Is this really necessary? Am I making too much out of this?
I think, in some ways, I want this to be true. I want it to be a big joke, a school wide hazing experiment. Haha! We got the new teacher! She really thought you had it in for her…
I feel the heaviness of my limbs and know the toll this is taking on me. I know I haven’t slept well in days and I’m coming across as flighty and distracted. I make my way to my desk and am putting my bag in the drawer when I see a piece of paper sticking out from my planner. Even from here I recognize the handwriting and I fall into my chair in disbelief.
He just won’t stop.
A familiar bubbling rises to the surface and I recognize the anger for what it is — a recognition. For the first time, I don’t even read the note. I don’t have to in order to know that I am absolutely done with this — whatever it is.
Fuck this, I think.
I push the planner away and stand up, my hesitation from earlier completely gone. I set my shoulders back and make my way to Principal Stahl’s office, not even looking behind me to acknowledge the persistent feeling of being watched.
.::.
He’s not in his office when I get there, and I debate whether or not to wait. I hear a noise behind me, and when I turn, I see Jasper with an armful of papers. The relief I feel in seeing my friend is palpable. We both have been so busy we haven’t been able to talk since the coffee shop incident, just a few stray texts here and there. His eyebrows dance up in surprise.
“Oh. Hey.”
“Here early to snag the copier?”
He laughs. “Yeah. It’s still jammed, though. So it’s back to old-school paper and pen for their notes on Scarlet Letter.”
I suck air through my teeth.
“Ah. Well. I think you’re forgetting we teach Gen-Z. I doubt they even own pens or notebooks. They’ll have personal computers they can use.”
“You’re right.” He snaps his fingers. “Oh — you’re right. I can use that. Everyone in my class has their own computers, so now they’re going to do the lecture. Not me.”
He leans forward for a high five.
“You’re the best.”
I lean in to slap my hand against his and offer a smile. Checking my watch in the process.
He glances at the office door behind me and nods his head toward it.
“Waiting for Stahl?”
“Hey, about the coffee shop —“
We both start talking about the same time and laugh.
“You first.” He motions toward me.
I shake my head and wave my hand in front of me as if it’s not that big of deal, because I really don’t want it to linger in his head for long.
“I wanted to apologize for leaving so quickly. I must have had a bug or something. Simon and I didn’t get any sleep that night I was so sick. And it came on so quickly —“
He shakes his head, frowning.
“Juniper. You’re fine. Please. That was weeks ago. I had forgotten about it and we’d gotten enough ideas down to make these past few weeks a piece of cake. Did you see the Slack channel with the updates from the meeting they had the other day?”
“Yeah — I think the only thing we’re missing now is a caterer, right?”
He nods, excited.
“Your idea about using the parents to volunteer was genius. The kids are excited again and it’s gotten the parents involved, which has seriously been lacking these past few years.”
He studies me for a moment and I wonder what he’s thinking.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” I try to make my voice even so he doesn’t get concerned. I’m still embarrassed, but I don’t let on. I feign a yawn.
“I’m tired. Talked to Lavender last night way too late and now I just need to get clearance about an idea I have for finals so I want to make sure I don’t miss him when he gets back.” I stretch and give him a wink. “Speaking of Lavender, have I told you lately that you’d be a good fit for my twin?”
He blushes and looks away for a moment before catching my eye and pointing at me. “And have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me to have someone try and pair me with a complete stranger?”
“She’s not a stranger! She’s the other half of me! We’re basically the same person! She’s just a lot more impulsive and drinks more caffeine and likes to run from commitment!”
He throws his head back then, laughing, and shrugs.
“Oh, okay. In that case —“
Tracey walks in then and pauses mid-step, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize….”
She trails off and waits for us to respond and when we don’t, she adjusts her shoulders and looks at me.
“Are you here to talk with Principal Stahl about the gala?”
Jasper maneuvers himself behind Tracey and I’m envious of his escape plan. He looks at me and rolls his eyes, mouths goodbye, and I smile and send him a wave before turning my attention back to Tracey.
“I’m here to talk to Principal Stahl, yes.”
She waits again, thinking I would fill in the gaps and tell her more information, but my lips are sealed.
She sighs then, looking around the office.
“Well you clearly didn’t have an appointment, because he’s out all day.”
I look at her.
“He’s out?”
She nods, a look of smug satisfaction stretched in a smirk. “Stomach bug.”
Well, shit.
She gasps, and when I look at her, I realize I said that out loud.
“Um — sorry. I just. I needed to run something by him. I can just come by later.”
“Or I can help—“
“No, that’s fine.” I cut her off and get up, walking past her in a rush. “Thanks, Tracey.” I don’t even really wait for her to respond. I don’t want to deal with her right now. I continue down the hall, feeling her eyes on my back, and I know she’s thinking of a million different reasons why I could be wanting to chat with Stahl. It also probably drove her crazy she walked in on me and Jasper and didn’t catch us in a scandalous conversation. She had to know everything about everyone. It drove me crazy.
