Buried

by Linda Joy Singleton

  After I put my guitar away and settle down in bed, my brain still won’t shut off.

  Does doing something bad for a good reason make me a bad or good person?

  Maybe the real question is, what kind of person do I want to be?

  A vigilante like Jay? No, definitely not. I only went out with Jay tonight because of K.C. It won’t ever happen again.

  I sink into a deep sleep. It doesn’t last long, though, because I wake up early.

  Studying myself in the mirror, I see a faint resemblance to Mom. Everyone says I take after her—in looks, anyway. We’re both blue-eyed blonds with freckles and skin too pale to tan without burning. But Mom thrives on being with people and truly believes that everyone has some good in them. I limit my trust to a few friends. Mom trusts everyone—even me. She may not approve of my goth style, but she doesn’t criticize. And as a reward for her big heart, she may lose her job.

  I can’t shake an uneasy guilt as I take a very hot shower and wash off specks of pink paint and faded makeup. Instead of taking out my makeup case and applying mascara, eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, foundation, blush, and dusky plum eye shadow, I only dab on peach frost lip-gloss. Then I blow-dry and brush my blond hair till it shines in waves to my shoulders.

  Next I take off my piercings—tongue, ears, eyebrow—leaving only the tiny diamond in my belly button. I leave my army boots in my wardrobe and don’t drape my wrists with silver bangles. Instead of midnight-black clothes, I slip into my fringed pink skirt, lace up my pink ankle boots, and tighten the peasant blouse with a plain white belt. Then I top it off with the pink cowgirl hat.

  And when I look in the mirror again, I see Beth Ann.

  There’s no trace of Thorn.

  Walking downstairs to breakfast, I’m holding my breath, nervous like when I first played my guitar in front of the CCCs. I’m relieved that only my father and K.C. are at the dining table. Dad is buttering toast and nearly stabs himself when he sees me.

  “I—I hardly recognize you!” Dad’s knife clatters on the table.

  “Me either,” I say.

  Dad puts down his half-buttered toast. “You look good.”

  I’m relieved he’s talking to me, so I just nod.

  K.C. hasn’t stopped staring. He stabs a chunk of frozen waffle with his fork and pops it into his mouth, wisely saying nothing.

  “Skarla gave me the costume.” I pop a frosted tart into the toaster. “For the contest.”

  “Oh, yes.” Dad smiles at me for the first time in months. “Your mother mentioned a singing contest.”

  “I’m not really singing, only playing guitar and doing some harmonizing. We’re auditioning today.”

  “Well … good luck.” Dad clears his throat and looks away uncomfortably. “Your mother said she’d drive you home, so I’ll drive you to school.”

  “Why don’t I take her?” K.C. offers. “My Ranchero is still at the shop but my other car works. No reason for you to drive when I have to go to school anyway.”

  Dad hesitates, then nods. He has a soft spot for K.C.

  A short time later, I slip into K.C.’s car, the door creaking a complaint, and when I catch a glimpse of myself in his rearview mirror, I think I’ve gone back in time and am twelve-year-old Beth Ann.

  “I’m parking on the street,” K.C. says as we near the school. “I don’t need a repeat of yesterday.”

  “The tagger won’t bother you again,” I say, then shut my mouth quickly.

  “Why not?”

  “He’d be stupid to try it.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  I twist a strand of blond hair around my finger. “I just think today will be full of surprises.”

  He starts to reply—until he looks past me out my window. “Why are all those people crowding around that … ohmygod! That truck is pink!”

  “Is it?” I peer out the window all casual-like. In the bright morning light, the truck is such a bright pink it’s like it’s blushing. And the round yellow smiley face sends a message that Clive won’t easily forget.

  “I recognize that truck!” K.C. exclaims. “It’s Clive Farnway’s! The tagger got him, too!”

  “Or maybe he is the tagger,” I say mysteriously, but then I refuse to say any more.

