by Tom Becker
“Hey, I’m TJ,” he said. “Take a photo with me.”
That was it. Not a question. Before Darla could say anything the boy had leaned in close to her, his smooth cheek brushing against hers, his expensive aftershave enveloping her. He held up his phone and took a picture. Darla stared at him as he pulled away, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. TJ brushed a finger against her cheek, and then he was gone.
Chapter Six
Darla pulled the sheets up over her head and burrowed deeper into the bed.
“But I don’t want to!” she groaned.
Hopper folded his arms. “Tough,” he said. “You’re going and that’s that.”
A week had passed since they had driven through the night and washed up in Saffron Hills. Just seven days – and yet in that time, Darla’s whole world had changed completely. It had started on the third morning, when Hopper had driven into Saffron Hills to pick up some groceries. But he had returned with something else, something entirely unexpected.
A job.
“I cannot believe it, Darla!” he had said excitedly. “There I was at the music store, checkin’ out the guitars—”
“I thought you were supposed to be grocery shopping.”
“I was! That mean I can’t stop off along the way? Anyway, I was playing some licks on a baby-blue Epiphone when I heard the manager grousing about a salesman who’d walked out on him, hadn’t given notice or nothin’. I know an opportunity when I hear one, so I marched straight up to him and offered my services and he hired me on the spot!”
“He gave you a job?” Darla said dubiously. “Just like that?”
“OK, a two-week trial, but that’s good enough for starters, right?”
“Sure. If you think you can do it.”
Hopper gave her a reproachful look. “Darla, there are two things your daddy knows about in this world: one is guitars, the other is sellin’. You just wait and see – our luck is changin’ for the better.”
Although Darla was pleased for him, she wasn’t going to get her hopes up. Hopper had talked his way into jobs before – it was keeping them that was the hard part. He was still sneaking out to bars after she went to bed, coming back drunk early in the morning. Darla wondered whether he thought she couldn’t hear him stumbling around the house, or whether he was just hoping she wouldn’t say anything. She decided to keep quiet for the time being. After all, she had her own secrets to keep.
Thankfully there had been no more mirror visions since the incident in Annie’s backyard. Darla had pushed them firmly to the back of her mind. They were a blip, nothing more – their flight from Marvin back at the trailer park must have unsettled her more than she had realized. Real life was hard enough without dreaming up things to worry about. Darla was still annoyed about what had happened in the mall with TJ. She should have pushed him away or told him to drop dead, but instead she had just stood there like a dummy and let him take a picture of her. There was something amazingly arrogant about the way TJ had moved in on Darla, as though there could be no doubt whether she wanted to be in a photograph with him or not. If she saw him again, Darla swore to herself, she would tell Mr High and Mighty exactly what she thought of him.
Now that Hopper had a job – even if it was only for a trial period – he was trying to arrange a rental agreement with Luis so they could stay in the house by the creek. Darla was pretty sure the realtor would have preferred them to leave town and never come back, but as long as Hopper kept threatening to tell Luis’s wife all about New Mexico he didn’t have much choice – and some rent money was better than nothing. In just seven days, they were looking at putting down some real roots.
But now Hopper was threatening to ruin everything. He was making Darla go to school.
The news that she had been enrolled at the Allan West Academy had come as an unpleasant surprise. It seemed Darla had Annie to blame for that – the art teacher had apparently pulled some strings to help get her registered. Hopper had kept quiet about the whole thing, aware that Darla would take some convincing. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to learn; she could read just fine and even secretly enjoyed math. It was the other students that were the problem. Hopper moved her around so much that Darla barely had enough time to make friends before she had to leave again. She wasn’t funny or pretty or confident or good at sports – she needed time to settle in. Instead she was doomed to be the New Girl, always behind, always out of fashion, always alone.
But as hard as Darla protested, Hopper wasn’t listening. He bullied her out of bed and into the bathroom, telling her to hurry up or else they’d both be late. Darla glumly showered and dressed, digging out an old bag for her schoolbooks. She couldn’t eat any breakfast, her stomach tightening into a knot. All she could think about was that moment when she would walk into a strange classroom and everyone would turn and stare at her.
