Like Lana

by Danielle Leonard

“Now get the hell out of here. And if I hear that you lay even a fingernail on Lana, I will kill you.” Fitz keeps his head low as he skirts around us toward the door that Demit has opened, and runs. Demit shuts the door and sets the gun on the counter.

  “You okay?” He asks.

  I nod my head, even though my limbs are trembling as I rise from the floor. My brain is still processing what just happened. Between almost getting killed and seeing Demit point a gun, I’m reeling from shock. I grip the counter to steady myself. Find something concrete to hang on to. “How did you know to come?” I finally ask. “And, what the hell is with the gun?”

  Demit lifts his cell phone. “Your text worried me. I drove here the second I read it. I’m not sure why I decided to bring the gun. A sixth sense, maybe. I’m glad I did.”

  “I’m not sure why I decided to bring the gun,” I mimic him. “Really? Who brings a gun anywhere? I didn’t think anyone even owned a gun!” My voice is rising. I know I should be relieved that he saved me from Fitz, but the vision of him holding the gun has eclipsed all rational thought.

  “Do you smell something burning?” Demit asks.

  “The pizza!” We run into the kitchen where smoke is rising from the top of the oven door. The smoke alarm squeals until Demit manages to find it and pull it from the ceiling. I take the black pizza out of the oven. “Shoot. I’ll have to cook another one before my mom gets here.”

  “Want me to wait until she comes home?” Demit asks, tossing the black dinner into the garbage. I shake my head.

  “No, she’ll be home in about ten minutes.” I check my phone. Mom has already texted to say she’s on her way. “Better that you’re not here. And, hello, gun? What’s the story? You scared me almost as much as Fitz.”

  “It’s my parents’ gun. They bought it after somebody broke into our house one night. He got away with a laptop before my dad spooked him and he ran out. But it freaked us out so much that my mom decided to get a gun. We’ve never used it, though.”

  “You seemed to have a good handle on it here,” I say.

  Demit smirks. “I take it out once in a while and just play around with it. There’s something about holding a gun that makes you feel invincible. Powerful, you know?”

  “Your mom lets you play with it?”

  “She thinks it’s safely hidden in the basement. She has no idea I have it.”

  “Oh yeah?” My heart is slowing down again and relief overcoming my horror. “Is it loaded?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Let me hold it.” I extend my hand as he softly presses the gun into my palm. I wrap both hands around it and point it at the door, just like they do on TV. He’s right. I feel like I own the world. Like I can take control of my life. Force the haters to leave me alone. It would be so easy to pull the trigger. Too easy, in fact. And, that worries me.

  “Easy,” Demit grabs the gun from me. “You sure you want me to leave?” he asks, stuffing it into the back of his pants.

  “Yeah.” I’m not in any mood to introduce Mom to Demit right now.

  “Okay. Keep the doors locked. Although I really doubt he’ll come back after that.”

  He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight for about a minute. It helps ease my shaking and I wish we could stay like this a while longer. But I hear my mom unlocking the front door, so I push him away and open the side door. Then watch him disappear into the darkness.

  Chapter 11

  Karma, Old Friend

  October 19

  Get to the Nothing

  Who am I? It’s a question that I ask myself a lot these days. I used to think I knew exactly who and what I was. Because I thought I was exactly the same as what everyone around me thought I was. It’s easy when the two match. But all this goes down the toilet when the people around you start treating you like you’re someone else. So which one am I?

  I have to admit that it’s tempting to be the person everyone else says I am. They can be pretty convincing. Which would make me a pathetic loser that nobody likes. This is pretty close to how I feel most of the time.

  But what if I decide I’m something else all together? What if I could be nothing at all? Start from scratch. A sort of ground zero. Wishful thinking, maybe. But I’m going to try. I’m going to try to not be me. That me that everyone hates. I give up trying to be what I think my BFH’s want me to be. That’s been the problem. As long as I’m looking for their acceptance, I’m stuck. Powerless.

  I’m done caring about what others think of me!

  I changed my hair from blonde to pink. I’m not saying it’s revolutionary, but it feels like a step in the right direction. I have to remove the old me, one fragment at a time, so that I get to the nothing. Then I can be whatever I want to be from there.