  “Why would he tag his own truck?” K.C. pulls into a parking spot on the street, a slow realization dawning on his face. “The smiley face! It was the Grin Reaper!”

  “Wow. You think so?”

  “You’re not fooling me, Thorn.” K.C. points at me accusingly. “Does this have anything to do with why you were gone last night?”

  “Don’t be delusional,” I say, but I’m sure my cheeks are as pink as Clive’s truck. I grab my guitar and escape before K.C. can ask me anything else.

  When I meet Rune at my locker, she looks right past me without any sign of recognition. Then her gaze flickers back. Her mouth gapes open.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I say.

  “But you look … so pink! It’s like a pink invasion! First Clive’s truck, and now you.”

  “Scary, huh?” I joke.

  She plants her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m wearing my CCC costume,” I tell her as I spin my locker combination.

  “But why look like a bubblegum explosion all day? You could have changed into it right before you perform.”

  “It’s easier this way.”

  She frowns. “You’re not even wearing makeup.”

  “Lip gloss,” I smack my lips. “And this is my real hair.”

  “I prefer your wigs.”

  “Wigs get old after a while. You know I’m allergic to hair dye.”

  “Whatever.” She slams her locker shut. “Just so you know, I’m still mad at you.”

  “You should be. I’ve been a horrible friend. I’m surprised you’re still speaking to me.”

  “I considered making you grovel and beg for forgiveness.”

  “So why let me off so easily?”

  “I can’t afford to lose another friend.”

  “Another?” I arch a brow.

  “Amerie.” Rune rakes her fingers through her now jet-black hair. “I finally got her on the phone last night and warned her not to date Philippe. I did some online research and had a long list of girls he dated. The worst was a girl named Rebecca, who tried to commit suicide after he dumped her.”

  “Seriously?” I can’t imagine giving a guy so much power over my emotions.

  Rune nods. “Rebecca spent months recovering in a mental health center—all because of Philippe. I warned Amerie not to trust him, told her he’ll break her heart. I was trying to be a good friend, but you know what she did? Hung up on me! I’m through trying to help her.”

  “Philippe will leave when the contest ends,” I say as we walk to the intersection where we’ll go in different directions. “Then Amerie will return to normal.”

  “Not if he screws her over—literally. What if she gets pregnant?”

  “She wouldn’t be dumb enough not to take precautions.”

  “But she’s not acting rational!” Rune stamps her black boot. “She told me she’d been saving herself for the perfect guy and now that she’s found him, they’re going to be together forever. She’s fallen so hard that when he dumps her, she’ll go psycho like Rebecca.”

  “If Amerie falls, we’ll be there to pick up the pieces,” I say, which results in the first real smile from Rune.

  Homeroom is torturous due to all the stares. Whispers and rumors swirl around me. One girl who has sat next to me since the beginning of school asks if I’m a new student.

  I get a similar reaction in all of my classes. No one recognizes me, and a few mistake me for a new student. I like shocking people, but this
is just annoying. I hurry through the halls with my head down.

  “Thorn!” I hear as I’m rushing to fourth period, and I’m so stunned that someone recognizes me, I whirl around.

  Skarla, looking like my dark-haired twin in her pink costume, wraps me in a hug before I can push her off. “You’re gorgeous!” she exclaims. “That’s your natural hair, isn’t it? I love it! I’m so honored you did this for our group.”

  “That’s not exactly why I did it,” I say. “I really have to get to class … ”

  “Of course. I just wanted to invite you to a celebration party at my house after auditions.”

  “You can’t be sure we’ll make finals.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. We’re fabulous! So can you come?”

  “I don’t think so.” I hesitate. “I’m sort of grounded.”

  “Your parents will let you go to something this important.”

  “Yeah, they might.” I remember Dad’s rare smile at breakfast when he saw me in pink. “I’ll talk to them.”

  “Great. See you at the contest!”

