Mean girl_A dark, disturbing psychological thriller

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  Remembering how she had walked into the classroom, what a great mood she was in, Corby picked up the phone. One of the Internet articles said that parents were often number one suspects. In this case it was the stepfather, because he and Vera weren’t on good terms. How did she know that? Corby didn’t remember. Probably she had overheard this in one of their conversations, as always.

  “This is awesome,” Corby whispered. She heard the salesperson say goodbye to a customer. Probably the last one. A few minutes later, a young guy named Dan walked into the room to pick up his jacket.

  “It was a good day,” he said. “Your dad will be happy.”

  “Cool,” Corby said, but she didn’t see him. Her mind carried her to the fridge before her body was able to get there.

  “Have a nice night.”

  “You too.”

  Now she just had to wait for Gaby to leave, but Corby couldn’t wait. Her hands shook and her stomach started to churn from impatience. She went to the sales floor to help the woman with cleaning and get away from her thoughts. She didn’t want to think about Vera, resting in the refrigerator for three days.

  Gaby finished her work in an hour with Corby’s help and was very happy about this. She put on her jacket on her way to the door and disappeared after a short goodbye. She had three children, worked two jobs, and didn’t have time for pleasantries or informal conversations with a teenager. With a teenager who didn’t hide skeletons in the closet, but a dead girl in the refrigerator.

  Corby giggled, although it wasn’t funny at all. She locked the door, put on her jacket and gloves, and went to the room where it was now colder than outside.

  Pieces of meat lay on the shelves and hung on hooks, waiting to be sold. Dad never bought too much at once, preferring to sell only fresh product. Corby had seen it all since her childhood and didn’t hesitate for a second. She walked to the end of the refrigerator, pushing the carcasses as tree branches, and stopped in front of the small freezer.

  Nothing had changed and no one had come here. They took what they needed and went out without thinking about the small freezer even once.

  Corby looked at the freezer door and didn’t dare to open it. Vera shouldn’t stink, it was too cold inside. If meat froze here, the same thing would happen to a person. People were just meat, her Dad used to say.

  Corby was a box of meat, as Jane said and Vera echoed her. She deserved to be here.

  “One hundred percent.”

  Corby leaned over the freezer, opened the lock, grabbed the handle, and yanked the door open.

  “Hi there.”

  Corby waited for a few seconds, as if Vera could answer. She didn’t.

  “Hi, Vera,” Corby continued in a friendly voice. “How is it going? Looks like now I’m the one asking questions. Unexpected twist in the middle of the book. How do you like it?”

  Vera lay at the bottom of the box with her eyes closed and her legs bent. Her knees would never straighten out again. The animal printed scarf settled on top of her jacket. Pretty scarf, pretty dead girl. Corby noticed something sparkly on Vera’s neck, leaned closer, pulled the thin chain, and regarded the pendant. The claw of some bird held a pearl. Corby accidentally touched the skin on Vera’s neck and shuddered. Her skin was cold and hard as ice.

  “They think your stepfather is involved in your disappearance,” Corby said, wiping her hand on her pants. “Can you imagine? I didn’t know the police were so stupid. I thought they knew everything, but they are complete idiots. They didn’t even look at me and didn’t really listen.”

  Corby touched the pendant, ran her finger over it.

  “Beautiful. Who gave it to you? Your mother or stepfather? It’s good that your stepfather fought with you. There is a motive, as they say. Everybody talked about you at school today. Just as I’d expected. Especially Jane and Sylvia. Do you think they figured out that I know? No way. No one. I don’t think they ever will.”

  Corby grabbed the pendant with her fingers and tore it from Vera’s neck.

  “It’s all your fault, by the way. Do you understand that? I told you to go. I didn’t want to talk to you. Why did you continue? I didn’t want to push you, it was an accident. I certainly didn’t do anything when you hit your head on the table.”

  She studied the pendant on her palm, wiped it on her jacket, and stuffed it in her pocket.

  “Stay here now. In this cold. You can’t blame me for anything.”

  Corby slammed the door shut, inspected the freezer from all sides looking for details that could arouse suspicion, and after finding nothing, she walked out of the refrigerator. As soon as she entered the hallway, she received a call on her cell. Dad.

  “Yes,” Corby said, thinking that he called because he figured out or felt something.

  “Mom wants me to walk you home today. She said that everyone in her office was talking about the disappearance of your schoolmate.”

  “You can see me from the balcony.”

  “Mom said I have to. Are you ready to go home?”

  “Yes.” Corby sighed. “Come down now.”

  She turned off the phone and smiled as she walked to the door. She was scared again and there was no reason for that. No one knew and no one was going to find out. Corby intended to do everything possible to prevent them from learning the truth.

  She waited for Dad at the door and smiled at him as he approached. It was cold outside, but not as much as it was in the refrigerator. There, in the dark, under the lid of a small freezer, Vera slept forever.

  CHAPTER 10

  They ate dinner without their usual arguments. Her parents talked about Vera and about her stepfather being the number one suspect. Corby listened very carefully, but didn’t ask any questions. She asked one question after she finished her beans, and her salad, which Dad made, and a piece of apple pie, which her mom bought frozen and baked in the oven at home. She ate everything with gusto and was in a great mood.

