Maggie’s face filled with understanding. She was asking to skip the lockers. “You’re a friend of Amanda’s?” She hated it when people used past tense on stuff like that. Sure, she “was” funny or she “dreamed” of becoming a pro athlete, fine, but friendship and love should stay present tense.
“Yeah,” she said, relieved a little, though her expression was sad. “She was on our squad.”
“That explains the missing pep.”
“Yeah, it’s just hard celebrating without her,” the girl admitted. Maggie nodded understandingly, not sure what to say. In her experience, people would talk if you let them. “My name’s Becca.”
They had reached the cafeteria and as much as she knew she should be feeling sorry for the dead girl and her many friends, she was also feeling a selfish little panic. Moment of truth.
Two other girls approached. “Guys, this is Maggie.”
“Hi,” the other two offered, polite but sizing her up anyway.
“Maggie, this is Sarah Gillson and Mazy Harmony.”
“Nice to meet you.” And she knew she couldn’t let the conversation drop, so she said the first thing that came to mind: “So, who are we playing Friday night?”
She tried to release a breath of relief afterwards. She had said “we.” Nice one, Mags. Plus, it was a positive change in subject that let them talk about what they were comfortable with—the game. The group turned to get in line as they answered, silently inviting her to join them.
“The Battoon Bulls. They’re pretty good, but we’re better,” Mazy told her. Her pursed lips, sneering smile, ribbons, and caked-on concealer were all clear signals. Yep. She was a brat. The petite blonde daintily selected a few carb-less items on her tray.
“How’s their cheer squad?” Maggie asked, grabbing a chocolate milk without shame. Another chance to sound like them. They looked at her questioningly as if to ask: Are you one of us?
Sarah, the blonde, answered. She seemed nicer than Mazy, but very serious. “They don’t have our gymnastics capabilities, but their dance routines are sometimes killer.”
“Sarah is captain,” Becca explained, getting ready for the cashier. Sarah seemed smart and a tad competitive, but Becca was prettier by about an inch, Maggie thought.
“Sucks you came in the middle of the season.” Mazy said, but her nasally tone somehow revealed she was not very disappointed. Maybe her spot wasn’t as secure as the other girls.
“Yeah, it can suck. Haven’t cheered in a while.” Well, that was technically true. Maggie had cheered once in sixth grade when her mom made her. That had definitely been a while.
Sarah’s eyes looked like she was about to ask how long when Becca cut her off. Becca may not be in charge at cheer practice, but she was definitely the leader of the group. “You’ve changed schools a lot before?”
Maggie nodded.
“Wow. That has to be hard.”
“You get used to it,” Maggie shrugged honestly. And indeed you did. If you got enough chances to practice at high school, you got to see what it was like to be everyone. Today, she was sitting at the cheer captain’s table.
Beautiful-eyed boy sat with a group of friends, mostly male, an average but interesting looking bunch. They weren’t making a mess or being obnoxiously loud like the football team was. Maybe, she thought suddenly, she chose the wrong table. Maybe she should have sat with him.
“Maybe you could try out for the team anyway. We have an open spot,” Sarah said in a businesslike tone.
Becca paused mid-bite, looking down. She said nothing. Sarah eyed her thoughtfully, but Maggie understood this had to be done. An open spot was an open spot; you couldn’t make a pyramid without the right number, Maggie figured, not that she really knew how to make a pyramid. She had no idea what she had gotten herself into now.
“I don’t know. Kind of soon.” Becca’s words hung in the air.
“It’s been a week,” Mazy said.
“Mazy!” Becca exclaimed.
“What?” she asked stupidly.
Becca got up from the table and left the room. Sarah blinked at Maggie, then looked down at her food and began eating in silence. Clearly, she had nothing to say.
Mazy made it obvious she wasn’t going to chat either, casting a dramatic look around and avoiding eye contact with the new girl, so Maggie sucked down her milk, grabbed her sandwich and Becca’s abandoned salad and juice, and headed after her, with no idea where she was actually going.
