Buried

by Linda Joy Singleton

  “Where?” I arch a brow.

  “To the cafeteria with your frilly pink friends. You deserve each other.”

  “Don’t be a jealous bitch.”

  “Did you just call me jealous?” she exclaims, her hands on her hips in outrage. “I am not even a tiny bit jealous. What I am is disgusted. You keep secrets from me, and you traded in your soul for fluff-brains. I thought being goth meant more to you than a fashion choice—that you really cared about deeper things.”

  “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “So leave. I don’t want to be seen with you—it’s bad for my reputation.”

  “Afraid my new popularity might rub off on you?”

  “You’re not that popular.”

  “I hope so.” Then I laugh, although I’m really not sure why. But then my laughter sparks Rune’s. Her mouth twitches like she’s fighting to hold on to her scowl, but then she’s laughing, too.

  “Okay,” she says with a shrug. “I’ll eat with you. But you can’t make me talk.”

  “Fine. We’ll eat our lunches in total silence. Don’t say anything.”

  “I won’t!”

  We reach the stairs and sit on different steps. I dig my lunch out of my backpack and she flips open her vintage Addams Family lunch box. She peels an orange, the sweet scent swirling in a chilly breeze. I sip pomegranate-flavored water and glance at my watch, wondering how long Rune can go without talking.

  Three minutes and seventeen seconds.

  “You missed yesterday’s Weird News.” Rune opens her notebook of weird facts. “Want to hear it?”

  “Sure. Bring on the weirdness,” I say, smiling.

  “A thirty-two-year-old woman breastfed her dog.”

  “Sick!” I almost spew pomegranate water. “That image has scarred my brain forever.”

  “Kids marrying dogs. People getting naked in strange places. Why do people do such gross stuff?” Rune gives a grim shake of her head. “The world is insane.”

  “Except for us,” I say.

  “Of course.” We both nod solemnly, understanding each other.

  I don’t see her again until after school, when I find her waiting by my locker.

  “You’re coming with me and I won’t take no for an answer,” she says, tugging my arm once I’ve shut my locker. “I have someplace amazing to show you.”

  “I want to go but I have practice.”

  “It won’t kill you to be late.”

  “Skarla might.”

  “Then I’ll conjure a magical blood spell to bring you back to life.”

  “Okay, I’ll go,” I say. I’m sick of rehearsing anyway, and since my parents will think I’m with the CCCs, that whole grounding issue won’t come up. “But keep the blood spell handy,” I add. “I may need it later.”

  I borrow Rune’s phone and tell Skarla I’ll be late because of a test I have to make up (lying really is kinder than the truth). Then I climb into Rune’s car and she zigzags down narrow roads I’ve never been on before, parking in front of a ramshackle shop with a crooked sign that says simply, JUNK.

  The store is a treasure trove! It’s like someone opened a crypt of wicked-cool stuff and priced everything ridiculously low. Costumes, makeup, jewelry, and a giant skeleton of a grizzly bear that’s freaking scary.

  Rune and I “ooh” over a bin of wigs in every color and style imaginable. We try most of them on, modeling in our own twisted fashion show. A green wig transforms me into an alien, a long-black-braid wig wriggles like a snake against my legs, and when we try on skull caps we call it “bald chic.”

  “Let’s go to school bald,” Rune suggests as she taps her black-painted nails on her plastic-smooth head.

  “We should paint fake blood dropping from our bald heads,” I say.

  “Check out these tombstone earrings.” She hands them to me and digs into a box of old jewelry.

  I nod. “Wicked brilliant.”

  Then Rune lets out a shriek. “Ohmygod, Thorn, you have to buy this!”

  She’s dangling a midnight blue wig, edged in black, in front of me. It’s love at first look-in-the-mirror. The price isn’t bad either (thanks Dad for the twenty!). Then Rune discovers a box of leather pants, tops, jackets, and even whips. We snap whips at each other until a store clerk gives us the evil eye, then we haul our purchases up to the counter. Rune buys tight leather pants, dragon earrings, and fishnet nylons, and I buy the blue-black wig, the tombstone earrings, and a Halloween zombie makeup kit. We both buy a whip.

