by Donna Cooner
He looks up from his plate. “Sure. I guess so.”
Asking for help feels like jumping off a cliff into a free-fall dive. But it is too late to turn back. “How do I start?”
He studies me carefully and then asks, “Have you been to the cemetery yet?”
“No. Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s where a lot of people find peace after someone dies. I think of it as a place you can go to deal with anything still needing to be said. Maybe that’s where you start.”
I think about it. “Can you give me directions?” I ask.
“Your sister is out at the Ferris Family Cemetery. It’s way back in the woods off Highway 30. A lot of those roads don’t even have names. You have to know where you’re going. Why not ask your parents to take you?”
“They have a lot on their minds right now,” I mumble, not wanting to explain how my mom doesn’t drive much since Miranda’s death and my dad is gone all the time. I put the half-eaten taco down on the plate. Silently, I trace a heart shape that’s been carved into the wooden tabletop.
“I guess I could draw you a map.” Luis holds up his fork, considering a moment before sinking it back into the melted cheese in front of him.
I think driving through the woods while looking at a map would be completely overwhelming. There’s no way I could drive miles out of town by myself. I was a nervous wreck just getting here, and it was only a few miles from my house; and I don’t want to go alone.
Mostly, I don’t want to go alone.
“Can you take me out there?” I ask.
“I thought you were driving now.”
“I am, but …” I glance up, suddenly hopefully. I can tell he’s considering it. “What does it look like? The cemetery.”
He eats a few more bites before saying, “It’s a pretty place. Sits right on the edge of the Sam Houston National Forest. In the spring, one whole side is covered in bluebonnets.”
That sounds nice. Blue was Miranda’s favorite color.
“It’s old,” he continues. “Some of the gravestones go back to the eighteen hundreds. Why did your parents pick that place anyway? It’s a long way from Colorado.”
“My father’s family is all buried there, way back to my grandfather’s father.”
Luis nods. “There are a lot of families there. You can see the same names repeated over and over on the tombstones.”
“I need to see it,” I say.
“I have to make a delivery out there later this week.” At my expression, he adds, “Flowers. I’m delivering flowers.”
“Great,” I say, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. “You’re delivering flowers, and me.”
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BEAUTYSTARZ15 VIDEO LEAKED
Re: BEAUTYSTARZ15 VIDEO LEAKED
Forever16 wrote: Is it still up? I want to see if it’s real.
Re: Re: BEAUTYSTARZ15 VIDEO LEAKED
Raventress wrote: Interesting. They took down the video. I wonder what this will mean for her.
Re: Re: Re: BEAUTYSTARZ15 VIDEO LEAKED
QueenPink wrote: Yep. It’s real. Torrey should just talk about it and not ignore it. She’s naive to think it will just disappear.
Re: Re: Re: Re: BEAUTYSTARZ15 VIDEO LEAKED
Cheergirl wrote: How can she be so shameless and act so innocent after what she did? I always knew she was a fake little sellout. Fake personality. Fake face. Fake voice. Fake. Fake. Fake.
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: BEAUTYSTARZ15 VIDEO LEAKED
Heartsticks wrote: I always said she was a horrible little twit. Look how she talked to her poor little sister! Now everyone can see her true colors.
“If you want to start your own channel, be personable! That’s the most important thing to remember.” —Torrey Grey, Beautystarz15
“I think the purple looks good on him, don’t you?” Raylene asks me.
It’s Thursday afternoon and she’s standing in front of my house. I’m trying to decipher my notes from biology while waiting for Luis to take me to the cemetery, but the breeze on the porch keeps blowing my notebook pages back and forth. The constant flutter of the paper, and Raylene, makes it impossible to concentrate. I could go back inside, but my mom is sitting on the couch in the living room. There will be tons of questions if Luis comes to the door. So I’m stuck outside with Raylene and Stu.
I look down at the cat, who is wearing a new sequined harness.
“He doesn’t look so thrilled about it to me.”
“I saw this show on TV this weekend where this guy walked his cat everywhere on a leash just like a dog.”
“So how did that work for you so far?” I actually already know the answer, since I just watched Raylene try to drag a very angry Stu, spinning and spitting, down the sidewalk on a matching purple sequined leash.
“Very funny,” she says sarcastically. “He’ll learn. He’s just a little stubborn.”
“You think?” I stare down at Stu, who stares back up at me. I think he’s trying to send me psychic cat signals to say, Please take that stupid harness off. I narrow my eyes and send him back a mental message, Sorry, boy.
I can tell it’s killing Raylene to not know what I’m doing hanging around outside on the porch, but the last thing I want is for her to be here when Luis pulls up. She needs to leave and take that cat with her. So far I haven’t come up with a plan to make that happen.
“I see you eating lunch at Blair’s table every day now. You guys look pretty close,” Raylene announces as she sits down beside me on the steps. She’s wearing a red tank top with the word Juicy spelled out in rhinestones across the front. She is also wearing blue-jean cutoffs and flip-flops. “I try to get her to just say hello for the last two years and in four weeks you’re sitting at her lunch table with all her minions. How did you do it?”
