by K Larsen
“I’m not a pusher,” Nora says, brows furrowed.
“Tell that to Tina Fey,” Aubry quips.
Charlotte leans over, her mouth near my shoulder. “They’re talking about Mean Girls. It’s an old movie.”
“Old?” Aubry squeaks, eyebrow raised in mock horror.
“Well, we were like… babies when it came out.” Charlotte cracks her knuckles.
“It’s a classic,” Nora says.
“I’m not knocking it, just trying to keep Dallas up to speed. Geez.”
“You haven’t seen it?” Aubry asks me.
I shake my head, suddenly slightly afraid that No, is the wrong answer.
“My God. We need to rectify that! Popcorn salad and a movie?” Aubry asks the table. Eve stands with her plate.
“Popcorn salad?” I ask, leaning toward Charlotte.
She laughs and tells me about Nora and Aubry’s concoction of popcorn with peanut M&M’s mixed in.
Everyone’s clearing dishes and moving around the kitchen together like a well-oiled machine. I sit at the small kitchen table in awe. How did this come about? Do they really all enjoy each other this much? For six people who aren’t related, aren't forced to gather, they appear to have been doing this their whole lives. Ray and I don’t have this kind of bond. In fact, I don’t feel this at ease with anyone but City. Not even my mom when she shows her face.
Aubry grabs a bag of microwavable popcorn from a cabinet.
“None for me,” Charlotte says. She sits in the chair across from me. “Want to play Scrabble with me and Nora?”
The air suddenly feels charged with an electric current. I can feel everyone in the room watching me. Clanking ceases, spines straighten. Everyone waiting to see what I do. But I don’t get what the big deal is.
I shrug. “Sure,” I say, even though board games aren’t really my thing.
“Oh God, you’ve really done it now,” Aubry mutters as I stand up.
Nora laughs softly at that and Charlotte tugs my arm, leading me into the living room. She kneels on the floor and slides the box out from under the couch.
Nora joins us, sitting legs splayed out wide, accommodating her belly in the middle across from Charlotte.
“Ok, Dallas, pick seven tiles,” Nora says, holding the black baggy out to me. I reach my hand in and scoop up a pile of the wooden chips.
In a quiet voice as Nora and Charlotte pick their tiles, Aubry leans down and says, "Are you ready to be ashamed of yourself?"
Nora snorts with laughter and Charlotte swats at Aubry and I wondered what I've gotten myself into.
7
Charlotte
We’re only halfway through our game when Dallas bows out. Aubry slings an arm around his shoulders and tells him it’s not his fault, that they should have warned him about me and Nora, before giving him a noogie. It’s the most ridiculous sight I’ve seen, her yanking him into a hunched position so she can reach his head. I mouth I’m sorry to him but he just continues smiling.
“I really did try to warn you,” Aubry says.
Dallas fixes his hair and gives her the side-eye. The corners of his mouth lifting.
“That was not an adequate warning. It in no way pointed to the fact that I was going to be massacred.”
Liam chuckles at Dallas’s comment and leans back on the couch. A hot bubble of contentedness spreads through my chest. I desperately want everyone to see what I see in Dallas. To like him the way I like him.
The news is on in the background, Liam and Mike glued to the screen. Dallas hovers behind me, pointing at tiles and mouthing words. Nora only laughs at his attempts to ‘help’.
“What do you think about it, Lotte?” Aubry asks.
“About what?” I say, absentmindedly, contemplating my tiles.
“The girl they’re talking about on the news. One last possible victim of The Tutor. It’s awful isn’t it?”
I still, squelching the panic threatening to surge, and look to Aubry as my stomach clenches. The mention of The Tutor makes me want to scream in ineffectual rage. Holden doesn’t deserve to have air time. Nora reaches over and smacks the back of Aubry’s head—hard.
