PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Then I see myself through her eyes: a laughing, exuberant, energetic teenager. Carefree, happy, something Mom wishes she could be. I have my whole future ahead of me: college, a good job, marriage to a nice man, children, a nice home . . . all of the things Mom wished for herself at one time but has given up on. She has passed her old hopes for herself on to her future hopes for me. It’s why she works so hard every day and never looks up, just pushes ahead.

  I never knew how much she had tied up in me. I’d always thought I was just a pain in her ass. Now I see there’s nothing she wants more than for me to be happy. If I’m happy, then she is at peace. If I’m sad, like now, then she’s filled with anxiety and worry. She can barely sleep. She is scared for me, hoping I’ll snap out of it, hoping I’ll move on with living a good, happy life that can both honor my friend and my own life’s purpose.

  I always thought Mom’s fears caused her to believe the worst about me. Instead, in her thoughts I see love, nothing but pure love wrapped around me, her daughter.

  It surprises and shakes me to the core.

  “Good night, honey,” she says before closing the door to my darkened room. She has no idea I just saw into the depths of her soul, that I saw it all in one instant when she lightly brushed my lips with her own. Tears burn my eyes and throat. I lie there in the dark for what seems like hours, my mind racing. I think about how hard Mom is working for me, how much she loves me, and how I can’t let her down. I think about Annika and what she would want me to do on her behalf, if she knew I had this power. I see her dark eyes imploring me to solve her murder: “It’s unfair, so unfair. I had my whole life ahead of me.”

  I remember Miranda’s words about using my power to bring Annika justice. I think about Jason, adorable, kind-eyed Jason who left a flower on my doorstep this morning. I knew it was from him, even though there hadn’t been a note. It was a bright yellow daisy with a long stem.

  It’s early morning, and I haven’t slept a wink. Suddenly, though, I’m more energized than I have been in weeks. I throw back the covers and go to my closet. I pull on my jeans and warmest sweater, then grab my tennis shoes. I tiptoe into the kitchen, stuff a banana into my backpack, and sneak out the door, hoping I haven’t awakened Mom. I rush across the grass to my designated parking space, climb into my cold car and turn on the engine. I hit the wipers to clear the condensation, and back out.

  Miranda’s house sits at the end of a large cul-de-sac, a regal white Colonial with a sweeping driveway and brick walkway. I turn off my headlights before I pull into her driveway. I sit in my car and type her a text: Can’t sleep. When you get this message, come outside. I’m on your driveway.

  I expect to wait awhile, until Miranda wakes around her usual time of 7:00, so I’m surprised when her front door immediately opens and she appears. She’s dressed in white flannel dog-print PJs, her disheveled hair tossed up in a messy bun. She races across the wet grass in bare feet and hops into my car.

  “I couldn’t sleep either,” she says. “Not for weeks now.”

  “Annika?” I ask. She nods.

  I notice the slight swelling of her belly under her pajama pants. “You’ve got a cute tummy,” I say.

  She smiles in a distracted way. “Thanks. I’m trying to figure out how to tell my parents.”

  “They still don’t know yet?”

  She shakes her head. She has dark circles under her eyes. “I’m surprised they haven’t figured it out yet with how much I rush to the bathroom to throw up. They probably figure it’s bulimia or something. Which I’m sure my mother would prefer over . . . this.” She looks down as she places her hand on her swelling belly.

  I don’t know what to say. It’s hard to picture fun-loving Miranda at home with a baby. I wonder what her parents are going to do when they find out.

  “Does Billy know yet?” I ask.

  “He wants me to have an abortion, but I refuse. I want to have this baby. It’s a life, you know? Someone to love. But Billy said if I keep it, he’ll deny it’s his. He doesn’t want any part of it.”

  “Typical,” I say.

  She sits quietly for a minute, then she looks over at me. “How are you? I haven’t seen much of you at school these past few weeks. You’ve been missing a lot lately. When I called yesterday, your mom sounded really worried about you. She said you’ve been depressed.”