  I’m ten minutes late when I arrive at the coffee shop to meet Demit. Turns out he’s later. I can’t spot him anywhere among the crowded tables. A woman with short grey hair looks at my pink hair and grimaces. Lining up to order a macchiato, I text him.

  He still hasn’t responded by the time I get my drink and nab a prime corner table just as a pair of women leave with their babies. My headache from this morning has dissolved, thanks to two extra-strength painkillers. Mom wasn’t in any better shape when she stumbled into the kitchen this morning, literally. She tripped over her own slippered feet. Mascara smudged under her eyes. By the looks of it, she must have polished off her bottle of wine after I headed to bed. Or, she’d begun drinking at work and I hadn’t noticed. That would help explain why she was so cool with my pink hair colour. Was she half in the bag already?

  Demit waves as he enters the shop, holding the door open for a girl who is leaving. She’s about the same age as us. Maybe a couple years older. Thin, but not particularly pretty. She smiles too sweetly at him and turns to get a second glance as he lets the door go. Stay away. That’s the first thought that jumps into my head. I shut my eyes and remind myself that we’re just friends. He’s welcome to have a girlfriend. Sort of. As long as she doesn’t interfere with us. I catch Demit’s eye and he nods at me as he joins the lineup to the counter. I smile. Actually, no, I decide he can’t have a girlfriend. I want him all to myself.

  “So, you’re feeling okay this morning?” Demit asks as he sits across from me, sliding a plate with a cinnamon scone on it to the middle of the table.

  “Yeah,” I admit. “Surprisingly, I feel pretty good. Other than the hangover.” We’ve already shared about thirty messages this morning about last night, so I’m hoping he doesn’t push for more details about Fitz. I’ve kept him in the dark about what transpired before the phone smashing. I plan to forever keep those details to myself. With enough time and effort, I’ll forget about it, too. After last night, I’m hoping Fitz’s days of harassing me are over.

  “So, I guess you have your mom all wrong,” he says, taking a sip from his cup.

  “Pff.” I roll my eyes. “I think she came home half-drunk, that’s why. When she saw me this morning on my way out the door, she did this big dramatic sigh. Like I’m such a huge disappointment. She even grabbed a chunk of my hair and rubbed it between her fingers like it was some cheap fabric.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Yeah. She said it’s a good thing that the pink will wash out in a week.”

  “Isn’t it permanent?” Demit asks.

  I nod. “Yep. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, though. By the end of the week, she’ll be used to it and won’t take the news so hard. She asked about you.”

  Demit’s eyebrows lift.

  “She wants to meet you. Even though I told her you’re not my boyfriend. She doesn’t like you hanging around our house without her knowing you. Of course, I didn’t mention that you happened to save my life last night and that you’re the last person on the planet she needs to worry about.”

  The truth is, I almost spilled the beans last night. She’d been so relaxed about my hair. But when the conversation moved to school, things went sour instan
tly. Just one comment about me and Alysa not getting along. And, boom. Rapid-fire questions about my life, like I was on trial for crimes of popularity. It ended the usual way. Big fight. Stomp to the bedroom. Door slam. Dead silence for the rest of the night.

  Demit breaks a piece off the scone and tosses it in his mouth. “Whenever you want,” he says. His mouth suddenly stops chewing and his jaw goes rigid. I turn to follow his gaze. Alysa and Sarah have just walked in. They huddle in line together, deep in conversation. Alysa blows her nose. Sarah dabs at her eyes.

  “Are the ice princesses crying?” asks Demit, leaning close to me.

  “I think so.” We both watch them give their orders, then pretend we haven’t noticed them when Alysa looks our way.

  “What’s up with them?” Demit asks out of the corner of his mouth. “Shit, here she comes,” he whispers.

  “Are you kidding me?” I whisper back.

  “Lana?” Alysa sidles up beside me. I look up, bracing myself for an insult. Her puffy eyes rest on my pink hair for an uncomfortable pause before she opens her mouth. “Did you hear?”