I walk straight through the kitchen to the back door, and outside to calm the nerves that are suddenly raw and quivering. I think about him. How he looked when he died. How he looked at me. There are days when that look haunts me so much I can barely breathe. And then there are days when I can distract myself. Shut off all the noise and do what I have to do. Those are good days.
In the yard I go to the swing, plant my butt it in and rock back and forth, feet dragging along the grass.
“Everything all right?” Dallas asks. I’m sorta surprised he followed me. And I feel bad for leaving him in there without explanation.
Nora, Liam and Eve’s faces are clumped together in the window facing us and I sigh at the intrusion.
“Mostly.”
“Mostly's okay. No harm in mostly,” he says. “You, um, always listen to me. Anything you want me to listen to?” He sounds uncertain, like he doesn’t know what to say but I’m struck by the sincere look on his face. I’ve barely told him anything about, well, my past experiences, yet he’s divulged plenty of sad truths to me about his. “You don’t have to,” he says, before jamming his hands into his pockets.
“Come push me,” I say. “I want to go high.”
He shoots me a half smile and comes over. He pulls me backward by the hips. His hands feel hot even through my jeans.
“Have you heard of The Tutor?” I ask as I surge forward.
“Yeah. Kinda. Years ago.”
“I lived with him for two years. Eve was there too, but she escaped. Then I was alone with him until Nora came.”
I’m careening through the air backwards when the ropes snag, and I lurch to a stop. Dallas holds me suspended on the swing.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper. He hesitates but pulls me back and lets me go again.
“What was it like?” he asks.
The words are stuck at the back of my tongue. Caught in my throat like the air in my lungs.
Finally, I ask, “Why are you so nice to me?”
“That’s easy, because you’re the most weird and beautiful girl I've ever met.”
He lets me swing in silence for a few moments.
“I remember the day I had a house full of strangers tell me what a great person my mom was. Ever since she died, I never felt like I belonged anywhere.”
I hang my head backward at the peak of my upswing. The sky is littered with thousands of little sparkles. We’re under a sky bursting with stars and he’s staring at me.
“My mom committed suicide after my dad was convicted of embezzling and went to prison. We had no one. Me and Eve. The job Holden, that’s The Tutor, posted seemed like the perfect opportunity, so she took it. It wasn’t. He was a sick man. He did horrible things to people.”
“To you?” he asks, quietly.
“Not like them. No,” I say. “He hit me once. But that’s what ended up saving us. Nora and me.”
“I don’t follow,” he says, and pushes me higher into the air.
“She snapped when he hurt me. It was the catalyst that gave her the drive to take me away from there. She wasn’t well before then. Sometimes I wish he had done those horrible things to me. I don’t know if it was worse to watch them happening and be unable to do anything about it or endure it myself.”
Dallas rolls forward a smidge, onto the balls of his feet, hands loose and open, eyes never straying from me as I watch him upside down. It’s almost as if Holden can see me still, right now. I can’t help feeling that he knows I am here talking about him. I shudder as goosebumps break out along my skin.
“So, you and Nora were the ones in the news a few years ago?” I nod. “I don’t remember hearing your name or anything about you really in the news.”
“Nora and Eve tried to keep me out of the public eye so I could have a quote-unquote normal childhood—or what was left
of it.”
“They all love you, Charlotte. It’s impossible not to notice.”
“It’s also stifling sometimes. I want to be reckless. Wild and free. I want to lash out. Be daring and independent. But I can’t here. This town, these people are boring. And our classmates… they don't understand what it means to make the most of their lives and their good fortune.”
“I agree with you. Most of them don’t know hardship,” he says. “What was it like living with him?” He pushes me higher and a squeal of delight hiccups out of me. Soaring through the air I slip into a memory.
Nora and I were at the river. Holding my dress in my hands, I waded in the clear river water. Nora sat weaving yet another daisy into a flower crown for me. “Keep going,” She called out. I tossed her a look over my shoulder, but proceed to the eight times table, like she asked.
