PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  The way she says it almost makes me smile. Miranda sure is a character.

  “You look like a bird with that feather on,” I say.

  “A bird of prey, my friend. A bird of prey.” She exits ahead of me doing a funny little dance.

  Jason is waiting for me outside the bathroom. He looks concerned. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, not wanting to meet his eyes because I’m afraid I’ll be overcome with emotion. “Where were you?”

  He takes my chin gently and looks me in the eyes. “I went to the bathroom. I couldn’t handle seeing you dance with that guy, let alone kiss him. It bothered me more than I thought. I figured I would let a few minutes pass so I wouldn’t have to see it, then get back out there. But before I knew it you were brawling on the dance floor.” He tries to sound jovial but is missing the mark. “Did you find anything out?”

  I shake my head. “No. I was interrupted.”

  “Are you going back for more?”

  “I guess I have to, right?”

  He nods, jaw clenching. “Okay. I’ll help with the Darcy situation. Not that I want to. She smells like nicotine-laced cotton candy.”

  I smile despite myself. I want to throw my arms around him but don’t. I’m afraid my knees will buckle.

  Sensing my relief, he leans close and whispers, “You’re the only one I have eyes for. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “Me too.” I lean my head against his chest, drawing strength from his good and decent essence. I long to run off, to get away from this mess so I can just be alone with him. But there’s still work to be done.

  Annika is between us and always will be—until I solve her murder.

  Miranda stands off to the side, watching us. She sidles over and grabs my arm. “Come on,” she says. “The set of slow songs are almost over.”

  We head toward the dance floor. Kirby is slow-dancing with Darcy. She looks smug in his arms, a trussed up little doll with her prize. Kirby is looking around with a distracted expression. When his gaze lands on me, his face lights up in a wicked way. He says something to Darcy who turns and shoots daggers at me. Then Jason pushes his way out to the dance floor. He cuts in, leading Darcy away. She stares at him and Kirby in confusion. Before Kirby can react, I move into Darcy’s spot, draping my arms around his neck.

  “In answer to your question, no, I’m not wearing panties,” I whisper. I suppress a shiver. He completely creeps me out in every way. But to everyone else in the room, I’m aggressively going after the homecoming king despite having a boyfriend. People must think I’m a messed up nympho.

  Kirby pulls me close. “I knew it. I told Darcy I want to see you two licking each other. She got pissed but she’ll come around. She said you’re a lesbo. Is that true?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “I had a thing with . . . well, it’s a secret. A girl at school. We used to . . . spend time together in the women’s locker room.” I’m grasping at straws but can see by Kirby’s expression that it’s working.

  “You did? Who?” He assesses me with gleaming, titillated eyes. He licks his lips. I recoil.

  “It’s a secret. Just between us, okay?”

  He pulls me close. “Tell me.”

  “Annika,” I whisper in his ear. I move to kiss him, but my head is abruptly yanked back with such violence I scream out in pain.

  It’s Darcy again, screaming in rage, on me like a bulldog. She’s flailing her arms, trying to hit my face and grab my hair. I kick at her with my heels, trying to get her off me. Damnit, she’s messing up my hair! Her acrylic nails are digging into me something fierce. This shit has got to stop.

  I elbow her hard. She lets out a high-pitched squeal. Like the pig she is. I’m not going to let her keep me from my mission. I try to kiss Kirby again but Darcy digs her heel into my foot, hard. Pain flashes red across my brain, then anger. I shove her back with all my might. My fingers catch in her acres of fabric with a loud rip, and then she is splayed out on the dance floor with shreds of fabric piled around her. A large piece of fabric is in my hand, a gauzy white mound of lace that looks like a poodle. I stare down at Darcy, unable to believe my eyes.

  There, between Darcy’s pudgy splayed legs, are pale pink silk panties. They are monogrammed with the letter A.