  She bounces off with such cheerfulness it’s hard to believe she’s my top suspect. But I can’t forget her hidden stash of baby clothes. Highly suspicious, although not proof she had anything to do with the locket or grave. I need to search her room more thoroughly. If I can find the locket, I’ll know for sure.

  At lunch, I meet Rune on the cafeteria steps. I tell her that K.C. won’t join us since he’s working on a history project in the computer center.

  “Whatever. Have you heard?” she asks excitedly.

  “About the pink truck?” I guess.

  “Wasn’t it hilarious? But the big news is that everyone is sure the Grin Reaper did it—which means that Clive was the one who tagged K.C.’s car!”

  “Why would he do something like that?” I ask innocently.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because he’s a jerk. The smiley face painted on his truck sends out a clear message that this was payback for what he did to K.C. Everyone knows that Clive deserves it, even if they can’t prove it.”

  “It really sucked, what happened to K.C.’s car,” I say, anger rising with the memory. “I’m all for getting even with the vermin who did it.”

  “So you don’t hate the Grin Reaper anymore?” Rune teases.

  I shrug. If she knew I had a Vigilante Night Out with the Grin Reaper, she’s totally freak—and want every detail plus his phone number.

  “The Reaper is brilliant. Pink-sweet revenge.” Rune sighs. “He’s so hot and I just have to meet him. Hurry up and find him for me.”

  I open my sack lunch, avoiding her gaze. “He’s not an easy guy to find.”

  “But you said you’d recognize his voice.”

  “It’s harder than I thought. Maybe he goes to another school.”

  “You really think so?” Rune’s shoulders slump. “Then it’s hopeless. I’ll never meet my soul mate.”

  “You’re not missing much.”

  She purses her purple-lined black lips. “How do you know?”

  “I don’t. Only guessing.”

  “You’re giving off a serious lying vibe.”

  I let my blond hair fall across my face, hiding my eyes. “A guy who breaks the law, even for a good cause, must be bad news. You’re better off without him.”

  She sets her iced tea on the step and says, “You do know who he is!”

  “Not exactly … I mean … ” I glance down at my pink cowgirl boots. I’m sick of the lies. “You’re right. I do know.”

  “Who is he?” Rune demands excitedly. “Tell me!”

  “I—I can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I’d tell you if I could, but I promised him I wouldn’t tell.”

  “A promise to him and lies to me!” Rune explodes with such fierceness I reel back. “Why would you take his side over mine? Do you care about protecting him more than helping me?”

  “No … it’s just complicated. I don’t even like him.”

  “But you’re lying for him—to your best friend.”

  “If I were lying, I’d say I didn’t know, but I’m telling the truth and admitting I know, but I’m bound by a promise.”

  “You aren’t fooling me. I know what’s really going on.” Her kohl-shaded eyes narrow in a hostile way that I’ve never seen directed at me. “You won’t tell me because you want him for yourself. You’re in love with the Grin Reaper.”

  Nineteen

  Rune leaves me sitting on the steps, reeling from her

  accusation. My ham sandwich tastes stale and my butterscotch pudding remains unopened. This is all Jay’s fault. I could have explained things to Rune if he hadn’t blackmailed me.

  The masked Grin Reaper may still seem thrilling to Rune, but if she knew his real identity, she’d be sooo not interested. Last week, Amerie, Rune, and I made a list of lust-worthy fictional characters that we titled “Dudes We’d Do If They Existed.” No shock that Amerie put down Harry Potter, Spiderman, and Peter Pan (even though we told her Peter was traditionally acted by a girl on stage). Rune picked Captain Jack Sparrow and Moriarty. I added Dracula, Mr. Hyde, and the evil scientist in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I’m into outrageous dudes with wild hair and wicked attitudes, not a guy handsome enough to be a Disney prince. Sure, Jay is intriguing and I admire his passion for justice. But not hating him doesn’t mean I like him—especially in a romantic way.