I think of a conversation I had with Lavender at the beginning of the year when I was telling her about Tracey and she smacked her lips and declared, “I don’t trust that bitch.”
I smile, thinking of how quickly Lavender sized her up and called her unworthy.
At the time, I defended Tracey, thinking it was a rash judgment on someone I had really just met.
“You haven’t even met her, Lavender.” I chastised. And she had laughed at me.
“I don’t have to meet a bitch to know whether or not they can be trusted,” she said. And now, I am understanding just how right she was.
I return to my classroom and am pleased to see some of my students already there, studying for their exam later in the week.
“Look at you guys!” I exclaim as I walk in between the rows of desk. “You’re making me feel bad that I haven’t even finished grading the last exam!”
They chuckle to themselves and I feel my phone vibrate. My heart leaps. Simon. I smile at the students and pull my phone out of my pocket, checking the text.
I have three.
One from Lavender, telling me she would call me tonight.
One from Simon, including a morning selfie with groggy eyes and a smile.
And one from Silas.
DID YOU GET MY GIFT?
LET IT BE A REMINDER, JUNIPER.
SIMON CAN DISAPPEAR IN AN INSTANT.
LET’S NOT BRING PRINCIPAL STAHL INTO THIS.
Despite my heart pounding against my chest, I’m confused. A reminder for what? Another threat toward Simon? And again: how in the hell did he know I was going to talk with Principal Stahl?
I remember the note in my planner and I walk behind my desk, pulling out the piece of paper that turns out to be an envelope. I see my name on the front, which was the handwriting
I spotted this morning. I tear it open, pulling out what’s inside. When I register what it is, I collapse into my chair. I can see my students watching me out of the corner of my eye but I can’t manage to hide my reaction to this one.
It’s the Death card, from my mom’s tarot deck.
The meaning is clear, and now I have proof that he really was in my house. My hands are shaking when I stand up, and I push my chair against the wall behind me with the force of my body’s motion. I startle my students and try to laugh it off.
“Oops,” I whisper, my voice strange against the silence.
They look at each other and I take a deep breath.
“I um—I will be right back. I need…I need to make a phone call.”
The look at each other, raising eyebrows and beginning to whisper. I can’t care. There was no way for me to know this card was missing, but I know my mom’s deck. This is absolutely from there. I know because the scent of jasmine is still attached to the card — my mom’s perfume. I swat at my cheek, frustrated at the display of emotion. I rush out of my classroom and down the hall, passing Tracey on my way outside.
“Juniper! Class is about to start!”
She calls after me and I can only wave my hand above my head in response with a strangled, “I’ll be right back!” over my shoulder. It’s enough for me to see her look of distaste and the hatred I feel for her escalates times 3000. I make a mental note to tell Lavender that she was right — that I will trust her taste in others for always as long as she will listen to me about men — if I ever get out of this alive, and then I stifle a sob because the thought of me not making it through this has never even been a thought until now.
I’ve experienced fear for being hurt. And terror because my boundaries were crossed. But the text echoes in my head and I can’t help but understand the implications. His threat is clear, and I have no idea how I’m going to move on from here. I walk into the courtyard, gasping big gulps of air into my lungs. The tarot card is still in my hand and I look at it again — studying the detail. There’s a woman at the center, head thrown back and facing north. Her leg is kicked up behind her as if she’s in the middle of a dance. A snake wraps around her and behind her is a background of peonies and a skull.
Life and death. Beginnings and endings.
A cicada and a butterfly crown the top of the card, and I am reminded of a conversation with my mom about this card back when I was younger. She was the one who taught me that this card most often looks like letting go of control, allowing the cycle of life to move through every piece of who we are — every area of our life that we tend to hold tightly for fear of losing it. Intrinsically, I know this is the intended meaning. Intellectually, I know this card doesn’t actually mean death.
But I also know the way in which Silas meant for it to be received.
I pull out my phone and glance around to make sure I’m alone.
Forget Principal Stahl. It’s time to call the police.
27
We’re less than 20 minutes from first period starting, so I don’t have much time. I glance around the courtyard and am relieved to see I’m by myself. The last thing I need is wandering ears hearing this conversation, but I’m surprised there aren’t any lingering students trying to get their last few moments of freedom. Normally the courtyard is bustling with activity.
I take what I can get. I search for the local police station on my phone. My hands are still shaking, but I manage to find the number. I work through how I’m going to approach this conversation. I have no idea what to expect on the other end of the line, but I’m out of options. I feel the edges of the card in my pocket and it bolsters my resolve.
After a few rings, I hear a gruff voice answer the phone.
“Providence Police.”
“Hi, um. I needed to talk with someone about a stalker.”
“If this is an emergency —”
“It’s not. I mean, it’s serious, but I’m not like in danger right now.”
There’s a pause.
“Okay….” the voice levels off and I can hear the confusion. “So what can I do for you?”
