“No problem.” We slop through the soft snow to the school, then climb the stairs to the front door. I push it open, and we both stomp our boots on the mat in the foyer. Just ahead, people gather around the trophy case next to the office, but we continue straight ahead for our lockers. Something white flashes at us from Jazz’s door.
When we draw closer, we can see it’s an enlarged photo of the intertwined couple from Body Worlds. Only the heads don’t belong to any red-veined cadavers; they are Jazz’s and Cameron’s, cut and pasted onto the bodies.
Jazz gasps. We both freeze for a moment, then she rips the picture from her locker.
But I get a sinking feeling. The crowd at the trophy case. “Let’s go back to the office.”
Sure enough, stuck to the glass pane is another poster. I tear this down for Jazz. She looks like she’s hyperventilating.
“It’s just a stupid picture. Don’t let it get to you,” I tell her.
“If my mother sees one of these,” she gasps, “I’m dead.”
“Relax. We took them all down.” When we step into the washroom to give Jazz a chance to calm down, we see that all the mirrors have the posters on them, too. Jazz tears them off frantically. I try to help but she’s faster.
“It’s not your fault someone fooled around with Photoshop. Your mother can’t blame you,” I tell her when she starts to cry.
“She’ll figure out that something’s going on between me and Cameron. She’ll tell my father.”
I help her shred the photos into the trash. “Don’t worry, they’ll never see these.”
I stay with her as she washes her face with cold water, hopeful that Vanessa has done her worst. Then we head to homeroom a few minutes late. For me, it’s English with Mrs. Corbin. No one gives me any grief about slipping in after the bell. Emma doesn’t shove any notes in my hand, and Zoe and Gwyn seem to be paying attention to Shakespeare.
No gym today, so the morning goes smoothly. Jazz spends lunch hour with Cameron as usual, and I hang out with Max, who buys me a chicken wiener in the cafeteria. When we finish eating, I go with him to Mr. Brewster’s lab to help him set up for an experiment. I like that. It isn’t Disney World—or even Canada’s Wonderland-exciting for my second-last day at school—but it’s nice. I don’t even see Vanessa or any of her followers.
Then, a few minutes before dismissal, the intercom snaps on. “Your attention, please. Would Paige Barta and Max Liu report to the front office?”
Sitting next to me, Jazz turns my way and raises her eyebrows.
I shrug. This is a new one on me, too. So much changes just because I ate that hamburger with Max on Monday. “Probably a slipup on attendance,” I explain as I stand up. The teacher watches as I head off. I’m curious but not really worried.
Till I sit with Max across from Mrs. Norr and she slaps down the Photoshopped picture of the intertwined cadavers. She pushes it toward us over the expanse of desk and papers.
“Who do you think is responsible for this?” Mrs. Norr asks.
“Not us,” Max sputters.
“You were spotted taking photos in Body Worlds. Did you know that pictures were not permitted?”
Not saying a word, Max lowers his head and nods.
“Paige, did you know Max was taking photos?”
“Yes.” I don’t add anything like “I told him not to.” I don’t want to get him into even more trouble.
“Did he post this photo on Facebook?”
“No, of course not.”
“Did he post any of the Body Worlds photos on Facebook?”
I glance at Max and feel my skin get hot. He isn’t the one who put Cameron’s and Jazz’s heads on the passionate dead couple. He doesn’t have any reason to make fun of them. But who are his other Facebook friends?
“Let me ask you again, who do you think is responsible for this piece of work?”
Honestly, does Mrs. Norr really not know what is going on? “Vanessa McDonald,” I finally tell her.
Max’s eyes widen and his eyebrows make a leap for his bangs. He looks shocked that I would give up her name.
“And what evidence do you have?” Mrs. Norr asks.
“Nothing. Except she’s really mad about Jasmine going out with her former boyfriend.”
“Well, that’s extremely interesting, Paige. Because Vanessa is the one who brought this…,” she lifts up the Photoshopped masterpiece, “to my attention. She told me about Max’s photos on Facebook.”