  I nod. “I can’t stop thinking about Annika. It’s nightmare I can’t wake up from.” I take a deep breath. “But it finally hit me tonight that you’re right. I need to do it—kiss people to find out what they know. If someone on our track team killed her, then I can discover who it is. It’s wrong that there’s been no progress in solving this crime. People seem to be forgetting about it.”

  “They’re not forgetting. They just don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, that’s been my problem, too. I’ve felt helpless. But now I realize I can do something. Or at least try.”

  “So you’re really going to do it?” A glimmer of excitement springs into Miranda’s eyes.

  “Yep. But I need you to help me come up with a plan.”

  “Okay, but first you have to tell me about you and Stumblemeyer. I noticed you guys holding hands at the track meet. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you . . . wow.”

  “You have?” I’ve been so caught up in Annika’s death and my swirling emotions I haven’t been much aware of anything outside of myself lately, not even Jason. Up until now I’ve felt guilty for even letting him cross my mind, for thinking of something positive in my own life, when I should be honoring Annika.

  “He’s so gorgeous,” she says. “Everyone is talking about him. They say he’s going to break all Kirby’s records. Every girl I know has a crush on him.”

  A twinge of jealousy—and alarm—pings me. What if Jason is swept away by someone else, someone who pays him more attention than I have been?

  “He’s definitely cute,” I say. “Nice too. He left a daisy on my doorstep. Do you think that means he’s into me?”

  “Duh! Why else?” Miranda leans in, excitement filling her voice. “Have you guys gone out yet? Have you kissed? I’m dying to know the details.”

  “Well, Annika just died. I haven’t thought of much else, you know?”

  She looks pained. “Of course. I just thought . . . well, anyway, you should ask him to go somewhere with you. Like on a date. Oh, and the homecoming dance is coming up. Do you think he’ll invite you?”

  I hadn’t thought much about homecoming. I wonder if he’ll ask me. I doubt it, considering how I rejected him the last time he asked me to a dance.

  “The dance is too far off to think about. But if we go out, I’m definitely not going to kiss him,” I say.

  “Why not?” Miranda looks incredulous. Once again, I’m glad I’ve got the kissing power instead of her.

  “Because I want to get to know him the normal way,” I say. “This is a pretty scary power. I’ve seen things I don’t want to see, that I shouldn’t be seeing.”

  “Things I don’t know about?”

  I nod.

  She stares at me, eyes round. “Like what?”

  I shrug, wondering how much to tell her. “Just stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Well . . . secrets. You wouldn’t believe the things people are carrying around with them.” I pause. “Like Annika.”

  “Annika?” she whispers.

  Should I tell her? I take a deep breath and continue on.

  “I kissed her once, to find out if she liked Jason. I saw a lot of sadness. She was molested when she was a little girl. By an uncle. That’s why she wasn’t interested in Jason. She didn’t want a boyfriend at all. She was traumatized by her past. And then look what happened to her.” My throat is tight, and I swallow hard.

  “Jeez,” says Miranda, exhaling. “Poor thing.”

  We sit in silence for a while.

  After a while, Miranda says, “We’ve got to figure out what to do. Even though Annika’s
dead, we can still help her. We’ve got to find her killer.”

  I shudder. “It’s going to be scary. And creepy.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have your back. Where should we start? Should we track down that Westchester shot-putter first?” She chews her lip. “Or should we start with our track team? I heard Coach Ted was acting really weird the night after her murder. He went to a bar and got drunk and was crying about how much he loved her. Weird shit like that.”

  A shiver runs down my spine. “Right now, everyone seems guilty to me. It’ll be nice to find out who’s innocent. I can’t stand this feeling of suspecting everyone.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve even wondered if Billy had a hand in it.”

  I stare. “Billy?”

  “I don’t know.” She shakes her blonde, tousled head. “He just has so many issues. I thought we could be friends after our breakup, but after he found out about the baby . . . well, he almost hit me.”

