Leftovers

by Laura Wiess

  “Shut up,” you say, as if you weren’t counting on this. “There’s more to her than that.”

  “You got that right,” your brother says, grinning. “Bet it’s hot ’n’ nasty, too.”

  “Hair down to her ass, huh? They didn’t make sophomores like that when I was in school,” your father says, eyes gleaming.

  “Hey,” your mother says playfully, slapping his arm. “What am I, chopped liver?”

  “Then? No,” your father says. “Now…?”

  Hurt spoils your mother’s smile.

  “Hey,” you say, and fling a pillow at your snickering brother.

  “You leave Dellasandra alone, do you hear me? She’s never had a boyfriend and you are not gonna be her first.” You wait, but he doesn’t seem pissed at your bossing him yet, nowhere near as rabid as you’d expected, and for one sickening second you’re afraid that maybe he has turned decent and your entire plan is doomed. Fear sparks and you push again. “I’m serious. She’s a nice girl, totally innocent and way out of your league, so just leave her alone.”

  “Oh, and I’m not a nice guy?” your brother says, flexing his muscles. “Come on, I’m a stand-up dude. Ask anybody, they’ll tell you. What’s not to like?”

  You snort. “How much time do you have?” Your disdain wipes the smirk from his face and, excited now, you shove a little harder. “Just stay away from her and I mean it. She’s off-limits.”

  “I don’t remember asking your permission,” he says with a black look.

  “I don’t really care,” you say, wondering if Blair has given Della a similar lecture on staying away from your brother yet and, if so, what her reaction was. You bet you know. “I’m telling you to stay away from her—”

  “And I’m telling you to mind your own goddamn business,” he says, scowling.

  “Knock it off, both of you,” your father says irritably. “We’re all on the same side here, remember?”

  You shake your head and push up out of your chair. “Forget it. I’m going to bed.” You give them one last, lingering look—if this works, you will turn eighteen before you’re all at home together again—and go to your room.

  The hammer and screwdriver are still under your pillow. You pull them out. They seem melodramatic now, tools a scared kid would use to ward off boogeymen who lurk in hallways, testing doorknobs and seeking entry in the darkest hours of the night.

  They served you well when your only weapons were physical and violent, protected you from the worst of it along with padlocks, minimizer bras, and lime green sweats, but you don’t need them anymore. Not for this, or anything else. Those days are over.

  You meet Blair back at the pine tree near the football field, hack a hole in the root-threaded dirt, and bury the old tools. Wipe your hands on your jeans and meet Blair’s questioning gaze with a grim, confirming one of your own.

  You’ve both outgrown the girls you were defending, and the ones that stand in their place are now armed with powerful, adult-sanctioned weapons.

  Tomorrow.

  The end will mark the beginning.

  Chapter 27

  Blair

  Do you remember when I told you about my mother’s melanoma and how its mutiny really freaked her out? You know why that was?

  Because it turned deadly with no warning. No fanfare, no big announcement or parade, no shouted challenge. That cute, harmless little beauty mark at the edge of her eyebrow just sat there for years, all calm and passive-looking, being smothered with face makeup or bumped with hairbrushes or roasted in the summer sun, forced to soak up whatever my mother exposed it to.

  And not surprisingly, it began to change.

  On the outside, all was status quo—it kept its familiar, reassuring shape—but under the surface it was quietly mutating into something hostile, dark, and deadly.

  Maybe the mutation was genetically preplanned and it had no other destiny from the beginning or maybe outside factors were responsible for its surprise shift to malignancy. Maybe both played a part. I don’t know.

  What I do know is that as soon as its outline blurred and grew, as soon as it bled one drop, hinting at its strengthening mutiny, my mother exercised her power promptly and efficiently and ridded herself of the troublemaker that had threatened her plans.

  You know what that told me?

  No hints allowed.

  And you know what’s funny? How all the lectures I’d gotten had slipped right past my defenses and soaked deep into my mind, whether I’d wanted them to or not.

