by Stacey Jay
“No, no way.” I ignored the freaked-out stares of the two older men waiting for the elevator and clawed at the buttons of my coat. I wasn’t going back in time. I didn’t want to “play” anymore. The locket couldn’t make me.
I pulled it from beneath my new gray sweater and flicked it open, determined to break it in half with my bare hands . . . until I saw the latest changes to the pictures within and froze. On one side, there was nothing but a hazy black and white blur. On the other was a black and white period-looking portrait of . . . me, wearing the same outfit I’d worn the night I made the mistake of picking up a seemingly innocent piece of jewelry.
My breath caught on a sob. I dropped the locket and stumbled toward the entrance to the stairs, ignoring the concerned grunt from one of the old men. I felt like I’d fallen flat on my back in the water and been swept out to sea. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t figure out which way was up and which was down. I was lost and drowning.
This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be!
The second the stairwell door closed behind me, I grabbed the chain of the locket and tugged, struggling to get it off, pulling until the metal dug into my cheeks and I wanted to scream with frustration. It wasn’t coming off. I knew it wasn’t coming off. It was mine. My cross to bear, my curse.
It really was mine now, in a way it hadn’t been before.
Hands shaking, I thumbed it open again, my knees buckling as I saw the picture was still the same. I slid to the ground beside an empty sack of chips and a few crushed cigarette butts, staring at my own face, wondering if I would be trapped inside there forever.
Chapter Seventeen
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 5:45 P.M.
The sun was just going down, but my birthday party had been cranked up for an hour, ever since Mitch’s band took the stage for their first set. They were playing a lot of songs I remembered from my “old” life, but with a new punk-rock sound that really worked for them. They were amazing, fun, and their music as infectious as a popularity plague.
Everywhere I looked, people were dancing beneath the Chinese lanterns strung in a crisscross pattern over our heads, even people I wouldn’t have suspected knew how. Meanwhile, I was doing my best to pretend life was normal and praying it really would be come six o’clock.
The hope that I’d be able to unlatch the locket at the end of the do over was the last thread connecting me to my sanity. The jewelry certainly wasn’t coming off any other way. I’d spent a few hours with my mom’s collection of steak knives last night. The chain and the locket itself were as invulnerable as always.
“Rader is funny.” Isaac whispered the words into my ear, gesturing toward the porch of Ally’s pool house, where Rader was mixing it up with something vaguely resembling air-traffic-control signals accompanied by some pelvic thrusting.
“He’s scary. I thought he was having a seizure,” I said, doing my best to pretend I was having as much fun as I should be having.
Isaac laughed and pulled me closer, nuzzling his face into the back of my hair. “You smell so good. I love your birthday present.”
“Me too. You did good work.” I tilted my head back, giving Isaac better access to the curve of my neck where I’d sprayed my new perfume. He’d never given me something so grown up before. I loved it. I loved him.
He felt so perfect today, and it made me so, so sad.
What if taking the locket off took away my second chance? What if Isaac hated me again? My fingers crept toward my neck, but I forced them away.
It didn’t matter. It had to go, no matter what the consequences. Just a little longer. Then the locket and I were going to undergo a permanent parting of ways. I didn’t want anything more to do with it. And hopefully, come the start of “new” time, the locket would no longer want anything to do with me either.
Please, please let that be true. Please.
“Hmm . . . I can’t wait until later tonight, when it’s just you and me,” Isaac said, running his hand over my hip and squeezing.
My cheeks burned. I was keenly aware of the fact that half the senior class was watching Isaac feel me up, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I shifted closer, just in case this was the last time Isaac touched me like this. I was glad I’d had a couple beers before we’d snagged a place on the Persian rugs spread out on the grass at one end of Ally’s massive backyard, as far from the stage as we could get. Isaac had chosen our spot due to its proximity to the keg, but I hadn’t minded being away from the action.
