by Carrie Mac
The wind was oddly warm as they broke apart the mannequin and stuffed it into black garbage bags. Zoe had to jump on the knees to break the legs. She snapped the arms in half over a boulder, all the time wondering if this was what it felt like to break a real person. The crack of bone. The resistance. It felt wrong.
Zoe had suggested tipping her whole into the garbage, but April had refused. Zoe understood; if they’d left her whole, the horror would be bigger, an unintentional homage to all the murdered women found in dumpsters everywhere. If they left her whole, Zoe would think of her like that, lying on top of the trash, eyes wide open. This way it was somewhat finished.
The broken body bits fit into four bags, which they carried, two each, over to the bin behind the Budget & Bargain store. April tossed the bags in, one at a time. Zoe stood aside, hands clasped behind her back, feeling as though they should say something funereal.
“You’re the Christian,” she murmured. “Say something.”
“She’s not real.” April heaved the last bag over the edge. “She has no soul.”
April wiped her hands on her nightgown and walked away.
“Sorry,” Zoe mumbled at the closed dumpster. “Rest in peace.” She followed April across the road. The two girls went their separate ways in an eerie silence, without so much as a good-bye.
Zoe went to school early that day, to finish one of the extra assignments Mrs. Henley had given her and April that was due that class, and to take her mind off the mannequin. The last person she expected to see was Beck, but there she was, sitting cross-legged on Zoe’s desk, a cup of coffee in each hand. Zoe had smelled the coffee from the hall and had known it was Beck. She could’ve turned around, but she didn’t. She balked at the door, heart pounding. Beck glanced up at the wall clock.
“Aren’t you early.” She said it like an accusation.
Zoe didn’t answer. She wondered if she bolted, would Beck come after her alone? It wasn’t like Beck to work alone.
“I guess you would have to come in early, what with all that babysitting, and whatever else it is you do with your time. What do you do with your time?” She held one of the paper cups in Zoe’s direction. “I got it the way you like it, honey and cream.”
That coffee was like that cigarette on the second day of school. A peace offering. A test. Only now Zoe knew better. Beck knew Zoe knew about the mannequin. Take the coffee, and it would be an apology as well as a symbolic approval about the mannequin. Don’t take the coffee and it would only be a matter of time before Zoe would look out her own bedroom window and see her own suicidal mannequin, with two black braids and a knife in her chest. What would her note say? “Traitor? Dog lover? Do us all a favor, bitch?”
Zoe’s initial fear morphed into a tenuous anger.
“That’s my seat, Beck,” Zoe said, much to her own surprise. Zoe could tell Beck was taken aback too, by the way she pulled back her head, as if avoiding an insect flying at her.
“Gee, Beck, thanks for the coffee.” Beck was still holding the coffee out to her. “That’s really nice of you.”
Zoe sighed. “That’s my seat.”
“So it is.” Beck shimmied off the desk. “It’s all yours.”
Zoe took her seat and pulled the grammar text from her pack. She flipped to the index, trying to look studious.
“So, Zoe, what’d you do last night? Hang out with the man in black? What’s his name? Autumn Wind? Maple Tree?”
Zoe turned to a random page and tried to read, but the words blurred. She waited for Beck to throw the coffee at her, dump it in her lap, over her head, down the back of her shirt. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do, the guy in the Ramones shirt, who thinks he’s better than everybody else?” Beck set down the coffee and yanked the book out of Zoe hands. She let it drop onto the floor with a bang. “Freak boy? Blue hair? Newspaper geek?”
“His name is Leaf.”
“Leaf, how could I have forgotten?” Zoe could taste Beck’s sarcasm like it was a vapor filling the room. “So, you still a virgin?”
Zoe leaned down to pick up the book, but Beck stepped on it. Zoe stared at Beck’s boots, the scuff marks, the worn leather. She considered grabbing Beck’s ankle with both her hands and pulling her off her feet. She relished the idea, Beck sprawled on her back in a pool of coffee, hopefully unconscious from cracking her head on a desk on the way down. Maybe she’d stay that way. That’d be nice.