  Demit and I exchange glances and shrug. “Hear what?” I ask.

  “Fitz is dead.” She rubs her eyes and chokes back a pathetic sob. “Overdose.”

  I jerk my head at Demit. His face is slack, drained of colour. Certain that my expression is a replica, I slap my jaw closed and blink before turning back to Alysa.

  “Fitz is…”

  “Dead!” Alysa buries her head in Sarah’s shoulder. It all feels a little too dramatic. I half expect her to yell just joking. But even she wouldn’t fake something this terrible. With a trembling sigh she tells us what she knows.

  “It looks like an overdose. You know he did all kinds of shit, right? I mean, doesn’t everyone?” She says in a low voice. “But who saw it coming? You didn’t, did you, Lana?” Her words lash out like an accusation. I shake my head. Can’t find the words to respond. Does she know about last night?

  “All I know is it looks like he committed suicide. Alone in his bedroom when it happened. But I hear the cops aren’t ruling anything out yet. Apparently, they’re considering that it might be foul play.” She lifts her hands and twitches the first two fingers, pantomiming quotations around foul play.

  “That’s terrible,” I squeak out. Demit still hasn’t said a word. I stare hard at him, willing him to speak. Kick him under the table.

  “Foul play, huh?” Demit says, followed by a long slow sip of his drink. “Hmm.”

  Alysa drops her hands to our table. “Yeah! But who would want to hurt Fitz? He was so sweet.” I focus on her silver manicured nails, curling against the wooden table top. Two thick silver rings on one hand. Even Alysa would know Fitz was the opposite of sweet. Why do people feel the need to speak well of someone just because they’re dead? I’m not about to turn him into a saint. Fitz was a pig. Dead or alive.

  “Anyways.” Alysa straightens her back and flips her hair behind her shoulder. “I just thought you should know.” She looks down her nose at me. “And, pink, Lana? Pink?”

  Leading Sarah through the tables, Alysa exits the coffee shop. My heart is pounding like it’s suddenly grown three sizes too large for my rib cage. Mentally, I understand the death of Fitz is horrible. Tragic, really. But in my heart, I feel only relief. And, if I was to be perfectly honest with myself. Pleasure. Like the world is finally tilting in my favour. I try to remove the feeling, but it’s there. I can’t deny it.

  “What a nice coincidence,” Demit says, reflecting my thoughts. “Weird, yes. But at least now we know he won’t be bothering you again.”

  “Don’t say that!” I whisper, looking around. “Somebody might hear you.” Demit purses his lips together and drops his chin onto his clasped hands.

  “Not that we did anything wrong,” I say, thinking aloud. “But it makes no sense that he’d kill himself. He was angry and freaked out when he left my house, but I would never have guessed that it upset him enough to commit suicide. Makes no sense.”

  “And this talk about foul play?” Demit slides the plate with a scone on it to me. “Want some?”

  I push it back toward him. I can’t possibly eat now. “Did you go straight home after you left my house?” I ask.

  Demit lifts his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing. I just mean, maybe you saw something on your way home?” I’m not sure why I asked him that. I mean, just because we both wanted him dead last night doesn’t mean we had anything to do with his death this morning. I try to chase away my memory of Demit’s calm demeanour as he held the gun to Fitz’s head.

  “Listen,” Demit lowers his voice. “We both may have wanted him dead, but does that mean I had anything to do with his overdose, or whatever it was? No. You could have just as easily slipped into his room and done who knows what. What did you do after I left?”

  “Me? You’ve got to be kidding.” I burst out. The couple beside us turn to stare. I take a deep breath. “Okay, we both admit we aren’t broken up over his, you know, passing. It’s suicide, I’m sure. Or he took some kind of drug that caused a lethal reaction. I think he was already on something when he attacked me. Anyways, let’s call it Karma. If anyone deserved to die, it would be him.” I stop talking, ashamed by my irreverence. Give his corpse a chance to cool before I start my happy dance.

  “Right.” Demit moves his hand across the table and onto mine. “Nobody but us knows about last night. You have to swear it’ll stay between us.”

  I squeeze his hand and nod. “Forever.”

