“What do you mean, you’re not? You must know that you’re pretty, June.”
“I know I’m not. Ryan and Lauren tell me all the time.”
“But I’ve told you not to believe them. You mustn’t believe them. You can’t let them win.”
I drop my head and the tears are different now. Exhausted, weary tears that never want to stop.
Blister puts his arms around me and we sit, huddled together on the path.
“They make me angry, June,” he says quietly. “They’re the only thing that really makes me angry.”
And I hate the fact that they do. Gentle, lovely Blister, who makes paper shapes and makes me laugh, feels anger because of them.
“Come on,” he says suddenly, getting up. “I want to show you something.”
I stand up next to him and dust off my shorts. The scrape on my knee is bleeding and I’ve got blood on my hand.
“Are you OK?” Blister looks concerned.
“It’s just a scratch,” I say, even though it really hurts.
I wipe underneath my eyes and black mascara comes away on the inside of my thumb.
Blister smiles. “I think you’ve ruined your make-up.” Then he looks all serious again. “You really don’t need it, June.”
We pick up our bikes. They’re a bit scratched, but they work fine. We cycle back to the trailers, side by side. The sun’s heat is on my arms; it dries the blood on my knee. My legs hurt a bit as they move around, but I don’t care.
“This way,” Blister says, leading me down the path toward our fifth trailer. I’ve only ever been in it once. Blister says it’s where the ghosts live. There’s a shady patch near it where we like to sit. The best wildflowers grow here.
“Hang on,” Blister says, and he puts his hand over my eyes. I let him. I trust him completely. With his other hand, he guides me. “Watch your step.” I lift my leg up slightly, but it feels like I’m only stepping over air. “Right,” he says, as we stop and I feel his hand move away. “You can open them.”
In front of me, the flowers are covered in tons of paper butterflies. It’s so beautiful, so brilliant, that I breathe in and cover my mouth.
“I thought you’d like it.” Blister beams as I bend down to touch one. Its wings are made from purple tissue paper, covered in dots. “They’re for you.”
I get up and throw my arms around him. I never want to move from here. Ever. I feel Blister hug me back and he’s laughing and happy.
We walk among the butterflies. Each one of them is beautiful.
“They’re moving,” I whisper.
“It’s only the breeze.”
“No, they’re definitely moving.” And I swear they are. I promise I see their wings beat.
Blister and I go into the long grass and sit down, surrounded by butterflies.
“I made most of them at home so you wouldn’t see,” he says.
“Did you show your mom?”
“No, only Chubbers. He sat with me on the bedroom floor while I made them. Some of them have his jam fingerprints for patterns.”
I unhook a blue butterfly from a piece of grass and bring it so close to my eyes that I can see its heartbeat. I’m going to take this one home and keep it safe in my box of precious things.
“Would it die?” I ask.
“Would what die?”
“If you put jam on a real butterfly, would it die?”
“I don’t know.”
“Its wings would stick together. And if the jam was on its feet, it would weigh it down.”
Blister nods, pushing up his glasses on his nose. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’ve heard that if you even touch a butterfly’s wing, it’d die.”
“Not a paper one though,” Blister laughs.
So I touch one. “I love them, Blister. They’re the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” I lean over and kiss him on the cheek.
And, in my mind, I scoop up every one of my butterflies and push them down into my heart. I’ll keep them safe and they can beat their wings and no one will ever know that they’re there.
•••
“I don’t think June would do that,” Kathleen says. She tries to hold my hand, but I keep my fist clenched and I won’t let her. She’s sitting as close to me as she can get and I know that if I looked at her I’d see her false worry lines cracked deep into her skin.
“I’m afraid that she did,” Mrs. Andrews says. “It was in the middle of the class yesterday. The teacher saw everything.”
I feel Kathleen turn to look at me. I stare straight to the front.
“June?” she asks, her voice sweet as sugar. I don’t reply.
“June,” Mrs. Andrews continues, “this is a very serious offense.”
“They made me do it,” I say.
“Who?”
“Lauren and Cherry. They were laughing at me.” I move my head so I’m looking Mrs. Andrews directly in the eye. She’ll see the truth there. She’ll come and help me.
“I’m not saying that they were right to do that, June, but you were completely wrong to hit Cherry.”
I stare at her. She’ll know. She’ll know about Kathleen.
“I can’t just let this go. I’m going to have to suspend you for three days. You won’t be coming back to school until next Monday.”
“But I won’t be at home to look after her,” Kathleen says. “I’ll be at work.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve no option, Mrs. Kingston,” she says. Kathleen has all her attention. I may as well have vanished in a puff of smoke.
“That’s OK. We’ll work something out. And she won’t do it again,” my dutiful stepmother says.
“Maybe a small punishment at home would work too,” Mrs. Andrews continues. “Banning their mobile phones seems a good idea these days.”
Kathleen nods. “Don’t worry, I’ll have a long talk with her. She’s a good girl. It won’t happen again.” She stands up and strokes my hair. She doesn’t try to take my hand again.