“Popular is as popular does. It’s all about building the buzz,” I say, like I’m talking to my viewers on my vlog. The plan for popularity is moving along slowly, but it’s working. Every day, I’m getting just a little bit closer to Blair’s inner circle. I don’t wait to be asked to sit at her table anymore.
“And that’s exactly why I’m trying out for twirling. I’m building the buzzzzzz.” Raylene stretches out the Z sound into at least three syllables. She crosses one bare leg over the top of the other and pulls the October issue of Glamour magazine out of her hobo bag. I try to ignore the foot swinging in and out of my peripheral vision, the mingled smell of several different brands of perfume coming from the magazine, and the blinged-out cat sitting at my feet.
“By the way, do you think this color makes my legs look golden brown?” she asks.
I looked at her bright pink toes. “I guess so.”
“Remember your post about pedicures last May? When you said baby pink was the best color to go with a tan?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised she remembers.
“Well, this is as close to Poppin’ Pink — the one you showed — as I could find.” She stretches one leg out in front of her and we both stare at it for a few minutes in silence. Then, in typical Raylene fashion, she changes the subject. “Have you been to Jilly’s yet?”
“No,” I say, but I know it’s where all the popular kids hang out after school. So far Blair hasn’t asked me, but she will. Baby steps with lots of smiles and compliments. I’ll get there. “I’ve been really busy.”
“Uh-huh,” Raylene says, like she doesn’t believe me. Then she turns a page in the magazine, pries open yet another perfume ad from an insert, and rubs the paper on her inner elbow. She pauses a moment, takes a big sniff of her arm, and then begins flipping pages again. “Did you know Ross Adams plays the drums, which everyone knows is the coolest instrument possible to play if you’re in band?”
Raylene’s train of thought is as hard to follow as always. I turn the page of my biology notes and frown like I’m concentr
ating really hard.
Go home, Raylene. Go home, Raylene.
“I thought he played football,” I say, and then mentally kick myself, because that’s just going to encourage the conversation.
“He plays that, too. Wide receiver.”
I turn a page in my biology notebook and slide it under one leg to try and keep it from blowing back again. “Didn’t know he was so multitalented.”
“Oh, Ross is really good at football. Like, varsity-as-a-sophomore kind of good.”
I glance over. Sounds like somebody has a crush on Ross. “Yeah. I saw him practicing.”
“Our team probably would have been in the playoffs next year if Luis hadn’t quit. It threw the whole team off.”
“Luis?”
My heart jumps.
Luis Rivera?
“You didn’t know?” Raylene says, still intent on the magazine. “He and Ross were an amazing duo until Luis just walked away from it all.”
No, I didn’t know Luis played football. Or that he and Ross used to be friends.
“What happened?” I ask, still trying to process this new information.
“Not sure,” Raylene says, rubbing on more perfume samples. “By the way, I need a favor. You know that my twirling solo competition is next weekend, right?”
“No,” I say, looking up the street to see if Luis is coming. I’m starting to actually follow Raylene’s constantly changing topics. It scares me a little.
“Alysia Warwick singed her arm on a flaming baton last week, and that puts her out of the competition. And you know who that moves right into one of the top three spots?”
“No,” I say.
“Me, silly!” Raylene grins and nudges me. “So it’s going to be down in Conroe next weekend, and I need to go down early to get in line and practice and everything. You understand, right?”
“No.” I glance down at my watch. Luis should be here any minute.
Go home, Raylene. Go home, Raylene.
“Well, my parents are going to go, of course, and we both know I can’t leave Stu alone all weekend with his separation-anxiety issues and all, so …”
“NO,” I say louder. Now I know where this is going. “I am not cat-sitting, Raylene.”
“He just likes to be around people,” Raylene says.
I sigh.
“It’s just for the weekend,” Raylene continues pleadingly, “and Stu really LOVES you. I wouldn’t leave him with just anyone.”
Stu sits at my feet and stares at me with green unblinking eyes.
“I can’t take care of the cat. I have plans,” I say to both of them.
“You have plans?” Raylene asks.
Uh-oh. Now I am on dangerous ground. My quick little white lie is going to need some creative detail.
“So what are you going to wear to the competition?” I ask, trying to change the subject. It’s too late.
“You DO have plans. What kind of plans?” Raylene’s eyes narrow in interest.
“Nothing much. No big deal.” As the words are coming out of my mouth, I’m trying to frantically think of something.
“Girrrrllllllllllllll! And you weren’t going to TELL me?” She yells so loudly I jump. “Big date? With who? Luis?”
“Why would you say that?” I snap. Why would Raylene even think this was a possibility?
Raylene smiles. “I saw you guys jogging together last week. I don’t care what Blair says about him. He’s a … dor … a … ble!” She draws out the word admiringly. “All those muscles. And you guys probably have a lot to talk about.”
“Like dead people?” I ask sarcastically.
“Okay. Okay. Obviously someone is in a bad mood this afternoon.” She slides off my porch step, leaving behind a cloud of perfume and taking the magazine with her.