From the second Mitch had arrived, he’d reeked of weirdness—from the look on his face to the stilted way he’d introduced the band—and the last thing I needed was any more weirdness, from Mitch or anyone else.
After dropping by the florist to send Sarah a bouquet and a note apologizing for bailing on her at the hospital, I’d spent half the day reliving my volunteer work at Belle Meade—but working the bake sale instead of the balloon table, and dressed in an 1800s ball gown instead of a servant’s dress. In this version of reality, volunteers at Belle Meade dressed like members of the aristocracy. My corset had been so tight I’d nearly passed out on the veranda. Twice.
On the bright side, we’d all been set free at three o’clock instead of five, so there had been plenty of time to get ready for the party and have an early dinner with Isaac at Mama Theresa’s. It had been wonderful, a perfect last dinner . . . if it was our last. The uncertainty made my skin itch and everything within me ache to be done with time travel and its consequences. Forever.
“You want another beer?” Isaac asked, hand still idly squeezing my hip in time to the music, a punk-infused cover of “You’re the One That I Want” that had even the parents in attendance dancing.
“Not yet. I want to wait until closer to supper.”
“It’s almost six,” Isaac said, pointing to the clock above the pool deck. “They should start grilling soon, and I can get us some more buffalo wings.”
Almost six. Where had the last hour gone? It was time! We’d officially cross over into the never-been-lived-before zone in five minutes!
I jumped to my feet so fast little gray flecks danced in front of my eyes. “You’re right. Another beer sounds good. But I have to hit the bathroom first. You’ll refill my cup?”
Isaac stood and reached for me, pulling me in for a quick kiss. “No problem, birthday girl. Hurry back.”
My lips buzzed and my head spun as I sent out a prayer that I would be back and that Isaac would still be as in love with me as he was right now. Of all the things the locket had changed, I wanted to keep this one thing . . . so badly. Isaac had made it clear today that I was the one he loved and wanted to be with. At the moment our future was as bright as it had ever been, with nothing standing in our way.
Or nearly nothing.
Rachel was standing near the oversized doors leading into Ally’s house, holding a glass of white wine, talking with Ally’s mom like she was already the ruling queen of a small fiefdom. She pretended not to see me, but I felt her attention brush against my skin before skittering across the lawn like a rock skipped along water, landing on the now solo Isaac.
Not on my watch, Pruitt.
It was time to let Rachel know she wouldn’t be getting between me and Isaac. Not now, not ever. If I got this locket off nd Isaac was still in love with me, he was going to stay in love with me. End of story. I veered to my right, raising my hand to catch Rachel’s attention.
“Hey! Rachel!” I smiled at Rachel and at Ally’s mom, ignoring the lack of response on Rachel’s part. It was clear she’d rather I hadn’t come over to say hello, but I didn’t really care what she wanted. Not anymore. Something inside me had shifted when I’d seen the picture of myself in the locket last night, something that insisted I make it clear who I was, what I believed in, and that I showed the people in my life what I stood for. “Thanks so much for having my party here, Mrs.—”
“Call me Tooty.” Ally’s mom laughed and squeezed my arm, her bright, melon-colored nails digging
into my skin a bit too hard. “All Ally’s friends do. And it’s no problem! We love to party with ya’ll. It keeps us young.”
The Botox probably wasn’t hurting anything either. Ally’s mom’s face barely moved when she spoke. It was . . . creepy, and I was suddenly so grateful for my mom’s laugh lines and taste in age-appropriate clothing.
“Cool. Well, thanks anyway, Tooty,” I said, wincing at how stupid I sounded. But it didn’t matter; Ally’s mom was too wasted to notice. She almost tripped over Rachel’s shoe as she excused herself and headed over to the patio table to get more wine.
“Having a good time?” I asked Rachel, smiling even when she curled her lip slightly at my loser line of questioning.
“Sure.” She shrugged, lifting her glass of wine an inch or two into the air. “Ally’s parents throw the best parties. How about you? How’s the birthday princess?”