“Of course she did,” I grumble. You have to hand it to Vanessa, she really knows how to stir up the toilet bowl.
“I will have Mrs. Spence draw up a letter for you to deliver to your parents. As of right now, you are both suspended.”
“What? But, Mrs. Norr, Paige didn’t have anything to do with this. I was the one who took the pictures.”
“I’m going to call all the parents involved.” She picks up her phone.
Max’s head pitches forward and he closes his eyes.
I fold my arms across my chest. Kicked out of school! How will this all work out fate-wise? On Monday I won’t even be walking home, never mind detouring by the train track. And then I begin to breathe faster—who is Mrs. Norr calling?
“You may wait outside.” She gestures with her fingers for us to leave.
Max scrapes back his chair as he stands. I follow more slowly, still in shock. As I step out of her office, I hear Mrs. Norr speaking into the phone. “Yes, Mrs. Aggarwal. I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s been a bit of an incident at school, and we would like to discuss it with you and your husband in person.”
RETAKE:
Friday Afternoon
Of course she would call Jazz’s parents first! The bell rings and I turn to Max. “I’m not hanging around for the letter. I have to warn Jazz her parents are coming.” I don’t wait for Max’s answer, just dash out of the office to catch Jazz before she leaves on her date. Kids empty into the hall, swarming the lockers. I weave and dodge as quickly as possible to my own. Don’t be gone yet, don’t be gone yet.
The love couple walks toward the door.
“Jazz, wait!” I wave and catch up to her. “Something’s happened. I’ve been suspended.”
“What?”
“Let’s keep walking as we talk. Mrs. Norr knows about those photos. She thinks Max and I made them.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cameron says. “This is so Vanessa.”
“Yeah, well, it gets worse.”
“How?” Jazz looks scared. She has to have guessed already.
“She’s calling in everyone’s parents.” I bite my lip. “Everyone’s. Victims’, too.”
“But she can’t. Let’s go back and talk to her. Between us, we can convince her. If she talks to Mom and Dad, I’ll be on a plane to India next week.”
“Jazz, please.” I try to talk softly, to soothe her. “Don’t go all nutso over this. I couldn’t head Mrs. Norr off in time. She already reached your mother.”
“What?” Jasmine’s jaw drops. Her eyes scream.
“Yeah, that’s why I wanted to grab you before you went to the mall. She might be on her way to the school right this minute.”
“Oh my gawd. Cameron, you have to leave!” She begins pushing at him.
“Come on, Jazz.” He catches her hands. “Why don’t we just face her together?”
“No, no.” She begins hammering at his chest. “I can’t.”
“Sooner or later, you knew your parents had to find out about me,” he reasons.
“Go, go, go!” she sobs hysterically.
I put my hands on her shoulders and pull her away from Cameron, wincing at him. “She needs to tell her mom on her own.”
Cameron throws up his hands helplessly. He reaches for Jazz but she pulls away. “Jazz, let me talk to your parents. You’ll see. We can make this all right.”
Who knew that Cameron could be such a stand-up kind of guy? Hanging around Vanessa had hidden all his better qualities.
“I’ll
call you. Okay?” His eyes plead with her.
She shakes her head, all the while holding it in both hands. “You have to go now!” she tells him in a panicked voice.
He looks worse than when Vanessa slapped him. His brow furrows, his mouth crumples. Then he just walks away, out the door.
“No, no, no!” Jasmine wails.
“Calm down, Jazz. It’s going to be all right.” I talk softly, evenly.
“My mother’s going to come here with Dad and head straight for the library to find me!”
“Well, let’s just go there ourselves. You can help me shut the computers down.” I tug Jazz toward the resource room. She’s a mess. How will I explain her state to Mrs. Falkner?
Inside the library, I call out hello to the librarian, who’s working at her desk in her office. “Is it still snowing? I thought we would let out early.”
Mrs. Falkner stands up and peers out the window. “Looks like it let up.”