  “Mom, are your boobs fake?” she asked as she wiped her lips with a napkin. She knew the question was offensive, but she thought about it all night and it was better to ask and forget. She had a lot of other things to think about.

  Dad dropped his fork on the plate after this question was spoken and Mother’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Corby looked at her plate and collected remnants of the pie with her fork.

  “Are you asking me about my breasts?” It turned out her mother did hear the question. “Of course my breasts are real! Why? What kind of question is that?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry,” Corby said. She put down her fork and folded her arms as if she felt sorry and apologized, but in reality she just hoped that her mother would send her to her room. Mom did so immediately. Corby knew her well.

  Now she stood by the open door of the closet in her bedroom and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror.

  She didn’t like the word boobs, which Vera used. It sounded rude and vulgar. Breasts was much better and yes, Corby’s breasts were too obvious to miss. She wore a C-cup bra already and Mother said that she would have to buy her size D bras in a year or two for sure. From Mother it sounded like Corby grew a hump or horns, but it seemed like big breasts were something boys liked. That was how Vera sounded. Also in the fashion magazines that her mother read and on television, they showed women with big breasts all the time and men were always all over them. Did it mean that having big breasts was a good thing and even beautiful? Corby always wore bulky sweaters to cover her chest and stomach. This was a problem. Besides big breasts, she also had a big belly. She was fat. Vera asked why she didn’t try to lose weight and Corby didn’t know the answer to that question. Her mother wanted her daughter to eat a better diet, but Corby didn’t think seriously about it. Why? Because she liked to eat and didn’t like to play sports, there was the answer. Also, she had a very beautiful mother and she could never become like her anyway. Why bother?

  Corb
y spun around, regarding herself from all sides, and then did a squat. Then again and again. After ten squats her breathing became erratic and Corby collapsed on the bed.

  “That’s just horrible. How can people do this every day?”

  The truth was that people did. Even her mother went to the gym every other day. Her dad did yoga at home on the mat and then he meditated under some intoxicating music and burning incense that Mother hated. Mother hated it, but Father insisted that it was relaxing and calming, which made Mother even angrier.

  Corby lay on her back for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling, and then she sat up and moved closer to the nightstand. She pulled out the drawer, pushed aside a pile of jewelry: metal bracelets, earrings, necklaces, and took out a small black pouch from a corner. She carefully untied the strings and shook a clawed paw with the pearl in it onto her hand.

  Her mother had a necklace that looked like that, but instead of a claw there was a flower. Corby took the pendant to the light, twisted it between her fingers, and then went to the mirror and put it around her neck. The pearl shimmered with different colors. Corby found a dress in the closet that her mother bought her for Christmas, took off her sweat suit, and pulled it on. To her surprise, the zipper closed without hesitation, although before today Corby had to draw her belly in and ask her mom for help to fasten it in the dressing room. The dress was beautiful, dark purple, with a wide belt and silver embroidery at the neck. The pearl landed on top of the soft fabric and it made the pendant even brighter. Corby let her hair down, shook her head, spilling curls over her shoulders.

  She was really beautiful, Vera didn’t lie. Vera. Vera, who laughed at her at school, who laughed at her in the shop, and who now rested in the freezer, and Corby wore her necklace. Life was unpredictable. Who had the last laugh? Not Vera.

  “I did,” Corby said, pointing her finger at her chest. “I had the last laugh.”

  She crept through the room on her tiptoes, opened the door, and made sure that her parents were watching the TV downstairs. Silently, Corby sneaked into her parents’ bedroom then into her mother’s closet, where more than two dozen pairs of shoes rested on the shelves. There were low and high heels, boots and sandals, sneakers and pumps. Everything was organized in neat rows. Corby found black boots in the far corner, which her mom hadn’t worn in a long time, grabbed them, and went back to her bedroom unnoticed. She put the boots on and found them to be a little tight, but it didn’t bother her. She turned in front of the mirror again, danced, and was surprised to discover that she no longer hated herself, or her face, or her hideous body. She even liked herself a little. Corby smiled, blushed, and lowered her eyes in front of her own reflection. Then she admired her appearance for several more minutes and when her mother asked if she was going to bed and if she had finished her homework, Corby responded positively to both questions. Then she dressed in her pajamas, put the boots in her closet, the pendant in a far corner of the nightstand, and she sat down in front of her laptop.

  It was difficult to concentrate on her work, too much was going on, too many thoughts, but she learned how to do it during her time in high school and constant humiliation. It was necessary for survival; otherwise she could end up like those other kids who had killed themselves.

  Corby laughed.

  “Only I killed someone else.”

  After that, her homework looked much easier.