Hopper turned up the Buick’s radio on their way to school, insisting on driving Darla up to the front entrance despite her pleas for him not to. They drove through the front gates and up a broad driveway towards a cluster of imposing white buildings gathered on a hilltop. The Stars and Stripes rippled proudly in the breeze at the top of a flagpole. There was a clock tower above the main entrance, a sports field and tennis courts visible in the distance. Darla had never seen a school like it. She sank lower into the front seat as the battered Buick rolled to a stop, praying that nobody would see her.
“Would you take a look at this place?” said Hopper. “It’s the nicest damned school I ever saw!”
“You go, if you like it so much,” Darla replied.
“Look, I know this ain’t easy, but at least try to give it a shot, darlin’,” he told her. “For me?”
Hopper grinned as Darla climbed out of the Buick. “Atta girl!”
She had a retort ready on her lips but he was already driving away. The school steps were empty – the bell for homeroom must already have rung. Darla wandered through the empty hallways in search of the office, past a trophy cabinet filled with glittering awards. From football to gymnastics and lacrosse, there didn’t seem to be a sport the West Academy didn’t compete – and win – in. To her surprise, Darla also saw several photographs of beautiful, smiling girls in gowns wearing tiaras. Looking closer, she saw that they were all wearing sashes with ‘Miss Saffron’ written on them. Darla shook her head. Beauty pageants were obviously a big deal in this town.
When she finally found the office, Darla was taken along the corridors to her homeroom, where twenty heads swivelled and stared at her as she entered. The worst moment – it was always the worst moment – was when Darla had to stand at the front of the class and introduce herself, her cheeks burning as she mumbled into her shoes. She was convinced that people were giggling at her, but she told herself it was OK, just first day nerves.
At lunch Darla ate alone in the canteen, staring down at her tray. When she had finished she went in search of her new locker, only to stop at the sight of the punk girl from Criminal Records. She was rooting through her locker, tossing old T-shirts and dog-eared textbooks on to the floor. A good-looking blond-haired boy was leaning against the locker beside her, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Have you ever thought of getting a maid, Sasha?” he said. “I’d give it some serious consideration, because there are health and safety implications for a locker this dirty.”
Sasha didn’t even bother to look up. “I’m busy, Swim Team.”
“Please, call me Ryan,” he said mildly. “Everyone else does.”
“Go away, Swim Team.”
“I’ve got it,” said Ryan, snapping his fingers. “You could ask Frank to be your maid. We all know how much he likes to follow you around, and I’ve got a hunch he’d enjoy the outfit—”
Sasha snatched up a hairbrush and threw it at Ryan, who narrowly ducked out of the way as it cracked into the locker behind his head.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he said quickly, holding his hands up. “Jesus, tough crowd.”
>
He was still smiling though, which only seemed to infuriate Sasha even more. She reached inside her locker for another missile. As Darla looked on, intrigued by the exchange, she felt a sharp elbow in her ribs. A trio of tall, willowy girls in designer clothes stalked past her towards Sasha, their hair seeming to swish in time together. Darla recognized them from the mall: two blondes and an African-American girl with thick black curls. All three of them were astonishingly beautiful. They sashayed down the hall, barely looking at the crowds as they parted for them. None of them were smiling.
The lead girl, the slightly taller of the two blondes, came to a halt by Sasha’s locker and slowly looked her up and down.
“Nice outfit,” she said. “Halloween’s come early this year.”
Sasha smiled sweetly, and raised her middle finger. “Drop dead, Natalie.”
“You need to show a little more respect,” said the other blond girl. “Next month Natalie’s going to be crowned Miss Saffron. Everybody knows it.”
“Whoop-de-doo, Carmen,” Sasha replied, in a bored voice. “Who cares?”
“How about, everybody in this town?” Natalie shot back. “Everybody who matters, anyway.”
“I wouldn’t count your tiaras just yet,” said Sasha. “I hear you have to have a talent to enter Miss Saffron, and I don’t think walking in high heels counts.”
Darla burst out laughing. She hastily tried to disguise it as a cough, but it was too late. Sasha, Ryan, the three beautiful girls – everyone had turned to look at her.