“Shut up, Beck.” There was that flare of anger again, illuminating Zoe’s black cavern of fear. “Just shut up. Just stop talking. Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up.”
“Whoa.” Beck took a sip of her own coffee. “Where’d that come from, huh? Feel better now?”
“I saw what you did.” Zoe closed her eyes for a second to get rid of the image of the disembodied head swinging in the noose. “April showed me.”
“Showed you what?”
“You know what.”
“No. I don’t. Tell me all about it.”
Zoe sighed. “You’re so innocent, aren’t you?”
Beck toasted herself with the two coffees. “Always.”
“Sure, you and Charles Manson.”
Beck’s self-satisfied smile melted into a slack-jawed glare. She set the cups on the desk and leaned forward, pushing up Zoe’s sleeve, poking the scar.
“Don’t think you can get away from this so easily, Zoe. I have an investment in you.”
“You have nothing on me.” Zoe wrenched her arm away. “Leave me alone.”
“Never. You came in formally. You leave formally. I choose when. I choose where. I choose how bad.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Beck.”
“Yes, you are. And if you’re not, you should be.”
“Why did you do it?”
“What?”
Zoe had been about to ask about the mannequin, but instead she said, “Why did you initiate me?”
“It was a mistake.”
“But why?”
Zoe sensed Beck’s mood change, like the space between them had widened without either of them moving.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Who initiated you?”
Beck swallowed.
Zoe wanted to make a slice across Beck’s perfect surface. She had the blade too. She knew who’d initiated Beck. She knew what had happened to her. She could only imagine what it would be like with a father like Mr. Wilson. As much as Zoe wanted to hurt her, she couldn’t bring herself to do it so brutally. Besides, if Beck knew that Simon had told her, it would just put Simon in Beck’s scope. He would be annihilated.
“Can I have my book back?” Zoe said instead of all the other things she could’ve.
“Get it yourself, bitch.” Beck kicked the book, sending it skidding under the desks as the first bell rang. “That was your last chance, Zoe. You blew it.” She picked up her own coffee and then Zoe’s, and then she tipped them both into Zoe’s lap.
Zoe didn’t even flinch, she’d expected it so completely. She calmly got up and left to change into her gym shorts. Behind her, Beck laughed a little too forcefully, a little too loud and a little too long.
Zoe was surprised to see April there when she went back to class. If the mannequin had been an effigy of her, Zoe would’ve stayed home, pretending she was sick, anything to not face Beck. Zoe smiled at April as she took her seat, making sure Beck saw.
A couple of minutes into the lesson, while Mrs. Henley was busy writing something on the board, Beck twisted in her seat and sneered at April, hanging her head to the side, holding up an imaginary noose and sticking out her tongue like someone being strangled. Mrs. Henley turned around, mouth open, about to explain something, and then she saw Beck.
“I saw that, Rebecca.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Saw what? I was stretching.”
“I don’t believe you.”
April bolted from her desk and ran out of the room.
“April! Where are you going?” M
rs. Henley called after her.
April didn’t stop. She tore down the hall to the stairs at the other end, her footsteps fading fast.
“Beck, gather your things and take yourself to Mr. Seaton’s office. Immediately.”
Beck turned red, from the scoop of her T-shirt up her neck like a thermometer, until her cheeks blazed. “Tell me what I did that’s so bad.”
“I do not answer to you, Rebecca. Gather your things.”
“My name is Beck.”
“Your name is Rebecca.”
“Okay, Jane.” Beck whipped her bag from under her seat and shoved her books into it. “You can keep this.” She balled up her worksheet and chucked it. Mrs. Henley caught it with one hand.
Now it was Mrs. Henley’s turn to go crimson. “I suggest you pick another time and place to have your little temper tantrum, Rebecca. It’s very unbecoming.”
