He will not look me in the eye; instead, his focus is somewhere over my head. He opens his mouth to speak. At first nothing comes out. Then finally the words come. “I kissed her. I kissed Angela.”
My breath hitches. “What?”
He doesn’t repeat it. He doesn’t have to, and I don’t want him to. I heard him perfectly the first time, and I don’t want those words scraping my eardrums again. But I just don’t want to believe it. He swallows. “It was a mistake. It meant nothing.”
I shake my head. “Kisses always mean something,” I say softly.
“Well, this one didn’t mean anything. Really,” he says. “We came back from the hike and we were setting up the streamers here, and …”
He keeps speaking but I’m not really listening because I’m looking at the streamers. I didn’t notice them before, but the entire room is decked out in our school colors, with bright red and yellow streamers everywhere. Angela helped him with this. It must have taken hours. I realize that he kissed her here. Right where we’re standing. Something thick is building in the back of my throat, making it hard to swallow, hard even to breathe. My boyfriend. And my best friend.
“And we were just joking around, dancing, and I lost my mind for a second because the next thing I knew I was kissing her. It’s not Ange’s fault. It’s mine. It was just …”
He says “stupid” at the same time I say “what you’ve always wanted.”
I don’t know why I say it, maybe because, deep down, I’ve always thought that. He’s shaking his head, only shaking his head, back and forth, like some stupid dog trying to dry its fur. Maybe if he’d say the word, actually say “No, never, I never wanted that, God, Ki, it’s you I’ve always loved,” maybe if he fell to my feet and covered the room with apologies, I could believe him. But he’s just standing there, shaking his head, mute. I fight back the tears with everything I can but they’re spilling over my cheeks as he grabs me by my elbows, pulling me toward him. I rip myself away from him and shove against his chest as hard as I can. Usually it’s like trying to move a mountain, but this time, he steps backward, stricken.
I tear the corsage off my T-shirt, not paying attention to the hole that it leaves in the fabric, revealing my lacy black bra. He’s still standing there, frozen. He opens his mouth to speak, but again no words come out. Why does he have no words for me? He’s supposed to know me better than anyone! We’re supposed to be able to talk about things! I hurl the corsage at him and fly out the door, into the cold air, down to the river.
“Trey!” I scream into the blue night. “Trey! I’m ready! Take me across.”
The wind picks up and the tips of the tall pines are swaying, almost bowing to me. Bowing to the newest Mistress of the Waters. Because that is what I was destined to be. And right now, that is what I want to become. I race through blackness, unsure if I’m headed toward the river, but the rocky embankment is growing steeper and steeper as my legs fly beneath me. Too fast. Soon I am sliding, and as I reach out to steady myself the toe of my boot slams against something hard, sending me stumbling forward. All at once I am flying through the air. The last thing I remember is the crushing pain in my chest, and maybe, probably, it’s the breaking of my heart.
Chapter Seventeen
My nightmares are worse than they have ever been. Justin and Angela, walking away from me as I slide down the muddy embankment toward the river. I’m screaming for help, but they are too enamored of one another to hear me. I claw at the earth, but my fingers just rake through mud. The girl in the pink party dress is standing over me. She spews more mud from her mouth, then reaches toward me. At first I think she is going to help me. Instead, she entwines her fingers in the hair at the top of my head and pushes my face into the soft earth. I can’t breathe; all I can do is taste the thick, gritty stuff as it spreads into my mouth and nostrils. Now even screaming isn’t possible. Someone is chanting something. You’re a stupid girl, a female voice whispers in my ear. Stupid, stupid.
My throat is so dry it burns, which is ironic considering the background noise is the rushing water, so close I can probably touch it. I smell tree sap. Wisps of hair fly in my face, tickling me. I try to sweep them away with my hand, but I can’t lift my arm. I take inventory and realize I can’t lift either arm, or my legs. My limbs ache numbly, as if they’re bound so tightly that my feet and hands tingle. I’m afraid to open my eyes, because I know that what I’ll see won’t be good.
When I will my eyes open, it’s so dark that all I see are the faint outlines of the pine trees. I twist my head either way, looking for the source of the voice. Was it just my imagination again? Have I been left here to die, alone, at the base of this tree?
Then I hear footsteps. A face shockingly pale and ghostlike appears just inches from mine. The voice is the same as the one I heard in my dream. “She’s awake! Get her some water.”
My eyes ache as I try to open them, as if the lids are weighted down. When I force them open, I see only blackness. Water should be the last thing I need, but when a cup reaches my lips I lap at it savagely, like a dog, feeling it spill down my chin and into my throat. It’s strangely thick and oily and smells of mold and earth, but I don’t care. I swallow and the pain subsides, and when I open my eyes again, things come into focus.
I stare at her. Everything about her is familiar. It’s Lannie. My imaginary best friend from long ago. She holds up a lantern between us to look into my eyes. Hers are pretty and round, like pearls, with concern. She’s not imaginary. She’s real.
“Lannie?” I ask, struggling to rise. “What are you—”
She pushes me down and gently relaxes me on a bed of pine needles. “Shhh. You should rest.”
“Well, who do we have here?” a male voice calls from a distance. I strain in the darkness and see him sauntering toward me. Jack. Immediately I catch my breath, and despite the pain everywhere in my body, I feel warm. Despite all the warnings Trey gave me, I know I am blushing. Why does Jack do this to me?
He gives me a seductive half smile, like he knows what I’m thinking. I look away, at Lannie, in time to see her glare at him. Jack, all six-feet-and-change of him, seems to fold in under the stare of the barely five-foot girl. He lowers his head and silently steps back.
I begin to sit up. “I need to go home. I need to—” Suddenly I remember dancing with Justin under the disco lights at the Outfitters. The expression on his face. His confession reverberates in my ears. I kissed Angela. I can’t go back to him. I don’t want to see him now, and maybe not ever. I slump back to the ground.
Jack steps closer to me. This near, his eyes threaten to set me afire, so I look away, to his knees. He whispers, “Can I get you anything?”
My heart skips at his words, as if he has offered me the world. I think about what Trey said. About Jack being the enemy. About how nothing Jack tells me is true. And so a small part of me wants to push him away, say no thank you, and be on my way. But the larger part of me is screaming, Get closer! It’s not that I’ve forgotten how to say no. It’s just that with Jack, the word has ceased to exist in my vocabulary. I find myself nodding in agreement, whispering, “Anything.”
He laughs, breaking me out of my trance. Whoa. I’m a total goofball. What is happening to me?
“Something to eat?” He holds out a granola bar, the kind they sell at the Outfitters. “Now you cannot accuse me of ignoring the unique needs of the living.”