by Jeyn Roberts
“You better not tell anyone,” Claudette said. “Because if you do, I’ll make you regret it.”
Tatum shook her off and left without saying a word.
At lunchtime, she went to Ms. Dalian. As she took a seat in front of the desk, she could tell that she’d interrupted the guidance counselor at her lunch. A half-eaten sandwich rested on top of a paper bag.
“What can I do for you, Tatum?”
The tears came first. Then she started talking.
It wasn’t easy. Thankfully, Ms. Dalian listened to her whole story without saying a word. She pushed the box of tissues in Tatum’s direction and gave her all her attention. Her eyes widened when Tatum mentioned Mr. Paracini, but not once did she suggest Tatum was lying. And when the story was over and laid out across the table, the counselor reacted. She’d forgotten all about her lunch. The bell had rung for the next period, but she didn’t tell Tatum to head for class.
“I just don’t know what else to do,” Tatum said. She’d stopped crying about fifteen minutes ago. There simply weren’t any more tears to be spent. She sniffled and took another tissue. The garbage can was almost full of her discards.
“I think maybe you should skip the rest of the day,” Ms. Dalian finally said. “Is your mother home? I can call her to come get you.”
“She’s at work. I can drive myself.”
“Do you feel you can?”
Tatum nodded.
“I think that’s best, then. You’re in no condition to go back to class.” Ms. Dalian looked at the phone on her desk and then stared at an imaginary space on her wall. “I’m going to have to talk to the principal about this. I honestly don’t know what to do in this situation.”
“Please don’t get Claudette in trouble,” Tatum said. “She’s a good person.”
“Honey, this isn’t your friend’s fault,” Ms. Dalian said. “She’s done nothing wrong. If anything, she’s a victim.”
“I just want her back to herself.”
“That may not happen overnight. She’s going to be very angry with you. And hurt. It may take a long time before she forgives you.”
“I know that,” Tatum said. New tears began to fall. “She’s going to hate me. But I don’t care. I’d rather have her hate me than let things stay the way they are.”
Ms. Dalian nodded. “Okay, honey. Let’s get you home. I’ll figure out what to do next. I’m not going to mention your name, but if you’re the only one she told, she’s going to know. You’ve done the right thing here. Now go home and tell your parents. Everything is going to be all right.”
“Okay.”
Tatum believed her. She did because Ms. Dalian was an adult and she trusted that the guidance counselor would know exactly what to do.
How very wrong Tatum turned out to be.
Claudette wasn’t at school the next day. She wasn’t there the day after that. Tatum obsessively checked her phone and email every ten minutes, both hoping and dreading that Claudette would contact her. Several times she brought up Claudette’s name, but she couldn’t bring herself to hit the send button. So she continued to wait, but got only silence on her friend’s end. Even Claudette’s Facebook page was eerily quiet. She hadn’t posted an update in two days. Nothing on Twitter or Tumblr, either. Claudette wasn’t the type not to be online. People were starting to send posts wondering where she was.
Funny enough, no one messaged Tatum to ask her where Claudette was. She should have seen that as her first clue. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with her own feelings, she might have noticed that no one was really talking to her. She was so used to being in Claudette’s shadow, it didn’t alarm her that people were ignoring her. Or that, even worse, they were whispering when she walked past.
Hindsight is always 20/20.
Thursday came around, and everything was fine until after lunch. About ten minutes after class started, Tatum was called down to the office. The entire classroom seemed to hold their breath all at once. Tatum stood up, grabbed her books, and left without a second glance.
When she arrived at the office, she found a group of people crowded around the desk of Mr. Garrison, the principal. Ms. Dalian stood in the corner with a thick manila folder. Tatum’s parents sat nervously in a matching set of chairs. Even worse, Mr. Paracini himself leaned against the wall.
Tatum’s hands instantly turned to ice. What was Mr. Paracini doing there?
Ms. Dalian asked her to sit down.
They’d placed a chair right between her parents. When Tatum sat down, she saw her father turn his head, trying to hide his anger. When she looked at Mom, her mother cast her eyes to the floor.
