The Society

by Jodie Andrefski

  Right after I rounded the bend at the end of the hall, I stopped. The door to Ms. Simms’s classroom stood uncharacteristically open. I needed to get to the lockers right across from her room.

  Crap.

  I slowly backed up a step, and leaned against the wall. Keeping my eyes peeled for anyone that might suddenly come around the corner, I tugged the front of my bag open and reached inside. The whole cloak-and-dagger part of the Society would enable my plan to succeed. A couple hours spent hacking into Jessica’s email made it all worthwhile. I’d found it—the holy grail of Society secrets—the names of everyone they planned to tap this year. It was pretty much what I’d expected, with only one surprise. Pete was on the list. I wondered if he’d accept.

  My suspicions had been correct, Jessica was in charge. Her emails to Bren had the link given out to each initiate, along with this year’s password to access the site. I wasn’t going to add my own name to the initiates’ list, but I was going to add some other people. Jessica and the other members were in for a surprise.

  I wouldn’t do it on the Society’s real page; they’d notice something like that. So instead, I added a hidden link on their site to a page I’d designed. My picks would access my buried site, get the tasks I’d assigned, and only after that would I add their names to the real list…along with an anonymous note about what I’d done.

  And once it was all over, and my initiates completed their tasks, the Society wouldn’t be able to revoke their standing without exposing themselves and the fact that an outsider—me—had managed to hack their way in. I was pretty sure Jessica wouldn’t want to take that kind of heat.

  It’d taken some thinking to decide exactly who to invite to rush. I’d gone through the plan over and over to make sure the people I tapped wouldn’t be hurt at all. Only Jessica would reap my own particular version of hell.

  Textured paper met my searching hand, and I drew the first note from my bag. I quickly smoothed the tiny wrinkles out the best I could against the wall. With one final, determined glance, I strode across the hall to the long row of yellow lockers numbered 401-435.

  When I reached the fifth locker from the left, I allowed my hair to fall forward in an attempt to shield my face. Hopefully no one would recognize me if they happened to look my way. I reached out and pretended to spin the combination lock.

  A quick peek assured me I was still in the clear.

  I darted my hand out to shove the envelope through the top slat in the locker next to the one I’d been messing with. If anyone saw me, hopefully I’d be identified as screwing with Jessica’s locker—totally believable, rather than thinking I might be slipping something into Becky’s.

  Becky was the kind of girl who’d probably had a lemonade stand as a kid and pulled her teddy bear along behind her in a little red wagon as she’d walked to the library. She volunteered for our school’s mentoring program as well as the local animal shelter and deserved to be a member of the Society, especially since I knew things were tough for her at home after her mom died in a car accident two years ago.

  Bottom line, Becky was nice. But unfortunately for her, average, nice girls were pretty much invisible in high school. The vipers were the ones who got noticed. I’d be willing to bet anything that deep inside Becky prayed to be invited to rush. In fact, I counted on it.

  The deed completed, pseudo-invitation delivered, I nonchalantly turned and headed back to Computer Science. I’d handle the other two notes in the morning.

  I smiled and hummed a little Violent Femmes as I made my way back to class.

  Five

  She wanted to ask him why they were all strangers who shared the same last name.

  —Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

  School finally over, I stumbled wearily up the steps to my aunt’s place. The pungent odor of fried liver and onions slammed into my face the second I opened the front door, and my stomach rolled in protest. How in God’s name Aunt Lor willingly ate a cow’s organ was beyond me.

  I covered my nose as I walked closer to the stove, where Aunt Loretta hummed a slightly out of key version of Sinatra. As I approached, still gagging, she turned to face me. She shook her head at my expression.

  “So how was school today, Samantha? I thought you’d be staying after for your photography club.” Her face wrinkled in an encouraging smile.

  I bit my lip. I’d sort of been less than honest with her. I’d figured pretending to join some school club would serve the dual purpose of allowing Aunt Lor to believe I was well-adjusted, while giving me some time away on my own. Win-win. Despite my justifications, lying to her made my stomach twinge.

  I smiled weakly. “Nah, not today.” I reached over and grabbed a shiny red apple from a wooden bowl on the counter. I rubbed it against my shirt for a few seconds before taking a large bite.

  Aunt Loretta paused from her task of stirring and eyeballed me patiently.