After some wandering, she found the dark-haired girl in the hall by the gym on a bench, her face tearstained.
“Hey.” Becca wiped her face as Maggie sat down without asking.
“Don’t be embarrassed. You get to be upset if you want. I already got caught crying today, and I didn’t even have a good excuse.”
“You did?” She accepted her lunch from the New Girl. “Thanks.”
Maggie just nodded, her legs splayed a little too manly to pass for a cheerleader, and unwrapped her own sandwich, taking a bite so she wouldn’t have to go into the gory details.
“She was my friend,” Becca started. “Amanda. We were pretty close…well, we had been. Before.” She shook her head. “Now I’m kind of stuck with the other girls. But the way they all got it over it so quickly. I don’t know... It just feels wrong. Everyone wants to move on.”
“Like assigning me her locker?” Maggie asked, recalling the look this particular cheerleader had shot her earlier. The girl smiled back apologetically. “I don’t blame you.” They sat quietly for a moment before Becca asked, “You know what happened, don’t you?”
But just as Maggie began shaking her head—the burning question she had not dared to ask close to being answered—the painful voice of Mrs. Penderghast echoed down the linoleum hall. “No eating outside the lunchroom! Throw that away.”
Maggie thought that was pretty stupid. Why not just go back to the cafeteria and eat?
Becca shrugged and tossed her food in the trash, clearly not hungry. Maggie defiantly shoved a quarter of her sandwich into her mouth, throwing away the crusts and leftovers, smiling at Penderghast who looked appalled. Becca balked at her a moment, then laughed.
Still snickering under her glare, they passed the chemistry teacher and Maggie followed Becca toward the lockers. As lunch let out, they went their separate ways, but not before Becca threw Maggie a small, grateful smile. Maybe, she thought then, the day was not going to be a complete and utter failure.
But she had no idea how quickly everything was about to change.
The day was almost over when the storm hit. It became hard to hear the teacher in history class over the pounding rain, crackling thunder, and wind. The wind was the worst bit. She had never heard wind sound like that.
Then, the intercom said to go in the hallway, away from the windows. Maggie had done that before, but it was always as a drill, and the howls and screams of the wind outside were unreal, like a tornado or something. But that’s where they were, right? Tornado Alley?
Sitting on the cold floor in the hall she could hear, even over echoing chatter, boards and structure beams moaning. The yell of the wind was so loud it was almost like a train barreling towards them. It seemed later than it was too, everything dark even in the fluorescent-lit world of the hallway.
Eerily, the lights flickered.
“She’s pissed.” One of the kids with black fingernails said to her friends, her back resting against the cement block wall. They ducked their heads as they nodded. Another girl in a cheerleader uniform glared at them.
“Who’s pissed?” Maggie asked, always a sucker for local folklore or an urban legend. She collected them, basically. You’d be surprised how many high schools were “haunted.”
“The dead girl.”
Maggie didn’t know Amanda, but now she knew people who did know her, and she didn’t like her being referred to as “the dead girl” anymore.
“You mean Amanda? Why would you say that?”
“You don’t know what h
appened?” Black Nail Polish asked, incredulous.
Maggie hated that tone: disbelief mixed with arrogance and glee. “If I’m asking, I don’t know.” She wanted to say, Stop gloating and feigning surprise, and just explain it. Her look must have said what she was thinking; she never had any idea what her face was saying.
“She was killed,” Black Nail Polish said, retreating back into her hoodie.
“Yeah, I heard,” Maggie said solemnly.
“No.” The girl’s friend shook his head, but mostly it just looked like a shaking hood with a pale center. “She was killed,” he emphasized.
Just as the cheerleader, a particularly skinny brunette, opened her mouth to say something, the sound of glass smashing could be heard all the way down the hall. Everyone fell silent as the tinkling of shattered pieces hitting the floor echoed and the roar from outside grew louder, closer.