  When sixth period ends, my thoughts shift to the auditions. My nerves tighten like guitar strings at the thought of being on stage in front of an audience. Music has always been personal for me, a secret refuge that’s mine alone.

  I really, really don’t want to do this …

  But I sling my guitar over my shoulder and enter the boisterous, crowded room. Seats are filling fast with parents, teachers, and students. I can hardly move without bumping someone, and all the “Good luck!” calls only add to my anxiety.

  Elevated on stage under bright lights, Philippe and his spiraling raven curls are hard to miss. He’s leaning forward in conversation with Collette. I can’t see his face, but there’s tension in his body language like he’s no happier to be here than I am. Or maybe Collette gave him bad news, like his latest CD only earned a million not a billion. She’s all glam and gorgeous in a plunging-neck scarlet chiffon dress and red stilettos, and doesn’t look any older than Philippe. She seems agitated, though, and scowls when she glances across the stage at Amerie. What’s that about?

  I weave my way down to the front rows where contestants have assigned seating. Three pink western hats pop out in the second row. We’re seated in performance order, for quick-on, quick-off access. My gaze fixes on the subtle drama unfolding on stage.

  Amerie’s iridescent fairy wings, tucked delicately behind her shoulders, shimmer like stardust. She glides over to Philippe, coming up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist. When he turns toward her, the flash of his pearl-white smile could stop a hummingbird in mid-flutter. He gazes at Amerie as if she’s the only girl in the room, seemingly unaware that Collette is glowering at both of them.

  Amerie glances in my direction and lifts her arm to wave. “Thorn!” She gestures excitedly for me to come over.

  I nod, hoping she’ll introduce me to Philippe. Not only do I have the two interview questions to ask for Manny, but I want to find out if Philippe is serious about Amerie. There is a chance he’s sincere and not leading her on—but it’s a very slim chance.

  When I reach the steps to the stage, Philippe’s husky bodyguard blocks my way, but Amerie intervenes. “Richard, she’s a friend. Let her pass.”

  The brawny, shaved-head guy smiles at Amerie, then drops his arms.

  “Thorn!” Amerie exclaims. “I hardly recognize you!”

  I frown
at my bare hands, which are usually bejeweled with wicked rings. “It’s for the contest.”

  “Totally adorable,” she says, mischief in her eyes.

  “Abominable is more like it.”

  “Love the pink hat—it’s so you!”

  “Say that again, Fairy Girl, and I’ll rip off your wings.”

  “No one touches my wings—except my special guy.” Amerie’s face softens as she looks over at Philippe, who’s mobbed by fans at the edge of the stage.

  “As long as that’s all he touches,” I say.

  She whispers into my ear. “Not yet, but I’m hopeful.”

  “Amerie, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  “I won’t.” She presses her lips together in a secret smile. “Seriously, Thorn, you look great and I owe you a zillion thanks for rescuing the Cotton Candy Cowgirls. They were good before, but with your sound, they’re amazing. You’re way better than Priscilla was. The girls know it, too, because when Priscilla asked to come back to the group, Skarla turned her down.”

  This is news to me. “Priscilla wanted back in?”

  “Yeah. But Skarla is too smart to let you go. She’s thanked me like a dozen times for hooking you up with the group. You’re so talented.”

  “Well … thanks.” Praise isn’t something I’m used to, but I’ve had more of it today than in my whole life before. Looking like a Cowgirl Barbie has changed how everyone acts around me, which makes me act different. I’ve always believed that appearance doesn’t matter, but on some level it must, because how you look is the first clue to others about who you are. So even though I see myself in goth black, others see a Cotton Candy Cowgirl and they like her better.

  “—group has such a great sound and it’s because of you,” Amerie is saying. “I’ve been bragging to everyone that you’re my best friend.”

  “I’m not your only BFF,” I say in a softer voice. “Rune is too.”

  “Do not speak her name.” Amerie stiffens and lifts her chin defiantly.

  “She was trying to help because she’s worried about you. She’s really sorry.”