  I spoke through a mouthful of apple. “We had another history quiz. Freaking teacher is an ass.”

  “Samantha, language.” She tsk-tsked at me, lips slightly pursed, then reached across the giant green stove to turn the burner to low.

  I rolled my eyes a little, but muttered, “Sorry.” I leaned my hip against the kitchen table and took another bite, watching my aunt as I chewed. She sprinkled salt and pepper in the cast-iron pan, then covered it to keep warm for later.

  When she turned, I knew all was forgiven just by her smile. She took several steps toward me and brushed a stray piece of hair back from my face. “You remind me so much of your father sometimes.” The chagrined look that immediately crossed her face told me she regretted the statement as soon as she’d uttered the words.

  It didn’t matter. My father ruined my life. He was a self-absorbed jerk who didn’t care enough about his family to not give in to the lure of quick money. Like we didn’t have enough before he went all Wall Street on us.

  I jerked my head away from her outstretched hand. “I have homework to do.” I pushed away from the table and tossed the half-eaten apple into the trashcan as I escaped to my room.

  “Samantha, wait. Please. I just meant—”

  “It’s fine.”

  My stomach tightened as I pushed images of my father from my head, images of him shackled, wearing an orange jumpsuit. Older images of him laughing and pushing me on a wooden swing when I was little. I didn’t want any memories of him at all.

  I locked my bedroom door behind me and crossed to kneel by the bed. My hand snaked under the mattress for the spiral-bound notebook I’d hidden there the night before. When my fingers made contact with the smooth surface, I pulled it out and sat cross-legged on my unmade bed. Resolve built as I stared across the room.

  Dark paneling covered the walls. An old poster peeled off the wall in one corner where I’d haphazardly taped it, while index cards with hand-written quotes filled the large bulletin board above my small desk. That was about all I’d done in the form of decorating the tiny space. It wasn’t really my home. I no longer had a real home.

  I’d barely even known Aunt Loretta before my mother dumped me off, explaining she needed some time for herself. Before that, I’d always gotten the feeling my parents were ashamed to have family living in some trailer park outside of town. Kind of ironic since Aunt Lor had shown me more kindness than either of my parents had in the past several years. And as much as I hated to admit it, that hurt, a lot.

  To make things worse, lately I worried about her. Aunt Lor suffered from some weird form of dementia brought on by her thyroid. She’d been given medication to control it, but that only worked if she took it, and sometimes she forgot.

  I sighed and slapped the notebook open on my lap to study the words scrawled on the first lined page.

  Take her down.

  Threaten? HOW??!!!

  KEEP IT SECRET!!

  My heart rate slowed back to normal as I turned the pages. The knowledge that I held the power to serve my own brand of justice calmed me. The last few pages conta
ined a carefully laid-out plan. I unbuttoned my sweater as my eyes drank in each word. Tomorrow I would deliver the final two notes. After that came the simple matter of instructing my “initiates” to complete my bidding.

  My lips curled into a half-smile as I leaned back and held the notebook against my chest, caressing it like a lover. Score one for Team Sam.

  Six

  It’s not a terrible thing that we feel fear when faced with the unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share.

  —Pema Chödrön

  The next thing I knew, my eyes opened to darkness. I must have fallen asleep. The orange numbers on the alarm clock next to my bed read 7:32. My stomach grumbled about missing dinner, but memory of what was on the menu helped to quiet it.

  I slid my legs over the side of the bed, and shifted the notebook to the pile of covers next to me. I cocked my head, listening, except there wasn’t anything to hear. No familiar television sounds carried down the hall. The house rang silent. Too silent.

  I pushed up from the mattress and walked to my door. As I reached for the knob, guilt engulfed me about how I’d treated Aunt Loretta. I paused, chewing on my dry lip.

  The fact that she didn’t try to wake me for dinner meant I’d really hurt her feelings. Mealtime was big for her; she always insisted we sit down and eat dinner together. It was her way of trying to make a shitty situation seem more normal.

  I sighed and opened the door.

  Inky darkness filled the hallway.

  “Aunt Loretta?” I called softly, hesitantly.

  No response.

  I took a few steps and fumbled along the wall for a light switch.

  “Aunt Lor?” My voice, a little louder this time, sounded strange in the empty darkness. I swallowed, suddenly nervous.