A soaking wet Mr. Garrett entered the double doors at the end of the hall and pulled them closed with great effort, struggling to hold them while others chained it shut. The doors shook like someone was jokingly pulling on the other side. Someone strong.
Then, that unnatural wail that instantly sparked chills down her arms rang across the town: the emergency siren. Everyone was quiet, worried about other things now. There was nothing to do but wait for it.
Finally, over Mr. Garrett’s grunts and panting, over the siren in the distance, there was a horrendous screech of metal, a loud crunching. Then, a low groan vibrated through everything in the hall. It shook the glass of the display cases. They felt it in their bodies like a drumline.
This part at least must have been out of the ordinary even for Masonville because people gasped.
She had learned that in different places different kinds of dangerous weather were commonplace. The key was to not look alarmed so long as the natives don’t get antsy. If someone who has always lived there slowly widens their eyes to saucer size, something is seriously amiss.
Something was seriously amiss.
Maggie had the sudden desire to get up and bolt. This was, after all, their problem, not hers. It was their school, their town, not hers. Whatever was out there was not going to chase her down. If someone was haunting the school or whatever, it shouldn’t be haunting her.
And then something heavy hit the building. There was a high pitched scream from someone in the hall. Crumbling sounds began, like they were all hiding under the floorboards while someone was vacuuming. People were huddled, covering their heads with their arms. She thought she could hear someone crying.
Maggie just sat there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to fall in on her, thinking, Well, this is it. I really didn’t picture it ending this way. I wonder if they will even think to report me among the missing since no one knows me here.
And just when she was sure she was going to die in a tornado; it was over.
Everyone remained tense, as if waiting for something to jump out. Mr. Garrett opened the doors.
A weirdly quiet breeze wound around outside, gentle as an artist’s brush. It blew across the prairie, moving away from the school and leaving them in silence.
No sounds came from the deserted road either. No birds called. Everything was brown with mud and dust was in the air. And it was that strange mock-evening, except for parts of the sky that were still a little purple. It was not as dark as night anymore, but it didn’t look like 2:00 PM either.
An angry bird was the first to speak its mind.
Then, there were a few quiet conversations, but most people were subdued—in shock or listening for the noise to return.
It did not come, but there was an announcement over the intercom. The pep rally had been postponed. The banner competition was to relocate; someone offered their house. School was dismissed. It was safe to travel and go home. They would be back in session tomorrow regardless of damages. Football field would be repaired by Friday, they promised. Wildcat spirit and all that. Or wombats. Or whatever.
Maggie waited out front in a way that made her feel like she was a third-grader. People filed out, hurrying to their cars, worried about their vehicles sitting in the dirt parking lot near a couple large trees, worried about their homes, parents, and dogs, worried about the game. They didn’t notice Maggie.
Lightly, the sort of grey, foggy, wrap-around-you-like-a-coat-of-mist rain started falling. Her cream sweater wasn’t built for that weather, any more than her hair was. It fell against her face, curling into little spirals at the ends. At least the makeup smears and tear tracks were being washed away, along with the rest of her makeup. Great.
She tossed her backpack on the ground and sat on it so her pants weren’t wet. There was no point in trying to look cute anymore; it wasn’t going to happen and even if it did, no one would notice.
“Hey,” she heard from behind her.
Nice Kid could always be relied upon.he smiled at the consistency, but dreaded looking up at his beautiful eyes, sad and lonely.
“Rough first day, huh?”
She smiled that strained smile and gave little huff of a laugh in response. “What gave it away?” she asked sarcastically.
“Well, you got the locker of a girl who …had died. And you only found out when her boyfriend told you.” He politely skipped the snotty, melting, crying bit, but it was implied. “Then a twister hit the school, which I’m betting you’re not used to, and now I’m guessing you’re stranded here.” He offered his hand, pulling her up; she had no idea why. She had nowhere to go.