She is right. I’m not in a talking mood. I have too many things tumbling around inside my sleep-deprived brain.
“But you’re still going to take care of Stu, right?” Raylene calls out from the end of the driveway.
“My dad is going out of town that weekend, so I’ll have to ask my mom,” I say, thinking that this is my way out. I’ll tell Raylene that Mom said no. I lean over to put away my biology notes, trying to escape her curious eyes.
“Your mom already said yes. I talked to her after school.”
My shoulders slump down in surrender. Raylene is exhausting.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” I say in a small voice. I give up.
“Great. I’ll bring you a big bag of Mr. Purrfect and his leash when I drop him off next Saturday.” Point, Raylene.
Stu jumps up on my lap, turns around once, and then curls into a massive ball of fur and purple glitter. Within seconds, his eyes close to slits and I hear the satisfied rumble of his purr. I am now officially a cat-sitter. Point, Stu.
“Come back and get this cat,” I call out.
Raylene retrieves Stu and pulls him across the street on his leash just as the black van pulls up to the curb with the lettering RIVERA FUNERAL HOME on the side panel. Great. I’m going to a hidden cemetery in a funeral parlor van.
Luckily, no one else seems to be watching except for Raylene and a very grumpy Stu.
Luis rolls down the window as I come around the front of the van. “Something wrong?” he asks.
“No,” I say, opening the passenger side and sliding in. “Let’s go.”
I wave a quick good-bye to a gaping Raylene, and close the van door firmly behind me. There will definitely be questions when I get back, but I’ll deal with that later.
“Hey.” Luis nods at me and I give him a quick smile. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
“No problem.” I think back to Raylene’s surprising bit of information about Luis.
He played football? With Ross? So he wasn’t always the outcast from Blair’s society?
We turn left and head out on Highway 30. The cemetery is about ten miles outside of town, so there is plenty of time to talk. Whether I want to or not. I glance sideways at Luis’s profile.
“So you used to play football?” I ask casually, as though it’s no big deal.
“Yes,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate and there is no sign of that face-changing grin.
I push a little harder, curious. “Why did you stop?”
He looks over at me, then back to the road. “It took up too much time. I needed to work.”
Then he reaches out and clicks on the radio, effectively cutting off my questions with the violins of a country-western song. I want to ask him more, but the subject is obviously closed.
So I pull out my phone. There are two more texts from Zoe and a missed call. I ignore it. The gossip board is still going crazy with comments about the video even though it’s not even up anymore. Each typed sentence holds up or down a thumb like a Roman arena of opinions. The lions are pacing outside the gates, slashing through the monitor with razor-sharp opinions.
I’m not who you think I am.
Or maybe I am.
I feel a rush of anger and make myself look away from the screen. “Thank you for doing this,” I say to Luis.
He glances sideways at me again, then back ahead. “You’re welcome.”
There is a long silence after that. I put my phone away in my pocket and stare straight ahead at the highway stretching out into the forest on either side.
“What happened to him?” he finally asks.
“Who?” I glance over.
“The man who killed your sister.”
I look back out the front window at the pine trees flashing by. “He’s in prison in Colorado. There was a deal. He pled guilty and is going to be sentenced in December.”
“And that’s when you’ll make this statement?”
“Yeah,” I say.
We drive for a few more minutes in silence until Luis speaks again. “Tell me more about your sister.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you feel like telling me.”
I think about my res
ponse for a minute. “She had this really quirky sense of humor. For her birthday, she always tried to ask for something weird. The stranger and harder to find, the better. Shopping was always my thing and she was always trying to stump me. It was like a tradition.”
He smiles, but doesn’t say anything. I keep talking.
“I don’t remember how it started. Last year, she wanted socks with pictures of socks on them.”
He laughs.
“She thought the idea of those socks was hysterically funny. Socks with socks. She collapsed with giggles every time she said the phrase.”
Miranda had a great laugh. It was infectious. It was so silly, but the memory makes me smile.
When she was younger, she and Mom used to giggle hysterically over stupid jokes like Why did the chicken cross the playground? To get to the other slide. They looked so much alike, with blond curls and big blue eyes, and when they were together they even acted alike — laughing at the same jokes and singing out loud to the same songs on the radio.
“Did she get them?” Luis asks.
“What?” I blink away the memory of my mom and Miranda singing “Baby Beluga” at the top of their lungs.
“Did she ever get the socks with socks?”
“No. Surprisingly, they’re hard to find. I was going to try again this year….” My voice trails off and we both think about why it wouldn’t matter now.
I take a lot of pride in giving perfect gifts. And Miranda’s gift challenges were the only times she actually appreciated my talent. On birthdays and Christmas, it was okay for me to be the master shopper. She didn’t turn up her nose at how much effort I spent on shopping. I could always eventually find the right thing for each individual.
Things. Like the things in my closet.
Luis turns off the two-lane highway onto a gravel path that leads back into the woods. A clearing comes into view and I realize I’m holding my breath. He pulls up beside a low iron fence and turns off the van.