  21

  Before I can react, Darcy is up and coming at me again, boobs jiggling and face contorted in rage. She scratches at me with long, tapered French-manicured nails, sinking them into my skin, trying to draw blood. Kirby jumps between us. He tries to grab me while Darcy grabs at him while also trying to claw me. Other people join in, trying to break it up. A teacher pulls at Kirby, lecturing him ineffectually. Coach Ted’s wife shouts above the fray to stop, stop now! Darcy holds on to an arm as I try to wrestle loose. Miranda gets in between us and attempts to drag me away, her feather poking bystanders in the eye. Darcy is calling me every curse word in the book as I try to duck her flailing blows. Coach Ted and his wife jump in front of Darcy to intervene, but she claws at them too. A long deep scratch reddens Coach Ted’s cheek.

  “Darcy, stop this shit!” yells Kirby. He wrenches her arm behind her in one swift, vicious yank. She screams and slaps him with her free hand. Coach Ted throws her in a headlock and marches her away. His furry-faced wife grabs me and marches me off the dance floor in the opposite direction, toward the back door.

  “Wait, that girl killed my friend,” I babble incoherently as Mrs. Dannerson drags through the auditorium. “Didn’t you see it? She was wearing Annika’s underwear!” My mind is racing, a blur of confused thoughts. Faces blend together. People stare as if I’m crazy. Maybe I am. How could Darcy be the killer? I saw into her thoughts when I kissed her. Annika was nowhere on her mind! What if my power is wrong or defective somehow, just as I feared?

  Am I losing my mind?

  Jason hovers on the periphery as Ted’s wife drags me through the throngs of people toward the exit. She’s strong, like a linebacker or body-builder. She smells like Irish Spring or some other budget soap. I don’t like her hands on me. They feel aggressive, like she might forget where she is and start punching me instead.

  “You spoiled little princesses are all the same,” she says under her breath. “You think you can just go take any man you want. I saw you flirting with that girl’s boyfriend in there. You deserved what you got.”

  I gasp. She smirks, peering out at me through jealous-looking pinched eyes squeezed under layers of flesh. She grips me firmly, like a warden, shoving me toward the door.

  “That Annika girl had it coming too,” the woman says. “She flirted with my husband—he told me she was a fine little thing. She probably would’ve put out for him, too, except she ended up dead. Poor thing.”

  Her voice is heavy with sarcasm. My blood turns cold.

  Outside, it’s dark and the wind has kicked up. Leaves scuttle across the pavement, racing toward a warmer place.

  Mrs. Dannerson lets go of me and gives me a hostile little shove. She crosses her fleshy arms in a stern manner. “You are not allowed back in. Fighting is not tolerated at dances or on school property. You must observe rules or lose your privilege to be here.”

  She sounds robotic, as if reading from a script. I nod, hoping she’ll finish her piece and be gone. I’m afraid of her, with her hundreds of pounds of flesh swaying menacingly in front of me. She could crush me like an ant.

  The door bangs open. Jason and Miranda rush to my side.

  “Are you okay?” Miranda asks.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Dannerson. We’ll look after her,” says Jason. Ted’s wife give a curt nod, hands on her hips and chins dangling. I have to hand it to Coach Ted for staying with her. She’s an unpleasant woman, both inside and out.

  “She’s not allowed back inside,” the woman says. She turns on her heel. “I’ll call the police if I have to.”

  “We’ll take her straight home,” Jason assures her.

  “Please, do call the police!” I say. “Darcy needs to be arrested.”

  Mrs. Da
nnerson snorts and bangs the door behind her.

  Jason and Miranda stare at me.

  “Darcy killed her,” I say. “Did you see her underwear?” I’m shaking and beginning to sob, confusion overwhelming me.

  Did I just hear Mrs. Dannerson say Annika deserved what she got? What the hell is going on? Everything seems all mixed up, like one of those carnival horror fun houses.

  Jason pulls me close. “Everyone saw her underwear. Nice to know I’m not the only one to pull that kind of stunt on a dance floor.”

  “This isn’t the time for jokes,” I say. “Her underwear had a monogrammed A. Annika’s panties haven’t been found yet. The police say the killer still has them.”

  “I didn’t see an A,” says Jason. “It all happened so fast.”

  “There was an A! Why would Darcy be wearing an A unless they’re Annika’s underwear? Darcy’s name starts with a D!” I’m babbling. I sound like a crazy woman. “She killed Annika!”

