Shake It Off

Jack, October

That night I get a text from Emma.

Emma: She's going back tomorrow

Me: K. I'll meet you in the parking lot before school

Emma: ♥ What did Bree say? Was she mad?

Me: Naw. Not mad. Said she wasn't feeling well. I think she's coming down with something.

Emma: Good. I mean not about her being sick. Just, she's already pissed at me about Cash, even though he's totally ghosted me...

               Me: You're too good for him anyway. Stick with Toby. He's solid.

She went to Homecoming with Toby Evans from the JV team. He's a junior, and while he's not a star athlete or anything, he'll treat Emma right. Can't say the same for Cash.

                        Emma: ☺ He's sweet. Ok, I'll text you when we're almost to the school

                                    Me: K. Thanks

I send a snap to the group of guys on the team that Peyton is friends with—Rafa, Beto, Louie, Darius, Geno, Lucas, and, reluctantly, Marshall. They all agree to meet me in the lot tomorrow.

*****

When they pull into the lot, Taylor Swift's "Shake it Off" is blaring from Peyton's speakers. That had to be all Emma. Peyton's musical tastes tend toward the dark and angry. I still haven't figured out what the hell she's so mad about, though. I mean, sure, Cash and everything, but she's seemed kind of pissed off at the world since the day I met her, before this shit show started.

There's still so much about her that's a mystery. I'm sure Emma would talk if I pressed her, but the point is not so much getting the info as it is that I want Peyton to want to open up to me.

When she spots us, she cocks her head to the right as she parks. Then she glances at Emma, who pretends to be surprised. "Hey, what's going on?" Emma asks, smiling.

"We're going to escort you ladies into the school."

I fall in step with Peyton.

"This was your idea, right?" She asks me.

"Maybe."

"You didn't have to do this, Jack."

"You're my friend. I always look out for my friends, Thomas."

I walk her all the way to her locker. She takes a deep breath in anticipation of what she's afraid awaits her. When she opens it, finding its contents restored, a little flash of emotion flitters across her face—she swallows hard, blinks rapidly.

"Somebody cleaned it out..." She turns to me.

I shake my head. "Can't take credit for this one."

"Who?"

"Marshall."

"How does he know my combo?"

I laugh. "I was wondering the same thing."

She smiles. "He's got spidey senses I think."

"I was thinking Batman, but that works too."

She picks up a piece of paper from the bottom of her locker. It's folded and taped shut.

"What's that?" I ask.

She shrugs and tucks it into her biology book.

"Probably you shouldn't read that," I say.

She sighs. "It's okay, Chaplin. I'll be okay."

I walk her to biology class. "You want to hand me that note? I'd be happy to destroy it for you."

"Nope. I'm good. I can destroy it if need be."

We stop at the door to her classroom. "Okay, I'll be here to walk you to your next class. Pre-cal, right?"

She stitches her eyebrows together and nods. "How'd you know that?"

"Batman told me."

As I turn to leave, she calls my name. I look at her over my shoulder, and she mouths the words, Thank you, and rubs her heart with her closed fist.

*****

Bree isn't in Floral Arranging today. Come to think of it, I haven't heard from her since she left early from school yesterday. I texted her last night to see if she was feeling better, but she never responded. I take my phone out and check it again.

Nothing.

Me: Hey, you okay?

I stare at the screen waiting for the three dots to pop up. After a couple of minutes, they do. But then they stop.

Nothing.

WTAF?

Me: LMK if you need anything

Nothing.

She finally texts me back during lunch.

Bree: Can you bring me some stuff from my locker? I probably won't be back until next week, and I don't want to fall behind. 24-11-32.

Me: Sure. What's wrong?

Bree: Flu maybe. Getting a test today.

Me: When do you need them?

Bree: Saturday's fine. You have a lot going on with football today and tomorrow.

Me: You sure? I don't mind.

Bree: Yeah, I'm not really feeling up to doing much right now anyway.

After football practice, I go to Bree's locker to grab her stuff. Three textbooks, a couple of binders, and...her journal. It's light pink and leather. Reminds me of Ava's ballet shoes. Over the summer, I went to Houston to visit them, and Becca asked her to get ready for dance class. Ava wasn't having it.

"I'm reading," she said. She'd been leafing through a book on native birds of Texas. She mostly liked the pictures I think.

"Well, you have ballet in thirty minutes, so maybe you can read in the car."

She ignored her mom and kept flipping pages.

I squatted down next to her. "You want me to show you my favorite bird?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Okay. Tell you what," I said, smiling, "you go get your stuff on, and I'll ride with you. And you can show me your favorite too."

She nodded again, looking at me warily. I think she could see right through me, but she agreed anyway. She came out in her little pink tights and leotard.

"Well, ain't you a pretty little ballerina." I winked at her. She rolled her eyes.

"A little salty today, I see." I picked up the bird book and tucked it under my arm, then I took her hand.

Becca smiled. "Ready for dance class, Uncle Jack?"

On the way there, I opened the book up to the raptor section, and pointed to the White-tailed Hawk. "That's her," I said. "She's a beauty."

She gazed down at the page. "How do you know she's a girl?"

I shrug. "I don't. But, there's a fifty percent chance I'm right." 

"So, you could be half wrong."

Becca laughed from the front seat.

"How old are you?"

"Uncle Jack, you know I'm six."

"Well, you're already smarter than me."

She giggled. "Why are those two fighting?"

I looked down at the picture she pointed to. It was a male and female, mid-air, doing their mating dance.

"They're not fighting. They're dancing."

"It looks like they're fighting. They're clawing each other."

Their talons were locked as they spun, wings spread wide. "No, they're holding hands. It's part of the dance."

She looked up at me with those big brown eyes. "Well, it looks painful."

"Yeah. Love can sometimes be like that," I said.

Becca glanced back at me in the rearview mirror with smiling eyes and shook her head.

"I've shown you mine. Now you gotta show me yours."

"Okay. But first I need to tell you a secret."

I leaned down so she could whisper in my ear. Her breath warmed my skin as she said the words, "I don't like ballet."

I squeezed her little foot clad in that tiny pink ballet slipper. Then I made a sign like I was locking my mouth and throwing away the key.

I look down at the journal as I set the books in the passenger seat. How am I supposed to drive around with this thing in my truck for the next two days and not read it?

Okay. Okay, maybe just one page. Some kind of clue about what the hell is going on with this girl.

I am the ghost

of a girl you killed.

Lies like knives

into the heart of

one lost soul.

It took me a long,

long time

to die.

Blood slowly seeping

into the floor,

evaporating among the secrets

The betrayals never owned,

forgiveness never asked,

festered like cancer

gangrene in the wound.

Until one day time healed

me into something else.

Some dark monster

And the demon took root

Replacing the sweet girl

that you once loved,

but not quite enough

to save her.