  ***

  October 20

  Karmic Lessons

  I looked up karma today. Wikipedia says it’s the spiritual principle of cause and effect where intent and actions of an individual (cause) influence the future of that individual (effect). Good intent and good deed contribute to good karma and future happiness, while bad intent and bad deed contribute to bad karma and future suffering.

  I wonder if what has happened today is a result of karma. The karma that happens to people who do bad things. Two posts ago, I told you about the guy who attacked me. Made me feel like a piece of garbage. Well, this morning I found out he’s dead. Ya. Dead. I’m still completely shocked. One day he’s just fine assaulting girls and threatening them. And the next day? Dead.

  Apparently it’s a drug overdose. I wonder when, exactly, karma took over. Did he set the wheels in motion to die, all on his own? Was his destiny set the minute he attacked me? Maybe I played a part in his death. Just the smallest part, though. By being the victim. When you think about it, there needs to be a victim for this whole cycle of karma to work. So, that was my role. I was part of karma’s plan. And now he’s dead. Would I be horrible to admit that I feel relief? Maybe even satisfaction.

  Chapter 12

  Too Many Questions

  I could barely sleep all night, thinking about what lay ahead the first day back at school after Fitz’s death. We spend so much of our lives trying to know every detail we can about the people around us. I never thought, for an instant, there might come a time that I wish I could know less. It’s barely dawn when I sit up in bed and open my laptop. I’ve been getting more comments with every blog post. It’s fun to read them. I figure this might ease my mind while I wait for the sun to come up.

  My latest post already has eight comments. I do a mental cheer. It’s gratifying to know that people are interested in what I have to say.

  I read the first comment and my heart stops. Sitting arrow straight I read it again. This can’t be happening.

  I’d have killed him if I were you. You sure you didn’t when you saw him last night?

  ICUGirl

  Panicking, I open the administration screen and un-publish the comment. It was posted four hours ago. How many people read it? Although a few comments followed it, not a single one of them reacted to it. But, who is ICUGirl? Is it just a coincidence that a person posts a comment like this after Fitz’s death? I shake my head. Nobody knows wha
t happened between me and Fitz, other than Demit. It’s a coincidence, that’s all. But, just in case, I text Demit. He’s probably still asleep. Only insomniacs and fitness freaks are ever up this early.

  Crazy comment on the blog. We need to talk!!!!!!!!

  R u awake?

  I wonder if it’s possible that one of the fabbies has found my site and made the connection back to me? I suppose it’s possible, but unlikely. But, then again, I’ve already got over a hundred visitors a day. My stomach grinds as I consider that it might be Alysa. Even if she has discovered my site, she wouldn’t know about Fitz’s two attacks on me. Unless he told her. I replay last night’s events. Maybe someone saw Fitz leave my house. Would that have gotten back to her?

  I pace my bedroom, kicking a few pieces of clothing out of the way. Lifting my Paris snow globe, I shake it and watch the white sparkles settle around the Eiffel Tower. The comment is just a weird coincidence. Nobody knows about me, or this site, or Fitz. I need sleep to return some common sense to my head. Switching off my desk light, I climb into bed. Rest my cell phone on my chest, close my eyes, and beg for sleep to take me. In an hour, Demit will text me. And tell me everything is fine. Then my phone dings.

  DEMIT: I think ur overreacting

  LANA: Really? U don’t think somebody has found us out?

  DEMIT: IMHO, no. Probably some 38 yo pedo who lives in his moms basement with nothing better to do than stir up shit on teen blogs

  LANA: I hope ur right. Do u think Fitz committed suicide?

  DEMIT: Who knows? Whatever… I’d want to kill myself, too, if I was as big an asshole as he is. Or was. My bet is he killed himself

  LANA: Really? I hope so.

  Wait...

  that’s not what I meant.

  I mean I hope he wasn’t killed. Ugh. this is all so weird.

  And wrong.

  Fuck.

  What did we do?

  DEMIT: We can’t b sure of anything. Maybe someone killed him maybe someone didn’t. Maybe no one will ever know for sure. Whatever the truth, one thing is 4 sure.