“What are you staring at, you little freak?” Natalie snapped.
“Nothing,” Darla said hurriedly.
“This conversation is way beyond your pay grade,” the dark-skinned girl told her, flicking a dismissive finger. “You run along now.”
“You tell her, Gabrielle,” said Carmen.
Sasha said nothing, studying Darla with interest.
At that moment, TJ came slouching down the corridor towards them, his headphones up around his ears. Perfect. Darla should have guessed he would also be a West Academy student. Completely lost in the music, TJ didn’t notice her glaring at him as he walked past. Darla knew this wasn’t the time to say anything, but she was too annoyed to let it go. She stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop.
“Excuse me?” she said. “You don’t know me, I’m Darla. You took a photo of me in the mall the other day.”
Carmen snorted with laughter. Darla ignored her.
“I wanted to tell you that it was kinda creepy and I didn’t appreciate it,” she said to TJ, aware that the whole corridor was watching her now.
TJ said nothing. She wasn’t even sure that he had heard her over the music in his headphones. He went to push past her.
“Hey!” Darla reached out and caught his arm. “I’m talking to you!”
He turned and slowly looked her up and down, as though examining another species. Then he pointed to his headphones, shrugged, and walked away from her.
“Fatal error, newbie!” Ryan called out to Darla. “Lesson one: do not try to interrupt my man TJ when he’s tuned in to his beats.”
Sasha laughed incredulously. “What is he, six?”
“Stay out of this, Sasha,” Natalie warned. She looked Darla up and down. “Newbie, I’ll give you lesson two for free: I don’t know what mountain top you’ve come down from, Marla, but that hillbilly chic look just isn’t going to cut it around here.”
Carmen and Gabrielle burst into spiteful peals of laughter. Darla turned, her cheeks burning, and walked away down the corridor. She went into the girls’ toilets and locked herself into a cubicle, banging the wall with irritation. It clearly wasn’t going to work here – there was no way Darla could fit in with these rich creeps and snooty ice queens. For a moment she considered walking out of the West Academy, only to picture the look on Hopper’s face when he found out. Even after everything, she couldn’t bear to disappoint him.
Darla sat down and took a deep, calming breath. It had only been a morning, she told herself firmly, she couldn’t give up yet. When the bell rang she emerged from the cubicle and went to her next class, but the afternoon didn’t go any better than the morning. Even though Darla kept her head down and didn’t say anything, she was convinced that her classmates were whispering about her. Had people heard about her confronting TJ? Did news really travel that fast? She kept staring up at the clock on the wall, but it was as though the minute hand had frozen.
Finally the lesson ended, and Darla could throw her books into her bag and hurry out of the classroom. At the end of the corridor she burst out through the doors into the warm afternoon sunshine, feeling like a prisoner let out of jail.
Down amongst the cars, Sasha was leaning against the bumper of a rusting black pick-up truck, idly picking at her nails. Beside her a boy with sandy hair and glasses was engrossed in a paperback book. At the sight of Darla, Sasha put her fingers in her mouth and made a piercing whistle.
“Hey, new girl!” she called out. “Over here!”
Darla hesitated. Sasha rolled her eyes, and waved her over.
“Come on, I don’t bite!”
Reluctantly Darla walked down the steps and headed over to the pick-up.
“Your name’s Darla, right?” said Sasha. “You know who I am?”
Darla nodded.
“This is Frank,” said Sasha, gesturing at the boy with her.
“I’m the chauffeur,” Frank added archly.
“You’re more to me than that,” Sasha told him. “You do my math homework, too, remember?”
“I am multi-talented,” Frank agreed.
“Frank’s driving me home,” Sasha said. “Come with us.”
It wasn’t, Darla couldn’t help but notice, a question. Everyone around here seemed to act like they were kings and queens, expecting to be instantly obeyed. But it had been a long, miserable day and all Darla wanted to do was go home and try to forget about the fact that she would have to come back to this horrible place tomorrow, and the day after that.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said apologetically. “My daddy’s expecting me home.”
