toll has climbed to over three hundred.
I look out our back window and see the sun glaring in the sky. I can almost feel it sucking all the moisture from the dirt and plants and air, and I marvel at the thought that a handful of states east of here, entire towns have been torn apart by storms and floods.
After dinner, I practice my presentation for government a few times with Mom and Jana as my audience. My topic is on creating stricter laws and punishments for repeat domestic abuse offenders. I take their suggestions and tweak a few things until I’m satisfied with it. By the time I finish, it’s only early evening, but last night’s lack of sleep is really kicking in. I get ready for bed, kiss Mom good night, stick my tongue out at Jana, and head to my room. I climb into my queen-sized bed and stare at the shapes that the fading light from my window makes on my ceiling. I put a slow song on my iPhone on repeat. Before it can play through even once, I’m asleep.
Tori and I are at Jordan’s parents’ house. Teenagers and college students are everywhere. Some are talking and laughing; others dance to the booming music. Jordan finds us in the entryway.
“There ya are, babe!” He shoves a cup filled to the brim in each of our hands, sloshing beer all over.
“Ugh, Jordan! Can’t you be more careful!” Tori turns to me, “I’ve got to wash this out of my shirt. Come with me to the bathroom to cleanup.” She pulls me toward the staircase.
I’ve been here before, so I know there’s a closer bathroom than the one upstairs.
“Wait. Let’s use this one. It’s right here.” I start to head to the door at the back of the hall and off the side of the kitchen. Tori jerks me back the other direction, spilling more beer.
“No, the only bathroom is upstairs. Let’s go!”
Her insistence confuses me. “Tori, I’ve been here before, and I know there’s a bathroom right down there. I can see the door.” I point right at it. She follows my gaze then shakes her head. Her grip on my arm gets tighter and she looks angry.
“I think I should know where the bathroom is, Addy. It’s my boyfriend’s house after all.” She starts dragging me toward the stairs.
My stomach rolls uneasily. For some reason Tori doesn’t want me to go into that bathroom. Why? Is there something in there she doesn’t want me to see? All I know is that the farther away she pulls me, the more desperate I am to get through that door. It’s as if something inside is calling to me.
“I don’t want to go upstairs. I want to go in there!” I’m yelling at her now because the music keeps getting louder, making it harder for me to be heard. I don’t know what’s going on with Tori, but I know I have to get to that door. I think my life depends on it. I steel myself and prepare to jerk away from Tori’s grasp, but she must have known my thoughts because she whips her head around to face me.
Her face is distorted and she growls at me viciously, reminding me of a pack of wolves fighting over a kill. She digs her nails into my flesh until I see blood running down my arm and dripping off my elbow onto the white tile floor. Her eyes glow a dull, rusty red, and her face fluctuates between the distorted mask it’s become and something veiled in shadows. I can’t see through the shadows, but somehow I know that underneath them is a face so horrific and evil that seeing it would drive me mad.
All the while the music is getting louder and the room is getting darker and everything seems to be spinning. I look around at the people standing nearby, hoping someone will help me, and I’m horrified. The party guests are faceless, but they watch us with eyeless malevolence. I can sense them laughing; some are pointing. They are gleeful spectators to this frightening ordeal, mocking me, feeding off my terror. I will receive no aid from anyone here. I have never felt so helpless and alone.
“Stay away from that door!” the thing that used to be Tori roars at me. Reflexively, I throw the cup of beer I’m holding with my free hand into its face. There is a loud hiss, like water hitting a burning skillet, and the skin of its face begins to bubble and melt away. It shrieks in agony and lets go of my arm to cradle its wounded face.
I turn and run.
I’m running as fast as I can but I’m hardly getting anywhere. The world is in slow motion. My legs are heavy, like I’m running underwater.
I can hear the thing behind me, snarling in rage. I make it to the hall. I can see the door at the end. It’s cracked open and a bright light shines through. If I can only make it into that light, I know I’ll be safe. The thing’s frantic breathing is right behind me as I run. It’s getting closer. The heat from its breath is on my neck as I reach for the door knob. I won’t make it in time. Any second it will tear into my back with burning razor claws. I get my hand around the knob and pray my sweaty grip will hold as I throw open the door.
Chapter 3
Everything is flooded with brilliant white light. I hear a distant and muffled keen of defeat in the background and know that it must be the thing that used to be Tori. I step into the blinding whiteness, not knowing what awaits. As I bring my foot down into the room, it meets only air. I try to grab the doorframe as I’m slipping downward but it’s too late. I’m falling.
I’m tumbling head over feet into the white void. As I try to stabilize myself, I have a moment of clarity. I realize with relief that I’m dreaming. Tori is still Tori. She is not a demonic creature bent on my destruction. It’s difficult to relax, however, while hurtling at full speed toward the ground. My heart pounds loudly in my ears. The only other sound is my gasps as I fight to breathe against the silent wind. I scan the black-and-white world beneath me, trying to figure out where I am.
As I get closer, I see I am plummeting toward a suburban neighborhood. Cookie-cutter houses dot streets in perfect parallel lines, and a few cars are parked outside some of the residences. There are no cars in motion, though, or people walking about. Everything is still—like a black-and-white aerial photograph of an empty town.
As I descend even more, the houses and lawns become clearer and I start to feel that familiar choking sensation of panic. I’m breathing faster and fighting the urge to scream. Down and down I go,
nearing the point where it will be too much for me.
I know it’s a dream—it’s always a dream. I can’t get hurt. But how can I feel the wind whipping my hair around my face? I shouldn’t be able to feel anything if I’m really dreaming. That’s what they say, isn’t it? That you can’t feel anything in dreams? Then why are my eyes stinging? No, it’s not a dream. Somehow, I’m really falling and when I slam into the street below me, I’ll really die!
I’m fighting with everything I have now. I kick my legs, flail my arms, grunting with effort. My grunts turn into whimpers as I realize there’s nothing I can do. This is the end of everything. I squeeze my eyes shut so I can’t see the last few seconds of my descent and the hard black street that will claim my life. The last word screaming through my mind is Dad!
And then, it stops. I’m not falling. I’m lying perfectly still and it’s as though I have fallen onto a giant cushion of air. It isn’t painful. My breaths come easier than when I was falling. I peek through squinted eyelids, expecting to see my own bed beneath me and my dark room all around, but I can’t make sense of what I see.
I open my eyes wide and turn my head from side to side, taking in everything. I’m hovering in the air over the neighborhood street, suspended about ten feet off the ground.
Well, this is new.
I’ve never had a falling dream like this before. Everything is still bleached of color and there is still no sound but my breathing.
Before I can contemplate my situation further, I begin to feel a light pressure on my back as though a gentle wind is blowing downwards against me. It steadily picks up strength, and as it grows stronger, the cushion of air below me starts to push up. The competition between the two is uncomfortable, and my hair whips around against the opposing forces of wind. I get the distinct feeling that something or someone is trying to force me through an unseen barrier surrounding this neighborhood. Meanwhile, something or someone on the other side is trying to keep me out.