Keep Your Friends Close

by Elsie Vandevere

  Tommy was stubbornly putting up the man’s glass and silverware at that moment. Tyler took them back from Tommy without a word. The two held each other’s gaze, the same rippled glass in their hands.

  Then, Tommy let go, himself again instantly. He carried the rest into the kitchen without a word. Tommy may look more like his father with his voice, his smile, but Tyler clearly had more in common with the man’s temperament, while Tommy was more soft and caring like his mother, Maggie observed.

  Maggie and Tommy excused themselves while his mother peacefully filled her sink with soap suds. Tyler and his dad were still in the dining room, so no one but the dog watched them go upstairs to Tommy’s room. He shut the door quietly. She looked around, having been in there only briefly once before, the first day they met.

  Tommy looked determined as he strode directly towards her and for a moment her heart skipped. Was he going to kiss her? she dared to think as he got closer. She took an involuntary step back as he stared her down, pressing her back to his desk. Yes. This was happening. He was going to kiss her.

  Inches from her, he stopped, his hand sliding behind her. She blinked longer than was necessary, waiting for him to bend down just a few inches.

  She waited. Nothing happened. She heard a small clink behind her, and her eyes flew open again. Tommy scrutinized a small pink bottle made of glass with what was left of the light streaming through it.

  He took off the cap.

  “Where did you get that?” she blurted.

  Tommy wasn’t bothered. “I went over there today. Her parents said I could go by her room when I wanted, so I went and got this.”

  “You took it?”

  “I have to know,” he said seriously, dark eyelashes fluttering over his beautiful eyes. She nodded, gently taking the bottle. It felt cold in her hands, like she wasn’t supposed to be touching it. Was it Amanda’s ghost watching that made her nervous or was this a strange part of Amanda’s plan?

  She closed her eyes and, filled with dread, breathed it in—and sneezed. He laughed at her, his chest shaking and rumbling. The scent was too strong, but it was familiar. Pushing the bottle away, she smelled again, thinking of the folded paper. The letter M.

  She couldn’t be sure, so for a moment, she didn’t say anything. She gave him that.

  He knew, putting the top back on as he waited. “That could be it,” she said shyly. He nodded without a word.

  “I thought so.” He replaced it. “So now we find M.” For a moment, they stood there watching each other. She would have breathed in his scent if she could manage to draw a steady breath. Then, he caught her off guard again.

  “You smell nice,” he murmured.

  She warmed. That was probably a better compliment than something about her looks. She stared at his chest, watching it puff out, fall back. She wanted to hug him, wrap her arms around his warm, hard torso, smell him, and listen to the rumble of his voice vibrating through her. She wanted to so badly that her arms actually hurt. But she was afraid, so instead she let herself slowly lean forward and her forehead fall slowly against his chest.

  She couldn’t even look at him, but felt their breathing both hitch when contact was finally made. The moment she heard his arms raise, possibly to wrap around her or to push her away—she would never know—a familiar roar made her jump. Behind her, outside the window, a red sports car had pulled up, impatiently.

  “I should take you back,” he panted.

  “Yeah,” she agreed, darting for the door. “Why’s Mark here?”

  Tommy shrugged. Looking down, he said, “Probably to see Tyler.”

  They both hurried, neither one wanting to meet Mark on the way. She did not even say goodbye. Tyler proved himself useful, intercepting Mark so they could make it to the truck unbothered. She buckled quickly as they pulled away. She couldn’t make out Mark’s expression as he watched them leave, not through the drizzle and fall’s dusk light, but it seemed like he was frowning.

  The ride was quiet, tense. “Drive safe,” she blurted awkwardly before escaping the moment he stopped.

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” he said just as quickly.

  The evening was spent in books, buried as deep as she could burrow. She tried to use the numbers and lab instructions to lock out the game her mind was playing: he loves me, he loves me not. Or even worse: she’s a ghost, she’s faking her death.

  It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? The idea that Amanda might not really be dead. But it was Tommy’s idea, and Tommy knew her best. The casket had been closed. And Maggie had seen her. Certainly that was more plausible than that she had actually seen a ghost. Tomorrow she’d find goth Anna and find out about that séance.