Sasha reached out and grabbed her firmly by the wrist. “I don’t think you understand,” she said. “We really need to talk.”
Chapter Seven
The wind picked up as Natalie McRae jogged home alone through the hills, her long blond ponytail bouncing against her back. Dark clouds gathered high above her head. The air was thick with the threat of the rain. Natalie couldn’t hear her panting breaths over the dance music in her earphones, but her back was damp with sweat and she could feel her chest burning. As the road skirted around the overgrown grounds of the old West house, the incline got suddenly steeper. Natalie forced herself to keep running, keeping her feet in time with the pounding beat.
She had waited until the others had left school before changing into her running gear, tying back her hair and swapping her designer mules for a pair of pink sneakers. Usually Ryan drove her home – Natalie wondered how long he had waited by his convertible before realizing she wasn’t coming. That would teach him to hang round Sasha’s locker, flashing that smile of his at her. Ryan Cafferty was her boyfriend; what did he think he was doing? Natalie couldn’t understand why he even gave Sasha a second glance. She thought she was so smart. Well, if the captain of the swim team wanted to date some dirty goth he could have her. Ryan’s wasn’t the only ride in town, and there would always be a line of guys willing to drive Natalie wherever she wanted.
Thinking about Ryan had made her angry, giving her a second wind. She speeded up, the soles of her sneakers biting into the side of the road with a satisfying crunch. The road began to level out: she was in the home stretch now. The McRae house was built on one of the highest hills in the town, overlooking even Tall Pines. Natalie’s father, Benjamin McRae, came from a rich Southern family flush with oil money, and he had lived in Louisiana before Allan West had persuaded him to move to South Carolina. Natalie staggered to a gratef
ul halt outside the front gates, leaning against the railings as she took in great lungfuls of air. She pulled out her earphones but the music continued to play, a small, tinny racket. When she had caught her breath Natalie fished her keys out of her pocket and beeped open the front gate. It swung smoothly open and she slipped inside.
The driveway stretched out before her like a paved catwalk, sprinklers drenching the grass with liquid applause. As she walked up towards the front door, checking her neck for her pulse rate, Natalie had the sudden sense that she was being watched. She turned around, glancing sharply up and down the road. There was no one there.
She slid the key into the front door and went inside, hurrying over to the alarm and tapping in the code before it could explode into life. The previous year, one of her father’s friends back in New Orleans had been the victim of a home invasion – a gang of thieves had broken into his home and threatened the whole family with knives until the safe had been emptied. Now the McRae residence was protected with electronic gates and state-of-the-art alarms that automatically alerted local law enforcement every time they went off. But in a strange way the new security made Natalie feel more vulnerable – protecting her from a threat she hadn’t even considered before.
She went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out a small plastic bottle of water. Natalie pressed it against her cheek, relishing its cool kiss against her skin. No one else was home. They rarely were. Her father was always on business somewhere, in Memphis or Houston or Atlanta – anywhere, it seemed, but Saffron Hills. Her mom Kimberley spent most of her days in the country club lounge with all the other ‘business widows’, swapping bitchy gossip over gin and tonics. Juanita the maid came Tuesdays and Thursdays, but she didn’t speak any English and Natalie avoided her whenever she could.
A photo of Natalie and her friends was stuck to the fridge door: her, Carmen, Gabrielle, and Ryan and TJ all bunched in close together, smiling for the camera. Carmen was obsessed with taking selfies, and they couldn’t go anywhere without her pestering them to join in. This one had been taken in the mall the day TJ had photographed himself with the new girl. He and Ryan had been taking pictures like that all summer. Natalie had found it funny at first – they all had – but now she wasn’t so sure. They had all seen the way the new girl – the one with the thrift-store stylings, Marla, was it? – had tried to confront TJ in the hallway. Gabrielle and Carmen had found it hilarious but Natalie thought it was a bit pathetic. It wasn’t that she felt sorry for Marla; it was more that she was aggrieved that she couldn’t see the obvious social order. Natalie knew that not every girl could look like Taylor Swift or Katy Perry. But some girls didn’t even try to look nice, and as far as she was concerned, that was just plain lazy.