  “An A?” asks Miranda. “Are you positive?”

  “Yes, I know what I saw!” I rub my head, which is throbbing. “At least I think so.”

  Jason and Miranda exchange a glance.

  I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Is it possible I got confused? Maybe it was a D and not an A. Darcy did give me a pretty good head whack out there on the dance floor, and my brain is still spinning like a windmill.

  No, I’m not crazy. I need to stick to my guns. “Maybe Darcy was wearing Annika’s underwear as a trophy,” I say. “What if she knew Kirby had a thing for Annika and snuck in the bathroom and killed her? The cops said there was no DNA found, so that would make sense if the killer was female. Maybe it started off as a jealous confrontation but then things got out of hand. Don’t you guys see? Darcy is deranged! Why would she wear A-monogrammed panties unless they were the real thing? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Miranda is watching me as though I’ve lost my mind. “I can see your point. Darcy is a jealous nut bag. But you kissed her and didn’t see anything, right?”

  I nod. “Yes, but—”

  “Then doesn’t that mean we have to rule her out?”

  Unless . . . selective thinking? Is it possible? Maybe I’ve only been seeing bits and pieces of the truth all along, but not the whole thing. What if I’ve been chasing my tail in circles this whole time?

  The night air is cold in my lungs. I gulp it in, trying to steady the whirling of my thoughts. Everything is so jumbled. Dizziness, nausea threatens to overcome me. Did I see an A? Or could it have been a D?

  “If you didn’t see it in her thoughts,” Jason says, “Then it’s probably not her. My money’s still on Kirby.”

  I look from one to the other. I can’t believe what they’re saying. “I’m sure those were Annika’s underwear. They have to be.” My head is spinning with confusion. I don’t know what’s true anymore.

  I just want this to end. I want this to be over with. The cops need to come arrest Darcy—or whoever the hell killed Annika—so I can get on with my life. I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s all running together, all of the pieces of the night, until the images blur in my mind like a river of spilled paints. There’s no way to make sense of what is happening. There are too many conflicting and confusing elements.

  “You said you saw only saw fake boobs and stripper work in Darcy’s mind,” Miranda reminds me. “Nothing about her killing Annika.”

  “Darcy is wearing Annika’s underwear!” I shout with a conviction I don’t entirely feel. “She’s jealous and deranged. She’s wearing Annika’s panties because she’s flaunting what she did. She killed Annika!”

  Truthfully, I don’t know what to think anymore. Everything is swirling around me, a million snippets of conversation, images, and thoughts racing through my brain. I wonder if I’m beginning to confuse what I’ve seen in people’s minds with what is actually happening. It’s all becoming a blur, mixed with doubts that keep popping up like unexpected landmines. I can’t make sense of anything. I’m shaking and cold. My brain is foggy like the dark night around us. I have this kissing power, but why am I still not any closer to finding out who the killer is?

  Jason comes close and wraps his jacket around my shoulders. “Just take a deep breath,” he says. “Darcy’s outside with the chaperones right now. If you want, we can call the police to investigate further. But we don’t have any evidence, and to be honest, I don’t think she’s the murderer. Annika would’ve shown up in her thoughts when you kissed her. It just doesn’t add up.”

  “Maybe I should go kiss her again and mention Annika this time. Just to make sure.” I rub my forehead.

  “Stay away from her,” says Jason. “She’s trouble. I can’t imagine how ballistic she’ll go if you try to kiss her again.”

  I sigh, leaning into his warm arms. “Okay.” Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not Darcy. Then who?

  I close my eyes, feeling Jason’s strong body anchor mine. I want to go home. This night is too much. My legs are numb, ready to give out.

  “What about Kirby?” says Jason. “Did you see anything more when you kissed him the second time?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t get a chance to kiss him again. That little pit bull was all over me.”

  My heart catches as I remember something.

  Mrs. Dannerson said Annika deserved to die.

  My mind is whirling. Everyone seems guilty to me, like the night on the bus after Annika died. Everything feels surreal, off-kilter, as if I’m watching a film reel backwards.