What the hell was going on?
“We want to talk to you today about a problem that’s come to my attention,” Mr. Garrison said. “I understand you came to Ms. Dalian and told her quite a story.”
Story?
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Tatum said.
“We’ve talked to Claudette,” Ms. Dalian said. Her eyes were hard to read. “The problem is, what she told us is completely different from what you told me.”
“What did she say?”
“That you made the whole thing up for attention.”
“That’s a lie!” Tatum could feel the tears threatening to come. She blinked several times, trying to force back the burning feeling.
“And Mr. Paracini confirms it,” the principal said. “In fact, he’s told us some other things too.”
What happened next would destroy her. Claudette had turned everything around so that she was the secret keeper and Tatum was the one chasing Mr. Paracini. Then the allegations about stalking were added. Weird love letters Tatum supposedly wrote. Confirmed evidence that Tatum had told several students how she planned to try and bang the hot teacher. Then a final lie from Mr. Paracini himself, about the afternoon that Tatum snuck into his empty class to wait naked on his desk.
“I should have done something,” Mr. Paracini said. “I simply averted my eyes and told her to get dressed and leave. She kept talking, trying to convince me that she was a woman and not a little girl. I had to keep a distance of about ten feet while she put her clothes back on. I was horrified that another teacher might come in. Yes, I should have reported it. I just didn’t want the poor girl to get in trouble.”
Ms. Dalian nodded. She was still holding the manila folder and writing notes down on some paper.
“Up until then,” Mr. Paracini continued, “I thought it was a teenage crush. I never expected that she’d try such a thing. Tatum’s always been so quiet, she keeps to herself. She’s not the first girl to send me love letters. I just toss them in the trash. My wife keeps warning me that I should be more careful. She’s right. I guess from now on I’ll have to report everything. I never would have guessed that a student would take a stunt this far. I’m glad I saved the emails.”
“What emails?” Tatum demands.
The principal sighs and hands over some papers. Tatum goes through them. They’re a bunch of letters addressed to Mr. Paracini from Tatum’s email address. She reads part of the first one.
I sit in your class every day and think about how I want to see you naked. You’re so hot. I’ve been in love with you forever. Let’s get together. Your wife never needs to know. Wouldn’t you rather have a nice young thing?
She flips to another.
I sat outside your house last night, hoping you’d come outside and take me. But your wife came home too early. Does she go out every Thursday? That could be our night. Love you so much.
The emails are time-stamped. The first one was apparently sent two months ago. But how is that even possible?
“I never sent these.” Tatum tosses the paper on the table. “I didn’t. They don’t even sound like me. You can come over and check my computer. Claudette knows my password. She must have sent them. Or they’re faked.”
“That would take some elaborate work, to fake emails,” Ms. Dalian says. “Isn’t it time to come clean, Tatum? You made a
mistake. You’re confused. Maybe it’s time for you to talk to someone. It’s not unusual for young girls to develop feelings for their teachers. It’s all about growing up and learning to deal with your emotions. We can get you some help.”
“But I didn’t do it. Claudette is the one.”
“We’ve talked to Claudette. She says the two of you had a falling-out. You told her about what you were doing, and Claudette encouraged you to get help. People saw the two of you fighting a few days ago.”
“She’s lying.”
“I’m in a difficult position here, Tatum. You must understand. There are a lot of people here who have a different story.”
Tatum’s parents were quiet through the entire ordeal. Her father kept making fists. Tatum wondered if he’d jump up in his chair and start punching people. Mom kept her gaze steady on the floor. She was wearing her dietitian’s uniform, which meant they’d pulled her out of work. Her white shoes tapped nervously against the chair leg. There was a small, yellowish stain on her pant leg. She must have spilled something and was in too much of a hurry to clean it off.