  Rune and I squeeze into a changing room and come out of the store wearing our purchases—we look very different than we did when we came in. When Rune tempts me with the offer of a donut at The Whole Truth, who can resist? Not me, that’s for sure.

  Over two double whipped-cream nut bars, Rune apologizes.

  “It wasn’t right for me to insist you break a promise,” she says. “Although I’m dying to know who the Reaper is.”

  “I’ll tell you when I can,” I promise.

  “Yeah. I know you will.”

  “I messed up, too,” I add, licking cream off my upper lip. “I never should have ditched you. The CCCs are okay, but I can’t really talk to them. Not like with you.”

  Rune takes a sip of iced tea. “Amerie is cool, but you’re my kindred spirit. I’m so glad you moved here.”

  “I hated moving,” I confess. “I still miss the color green, but I’m beginning to like cactus. And I never expected to find a best friend.”

  “It takes a rare soul to appreciate my coolness,” she says with a pat of her skull cap. “It’s like I can totally be myself with you.”

  “Yeah. Me too. Except lately I haven’t felt like myself.” I touch my eyebrow, smooth without its usual piercing. The CCC pink skirt rustles like a snake in the grass sneaking up to bite me.

  Rune deserves the truth, I realize guiltily. I can’t tell her about Jay, but I can share my own secrets. My three deepest secrets.

  “Since I really trust you, I’ll tell you three things about myself.”

  “Sure. What?” Rune’s silver bangles clank as she leans across the table, her expression solemn.

  “The first thing is my name,” I confide. “It’s not really Thorn.”

  “Well, duh, I guessed that. What’s your real name?”

  “My first name—don’t you dare laugh—is Beth Ann.”

  She almost chokes on her donut. But she swallows fast and doesn’t laugh.

  I nod, relaxing a little. “Since I told you my real name, will you tell me yours?”

  “Rune,” she answers.

  “No, really.”

  “Really honest-to-Goddess truth. The name on my birth certificate is Rune. My mother found it in a Wicca baby name book.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “What’s your second secret?”

  “Music. I used to only sing and play my guitar in private.” I shrug, then add, “But I guess it’s not such a secret now.”

  “Not for anyone who saw you on stage. You were amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I pause, knowing what is coming next and reconsidering this new honesty. How can I tell Rune about my finding? It’s freaky and unexplainable. The only person who really understands what it’s like to be psychic is Sabine.

  What if Rune thinks I’m delusional?

  “So what’s number three?” Rune drums her black fingernails on the table.

  I take a deep breath and spit it out.

  “I’m a Finder.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A psychic ability.”

  “You mean you see ghosts?” she asks curiously.

  “Not if I can avoid them.” I shudder. My few experiences with ghosts creeped me out. “The technical term is psychometry. I get v
isions of how to find things when I touch objects. As a kid, I thought it was fun. I always won at hide-and-seek. Mom used to lose her keys a lot and I could always find them. Other kids babysat or mowed lawns, but I made money by finding lost pets, until a neighbor got suspicious and accused me of stealing her cat for the reward. That’s when I learned to be cautious and hide what I could do. No one believed me, anyway.” I meet Rune’s gaze. “So the question is—what do you believe?”

  “That everything is possible,” she says. “I’ve never told anyone before, but I’ve seen ghosts twice. The first time was my great-aunt, who came to my room to read me my favorite picture book, Two At The Zoo, an hour after she died. Another time my cat Kiki, who got hit by a car, appeared on my bed and I could even hear her purrs. Does that happen a lot with pets?”

  “I’m not an expert on ghosts, but it’s cool you got to see your cat again.”

  “And your finding thing is cool. Can you show me how it works?”