“Feeling very princess-y. Isaac and I had a great day.”
“Good for you.” The mocking note in her voice was enough to convince me to end the chitchat.
“It is good for me. And for Isaac,” I said, looking straight into the eyes that had once made me so anxious without flinching. “We’re happy together and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure we stay happy. I know everything, and I don’t care. Just know that from here on out, Isaac won’t be with anyone but me.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
“I do say.” I kept my voice soft and firm, not rising to her bait. “And I mean it. And while we’re being real, I saw what you did yesterday. I don’t ever want to see you touch one of my friends again.”
She shook her head and heaved a put-upon sigh. “Screw you, Katie. I was trying to be your friend, your real friend, but—”
“Hey, Katie! There you are!” Ally—who was already pink cheeked and as trashed as her parents—suddenly bounced over and enveloped me in a hug, cutting off whatever bit of evil would have spilled from Rachel’s lips. But that was fine. I’d already made my point, and Rachel was clearly sick of talking to me. She heaved another disgusted sigh and stalked toward the beverage table.
“Hey. Thanks for the party,” I said, hugging Ally back.
“No problem. You rock. And this band rocks! Let’s go dance.”
“I can’t,” I said, anxious to slip away myself. I had to ditch Ally before she dragged me to the dance floor. “I really have to hit the restroom if—”
“Okay. Go potty, and then we party.” Ally laughed at her joke, then grabbed the sleeve of the boy lingering behind her—an older-looking guy I didn’t recognize from school. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Katie’s boyfriend. He’s so totally good at basketball. You two are going to be best friends.”
“I play football,” the guy said.
“Right, whatever. Same thing,” Ally said, proving once and for all that she had no idea what she was shouting on the sidelines when the cheerleaders started the “first and ten” chant.
“Be right back!” I waved at her, then hurried into the house.
Inside, the party was even louder. There were at least fifty people hanging out in the giant living room, laughing and dancing, shouting over the music being piped in through speakers so the band could be heard throughout the entire house. Mitch’s voice—singing about chills and losing control—was everywhere as I hurried up the stairs and down a long hallway, hoping to find a relatively quiet place to test my locket theory.
He sounded so good. And the band was tight. I’d heard more than one person wondering if Cool Band Name was going to get a record deal. It was definitely a possibility, but what would that mean for Mitch? Was this a good thing—setting him on the road to living a dream? Or a bad thing—stealing a brilliant mind from the world of medicine and plunging him into the diseased world of rock and roll, drug addiction, and womanizing?
Girls—popular, beautiful girls—had been looking at Mitch differently tonight. If he wanted to hook up, there would be plenty of takers. But then, there always had been. Despite his relative scrawniness, Mitch was a good-looking guy, and sweet, and smart, and talented on top of it. He was going to make some lucky girl very, very happy . . . once he found the one who was right for him.
“As happy as Isaac and I are going to make each other,” I whispered to myself, praying the words were true but knowing my doubts wouldn’t be banished until I threw this locket into a shoe box and buried it in my backyard.
At the end of the hall, I found a blue room decorated in old antiques and in such a perfect state of order I figured it had to be a guest room. Hopefully, it was too early in the evening for any couples to be hunting for privacy and I would be able to snag a few minutes alone.
I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, inhaling the smell of roses and lavender and old wood. It smelled like the past, like aging love letters sprayed with perfume and wrapped up with a ribbon. I decided to take that as a good sign. My hands trembled only the slightest bit as I pulled the locket from my shirt and opened it. Time’s layers had been peeled away and now—
“No . . . no, no, no,” I chanted, alcohol-muddied thoughts clearing with the speed of fear.
The pictures were the same. Worse, even. My picture was still there, but my face had been scratched off, like some monster had clawed away my eyes, nose, and mouth, and the opposite picture had gone completely black. Being in “new” time hadn’t changed anything. The world was still upside down, time and reality twisted around each other, a knot I might never untangle. The locket was a nightmare that burned and scalded, scarred and ruined.