“We recommend that Tatum get some counseling,” Ms. Dalian finally said. She tucked the notes into the folder. “We can give you the names of some professionals, if you’d like. It doesn’t even have to be local. It would be best if we keep this quiet. No need to start rumors. You know how kids can be. I’m sure Claudette will be willing to be discreet to help Tatum out.”
Tatum nearly snorted in disgust. If there was one thing she knew best about Claudette, she couldn’t keep something secret, especially if it meant hurting others. Claudette would see what Tatum had done as the ultimate betrayal. And the best way for her to get revenge would be to make sure everyone heard about it and no one forgot. And she’d find a way to do it without making it look like she’d been the one who started it.
The meeting ended with Mr. Garrison suggesting that Tatum’s parents take her home and keep her there for the next few days while the school tried to sort things out. They weren’t expelling Tatum, but a bit of time off was needed for everyone. Mom had to go back to her shift at the hospital, so Dad drove. Tatum tried talking to him, but he told her to wait.
“We’ll talk about it later tonight. Until then, I want you in your room. No calls. No computer. Your mother and I love you very much, but we need time to think.”
They didn’t really talk about it. No one actually knew what to say. Tatum pleaded her innocence, and although her parents claimed to believe her, Tatum was positive they weren’t fully convinced. Mom suggested she’d start calling psychologists in the morning, deciding that Tatum would feel more comfortable talking to someone who wasn’t emotionally involved. Dad went to the garage and pretended to check the car engine for imaginary problems.
Tatum went to her room. She’d been defeated. She’d told the truth and no one had believed her. What else could she do?
Later that night, the text messages started.
Lying bitch. You should kill yourself.
As if Mr. P wants to see your fat naked body. Groooooooooss.
Liar, liar, naked on fire.
Her Facebook filled steadily with nasty comments. Some of them were anonymous. Others came from people who had been friendly with her up until a few hours ago. Friends she’d sat with at lunch suddenly had changes of heart. People she’d never even met before, some as far away as New York and even New Zealand, were sending hurtful messages. Her so-called story was making the rumor circuit. Tatum changed her status to private after realizing the comments were coming faster than she could delete them.
Claudette’s page, however, was filled with sympathy.
Juniper Hafner: I’m so sorry, Claudette. Who knew Tatum was such a crazed nutbar? You should consider suing her for slander. How could she say that about you? I feel so bad for Mr. P. She could have gotten him fired.
Graham Douglas: Claudette, baby. Just heard. That’s messed up. Hope you are okay. Come back to skool. We’re on your side.
Levi Tessier: Bitch b crazy.
The Omega Dude: Tatum better watch her back. She’s gonna pay for what she tried to do to Mr. P.
Things continued that way for a very long time.
MOLLY
I’m silent while Tatum talks. The pain comes off the girl in waves, and it takes all my strength not to throw my arms around her and hold her tight. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s been going through. In a way, her plight is almost as horrible as my death.
Almost.
“That’s my story,” Tatum finally says. “All of it. Your turn.”
I don’t even know where to begin after hearing that. Luckily for me, Parker has run out of patience.
“It’s time to go,” he says. He’s been at the window the whole time, watching the street to make sure nothing goes bump in the night.
“No,” Tatum says. “You can’t go. You have to tell me about your murder. I have to help you.” She jumps up off the bed. “I need this. If I have something else to deal with, I won’t have to think about myself.”
I understand that. Boy, do I. There have been countless times I’ve sat by the beach, staring off into the lake, wishing I had other things to occupy my mind. But when you’re stuck in a place that never changes, the same thoughts creep inside. Maybe I’m trying to do what Tatum thinks she’s doing: escaping from myself.
If there’s one thing I’m positive about, though, trying to help me won’t take away her pain. It won’t make her ex-friends hate her any less or stop bullying her. It won’t make Claudette have a change of heart and suddenly tell everyone the truth. It also won’t change the fact that the adults, people she’s always been told she can rely on, have failed her.
And it won’t change the fact that in the near future, her former friends are going to kill her.
But Parker is right. We’ve been here for too long. Parker is growing more concerned by each passing minute. As much as I believe he’s overplaying this whole Remnant thing to keep me focused, I can’t ignore that Parker is very uneasy. We have to leave.