“I brought Jasmine to help. We’ll get the computers, okay?” I push Jazz to the bank of PCs closest to the wall just in case one of the volleyball team posted some nasty notes early. If Jazz sees an ambush plan, maybe she will want to wait for her mom and dad to drive us home. There may be worse things than a quick visit to India; facing the volleyball team could be one of them. “Breathe, Jasmine!”
She looks at me, her face so drained, her hair ragged from pulling at it.
“Or Mrs. Falkner will want to know what’s up.”
Jazz nods.
“Make sure to check the screens and save the students’ work.” Coming from me, she should find that command odd.
But I have to give her credit. Despite everything, she goes to work. One computer, two, the next one would have been the one. She doesn’t seem any more upset as she checks out the screen.
I dash over just to make sure. No Facebook showing on it. Has Vanessa satisfied her lust for revenge with those posters? Or will they just gang up on us on Monday as they’d planned before?
Jazz’s eyes keep checking the door, maybe for her parents. Finally, the last computer powers down.
“Do you mind shelving these before you go?” Mrs. Falkner asks.
I steal a quick look at the clock. We’ve been here twenty minutes already. “But it’s the weekend!” I say.
“That’s why I want the library tidy. There are only ten books, but I’ll do it if you want to leave,” Mrs. Falkner says.
“No, we’ll help!” Jazz insists. “That way we can all get going.” Her eyes signal me to hurry. She wants Mrs. Falkner gone in case her parents check with her on the supposed volunteer work. So we both get busy. By the time the books are away, the snow starts again. “Look, Mrs. F, that storm’s coming after all!”
“You’re right. I’m leaving, too.” She grabs her coat.
I can hear Jazz sigh with relief. One of her lies will not be immediately uncovered.
As fast as I can, I grab my coat and books from the locker. Jazz already has hers. “You can come to my house,” I say to her as we move. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”
I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never seen Jasmine so wild-eyed and frantic.
“Maybe we should walk along the tracks,” Jasmine says as we step out the door. “I don’t want to see my parents. I can’t think of what I’m going to say to them.”
“I … I don’t know.” Snow drifts down a little quicker now. What if all the scheduled weather and events are pushed just slightly off-kilter? Still, even if a train comes, we should be fine. With no earbuds in or music pounding, I will hear it. Maybe the two of us together will be safe from the bullies and the train. But in my head I hear the short note of the train’s cry, then the long desperate one, and freeze. “I can’t,” I finally say, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Can you at least hurry!” Jazz rips at my arm and marches me along.
We head for the overpass. Above the tracks, I have to be safe; no need for my knees to wobble. The wind begins to whirl the snow around us.
Heads down, we trudge up the incline. “We’ll have a sleepover tonight. Your mom will say yes to that, right? You can talk to my parents.” I babble on at Jasmine. She doesn’t respond. I don’t know what is going through her head.
“Hey! Browner girls!” a voice calls from behind us. Kierstead?
Ice shoots up my spine. “Faster,” I tell Jasmine. We break into a run.
Something hits the back of my head hard. Ow! A snowball? I touch the sore spot where it landed, pull my hand away and see blood. A rock must have been rolled into that snow.
“Banana’s not brown. She’s yellow.” Vanessa’s rasp.
Jazz slips then. I crouch to help her even as I see the bunch of them run up the overpass toward us.
I get Jasmine up.
“You’re going to pay for stealing my boyfriend,” Vanessa hisses.
“Don’t listen, just keep going,” I tell Jazz.
She shakes her head and stops.
I hear the train clanging its warning bell as it heads toward the overpass.
Jazz scrambles up the hand railing. We’re up about three stories. Even if she lands in the snow, there’s a chance she might not make it.
“Don’t, Jazz. You’ll hurt yourself!” I cry. But in her green eyes I see a final calmness. She doesn’t care, I realize. I hesitate for a moment. This can’t happen, I decide. This is not what I came back for. So as she lifts off, I dive forward to grab her back.