  How important my mother’s own words would become.

  “Sometimes we have to sacrifice one thing to gain something better.”

  “Appearances count.”

  “When you want to win, stack your deck and harness the nature of the beast.”

  So was I surprised when Della called and asked me for Ardith’s number? No, not really. I would have been surprised if she hadn’t called.

  Why? Because after the first TV appearance she told me she thought Ardith’s brother was really cute and asked if he had a girlfriend. She said it in a reverent, kid-with-a-crush-on-a-movie-star kind of way and in a sick, white-hot flash I knew exactly what had to be done.

  So I told her no, I didn’t think so, but I’d heard he’d had a lot of girlfriends, was way out of her league experience-wise, and if she knew what was good for her she’d stay as far away from him as possible. I gave her a serious lecture and actually forbade her to go near him. My mother would have been proud.

  No, I did not tell her what he’d done to me. That’s my own private business and besides, Dellasandra was definitely not ready to hear about something like that. I mean, come on, her favorite movie was Disney’s Aladdin, for Christ’s sake. How in the hell was I going to explain what happened to me to a girl who’s never even been kissed?

  And besides, the true goal wasn’t to scare her away, but to lure her closer.

  Did Della believe what I said about Ardith’s brother being dangerous? No, of course not. I knew she wouldn’t. I think she heard the “stay away from him” part and got her back up at being told what to do. Or maybe she decided I secretly liked him and was warning her off so I could have him all for myself.

  But that’s only speculation. She never came right out and said it, she just gave me one of those looks she uses for getting her own way, like that time at the boardwalk when she wanted my stuffed tiger and then changed the subject.

  So I went along with her, but as an added nudge I let slip that Ardith and her former boyfriend, Gary, had just broken up. Della freaked when I admitted that yes, Ardith had been kissed, because that meant the three of us weren’t equal anymore and if I somehow got myself kissed before she did…

  Right. That would have been totally unacceptable. Della hates being last and absolutely will not be told that she can’t have what she wants.

  Sure, I knew that. I knew it the whole time I was telling her to stay away from Ardith’s brother, too. I knew it all, Officer Dave. So did Ardith, when she was ordering her brother to leave Della alone. Don’t you think she knew he wouldn’t listen?

  Do you finally understand what I’m saying here? We knew.

  So after Ardith’s brother did his first interview, Della called me for his phone number. She probably didn’t think I had it—she was, after all, the sun that the rest of us mere planets revolved around—but she knew I could get it out of my mother’s file.

  And I did. My job was to accommodate Della, not deny her. My mother had been crystal clear on that point.

  After I gave her the number, I had to sit there and listen as she burbled on about how handsome Ardith’s brother was, and how it was a real shame he didn’t have a girlfriend standing by him, lending support in his hour of need. I agreed with her, of course, and even managed to mourn his supposed loneliness.

  In reality, Ardith’s brother being lonely, horny, and impatient was exactly what I was counting on. Hell, if all went well, he’d end up in prison and never be lonely again.
r />   But that wasn’t gonna happen without a sacrifice, was it? My mother had called in favors and become a media darling—you couldn’t turn on the local news without seeing her shining like Judge Justice on the courthouse steps, preaching the innocence of Ardith’s sterling brother—and he, of course, had become the modern-day Beaver Cleaver, right down to the bashful toe stub and “aw shucks” smile.

  Just another high-spirited boy next door, ma’am.

  My house had a sick, rotten, Mardi Gras atmosphere going on 24/7. My mother hummed. My father sang. Lourdes tossed salads and Horace pruned all the tortured ornamentals in the yard, hacking off the tender, new growth and reinforcing the bushes’ twisted, unnatural shapes.

  Support for Ardith’s brother flowed in and some idiot even started a fund to pay his legal bills.