“We’ll see you on Monday, June,” Mrs. Andrews says. “Mrs. Kingston, I’ll be in touch to tell you how June is getting on.”
She closes the door behind us. The corridor is empty. All the children have gone home. I walk with Kathleen in silence toward the car. Megan is sitting in the passenger seat. She looks at me as though she wants to ask a question, but she doesn’t say a word.
They talk all the way home, as though I’m not here. About their day, about Megan’s math class, about Shannon’s party.
If I opened the car door and jumped out now, I could roll along the ground and then run away. I’d be so quick into the forest that they wouldn’t know which way to turn. I’d go deeper and make my home there, in a little dark cave, with berries to eat.
The car stops. We’re at the house. Kathleen and Megan get out first and I follow them inside. Megan scuttles up the stairs to her room.
I wait, with my coat on and my bag over my shoulder.
Kathleen goes into the kitchen.
She doesn’t come out.
I put my bag on the floor, take off my coat and hang it on the peg.
Her hand grabs me roughly. She drags me by my hair into the kitchen. Her other hand is over my mouth, so my scream gets stopped in her palm.
She pushes me into a chair, pulls my head back and forces a handful of ice cubes into my mouth and down my throat.
The pain breaks my brain. There’s a choking, gurgling noise coming from me and it feels like the freezing cubes have cut me. I’m going to suffocate on my own blood.
And I’ll never say goodbye to Blister.
He’ll never know.
The room is beginning to fade. It’s going black at the edges.
Kathleen tilts me forward and I cough them out. They’re just ice cubes. They haven’t sliced my throat. I’m not bleeding.
Before she can touch me again, I run from her. I hold my hand to my neck. My skin is still here. I’m still here. I watch my feet run up the stairs. I do exist.
They’re my shoes, my socks. It’s my hand on the door handle. My arm. My hair that I touch. My breathing.
And each one of my breaths shows she hasn’t won.
•••
“June.” Mrs. Wick looks up at me from the plant pot by the kitchen window. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“Our teacher’s sick,” I lie.
“So they sent the whole class home?”
“Yes.” I don’t look her in the eyes, not when she’s so kind to me.
“What about the other teachers?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and shrug. Through the window I can see Si, Chubbs and Mil. They’re sitting together on the ground, deep in conversation.
“Lucky us, then,” Mrs. Wick smiles, although I don’t think she believes me. “Do you want to help me with this?”
“OK.” I look over my shoulder for Blister, but he’s not here.
The plant pot stretches along the length of the window. It has a thin layer of soil in it. She pats it down, seeming not to notice the crumbling bits sinking under her nails.
“Their dad is teaching them about the energy from plants. They’re all scattered around the yard somewhere. Could you hold this?” She passes me a small trowel. “I’m probably too late with these, but I’m going to give it a go.”
Mrs. Wick rips open the packet of seeds and sprinkles them thinly on top of the soil.
“Do you want to put the soil over the top?” she asks.
There’s a bag of compost leaning against the wall. She holds it open for me so that I can duck the trowel in, scoop it up and sprinkle it over the top of the waiting seeds.
“What are you growing?” I ask, bending down for more compost.
“Supposedly cattleya. But I was meant to plant them a couple of months back. They’ll be pretty if they grow, though.” She pats the earth flat over the top. “Did your mom like plants?” Her question takes my breath for an instant. I hadn’t expected it.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Wick goes to the sink and fills a vase with water. She comes back and pours it slowly over the soil.
“Do you have a yard?” she asks.
“A little one. Mom and I used to plant things together.” She’d sing to the flowers to help them grow.
“And now?” She dries her fingers on her apron.
“Now I don’t go out there much.”
Mrs. Wick looks at me as though she’s trying to work something out. As though I’m a puzzle that she can’t quite solve.
•••
I sit on Blister’s bed, my back to the wall. His room is tiny. His dad divided his and Maggie’s room, so that they could have their own space. If I stretch my legs out straight, they can almost touch the other wall.
Blister sits on the chair next to his bed. It doubles as a table, so he’s had to move his books and clock to the floor.
“What’s the real reason, then?” He looks at me intently. I know what he’s asking and I don’t want to lie.
“I got suspended.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not allowed to go back to school until Monday.”
“That doesn’t seem to be much of a punishment.”
I smile. “We can hang out together.”
“Don’t you have to stay at home?” Blister asks.
“Dad and Kathleen are at work. They won’t know.”
“Oh, right.”
“And Kathleen confiscated my mobile phone.”
“Well, that’s no punishment either.”
“Because I haven’t got any friends to call?” I laugh, even though the words hurt a bit.
“If I had a phone, you could call me,” Blister says seriously.
“It wouldn’t work from your house anyway.”
Blister nods. “What did you do, to get suspended?”
“I hit Cherry,” I say.
Blister whistles softly. “What was she doing to you?”
I shrug. “Just being mean.”
“But what?” Blister persists. I look him right in the eyes. He’s my friend. He’d never say the things they do.
“That my mom deserved to die.”
Blister sits so still, but red creeps into his face. I realize that his fingers are clenched so much that his knuckles have gone bright white. I hate making him feel this way.