“I can come back,” I say. “I promise. I know how now.”
“You can’t make a habit out of this, Molly,” Parker says. “You know it’s not safe.”
“Why isn’t it safe?” Tatum asks.
“We’re not exactly supposed to be here,” I say. “We kinda bent some rules to come visit you tonight. So there are others looking for us. If they find us, it could be bad.”
Tatum’s eyes grow wide. “Really? You’re risking, um, well, I guess not your life. You’re dead. But you’re risking something.”
“It’s okay, really,” I say. “Give me a day or two. Time runs differently in my world. I can’t accurately judge it. But I will return. I can’t leave you like this.”
Parker comes over to me. He’s already reached inside his pocket and pulled out his stone. A large gust of wind hits the window, making all three of us jump. Tree branches scratch at the glass, sending creepy shadows across the bedroom walls.
“You have to be careful,” I say to Tatum. I take her hand and squeeze it. “These people are not your friends. Don’t trust them.”
“I know,” Tatum says. “But really, you’re getting worked up over nothing. I’ve been dealing with it for months. I’m tough.”
The twitch at the edge of her eyelid makes me think she’s not exactly telling the truth.
“I hope so.”
I pull out my own pebble and turn it around in my fingers. I look at Parker and he nods. Opening my hand, I let the stone drop to the floor.
Tatum’s room instantly disappears.
* * *
Once I’d made my decision to leave home and run off with Julian, I grew nervous. How was I going to convince my father that this was what I needed to do? I was only fifteen; my birthday wasn’t for another eight months. I could already envision the lecture. The fight I knew we’d go through. No matter how many imaginary scenarios played through my mind, I knew Dad wouldn’t give
me the answer I wanted. He would do everything in his power to try and keep me in Dixby. And that’s why I knew I’d be leaving without his blessing.
Because nothing he could say would change my mind. Even if Dad tried locking me in my room, I’d still find a way to sneak out.
What worried me the most was if Dad called the police. I didn’t want to get my new friends arrested for kidnapping. My main priority was to find a way to keep that from happening. If I got dragged back home, I’d never forgive him.
I spent a lot of time talking with Olivia over the last day at Woodstock. It was early Monday morning, and we were waiting around for Hendrix to take the stage. Because of the rain, the concert had gone over an extra day. Dad would be coming home on Wednesday.
“We have a good setup,” Olivia said. “Just remember to tell your father. Sage is a teacher. She’s fully qualified to help you get your degree. And we always find a place to settle down once school starts. You’ll finish your education if it’s important to you. We will make sure of that. Do you think it would be easier if we came along for support?”
“It would only make things worse,” I said, thinking of Walter’s wild long hair and Olivia’s beaded skirts. Sage, the teacher, was a woman in her thirties who had spent most of Woodstock running around without a top. He’d take a quick look at their clothes and nonconformist hairstyles and pass judgment. The only reason Dad tolerated that stuff on me was because of my age. He figured I was just going through a stage. But fully grown adults doing the same thing?
“Stress the education. We firmly believe in it. Julian finished his high school degree a year early thanks to being with us. Don’t let Sage’s free spirit catch you off guard. Knowledge is power. It’s the future.”
I sighed. Education wasn’t really a priority when it came to my dad. He’d never made it through high school himself. Back in my town, it wasn’t uncommon for kids to drop out. I thought of Marcus and how Dad hadn’t cared when he’d stopped going to class in his junior year in order to work at the mechanic shop. As far as Dad had been concerned, Marcus was old enough to make his own decisions. Somehow I had the feeling I wouldn’t get the same respect. Dad was good at playing the “It’s different ’cause you’re a girl” card. Not that I wanted to drop out of school. I enjoyed learning. And I had to admit, as crazy as Sage was, she was smart. Andrea and I had spent a few hours with her discussing the Vietnam War. Sage may have enjoyed going braless, but her brain was anything but empty.