  “It’s not a game.” I glance down at donut crumbs on my plate. “Sometimes it leads to tragic things you wish you’d never found.”

  “Tragic?” She arches her pierced brow. “Like what?”

  I shiver at the memory of a dirt-crusted blanket and tiny bones. “It’s hard to talk about.”

  “No more secrets, okay? You can tell me anything.”

  “Well … ” I bite my lip then give a slow nod.

  And I tell Rune about the grave.

  Twenty-One

  That sheriff is a moron if he suspects you!” Rune complains when I finish, the plate with her half-eaten donut pushed to the side.

  “He said he doesn’t, really. He knows I only moved here a few months ago. Still, he grilled me like I was a criminal.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he wants to break me down so I’ll tell him more.” Uneasiness gnaws at my stomach. “He thinks I’m lying to protect a friend.”

  “What friend?”

  I give her a meaningful look.

  “You mean … me?” Her kohl-shadowed eyes widen.

  “I don’t know, but it’s no secret I hang out with you and Amerie. I didn’t give him names.”

  “Still, if my parents hear the sheriff suspects me, I’m dead.” Rune clicks her tongue stud with her teeth. “They’re obsessed with their status in the community. I don’t want them to lose trust in me or they’ll take away my car, credit card, and freedom.” Rune grabs my hand. “Thorn, we have to find out who buried that baby.”

  “Duh.” I roll my eyes. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

  “If the girl goes to this school, it shouldn’t be hard to track her down. Do you have any suspects?”

  “I had a lot, but now only one.” I explain about the locket. “Skarla.”

  “Are you serious? But she doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “She did last year, but she acted secretive when the topic came up.”

  “A baby secret?” Rune touches her chin thoughtfully. “I remember hearing that Skarla had some kind of family issue last spring and missed a lot of school. This would explain why. Case solved. You should tell the sheriff that Skarla is guilty.”

  “Only she might not be. I don’t have enough information.”

  “So use your finding radar to get proof. Aren’t you meeting at her house tonight?”

  “I should be there now,” I say with a wry smile.

  “I’ll drive you over right now so you can spy.”

  “I don’t spy,” I say indignantly. “But I would love another look in her bedroom. If she took the locket, that’s where it’ll be hidden. Then I’ll know for sure she’s the one.”

  Rune jumps up. “I’ll drive you.”

  We make it to Skarla’s house in less than ten minutes.

  When I reach up to take off my midnight blue wig and jewelry, Rune stops my hand. “Don’t change for them,” she says. “I dare you to go inside just as you are.”

  “Not a good idea.” I tap my dangling tombstone earrings so they swing like nooses against my neck. “The CCCs won’t like it.”

  “Since when did that matter?”

  “I don’t know, it’s just that lately … ” I take a deep breath. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter what they think about me.”

  “Or anyone else,” Rune adds. “Be proud. Be gothtastic.”

  “That’s not even a word.”

  “It should be.”

  Feeling more like myself, I wave good-bye to Rune, then follow the white gravel path to Skarla’s door. There’s a weird moment when Skarla’s grandmother stares at me like I’m a stranger until her gaze falls on my guitar. Then she recovers with a quick smile and invites me in.

  When I enter the family room, the CCCs stop clogging. The trio stares at me with expressions that could freeze sunshine.

  “Look who finally showed up,” Barbee says coolly.

  “What happened to your hair?” Micqui frowns. “You were cute as a blond.”

  “I knew you’d revert back to goth freak,” Barbee snarks.

  “Barbee, shut up,” Skarla snaps, then turns back to me. “Thorn, you aren’t going to, um, look like that tomorrow. Are you?”

  “Not for the show,” I assure her.

  “Okay. So we’re okay.” Skarla sighs with relief. “Now let’s get to work.”

  We practice for over an hour before Skarla’s grandmother announces dinner.