“Eight times six is forty-eight,” I said. Nora walked toward me. She stepped into the cool water, I crouched in preparation.
“Do not do it, you little punk,” She warned. I cocked my head, and before Nora could turn away, lifted my hands with a wave of water. Clutching the flower crown she made for me, she used her free hand to wipe water from her eyes. Her flower crowns were my favorite. Nora stomped out of the river, tossed the crown on the bank and sprinted for me. I squealed and tried to move, but I was not as fast as Nora. She snaked one arm around me and plunged us both underwater.
“I’m gonna be in trouble,” I said, with a pout. Holden would not be pleased.
“For what?” I gestured to my soaked dress. “Oh, please,” Nora said.
I leapt toward her. Nora caught me in her arms—just barely—and spun us around before submerging us again.
When we came up for air, I grinned at her.
“We need to go over vocab. It will give you time to dry off, though.” She ruffled my hair as she headed back to shore. I followed closely. She placed the daisy crown on my head and beamed at me. I lay back in the grass, soaking up the sun. “Let’s start with ‘fastidious,’” she said.
“It wasn’t all bad.” Memories flood me. Memories of my alone time with Holden. Chores. Him braiding my hair. Babbling about a new mom, of being a family. Cooking for him. Him watching me when he thought I was asleep. The way he’d whisper to me when he thought my head was full of dreams. They didn’t seem bad then, but they sound so wrong and creepy now. Here.
“Have you ever wondered if God is really out there?” I ask.
“Bad things happen every time I put my faith in someone else,” he says.
“Tell me.”
His hands intermittently push against the small of my back as he pushes me into the sky. “You already know. It’s your turn to talk,” Dallas says. I pump my legs and close my eyes against the cool evening breeze.
“When his eyes were green, he was good. He taught me to care for the animals, to cook, which plants were edible and how to whittle.”
“Whittle?” he laughs.
“Yup, I’m excellent at it, I’ll have you know. When I was sick, he took care of me. Sometimes it felt like he was my father. But those times never lasted. When the black holes in his face appeared I knew to stay away from him. I used to hide in this little chest by my bed. I’d tuck the blankets from it under my bed and crawl in. I could tell where he was in the cabin by which floorboards creaked when he walked.” I glance at Dallas over my shoulder.
“Cabin?” he asks. He hasn’t made a face, looked at me differently or run away yet, which I find weird and strange but comforting.
“Yeah, on a mountain. No running water, no electricity. No anything except me, him, the animals and nature. It was a shitty shack full of shitty intentions secluded in the most beautiful spot you can imagine. How’s that for irony?”
Dallas says nothing, I dip my head back on the upswing and look at him.
He’s grinning at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Sorry, I’m stunned speechless at your sailor’s mouth.”
My lips curve into a smile.
“I guess you’re rubbing off on me after all.”
When I look toward the house, the three musketeers are still ogling us out the window. I laugh and shake my head at them. My rotten attitude seemingly quelled.
8
Charlotte
I'm pacing the house like a caged tiger, waiting for Dallas to arrive. He swaggers up late, like a rebel in his signature jeans, boots and tee shirt. It’s the last party of the school year before finals and he asked me if we could go together.
“Have fun,” Eve says. I shoot her a look as I bolt for the door. “I mean it, let loose a little, you have my permission.”
“Gee thanks, Mom.” I open the door and almost plow Dallas over.
“That excited?” he laughs, stilling me with his hands on my shoulders. “Hey there, hot stuff,” he says.
I laugh at him, but his eyes give him away. He’s drinking me in, starting at my ankles and working his way up my body. My skin feels like it’s on fire under his scrutiny.
“Was that a compliment?” I ask.
He chuckles and nods. His eyes sparkle in a way I haven’t seen before.
“Thanks.”
Dallas has Ray’s car for the night. It’s shiny and new and still smells like treated leather. I give Dallas directions as we go, in-between singing along to the oldies station. Every so often I catch him staring at me from the corner of his eye. It makes my skin feel as though it’s on fire.