  “Wow.” I draw in a sharp breath. “He’s certainly got a huge anger problem. He cursed at Annika and me after losing his race.”

  “He’s got a screw loose. Victor has convinced me to stay far away from him.”

  “Well, I’m not kissing him again, if that’s what you’re after.”

  She flashes me a chagrined smile. “Don’t worry, he’ll be last on the list.”

  “How are things with you and Victor, anyway?”

  “He’s great.” Her eyes light up momentarily, then turn glum again. “I just wish the baby was his. It would be so cute with his dimples. I sometimes can’t stand the thought that it’s . . . you know. Billy’s. I try not to think about it.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “You’ll love that baby more than anything when it’s here.”

  She sighs. “Yeah, I know. The one good thing about all of this is that I’ve really learned about Victor’s character. He really loves me.”

  I’m glad for her. I just hope Victor is in it for the long haul. I know firsthand what it’s like to be raised by a single parent, and it’s not easy.

  We sit until it gets light outside. Both of us yawn. Thankfully it’s the weekend and we don’t have to go to school.

  “I guess I should get in before my parents wake up,” says Miranda.

  “I should go, too. If Mom finds me missing, she’ll panic.”

  “Before I leave, we have to decide who you’ll kiss first. How about the Westchester shot-putter? He’s the main suspect right now.”

  “Okay. We’ll have to find him.”

  “And if he’s not the one, you’ll have to start kissing the others.”

  It sounds daunting. Who knew that kissing could be turned into such a chore? “Okay. But what do we do when I find the killer?”

  “Go to the police, duh.” Miranda twirls a loose strand of blonde hair, looking out the window. Her mind seems elsewhere.

  “But what will I tell them? You know, to prove who did it. I can’t just say I read someone’s mind.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, the main thing is to find out who did it.” She glances toward the house. “I’d better get in.”

  Sunlight glistens on the lawn, making it shimmer like a mirage. I rub my eyes. Things are starting to look hazy in the way they do when you’ve had no sleep. I suppress another yawn, putting the key in the ignition.

  “So we have a plan?” Miranda asks.

  I nod. “For me, anyway. We also need to work on a plan for you to tell your parents about the baby. Before they find out on their own.”

  “I know.” Miranda sighs before closing the door. As she tiptoes up the walkway in her bare feet, I notice how small she looks, how young. Definitely too young to be having a baby.

  11

  Before I have a chance to track down the Westchester shot-putter and lay a big fat wet kiss on him, word gets out that he’s been cleared. Now the police are again scrutinizing our track team, re-interviewing people and poring over evidence. Word is that the killer must be from our school, but the bumbling cops don’t appear any closer to solving the murder. This frustrates Annika’s parents and the whole town.

  It’s Tuesday night, and I’m sitting with Jason in his room, listening to music. We’re supposed to be doing homework but haven’t gotten much done.

  “I wonder if they’ll ever find the killer,” I say.

  “Someone on our team probably did it,” Jason says, a dark expression on his face. “What a creepy thought. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.”

  We’re quiet for a long moment, Annika’s memory between us. We’re on Jason’s bed, leaning back against pillows as vintage ‘80s music plays. His toes move to touch mine, as they’ve done a few times tonight. I tingle. I wonder if he knows how much my body craves to be touched by his. I long to kiss him, not so I can see what he’s thinking about right now (me?), but because I want to feel his lips on mine. Instead, I’m forced to be content just lying next to him with our feet touching.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” he says. “I want to find out more about you.”

  “You do?” I’m woozy at his words. Jason makes me so warm inside, so fluttery. The weirdest part for me is how comfortable I always feel when I’m around him. I feel I can just relax and be myself.

  Jason balances his math book on his stomach which isn’t hard to do since his abs are perfect, like chiseled marble. He closes the book, casually shifting his body so he’s closer. His right arm is next to mine, the hairs touching my skin and giving me goose bumps. Our fingers lightly graze one another, and then intertwine.

  “I can’t believe I’m sitting here with you,” he says.