“Pretty much,” she said with a sigh. Her Mom was working in a different town and would not be here for a while.
“I can fix that last part.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine.” He laughed. “Come on.”
She followed him towards the parking lot, unable to resist. It felt like she was flirting with someone who had a girlfriend, even though he didn’t anymore. In a way, it was worse. When the girl is alive, it’s at least fair game. But she wasn’t flirting, she reminded herself. The universe just kept throwing them awkwardly together, usually when she looked like a hot mess.
His voice called her out of her thoughts. “You’re very trusting.”
“Why do you say that?” She asked his back. He turned to grin slightly back at her over his shoulder.
“Getting into cars with a stranger.” He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “I’m Tommy,” he explained as they climbed into his truck.
“Maggie.” She smiled shyly.
“Where you need to go?” Tommy asked, putting it in gear.
“Uh, Mulberry Street…I think.”
He laughed a little. “New address must be hard to remember.”
“You have no idea.” It wasn’t even the first Mulberry Street she’d lived on, she was pretty sure.
“You’re right; I don’t. Never moved.” He waved at someone as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. It stretched a while between tracts of farmland before anything came in sight.
“Never?” she asked.
“Nope,” Tommy explained. “I’ve lived in this town, same house, my whole life. Lucky for you I know where Mulberry Street is,” he teased.
Eyes back on the road, his expression turned to a frown. Only when she followed his squinted gaze did she realize she had been looking at him the whole time. She mentally kicked herself for ogling the grieving.
“Looks like something is blocking the road into that side of town. Probably a tree.” He pulled over to the shoulder and got out. Unsure of whether to follow him or not, she tagged along behind.
“Hey, Anthony!” he called to a tall guy. “What’s up?”
“Tree down. Big sucker. Fire department can’t cut it because they have a wreck and a fire.”
“Okay, thanks.” He shook his head and returned, stopping when he looked at her as if he’d just realized she was there again. She squirmed a little, unsure if she should be, just as a harder, stinging rain began to fall. �
��Well, Mulberry Street is blocked for the moment. Want to come over until they get the road cleared?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Uh, if you want company.”
He opened his mouth, but was cut off by someone approaching, a guy getting out of a sports car. He was a macho type, big and broad-shouldered, wearing cologne she could smell from where she stood. Still, he wasn’t bad looking. “Who’s this?”
“This is Margaret, the new girl. Just giving her a ride, Mark.” He was already opening his truck door.
“Hi.” Maggie smiled, following Tommy’s lead. Mark nodded in acknowledgement, but something about the moment was tense. Tommy had moved quickly to get in his truck, so she did the same. They pulled away a moment later.
“I saw you,” Tommy said out of nowhere. “Follow Becca today. Mazy said something insensitive, I bet.”
“You guys friends?”
“Me and Becca? Yeah. We were. We are. It’s weird now because we really just knew each other through Amanda.”
She nodded. “Thanks for this.”
“It’s no problem.” The wind pushed the vehicle a little off the road. Smoothly, he guided it back on track, but Maggie shifted uncomfortably.
“So you haven’t asked.”
“Asked what?”
“What happened to her.”
A bird’s nest collided with the windshield, making them both jump a little.
He tried to shrug it off with a grin, but she couldn’t match it. A skinny, teetering cloud was reaching down toward the earth in a field off to their right. It still surprised her to see a tree bent back almost against the ground, ready to snap, even though she’d seen it in hurricane season. It was just one tree, like there was something massive playing with it, only she couldn’t see it.
She swallowed. Until she could see the twirling funnel reaching down, just like the ones she made swirl in bottles when she was a kid. It was small compared to the movies, but that did not make her feel any better.
Most people who die in tornadoes die in cars. That was her first thought. She didn’t want to say it— she hated backseat driving—but luckily, he was already on it, carefully pulling to the side of the road.
Keep Your Friends Close Page 2