I wait for a beat and then dive into an explanation. I feel the thread of dissonance weave itself into my own brain and I struggle to articulate my thoughts.
“I’m not sure if this is where I would even call — I don’t have like any investigators’ phone numbers or really know what my next steps should be….”
“How about you tell me what’s going on, miss, and I can let you know whether next steps are warranted.”
I frown at his tone.
“I need you to take this seriously.”
He stifles a chuckle and I can hear him chewing on something. I grimace.
“I can’t take anything, sweetheart, until you talk to me.”
I pull at my ponytail, my frustration growing.
“For the past few months, I’ve had a stalker. Recently, it’s gotten—well it’s gotten scary. He leaves me these notes, and I think he’s been in my home.”
“In your house?”
“Yes — he’s been in my house. I think. I mean, I know.” Ugh. My hand comes up to my forehead and I close my eyes to collect myself. I’m getting twisted trying to explain this and I hear a frustrated sigh on the other end of the line and I know he’s now trying to find a way to get me off the phone.
“Let me start over. I have a stalker. He’s been leaving me notes everywhere, texting me, he threatened my boyfriend in one of them and today he left me the Death card from my mother’s tarot deck. This is how I know he’s been in my house. The tarot deck is at home and a few weeks ago—“
“Wait.” There’s a small laugh and I bite my lip in anger. “Let me get this straight. You have someone leaving you notes and sending you texts and you say he’s threatened by your boyfriend…”
“Yes, well — no. He’s not threatened by my boyfriend. He’s the one who is threatening us.and like I said, his behavior has turned erratic over the last few weeks and it’s concerning.”
“This isn’t CSI, ma’am. You don’t have to tell us about escalated behavior. We can spot that on our own when you tell us what’s going on. So outside of notes and your boyfriend feeling threatened, what else has happened?”
I swallow frustration and force myself not to correct him — I realize now that won’t get me any further. Whether Simon knows about this or not isn’t relevant to this guy. I need to just share the basics.
“The notes are constant and have increased with threats. I never gave him my number, and yet he texts me all the time. He knows everything I’m doing. A lot of warning me not to talk to anyone or reminding me what he is capable of or that he won’t ever stop regardless of me asking him to leave me alone.”
“Hmmm.” He clicks his tongue and I hear a quiet snap as if he’s trying to get the attention of someone. “Have you received any other threats? Any damage to your property? Anything making you feel as though you’re in danger?”
“Well, yeah. These notes don’t make me feel like puppies and rainbows. Jesus Christ. How many times do I have to repeat that he threatened my boyfriend.” I feel the heat rising in my chest and I have to fight from raising my voice.
He clears his throat.
“Ma’am. I understand this is a scary situation, but I need to ask that you keep your tone at a professional level. There’s no need to get belligerent.”
My eyes grow wide and I begin to regret calling.
This can’t be happening.
I look around again, making sure there wasn’t anyone who’d come out since I started talking on the phone. I walk over to a corner that will allow me to see the entire area and lower my voice to a more acceptable volume.
“I’m not belligerent — I just need help. He’s threatened my boyfriend. He sends me notes and texts even when I’ve asked him to stop. He knows what I’m doing even though he’s nowhere around — or at least I don’t see him. And he also told me in a text today that the Death card wa
s a reminder of what he could do and to not get the principal involved….”
“Death card?”
“From my mom’s tarot deck? What he took from my house? I know it was from her deck because it smells like jasmine.”
He makes a noncommittal grunt and I know it’s lost on him why this is a big deal. I hear him sniff and let out a sigh. I roll my eyes. He’s just placating me.
“Ma’am how old are you?”
“I’m 27. Why?”
“There was something you said earlier — he told you not to tell the Principal.”
“That’s right. He saw me waiting this morning to speak with the principal about it and that makes no sense either because I got here early specifically to catch him before everyone got here and yet still he knew—“
“Is he a coworker?”
I hesitate for a half a second.
“…No. He’s not a coworker. It’s a…it’s a student. I teach seniors in high school.”
He laughs then, a full-throated laugh that escapes unbidden.
“Ohhhhh. Okay. This makes more sense. You have a student admirer, ma’am. Not a stalker.” He laughs again and I bristle. I refuse to accept this as a workable excuse.
“He might be a student, sir, but he’s 19. Definitely old enough to know whether or not what he’s doing is wrong.” I feel like I need to clarify this. I want them to know this isn’t an elementary crush.
“Yeah, and I was 17 when I fell in love with my English teacher and followed her to the local movie theatre one night. Your point?”
I sigh.
“Frankly sir, that’s concerning. I imagine you made her feel uncomfortable. Listen. I had crushes too but I didn’t text them constantly. I didn’t ignore their pleas for me to stop talking with them. I didn’t spy on them while they were at home by themselves. I didn’t break into their houses or threaten their partner.” My breath is coming out in short bursts, and I know I sound unhinged. The slight quiver in my voice gives my emotions away.
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