“It’s OK,” I say.
“No, June, it’s not.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“You know it’s not true, don’t you?” he asks. I don’t blink as he looks at me. “Your mom was worth all of them put together.”
“She was beautiful, Blister.”
“I know she was.”
“And she was kind,” I say as Blister leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “And she was the best mom.”
“Of course she was. She made you.”
There’s something in the air between us that’s never been here before. It’s so strong I can almost touch it. I breathe deeply to push it away.
The door flings open and Maggie is standing here, her face fuming.
“Blister, have you been in my room?”
“No,” he says, straightening his back against the chair.
“Someone has definitely been in my room.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Si!” she screams, turning away from us and stomping down the hall.
The air has changed again. It’s just our friendship back.
“Blister!” Mr. Wick yells up the stairs. “We’re waiting for you.”
“I’d better go,” I say, but my chest hurts at the thought of biking back home.
“Don’t,” Blister says. “Come and join our school for the afternoon. Experience lessons Wick style.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. He takes my hand and we go down the stairs.
•••
My bed has been soaked with water. I didn’t realize it before I got in and now my pajamas are wet too. I lift the sheet. Underneath it, the mattress is sodden. I strip off the duvet cover, but inside it’s already damp. I roll up the cold sheet and throw it on the floor.
The mattress is difficult to lift and turn over, but I get it flat and push it back into place.
This side is soaked too. It’ll take days to dry out.
I curl up on the floor and pull the duvet around me. I’m a bird in a nest. I have wings so strong that I’ll fly away. Over the treetops, up to the clouds, through the blue, until I’m swallowed by the warm of the sun.
There’s a knocking of something on my window. I open my eyes, but I don’t know where I am. I’m warm, but my side aches and, even in the almost dark, I know the room isn’t how it’s meant to be.
Slowly, the pieces come back together and I remember the mattress. I’m on the floor.
The knocking comes again. I’m unsteady as I stand up and pull my curtains back, just a crack. Blister is down there waving his arms madly. His bike is next to him on the grass. He’s beckoning me to go down. I want to, but my mind is blurry. It’s the middle of the night, but even if I was curled up in my bed I’d still prefer to be outside with Blister.
I nod at him and disappear from his view. My drawer squeaks slightly as I open it. I hold my breath, though I know that won’t make it silent. I pull out a T-shirt, a sweatshirt, some jeans.
When I’m dressed, I open my door. I expect to see Kathleen, just waiting on the other side. Waiting to force me back onto the soaked mattress. But no one is there.
There are no sounds. I creep, so slowly, down the stairs, clutching the banister so that I don’t fall. I’ve never felt my heart beat so clearly. The blood pulses through it and into my brain.
At the bottom, I step into my shoes and get my coat from the hook. I put it on, but I won’t zip it up, as I’m scared it’ll make too much noise.
The deadbolt on the door grates slightly as I turn it, but the door opens and lets me go.
Blister is standing here, his smile wide in the moonlight. He puts a finger to his
lips.
“Where’s your bike?” he mouths. I point to the side of the house. He wants me to get it.
The grass is quiet under my feet. My bike is silent for me. I wheel it out and join Blister as he goes down the path.
As soon as we’re through the gate at the bottom, we get on and start to pedal and don’t look back.
We’re the only ones here. There are no cars, no people. The whole world is sleeping, apart from us. I’ve never been outside in the middle of the night. I want to shout as loud as I can. I stand up, pedaling fast, our bike lights shining lines through the darkness. For the first time in my life, I feel I could do anything.
We’re heading to our trailers. I watch Blister’s blue coat puffing out slightly as he bikes ahead of me. This is happy. Because they don’t know where I am, that I’ve gone. I could just keep going forever.
Blister slows down to a stop.
“I didn’t want to bike through the forest,” he says. “I came the long way around.”
I look deep into the trees. I love the way that they stand in line, with so many secrets weaving through the dark between them. I want to go in. I want to be smothered in that kind of fear, one I can control, but Blister is scared.
“Let’s go on the path, then,” I say, and he looks relieved. So we bike on, keeping the trees beside us.
“Why the middle of the night?” I ask.
“I’ve thought of a way to speak to your mom,” he says. I nearly fall from my bike.
“What do you mean?” I’m angry. Just like that. I wanted this to be only us, being happy.
“I’ve been reading about it. It’s called a séance.” He keeps glancing at me and then back to our beams of light.
“A séance?”
“Yes, you can talk to the spirits.”
“I know what it is.”
We ride on in silence again, looping around the edge of the forest. The magic has gone, though. That excitement that filled my whole body has fizzled up and vanished and drops of anger are in its place.
We get to the gate. The wood of it feels damp. Blister clicks on a flashlight and shines it briefly at my face, then slightly to the side.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” He sounds genuinely disappointed. “I’ve read a lot about it. I think it could work.”
I feel guilty now. Blister has done all this for me. It’s deep in the night and he’s out in the cold and dark to try to help me. And I know I’d do anything to see my mom again.
Paper Butterflies Page 8