  This is my chance, I think as I set down my guitar. But I need to play it cool so no one gets suspicious. I get a flash of the baby clothes in Skarla’s trunk. I don’t know if this is a finding intuition or my unconscious pushing me to do something. Could the locket be underneath the baby clothes or tucked inside a jewelry box?

  Time to find out.

  Using the bathroom excuse, since it worked before, I detour into Skarla’s room and shut the door behind me.

  There isn’t much time. I visualize the golden locket, trying to trigger my finding sense. But I get nothing. I go around the room touching random objects: a lamp, shoes, a backpack, a jewelry box. Still nothing.

  The baby clothes, I think. I need to touch them again. So I go to the trunk and lift the lid. I gently pick up a green knitted bonnet and hold it in my hands, closing my eyes and concentrating. A grave, a baby, something … I search my mind for answers.

  Instead of a baby, I get a sense of a man. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the soft clothes in my hands. A tall man with an anchor tattooed on his tanned forearm. He held these clothes … bought them. It’s a fleeting thought, but one that feels right.

  That familiar tingle of finding surges through me. Opening my eyes, I set down the clothes and let the urge lead me to a tall bureau near Skarla’s closet. I empty my mind and my body moves on its own. I open a bottom drawer and rifle under heavy sweatshirts until my fingers touch something hard.

  A photo album.

  Flipping open the book, I stare at a photo of a man in sailor’s cap and rough work clothes. His arm is around a slender woman who looks a lot like Skarla only she’s older. I flip the page, but then stop when I hear a creaking door. I glance up just as Skarla screams, “THORN!”

  I whirl around, all the blood rushing from my face.

  “What the hell are you doing with my baby album?” Skarla demands. Micqui and Barbee stand behind her, glaring at me.

  “Baby album?” I repeat, shocked that she’d admit this.

  She snatches the book from my hands. “This is my private property. You have no right to be in my room!”

  “I warned you about her,” Barbee says. “But I didn’t know she was a thief.”

  “I’m not a thief !”

  “We caught you in the act,” Barbee retorts. “What did you steal?”

&nbs
p; “Nothing. I would never do that. I was trying to find something.”

  “What?” Skarla demands, in the coldest tone I’ve ever heard from her.

  I purse my lips, trying to think of a believable answer.

  “I thought you were my friend,” Skarla rushes on. “I invited you into the group and into my home. I deserve to know what’s going on.”

  I stare at her, my heart aching because despite my suspicions, I like Skarla. But I need to know the truth, too. I gesture toward the trunk of tiny clothes. “I wanted to find out about the baby.”

  Skarla knits her brows. “What baby?”

  “You already know. You hid the baby clothes and the album so no one would find out what you did.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Skarla sounds so outraged I almost believe her act. But there’s no other explanation for the hidden baby clothes. “You had a baby.”

  “A baby!” she exclaims.

  “Don’t deny it. I know the baby died because I found the grave.”

  Micqui and Barbee gasp.

  “Ohmygod!” Skarla’s hands fly to her cheeks. “You’re the unidentified teen who found the baby’s grave!”

  “Your baby’s grave,” I correct her, then soften my voice. “I don’t judge you. What you did wasn’t easy. You must have been scared and panicked.”

  “I was not pregnant !” Skarla waves the photo album like she’s going to hurl it at me. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

  “Then explain the baby clothes.”

  “I don’t need to explain anything to you! But I will.” She flips opens the album to the photo of the sailor. “This man is my father.”

  “Your father?” I whisper, stunned.

  “It’s the only picture I have of him. And those baby clothes were all he ever bought for me—before he left my mother and died from an overdose. My mother wanted to throw them out but my grandmother insisted on keeping them for me.”

  “You mean … you didn’t have a baby?”

  “Of course not!” Skarla’s face reddens. “How could you even think such a thing?”

  My mouth is open but I can’t think of anything to say.

  “If you suspected me, why not just ask?” Skarla demands. “Instead you lied and deceived me. I really liked you, Thorn. But this is unforgivable.”