A second too late.
My fingers catch the tail of her coat. I feel my nails bend as I struggle to hold on. But the coat yanks away. This is all happening differently. Three days earlier than last time. I have another split second to decide what to do.
If I stay behind, maybe I will alter destiny enough and stay alive.
I stare at the angry girls heading my way. I returned to Earth to stand up for Jasmine. Now it looks like I need to save her from herself instead.
Kim didn’t abandon me all those years ago; it’s more like our family abandoned her. This time there is no excuse. I climb the railing and aim for a snowdrift, then jump. I land on my feet in the deep soft snow. Jasmine lies in front of me across the metal rails. I can hear the frantic short horn note and then the long one. I pull myself out of the bank and dash to grab Jazz. I grab at her arm, throwing myself backward, getting us both out of the way in time. At least I hope.
But, instead, everything goes black.
FRIDAY:
Back at the Beach
The sun feels hotter on my shoulders this time; the wind’s breath blows harder. The waves pound the shore with a rush, rush sound. The palm trees swing their necks in the wind like they’re shaking their heads, No. No. Wrong!
A tall girl stands staring out at the horizon. Her long black hair hangs smooth and straight like a silk scarf. She wears a white one-piece swimsuit that is cut to make her legs and arms look even longer and thinner. The white glows against her skin, which is a light brown, on the golden side. She turns to face me. “You’re here early this time.” She sounds happy, as though she was waiting for me to get there.
It makes me want to hug and protect her against the loneliness. “Where’s Kim?” I ask.
This girl has hardly any brows, but her brown eyes hold a depth, her smile carries a sad warmth.
Something about her seems familiar. I feel a pull inside me.
“Don’t you like me this way?” her voice asks me in teenager whine.
She looks like someone I know but not Kim. I squint at her.
She grabs my glasses from me. “I don’t know why you wear these. You could have asked your mom for contact lenses.” She puts them on herself.
And I gasp.
It’s like looking in the mirror.
“Still don’t recognize your best friend?”
“Kim?” What about Jasmine? How has she made out? I wonder. Did I push her far enough out of the way? “You can’t be Kim. She’s only seven years old.”
“
Now I’m fourteen.” She grins.
“In five days, you aged seven years?”
“I asked to. I wanted to stay your best friend. No fourteen-year-old wants to hang around with a little kid.”
“Did you have them make you look exactly like me?” Me and yet somehow prettier. Or could I actually be that good-looking, too?
“You know what they say. All Asians look alike.”
“No, Kim. They don’t.”
“We always looked the same.”
I reach back in my mind for a visual memory. Seven years is such a long time ago. “Our moms used to dress us the same. People got us mixed up.”
“That’s right. You remember!”
There is something odd about that, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s this whole experience, like a vivid nightmare. “What happened to Jasmine? Did I save her?”
“You didn’t even ask about her last time,” Kim scolds. “It was all about you.”
I think about that for a moment. “But she wasn’t with me on the train track!”
“Yes, but those girls were going to ambush her on the overpass and you weren’t there to help her.”
“Okay, you’re right. It was all about me last time. But I want to know about her today: Was she hurt?”
“Not last time. But today she’s dead.” She says it so matter-of-factly, I can’t believe it for a moment.
“No!” I tell her as though scolding a bad dog. “Why isn’t she here with us, then?”
“You’re not in the same category. You’re only mostly dead. Your mother still has to pull the plug.” She stares at me, her head tilted. I see that she can’t understand my disbelief. To her, being dead is everyday life.
I also see that she’s telling me the straight-up truth. “Kimmee!” I sink to my knees, the hot sand scorching them. “I can’t have killed her by going back!”
“No, you didn’t.” She smiles at me. “She made the choice to jump.”
“But it was all because of those stupid pictures.” I stare at the sun-bright diamonds of sand for a moment, then stagger back up to my feet. “It didn’t happen when I walked around Body Worlds all by myself.”
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