  The side door bangs open and Victor is illuminated in the gray-gold light.

  “There you are.” He rushes over to Miranda. He looks at the three of us with a confused expression. “That was some fight in there.”

  None of us says anything. Victor doesn’t know about my power. He must wonder what the heck is going on and why Jason and I were dancing with other people.

  Just then, we hear voices coming from around the corner. Hissing, arguing voices that rise and fall. I recognize one of them as Coach Ted’s. The deeper one is his wife’s. I put my finger up to silence my friends, and tiptoe to the corner of the building to listen. Jason, Miranda, and Victor follow.

  “—I couldn’t help it. It just happened.”

  “Well, why the hell did you admit that to Winter Reynolds?” says Coach Ted. “Now she’s going to suspect you.”

  “I wasn’t thinking. I was just so pissed. She’s another one of those types you like, perky tits and thin body. I saw how you led her off the dance floor, all gentle and shit, after the Latimer girl attacked her. Gazing into her eyes.”

  “What a crock! It’s in your head, woman. And why the hell did you have to bring up the dead girl? It’s bad enough everyone suspects me. Now you spout off she deserved what she got.”

  “Well she did, didn’t she? Any girl who hangs around a married man, flirting with him and trying to entice him away from his wife, deserves what’s coming to her. I regret opening my mouth to the Winter girl, though, even if it’s the truth. It just came out. But that’s why I’m telling you. We need to do damage control.”

  “You’d better fix this mess, Valerie. You and your damn jealousy. Poor Annika.”

  “Poor Annika, my ass. Don’t get all bent out of shape. I’ll take care of the Reynolds girl. Keep your damn pecker in your pants and we won’t have these kinds of problems.”

  “My pecker’s always in my pants.”

  “Liar! That’s not what people said about you and Annika.”

  “Shut up, woman. I’m sick of this shit. I’m going inside. Fix it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

  I turn and meet the eyes of my friends, fear pumping through my veins. Before I can say a word, all three of them pull out their cell phones.

  22

  Valerie Dannerson is smoking a cigarette outside the building when two patrol cars screech up. Squad doors bang open, guns are drawn, and the large woman is read her rights. Then she is unce
remoniously squeezed into the back of a police car and driven off into the night. The cops take our statements, and we agree to meet them down at the police station with our parents in the morning.

  No one sees the arrest. Even the stragglers drinking in the parking lot ran off when they saw the cops pull up. The dance goes on, music pumping loudly through the auditorium walls. Jason, Miranda, Victor, and I stand huddled together in the cold night air that smells faintly of dank autumn leaves and car exhaust.

  “What a night,” says Miranda, rubbing her arms. “I can’t believe Coach Ted’s wife killed Annika.”

  “It all makes sense,” says Jason. “She had the motive. She seems like one jealous woman.”

  “Mean, too,” I say, remembering her tight grip on her arm and the way she sneered when she said Annika deserved what she got.

  “Do you remember seeing her at the track meet?” asks Miranda. I nod. It all makes sense now, the way Coach Ted’s wife glared at me and Annika when we walked up, the jealousy, how Annika ended up dead.

  But something still doesn’t feel right.

  Was Coach Ted in on it? And if so, why didn’t I see it in his thoughts?

  I’m doubting my power. Most of all, myself. The night seems dreamlike, as though I’m watching a bizarre movie with myself as the lead.

  “Looking back on it, I saw Mrs. Dannerson around Annika during the meet,” says Jason. “But who knew she could be capable of doing something so brutal, especially staging a rape? Although she certainly looks like a brute.”

  “She must’ve been hiding in the bathroom, just waiting for poor Annika to come in,” Miranda says. “And she took the panties because of what they represented. You know, Coach Ted wanting to get in them and all.”

  “So it was a D on Darcy’s panties after all,” I murmur. “Not an A.”

  “Or if it was an A,” says Miranda, “the panties could be from Forever 17. It could be some sort of kinky thing between her and Kirby. She probably knew he liked Annika. Maybe she wore the panties to tease him. It could happen with those two. She and Kirby are total sick-wads.”