  If anything, I’m the one who should be flabbergasted that such a gorgeous guy is here with me.

  “Why?” I ask, shamelessly digging for more.

  He meets my eyes. My face heats up, tingles racing through my body. He averts his gaze and suddenly seems a bit awkward, like the old Stumblemeyer.

  “Because you’re beautiful,” he says, still not looking at me. “And because I’ve liked you for so long. I used to watch you all the time, when we were freshmen. You seemed so sure of yourself, so confident in your own skin without being obnoxious like those popular girls. You just seemed . . . I don’t know . . . comfortable with who you are. The complete opposite of me.”

  I long to stroke his face, to tell him I’m sorry for not seeing the amazing, kind-hearted guy behind Stumblemeyer’s goofiness. I wish I could turn back time. I would say yes to the dance and wouldn’t even care if I ended up humiliated in my underwear on the dance floor, because I would be with him. That’s all I want, is to be with him.

  “You had the wrong image of me,” I say. “Because if I was really that confident, I would have gone to the dance with you. I’m ashamed that I didn’t. I always liked you and thought you were nice, but . . . well . . .”

  “Don’t worry, I get it,” he says grimly. “I don’t hold it against you. I was going through a goofy stage. I can’t stand looking at my pictures from that time.”

  “I’m just glad you gave me another chance,” I say. Our eyes meet and we smile at each other. Then he picks up his math book.

  “We should probably get back to it,” he says.

  I’m not feeling the calculus right now. I just want to bask in him.

  I watch as he works through a few problems, the pencil moving deftly across his paper. He stops and looks quizzically at me. “Aren’t you going to study? We’ve got college applications due soon.”

  “What colleges are you looking at?” I ask.

  “I’d like to stay local, if possible. I’ve thought of UCLA or UC San Diego. Stanford would be awesome, but it’s up north. UCLA seems like the best bet since it’s the closest.”

  “That’s the school I want to go to,” I exclaim. “I’ve always dreamed of it. I went to the campus once to visit a friend’s older sister, and it’s the most beautiful campus ever. The sculpture garden is amazing.” I don’t tell him
that while I’ve hoped to go there, I can’t afford it if I do get accepted.

  “Maybe we’ll go there together . . . . Who knows?” Jason says.

  “Maybe,” I reply. We smile at each other and the electricity between us is palpable.

  Something in me catches. I don’t want the situation to go further, to the point where we might kiss. I want our relationship to unfold naturally—a normal relationship—without my power coming into the picture. Can we even have a “normal” relationship if we don’t ever kiss? I don’t know. But somehow I’ve got to try. All I know is Jason can’t find out about my power because it would freak him out. And, learning everything about him too soon would freak me out.

  Miranda would say that I just want to preserve the fantasy of him, that maybe I’m really afraid to see what’s in his mind. Maybe she’s right, but I don’t care.

  I can’t kiss him.

  Not now, not ever.

  “What was it like living in San Diego?” I ask moving the conversation along.

  “It was okay,” he says. “I liked our neighborhood. I had some cool friends on my block. My dad would drive us up to the mountains to go snowboarding. I really got into it. I think that’s where I learned how important it is to be athletic.”

  “It is,” I say. “I’ve always liked exercise.”

  “Yep,” he says. “Strength is everything.”

  I mull this over. “You mean physical strength or all kinds of strength?”

  “All kinds. Physical, mental, emotional. Without one, you’re out of balance. You need to be strong in all areas, but not the kind of kick-your-ass strength that gets guys into fights. I’m talking about something else. It comes from inside. We all know it when we see it. I’m still working on it myself.”

  “You’re awfully deep for a high school guy,” I say, ribbing him.

  “Pain breeds depth.”

  This hits me, and I wonder if he’s right. The aftermath of Annika’s murder has been excruciating. Am I becoming a deeper person because of the pain? It’s an unsettling trade-off, because who wants to have pain in life? Being shallow seems like a worse sentence, though. I tell Jason this, and he smiles.