“Well, I pick now.” She stormed up the aisle. “Deal with it, Jane.”
The door slammed behind her. The whole corridor could hear her rip down the hall, kicking lockers, knocking over the two metal garbage cans at the top of the stairs. They clattered and banged down to the landing. Mrs. Henley gracefully opened the door, stepped out and took a deep breath before hollering with drill-sergeant clarity and volume.
“And if you do not make it all the way into Mr. Seaton’s office, I will find out and there will be hell to pay! Is that understood?”
There was no reply.
Zoe surveyed the room. Everyone carefully stared at their worksheet, including Jazz. Lindsay was the only exception. She slouched in her seat, gripping the sides of her desk.
“Do not even think about leaving this room, Lindsay McAllister.” Mrs. Henley looked down her nose at her. “Furthermore, I do not want to hear a word from you. I am not in the mood.” She readjusted her reading glasses and took a deep breath through her nose, nostrils flaring. “Now, if you would all be so kind as to turn to page seventy in the text, we will continue where we left off before we were so immaturely interrupted.”
There was a compliant shuffle as pages turned, then cowed silence as Mrs. Henley continued with the lesson on dangling participles.
ashes
After trying mildly to convince her not to, Mrs. Henley helped April transfer out of that English class. Her new schedule put her in the same science class as Simon and Zoe. At first, Zoe thought she’d have to spend the hour keeping Simon and April from going at each other, but that wasn’t the case. Something had changed between April and Simon, or maybe it was just April who’d changed. Maybe all her prayers to make Simon stop being gay were making her less freaky about it. But Simon had changed too. He was more tolerant of her, even gentle sometimes, and now that the two were more comfortable with each other, it became obvious that they had a wicked sense of humor in common.
The two of them bounced off each other like a comedy duo that was extra funny because they were so very different. They were so slick that sometimes Zoe just sat back and watched. April only ever hesitated in her comebacks when Brady, who sat way across the room by the window, caught her eye, or when Simon’s humor degraded into the obscene or escalated into the outré queer, which April was still squeamish about.
One day, about two weeks after Halloween, Mr. Turner left the class with a quiz before leaving for another gin and tonic break. This meant nobody could leave right away. Brady made a call on his cell phone. Just as people were beginning to finish with the quiz, the door was kicked open and in came Beck, with Heather and Lindsay flanking her a step behind on either side. They shut the door behind them and surveyed the room, hands on hips.
Heather wiggled her fingers at Brady. He kissed the air like a soap star, winking at her, curling his lip in a way he must’ve thought was sexy.
“Ugh.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Straight people are so gross.” He waited for a reaction from April. She had gone white.
“You.” Beck pointed at them.
Zoe wondered if she was there for April, or if this was the un-initiation at long last. Was it going to happen in front of the whole class? Zoe looked to see if Beck had brought scissors to chop of off Zoe’s hair. She hadn’t. Would she use the ones on Mr. Turner’s desk? Or her knife? Did she have a way to get that past security?
“Get over here, bitch.” Did she mean Zoe or April? April started to hyperventilate, a here-we-go-again slump to her shoulders, fingers gripping the edge of the table. She knew who they wanted.
“You don’t have to do what she says,” Simon whispered. He patted her elbow, like a little old lady might inadequately console a hysterical lost toddler. He pulled his hand away as Beck strode down the aisle without her bookends until she was standing right behind April.
Zoe released the breath she’d been holding and slumped with involuntary relief. They hadn’t come for her. Not this time anyway.
“I’m talking to you, bitch.”
April hunched over, covering her beloved notebook with both arms.
Beck stage-whispered, “Now let’s not make this any messier than it needs to be.” She stepped back and waited. After a moment, April stood, clutching her notebook to her chest.
“Simon.” Beck nodded in his direction. “Nice to see you. I thought you’d died or something. Haven’t seen you around much.”