  CHAPTER 11

  Corby didn’t put on her mom’s boots or any other new clothes for school. She wore her usual ensemble: a sweatshirt, this time with the word Boston across her chest, and a pair of old jeans. Though, before she took a shower, she did another set of sit-ups, eleven this time, and then thought and added five more. She also made her ponytail to avoid any hairs sticking out and managed to paint her nails while eating breakfast. Mom didn’t even notice while taking care of her makeup and talking about a man who was supposed to be on her show today. Some nutritionist. When she talked about him, she briefly looked up from the mirror and studied her daughter. Corby knew what she meant to say with this look. Nutritionist—diet—fat daughter. Mother looked at Corby, but didn’t notice that her daughter almost didn’t eat, and was engaged in her manicure.

  Today, Dad took Corby to school, because her mother needed to pick up a dress from the dry cleaner. Corby had never talked to her dad in the car because it seemed like he always meditated. That was why she shuddered when he suddenly spoke.

  “Is Bodroff back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Do you think she ran away?” Corby was glad she was able to communicate with her father and discuss the topic that was interesting to her. She might learn something new.

  “Either that or her stepfather really has something to do with this story.”

  “Like what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know.”

  “Why not? I’m fifteen!”

  Patrick glanced at her then turned back to the road. “You raised your voice. You only talked like that when you were a little kid,” he said.

  Corby clenched her hands into fists. “And now, because I’m angry at you,” she said.

  “Corby!” Dad took a deep breath. “We can’t argue, especially in the morning. This disrupts the flow of energy and can ruin your whole day.”

  “I just wanted to know what they are saying about Vera and her stepfather.”

  “We’re almost there. No time to talk.”

  “Aha. Are you going to the shop today?”

  “Of course. It’s my job.”

  “You don’t go there very often lately that’s why I asked.”

  “I don’t go there often because ... this business is dissonant with my outlook on life.”

  “Dad, you said there is nothing wrong with your business. If it wasn’t you, someone else would do it. You, at least, buy meat from honest farmers who care about their animals, treat them humanely. You feed people.”

  “Dead flesh!” Dad exclaimed and Corby jumped. “I feed them dead flesh! They kill animals, you know? They kill them! They grow them specifically to kill! They kill cows! You know how clever cows are? They are not much stupider than you and I. They kill them and I help them to get rid of the corpses. I earn money on dead flesh and feed it to people. This is terrible! What am I doing with my life?”

  Corby watched her father in horror, at tears rolling down his cheeks. Mom said that he went too far in his vegetarianism, but it looked like she missed something. He didn’t go too far, he was already gone, and no one had noticed.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Father said, wiping his nose with his fist while approaching the curb near the school. “That was just … I exploded a little … Okay, I’ll see you tonight. Mom will pick you up.”

  “I know. Bye.”

  There wasn’t a goodbye kiss and when Corby turned back to the car, she saw her dad wiping away tears.

  She was frowning when she walked to the school, trying to understand what just happened and why. Why had her father “exploded a little?” What did she say to make him explode? When she reached the school building she decided she didn’t do anything. She could have said anything and he still would have said it all. He meant to say it probably for a very long time.

  Following old habits, Corby hunched her shoulders once she crossed the school threshold. She waited for a dirty trick. A flying piece of paper or a harsh word. But today, just like yesterday, no one paid attention to her. She didn’t hear anything about Vera while walking through the hallway, but when she entered the classroom, she saw her classmates gathered around Jane’s desk again. Jacob was also there. He noticed Corby first and held her gaze for a moment, but he said and did nothing, just went back to the conversation.

  “Hey! Mackentile!” Corby heard once she sat behind her desk. She didn’t turn around. It was Sylvia. “Maybe you finished off Vera and stashed her in your shop? Like a piece of meat?”

  Corby froze, her breathing was interrupted,
it seemed that her heart had stopped. She didn’t move and just listened. They figured it out. They figured it out! Would they kill her like she’d seen a couple of times in movies about teenagers, or give her to the police? The fear lasted only a few seconds. There was a short laugh behind Corby’s back that was joined by a dozen more. It was a joke? Just a joke? Really? They didn’t figure it out?

  Despite her fear, Corby turned to her classmates and saw them laughing quite honestly. It really was a joke. Corby felt such relief that she couldn’t hold back a laugh too. This fact, for some reason, cheered her classmates even more. Only Jacob didn’t laugh. He had a book in his hands and studied the cover with great interest. Corby wanted to know what he was reading, but she couldn’t see and then the bell rang and everyone took their seats.

  The teacher didn’t say anything about Vera today, as if nothing had happened to her, but as soon as the recess came and all the students had left the classroom, Corby heard someone mentioning her name again. She stood by the locker, changing some textbooks and listening to other students passing, when a familiar voice called her. Corby slammed the locker door shut and turned to Jacob. She didn’t dare to smile and didn’t know if maybe she should. She didn’t know what to do and what not to, so she stood there like a statue and stared at him.

  “Their jokes are stupid,” he said. “What if something really happened to Vera? If they tell us that she was found, it won’t be so funny.”

  “Do you think they will find her?” Corby asked and felt her face turning red. She couldn’t believe that she spoke to such a handsome boy. That she spoke to any boy!

  “I hope,” he said. “I understand that you probably don’t care.”

  “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her,” Corby said. Now all the color should have left her face. She was such a liar.