  No one in my world cared that you lost a kidney and got an infection that almost killed you, that your body was so battered that you could never be a cop again. No one gave a shit that you had two little kids and a wife who couldn’t come out of the house without being bombarded by accusations of stalking and abuse of power, or that your reputation, once shredded, could never fully be repaired.

  There was no room in this triumph for your tragedy, and that wasn’t fair, so we changed it.

  We mutinied quietly, using every lesson we’d been taught by every person who’d ever used us for their own benefit. We used what had brought us down to raise us up again. We shouldered and aimed our adult-sanctioned weapons of words and manipulation and self-serving drive, and when the scene was set, we settled in at a safe distance and watched the show.

  So for all public intents and purposes, we didn’t do anything at all.

  All right, look. Think of us as a pair of those nature photographers who set out a sprinkling of corn in the winter, then hunker down behind a bush, watching as the hungry, bright-eyed little field mouse rushes forward to eat and is promptly seized in the jaws of a ravenous coyote.

  Of course the photographers knew what was going to happen. They’d set the entire scene with absolute intent. And they could have stopped it. They could have stopped bystanding and run screaming into the middle and no blood would have been shed.

  But if they’d stopped it, then there wouldn’t have been an informative nature program, and those millions of interested viewers would never have seen the true nature of the beast.

  No one blames the photographers for the mouse’s untimely demise.

  Because they didn’t do anything. Nothing at all.

  Chapter 28

  Ardith

  Blair is right.

  On the surface we did everything we were supposed to do, as the friends and daughters of the families supporting my brother.

  But underneath our compliant exteriors we were pulling strings and pressing buttons, fanning the fascination of the forbidden and maneuvering our predictable little puppets.

  Yeah, we knew exactly what lessons Della needed to know to survive and we did not pass any of them on to her in time. Some were taboo because of her innocence, some we deliberately withheld because her innocence served us.

  They were the same lessons we’d learned the hard way, too.

  So are you still rooting for us, Officer Dave, or has the manifestation of our anger shifted us from sympathetic victims to heartless predators? Are you going to be one of those people who, no matter what happens, blames the girls?

  Because my brother could have just given her a ride home. He had free will and made a conscious choice, just like Jeremy did, just like Gary did.

  Just like we did, and you will, too.

  You told us once not to be in such a hurry to grow up, but I don’t see any way we could have avoided it. There was always someone out there ready to carve away another chunk of our innocence. I don’t know why. Maybe because theirs was already gone and they couldn’t stand the sight of our ignorant happiness.

  That’s what innocence is, you know. A blissful oblivion of what’s coming, of what you’ll lose and what you’ll gain, and what kind of person you’ll grow up to be.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about what we did, or what we didn’t do.

  I brought your windbreaker back.

  I don’t deserve to keep it.

  Chapter 29

  Blair

  So.

  You know what’s coming.

  You’ve read the police report and seen the endless, frenzied news coverage.

  There’s more, though. The background stuff that nobody knows but us.

  Wait. Let me light a cigarette.

  Okay.

  You meet Ardith in the far corner of the school’s busy courtyard and assume your regular positions, backs against the brick wall and faces turned away from the morning sun. You can see everyone from here and everyone can see you, so you keep your conversation light and your intensity to a minimum.

  You don’t want to give yourselves away.

  You’ve both dressed down, Ardith in a gray sweatshirt, jeans, and running shoes, you in combat gear, prepped for the battle of your life in a black turtleneck, jeans, and rugged-soled Doc Martens. The boots are new and your mother will undoubtedly seize them once she sees them, but by then, either way, it’ll all be over and you won’t need them anymore. They’re only an outward declaration of a private war anyway, an unspoken fair warning to the world, and it will not be your fault that they didn’t recognize it.

  “You know why my brother traded his parking place up front for that one?” Ardith says, motioning with her chin toward spot number 132, only four spaces from the courtyard.

  “Better to hang out?” you say, watching a bus rumble up and spew its student load into the courtyard. Not Della’s. Not yet.