Simon took a second to square his shoulders. “I’ve been busy.” His voice was strong and clear. He enunciated each word sharply. “With other things.”
Beck smiled. “How is Teo, anyway?”
“He’s absolutely perfect.”
“That’s nice. And Zoe,” Beck smiled at her, “In case you’re wondering, we haven’t forgotten about you. We’ll get to you. In the meantime, consider this part of your punishment. Dog?” She shoved April. “You can blame Zoe for this. If she wasn’t such a traitor, we might’ve left you alone. Not now. Like I said,” she winked at Zoe, “We’ll deal with you later.”
Simon sat up, tall in his chair. “I don’t think you two have anything left to deal with from what I hear.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes it is.”
“How about you let me be the judge of that?” Beck grabbed April by the collar of her sweater.
“Get off me.” April tried to shrug her off.
“Not a word,” Beck hissed. “Got it?” She dragged April to the front of the room and shoved her against Mr. Turner’s desk. “Good dog. Stay.”
Beck clasped her hands behind her back and paced across the front of the room.
Simon finally stood up. “What are you doing, Beck?”
Beck wagged a finger at him. “No speaking out of turn, Simon.”
“This isn’t your—”
“You’re only going to make it worse for her, Twinkie-boy. You want to help her out? You want to know what you can do for her? Shut up. That’s what you can do.”
“Beck, you’re way out of line here.”
“I don’t see your hand up, Simon. You’re speaking out of turn.”
“Go ahead, then.” Simon flicked his wrist at her. “Play House or Hitler, or whatever you have in mind.” He gave her the Nazi salute. “Heil, Herr Beck!”
“Cute, Simon.”
Simon sat down. His hands trembled. He leaned over and whispered, a crack in his voice, “This is barbaric.”
Zoe nodded. “But if we do anything, she’ll make it worse for April.”
Beck hurled a piece of chalk at them. It burst on the table in a little cloud of dust that made Simon cough.
“Shut up!”
The rest of the class was already silent, everyone’s eyes on Beck, or April, stranded there at the front of the room, holding her notebook like it was a life preserver, like it would keep her afloat somehow.
“Give it to me.” Beck held out her hand like a mother demanding a baby spit out a marble.
April shook her head. “There’s nothing in it about you anymore. I swear.”
Beck kept her hand open and tilted her head in a way that said, “Don�
�t piss me off” almost as clearly as if she’d said the words out loud.
“Beck, I swear to God there is nothing in here about you. Your name isn’t even mentioned. None of the Beckoners are.”
“Give it to me.”
“Come on, Beck. After last year, do you think I’d be stupid enough to write in here about you?”
“Yes, you’re that stupid.”
“I swear, I haven’t written anything in here about you or any of the Beckoners. Don’t do this, Beck. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t take my notebook.”
“That’s nice. Give it to me.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head. “I won’t.”
“Do you really want to be difficult about this?”
April shook her head again. “I won’t give it to you.”
There was a pause while Beck stared at April, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then she shrugged and said, “All right. Okay.” She pulled April away from the desk and stood behind her like she was going to send her on her way back to her seat with a shove. “Have it your way, Dog.”
April’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, thank you! I’m so—”
Beck reached around and clamped her hand over April’s mouth. April squirmed, trying to scream under Beck’s grip. Her muffled cries sounded like the worst kind of movie screams, the ones that make you wonder what awful real thing the actor was recalling that made her stage scream so horribly real.
Simon gasped. “I can’t watch!” He turned his face away. “Tell me when it’s over.”
Beck nodded to Lindsay.
Lindsay reached forward and ripped the notebook out of April’s grasp. Once she’d lost it, April gave up her struggle and went limp, slipping out of Beck’s grip and to the floor. She put her face in her hands and cried. Lindsay handed the notebook to Beck, who carried it like a sacrificial lamb over to the fume hood.
She placed it inside and then pulled out the same eight ball matchbook she’d used to light Zoe’s cigarette that day so long ago.