  No, she chastised herself, focus on history. The Battle of Antietam. The first photos of the dead.

  What if she got a picture of Amanda? She didn’t have the note, she needed proof. Could she steal the note back from Mark if he had it? Where would he keep it? Could the police find it if she tipped them off?

  No. Read, she ordered herself. But the text was harder to read than a good book, like Amanda’s favorite book, Tom Sawyer. Didn’t they see a murder? Was Amanda playing dead to get someone to come forward and admit to hitting her and perhaps seriously injuring her? And who could that person be?

  Her mom says always suspect the boyfriend first, but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? What had Tommy’s cryptic confession about not being a nice guy meant? Had Tommy found out about M, or suspected, following her? Was it an accident and his dad was protecting him?

  No. Tommy could never keep a secret like that. His family could not possibly sit down to such a nice dinner in such a warm dining room after covering that up. Tommy wanted to know what happened as much as anyone else, didn’t he?

  That night, Maggie dreamed she was having dinner with Tommy and Tyler and their parents in the nice dining room. Neither of the boys were wearing shirts, but nobody minded. Maggie looked down to realize she wasn’t wearing pants. She blushed furiously.

  “Oh you know Maggie, she never wears pants,” Tyler joked. She felt stung. That wasn’t true! She wore pants loads of times.

  There was a knock at the door and Miss Latchley asked Maggie to get it. Maggie hopped up, pantless, figuring it was the least she could do. The moment the door swung shut behind her on the warm, cheery dining room, all sounds died. She was in her kitchen which was was cold and empty and dark. She tried to switch on the light, but nothing happened.

  Headlights poured into the window, and she ducked. Peeking outside, she saw a red sports car, engine angrily revving. She ran toward the back of the house, dining room door having vanished. The headlights somehow followed, chasing her through the house at every window. The engine continued to growl menacingly.

  Then, the doorbell rang. She froze, trying to ignore it. She was alone on the stairs in Tommy’s empty house now—cars couldn’t get up stairs she guessed—and all was dark. The doorbell rang again. For some reason, she felt she still had to answer it.

  Slowly, she crept toward the door. She didn’t even want to move her toes to lift herself to the peephole, but she did. She did not see anything at first but pitch blackness. Oh. Her eyes were closed.

  When she opened them, she saw a person on the porch facing away from her. Why would someone stand with their back to the door? Maggie saw the back of her unmoving head, short hair, arms hugged around her. A cheerleading uniform. Amanda.

  Maggie ducked, turning around with her back pressed against the door, sinking to the floor with eyes closed.

  When she opened them, Tyler was sitting next to her, inches from her face. “What’s out there?” he whispered. He looked frightened, giving her chills. She turned away from him, seeing Tommy on her other side. “Open the door, M,” Tommy told her, serious.

  “What did you call me?” Maggie whispered. The engine revved again, so loud it could have been on the porch. Maggie closed her eyes, stomach turning, waiting for the dream to end.

  Chapter Thirteenr />
  Not a Good Idea

  It was Monday again. Maggie checked the weather report, recalling her first day at Wilbur Mason just last Monday. Rain, lots of it, was expected. No twisters at least.

  She wore rain boots, cute ones, and a raincoat that matched. Underneath was a simple dress and tights. She looked at her reflection, unsure what her friends would think, then caught herself for the first time making a decision not on what she wanted, but what others expected her to wear. She liked the raincoat and boots, she told her reflection defiantly, and more importantly, she did not want to get wet again.

  Strange how one week ago, everything had started so run-of-the-mill—dumb schedule, faulty locker, handsome guy. That’s the moment ordinary stopped. The flat plains, the small town with its brick schoolhouse and a boring name like Wilbur Mason was misleading. Ordinarily she didn’t inherit evidence, hang out with cheerleaders, catch teachers making out with secret lovers, or get saved by cute strangers from an unpredictable, violent death. Or get kissed by their brother. Or see…whatever she had seen Friday night.