  Ardith snorts. “Try better to watch girls in skirts go up the steps into the building.”

  “Nice,” you say, and hope Della’s wearing a mini today. You say as much and see Ardith’s jaw tighten. “What?”

  She shakes her head, avoiding your gaze. “There isn’t any other way, is there?”

  “Can you think of one?” you say, keeping your voice low despite the fierceness flooding your veins. “Can you think of one other way to end this, Ardith? Because if you can, now’s the time to mention it.” You wait, heart pounding.

  “No,” she says, glancing down at her silver ring.

  “Right,” you say.

  It’s going to work. You’ve thought the whole thing out, step by step.

  You know that if you linger thirty seconds too long with Ardith and Della outside their biology class before the bell rings, Ardith’s brother will saunter by on his way to business ed. In the past you’ve bailed early and left Ardith to hustle Della inside before this happens, but today…well, today you’ve worn the Doc Martens and they’ll need relacing while the three of you loiter outside the classroom. You’ll crouch, hair curtaining your face so you don’t have to meet his mocking gaze, but Ardith will send her brother a snotty look and deliberately move in front of Della, as if to shield her from his substandard cooties. She may even mouth, Leave her alone, or Don’t even think about it if he needs further antagonizing, if she can do it without Della noticing.

  You know that sometime before lunch you’ll head over to the payphone in the lobby and call in an anonymous tip to that reporter Janica Silvain’s news hotline regarding Ardith’s all-American brother and his new top-secret school romance. You’ll tap out the number with a pen and hold the receiver with your sleeve. Your voice will be disguised, the cadence altered. Maybe you’ll sound like a gay guy or an airheaded girl, maybe use an accent or a lisp. All you need is for the lobby to be empty.

  At the same time, Ardith will be wandering the library, something she does often, but this time she’ll be waiting for someone signed on to a computer to get up and leave for a moment. Once that happens she’ll slip in, e-mail a similarly gossipy anonymous tip to the news station, and then go back to perusing the podiatry books.

  You know that if you time it right, you can waltz Del
la past Ardith’s brother at least twice more without changing hall routes to do it. You don’t want to be obvious, though, so you may only do it once, near the end of the day, just to flaunt the forbidden.

  You know the best view of the courtyard is from Ardith’s history classroom upstairs and that at the end of first period her earring will fall off and be deliberately nudged under the back radiator, so it looks like it bounced there of its own accord. She’ll worry aloud during lunch about having lost it, and after school, the two of you will have to rush up to find it, leaving Della waiting alone for her bus in the courtyard.

  And you know that when school lets out, Ardith’s brother always hangs by his car for a while, talking with friends and flirting with girls. When you and Ardith are there, you keep Della far away from him until her bus comes, but now that you won’t be…

  “Here comes her bus,” Ardith says, glancing at you.

  “Finally,” you say, straightening and shaking back your hair. You touch your ring, then the locket holding the snip of Wendy’s fur. Smile at Ardith and the promise of a bright future. You draw a great breath and, standing on tiptoe, wave at the virgin enchantress, who beams and waves back, always so happy to see you.

  Honestly?

  Della made it easy.

  So did Ardith’s brother.

  Because they one hundred percent blew off all our warnings, Della with sparkly, badly disguised eagerness, Ardith’s brother with cocky self-interest. They did everything exactly as we needed them to, and more.

  Way more.

  At some point during the day, Della, heady with the thrill of her own daring, caught up with Ardith’s brother at the far end of the hallway, near the infamous blow job bathroom, and gave him a good luck card with a cute, cartoon puppy on the front. Inside, in her rounded, balloonish handwriting peppered with heart-dotted i’s and smiley faces, she’d written, You will win this. Don’t give up! Your friends know you’re innocent! I can help you, so if you want to talk about my plan or about anything at ALL, just let me know. Your friend, Dellasandra Luna (the girl with the long black hair ). P.S. It was fun talking to you last night on the phone!