Fighting back tears and struggling to find hope floating somewhere in the tidal wave of anxiety, I reached for the clasp of the locket. I still might be able to get it off. My fingernail caught and I tugged, but as usual the metal wouldn’t budge. I was still trapped, still the locket’s prisoner.
Maybe I always would be, until the day it used me up and moved on to the next victim. Until the day it found its way into a pile of jewelry and my own daughter or granddaughter found it, passing along the cursed family heirloom.
No! No way. I couldn’t let that happen!
The locket was an abomination. It had given me something I was never meant to have. Now I was paying the price with scars and guilt and fear and little pieces of my sanity chipped away by changes in the world as I knew it.
“I should never have had a second chance.” The words choked me, grabbing at my throat and squeezing, but they were true. Isaac should still hate me, Mitch and I should still be estranged, and Sarah and Theo should still have their lives.
Would the locket take me back to that night I’d put it on and let me choose not to touch it? Even if it would, would that make everything better? Would time return to normal and everyone I’d hurt be safe? Or would it be like Rachel and Sarah, one evil exchanged for another, reality still distorted and strange?
The locket stayed cool and quiet, mocking my failure, its lack of heat an assurance that it was an evil thing that would never help me undo any of the damage I’d done. If I wanted out, I was going to have to fight my way out with something a lot more serious than wishful thinking and steak knives.
Hope danced across my skin. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? Something more serious . . . like wire cutters. Or some kind of heavy-duty tool. Gardening shears, even!
I spun and hurried out the door, down the hall, headed toward Ally’s garage. They obviously had a gardener—the giant yard and flower beds were too much for Ally’s mom to handle alone and I could tell she didn’t get her hands dirty—but maybe they had a few tools lying around. If I could find a pair of shears, maybe I’d be able to get the locket off.
It was unusually strong and definitely supernatural, but it was still made of something created on earth. It was metal, and something would be able to cut through its links. Even if I had to hunt down a blowtorch or a blade made of diamonds, I’d get it off of me. Then everything would be okay. Pictures would stop changing, lives would retur
n to normal, memories would become constant and true. If I could just get the locket off, then—
“There she is,” someone said, the excitement in the harsh whisper making my head turn.
Under normal circumstances, I never would have assumed the person was talking about me, even if I had just walked into the living room. I didn’t inspire scandalized whispers. But for some reason . . . I knew I was the “she” in question.
Maybe a part of me felt the attention of the room even before I looked around and encountered a dozen pairs of curious eyes. Or maybe a part of my brain had been listening to the song blasting over the speakers, processing the meaning of the lyrics, even while the rest of me was too busy freaking out about the locket to remember how my feet got down the stairs.
“In love with my best friend, in love with a girl I shouldn’t have been, in love with my best friend. Again.” Mitch’s voice rang out, smooth and haunting over a pounding drumbeat. The song was one part rock ballad, one part punk anthem, but I still recognized the tune. It was the same one he’d been playing in the tree house. The one his best friend had built him, the one I’d built him.
I swallowed and turned away from the living room full of curious stares, nonchalantly changing my course, angling toward the back door, pulse mimicking the pounding of the drums.
Surely Mitch couldn’t be singing about me . . . and even if he was, how would all these people know? Until last week, I’d been invisible to most of the platinums. They wouldn’t know that Mitch and I were best friends.
“Oh, little girl, come sit for a while, hair like a Muppet, but it makes me smile. We’ll talk about him, like we always do, but I don’t care as long as I’m with you, oh, Kaley. Oh, Kaley. Ka-ka-ka-kaley, will you always be my best friend’s girl?”
Kaley, not Katie, but it didn’t matter. I could tell myself all the comforting lies I wanted, but I’d seen the signs. During the past two weeks—and even for months before in “real” time—Mitch had done everything but write his feelings down and shove them in my face. And now he’d done that too. Or at least written them down and sung them. In front of the entire school.