“Whose house is this again?” he asks, as we park on the street.
“Ugh, Douchebag Mike Badger’s house.”
We’re standing on the lawn looking up at it. The first thing I notice is the sheer size of the house. It's grand. Classic and luxurious.
“It’s ostentatious.” Dallas seems, more buoyant tonight than I’ve seen him before. More… alive.
“Agreed, and that’s a good word,” I say.
The second thing I notice is my jealousy at what Mike’s childhood looked like in this house. It is too loud—eating up precious space in my soul. I squash it the best I can as we walk toward the door.
“I’ve been boning up to impress you with my newly expanded vocabulary.” Dallas’s hand creeps into mine. I look at him uncertain what it means. “Is this okay?” he asks, holding up our clasped hands. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and nod. He flashes me his straight, pearly whites. There is an electricity pouring through him and into me. The kind that makes you want to bottle it up so you can revisit it later.
Inside, everyone's standing, phone in hand. It's appallingly average. Cliché. Some are Snapping, some documenting every second of the night via photos and videos.
Where's the hunger? The drive for more than what's standing in front of us? The masses are blindly complacent, accepting that what's presented to us is all there is to strive for. We sit—in school, in jobs, in homes. We stare at screens, live virtually. But there's no gratification in that. Humans thrive on interaction, physical and emotional, and the virtual world doesn't sufficiently suffonsify those needs. They consider class to be an inconvenience, and the homework a distraction from social life.
It's only a matter of time until they take notice. Until they are forced to wake up. Until the system crashes. Where does that leave all the people who so thoroughly have bought into this lifestyle? Where do we go from here? There’s no room to expand; to grow.
I take it all in like a shot. Chase it down with a healthy dose of wonder.
Dallas tugs me toward the kitchen, near the back of the house. The ceilings are high, the colors too stark, the furniture too large and formal. The house makes you feel small and trapped instead of free and at ease. People say ‘hi’ here and there as we shuffle through the crowd. We weave between bodies and conversations. In the kitchen, Dallas grabs two plastic cups off the top of a stack before releasing my hand. My hand feels empty without his in it. I feel out of place. And I realize, sometimes with Dallas I feel more like the true me than I do when I’m al
one. There’s an ease between us.
He slaps some guy on the shoulder and laughs about something while filling our cups.
“Lotte, you came!” Ava squeals into the side of my face.
I look at her and wonder what she’s on. There is no Brie or Julie flanking her, and she sounds happy to see me.
“Yeah. Hi,” I say. She wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes. I pull away awkwardly to put some distance between us.
“Heyyyy, Dallas.” Her voice has morphed from excited friend to sex kitten, and rage instantly registers in my gut.
“Ava,” Dallas says, while handing me my cup. Ava reaches out and takes the cup from him.
“Oh my God, that is so sweet of you.” She puts the cup to her lips and makes a show of drinking it and I wonder if I’m in some alternate reality.
“That was for Charlotte.” Dallas’s voice is low and unamused.
“Who’s Charlotte?” Ava pouts.
Dallas and I share a look before I burst out laughing. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him.
“Oh my God, did you two, like, come together?” she asks, as Dallas hands me his cup. I take a sip and squint. Wine. Sticky sweet wine.
Dallas nods and my heart nearly leaps from my chest. I weasel my way from his arm to grab another cup and fill it for him.
Did Dallas Baribeau just say we’re on a date? My palms suddenly feel sweaty and the cacophony of the party sounds like a white noise machine. I take another swig of the wine.
Ava is still pouting when I hand Dallas his cup.
“Thanks, babe,” he says. Ava turns and stomps away.
Dallas’s smile stretches from ear to ear and I wonder if maybe all that was just a joke to piss off Ava. He nods toward a set of sliding glass doors.
“Let’s go hang out by the pool. It’ll be quieter.” He takes my free hand and leads the way.