  Today was the day to find out what. She was going to talk to Anna about the séance. She wasn’t sure what to expect, if it would help at all, but she was dying to know. She also had to subtly sniff out suspects…literally. She couldn’t be sure about the perfume. There was still the possibility someone else smelled more like the letter and that they could have passed it to Amanda. Someone like Mazy or Ashley Monroe.

  “See you!” she called to her mom who was sleeping in with a miserable cold. Maggie really hoped she didn’t catch the stuffed-up nose.

  When she entered Becca’s car, she took a deep breath. The car smelled good, but nothing like the perfume. She knew it would not. Mags let the breath out in a relieved sigh.

  “Morning!” Becca seemed peppier. “Nice boots. So I realized something…”

  “Thanks. What’s that?”

  “Ashley Monroe is an M. She and Amanda could not stand each other. She had just got into a fight with you, and Mazy got her suspended and thrown off Homecoming Court...then Amanda won. Ashley is probably the one who destroyed the poster.”

  “I had thought of her,” Maggie nodded enthusiastically, relieved to finally share the secret with someone. “Why didn’t they get along?”

  “Well, they were friends a long time ago,” Becca explained. Archenemies usually were, in Maggie’s observation. “But they started being rivals at everything: boys, popularity, and cheer.” Becca shrugged. “It got malicious. Ashley quit the team. Neither bothered to hide it,” Becca finished. It was not the full-length, detailed story Maggie had hoped for, but at least someone was finally talking about it! Plus, Becca had not asked about what Mags had done over the weekend yet; Maggie could not believe her luck.

  “Ashley was always jealous,” Becca continued to suppose about Ashley.

  “Speaking of jealousy,” Maggie began, tentatively. “Mazy hasn’t been particularly sensitive about Amanda.” Maggie had a frigid flashback to Mazy looking right where Amanda was standing and laughing. Laughing.

  Becca’s head snapped to her, eyes narrowed in dubiousness. “You think…” she said slowly as they pulled into the parking lot. “Mazy could be M?”

  “Well, she probably did not destroy the poster,” Mags admitted, sinking in her seat thoughtfully. “She was dancing near me right before you found it.”

  “She had been drinking though…” Becca countered. “And we don’t know where she was before that, or when it was actually destroyed.”

  “True. And Mazy is an M, but…” she trailed off, unsure if she could continue.

  “But what?”

  “So is Mark.”

  This time Becca seemed to barely hold in a snort. Mark passed all suspicion. “Mark? Are you kidding me?”

  “Look, I didn’t tell you before, but he made me really uncomfortable on our date. He was...intimidating. He kept talking about death and stuff.”

  She furrowed her brow a little, still reluctant to suspect him. “That doesn’t sound like Mark.”

  “I know! That’s why it was so weird.”

  “Did he say anything about it when he apologized?”

  “No. But a lot of the time he just glares at me.”

  She shook her head and she pulled the keys out of the ignition. “But what would he have against you?”

  “He may have found the note when I dropped it, which means if he is M, he knows I suspect something happened to Amanda.”

  “Yeah,” she paused for a moment, staring at the clock of the car before climbing out.

  “Hey, Becca!” someone shouted. She smiled and waved, shrugging on her backpack. “We can’t talk about this here, okay?” she whispered. Maggie nodded and they headed inside like all was normal.

  Once they got to Maggie’s locker, Becca gracefully pivoted and gave her a weird look. Maggie didn’t not like it. It was excited, but expectant.

  “So I have an idea…”

  Mags wondered what the girl could be talking about since they had to resign their conversation to school issues.

  “Okay, what?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Replacement try-outs are this week. I want you to do it,” she announced, bouncing on the balls of her feet a little, hair fluffing. For a second, Maggie wasn’t sure what she was talking about. Try-outs for what?

  Then she remembered watching all her friends on Homecoming, down on the sidelines, cheering. She recalled her little white lie when all she wanted was a table to sit at—that she used to cheer a long time ago. At the time she thought it was safe. Who would ever ask her to cheer on the spot? But Amanda was gone, and that left a spot on the team. There wasn’t much of a season left, true, but Maggie couldn’t even fake it for a whole game she was pretty sure.

  “Oh no, Becca, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Maggie shut her locker for emphasis.

  “Come on. You have to,” her friend whined as they moved to her locker. “I know you said it’s been a while, but I was thinking I could teach you some things,” she offered professionally.

  “Becca, no.” Mags tried to be firm. “Look, the truth is I’m not a cheerleader. Hell, I’m not even much of a cheer-joiner.”

  Becca ignored her confession, not missing a beat. “Maggie, please? I can’t stay on that team by myself.”

  “You’re not by yourself,” she stalled, constricting panic beginning in her chest. She was beginning to realize she was not getting out of this.

  “The only sane person now that Amanda is gone is Sarah.” Maggie withheld the giggle at Becca implying Mazy was nuts. “And all she wants to talk about is cheer like it’s a damned Olympic sport.”

  “Actually, I think it—”

  “Maggie, just do this for me, okay? If we want to be friends, we are going to have to have similar interests or we’ll never see each other, and they won’t want you at our table. Just do this, okay? As a favor.”

  “Even if I try, I’m not going to make it, but fine, I’ll make a complete fool out of myself.”

  “Yes! You’re amazing. And you’re not going to make a complete fool of yourself. I’m going to train you like a drill sergeant starting today.”

  Maggie groaned. “It will have to wait until after my detention.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s today. Well, text me then, and I’ll come train you.” She beamed, prancing off.

  “Can’t wait,” Maggie mumbled to no one.

  “Your face can’t wait,” Becca called. Maggie laughed at that. She taught her that joke.

  Classes dragged on, boring and routine at that point. The prospect of finding M, the weird occurrences of the weekend, the looming detention, and Becca’s impending cheer boot camp were all too fascinating to allow things like polynomial equations, noble gases, Antietam, and arpeggios to keep her attention.

  She kept an eye peeled for Anna all day. A person in all black should be easy to find, but the only time she saw her was at lunch when it was too suspicious to go up to her and talk. Th
ey exchanged glances across the lunchroom, Anna’s friends huddled low and chatting.

  “Why are they looking at you?” Mazy was smarter than she looked, unfortunately.

  “Ran into them at the game.”

  “Maggie’s trying out for cheer!” Becca announced. Mags winced. Normally, she would have welcomed a change in subject, but why did it have to be that subject?

  “Really?” Sarah was reasonably surprised. Maggie gave her single nod of agreement.

  “I thought you hadn’t cheered in a while,” Mazy said, a little more quietly.

  “I haven’t,” Maggie said slowly through gritted teeth.

  “I’m going to help her prepare,” Becca told them.

  “We’re going to be teaching everyone the routine after school, doing a little conditioning,” Sarah announced. “Thursday, we’ll hold try-outs with the team, which is a little different, to see who fits where we need them the best, and then they’ll be announced at the pep rally and cheer at the game Friday night,”

  Maggie just nodded and smiled, spying Anna in the corner of her eye, thinking of an excuse should she leave early to follow her. She did not, and once the halls were flooded with people heading to class, she did not see her again.

  Mags did, however, constantly run into Tommy throughout the day. She first literally bumped into him while hurrying to math, then she got a little wave from him as they passed on the stairs. Tyler and some guys were talking to him then, so he couldn’t talk. She brightened though, remembering his compliment: she smelled nice. She caught him looking at her at lunch, though she was otherwise occupied. The last two periods, she could have sworn the clock was broken.

  At the final bell, she shut her locker unenthusiastically.

  “Have fun in detention,” Tommy murmured as he passed. She offered him a slight smile.

  “Meet me in the gym as soon as you’re finished,” Becca instructed, tucking hair behind her ear. Mags saluted her mockingly, earning a no-nonsense eye.

  Maggie reported for detention as the intercom instructed. Detention was to consist of cleaning the gym. Maggie looked around at mostly unfamiliar faces as rules were recited. She should probably have been listening. She had not had detention there before, or detention much anywhere for that matter. But she had glimpsed two familiar faces and smiled.