  Prickles of fear raced along my hairline. Some inner voice taunted me, echoing all my worst fears. Why would she put up with you and stay? No one else cared enough to stay.

  “Aunt Loretta! Are you home?”

  I commanded my feet to move. My chin jutted out in resolve as I walked through the thin corridor that led to the living room. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath before making the turn.

  Pale artificial light seeped through the slatted blinds above the sofa. She wasn’t there.

  I pivoted and headed back toward her bedroom. She never went to bed this early, but maybe she wasn’t feeling well or something.

  The door to her room stood ajar. I reached in and flipped on the bedroom light. She wasn’t there either. I looked around, half expecting to see her old round hairbrush gone from the dresser, her closets open and empty.

  But everything remained right where it belonged. Her antique brush set next to the bottle of lotion she used each night, the one that smelled faintly of roses. Her faded robe folded neatly at the bottom of the bed, waiting for her to slip into it.

  A breath of relief whooshed from my lungs. She hadn’t gotten sick of me and taken off. But then where was she? She never drove at night; it terrified her. Her ritual was dinner, then dishes, then reading or television until bedtime at nine exactly. I could set my watch by her routine.

  I turned and jogged back out to the kitchen.

  Horrible scenarios stuck in my head like taffy, dark and thick. What if something happened to her? What if she’d gone outside earlier and fallen and had a heart attack or broken something like you heard about all the time in the news?

  “Aunt Lor! Where are you?”

  I skidded across the beat-up kitchen linoleum and smacked open the screen door to check outside. About fifteen feet away, the bulb atop a metal lamppost cast a lazy circle of light around the dead grass in front of the trailer.

  The neighbor’s dog yapped at me like crazy. I ran down the porch steps, ignoring him. Aunt Loretta’s Buick was parked in the small driveway, so she hadn’t gone somewhere. Any tiny hope of her making an emergency run to the market for milk or coffee disappeared at the sight of her empty gray car.

  It seemed like I should call someone, but who? The police? An ambulance?

  I turned in circles, feeling helpless. There was no one for me to call. I had no other family. I was all alone. My breath came out in choked gasps.

  I needed to calm down, to think rationally. I shoved hair back from my face with both hands and closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  After about ten seconds, my breathing normalized, and my lungs no longer felt like they weren’t getting enough air. My throat burned like it always did when I fought not to cry.

  Maybe she’d gone over to the neighbor’s for some reason.

  I turned and strode over to Martha’s bright yellow trailer. My sneakers made smacking sounds on the concrete walkway with each step.

  A large wreath made out of large very plastic-y looking flowers covered the center of her door. A light burned in the far left window. I reached out and knocked between an especially obnoxious orange daisy and a hot pink rose.

  The noise sent the freaking dog into fits. It bounced around from a thin chain attached to a small stake in the yard. The high-pitched yapping shredded the last of my already frayed nerves.

  I knocked again, louder this time, to be heard over the howling. Another light appeared through a window, closer this time. A thin voice called out, “My lands, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

  I recognized the sound of a chain sliding through a lock before the door opened a few inches. I could barely make out the face squinting through the narrow opening.

  “Samantha? My lord, child. What are you doing here at this hour?”

  At this hour? It wasn’t even eight o’clock at night.

  “My aunt. Have you seen my aunt?”

  Martha pulled the door open wider and fussed the top of her housecoat together with small, wrinkled fingers. “Loretta? No, I haven’t seen her since this morning. Is everything okay?” She stuck her head out the door, turning it left and right like she expected my aunt to pop out of the bushes any second.

  “No. Yes.” I shook my head. If she hadn’t seen Aunt Loretta, I didn’t want to waste my time explaining. “I’m sure everything’s fine.” I turned back down the rose-lined walkway.

  “Oh dear. Is there anything I can do?” she called after me. “I hope this isn’t one of the things you hear about where hooligans come and snatch you from your home!”

  I ignored her, not having the time or patience for her theories on geriatric kidnappings.

  Maybe Aunt Lor had left me a note and I’d missed it. I rushed back to the trailer, vaulting the three porch steps in one giant leap. When I entered the kitchen, my eyes roamed over each available surface.

  Nothing. There was no note.

  I sank into one of the vinyl-padded chairs at the kitchen table, and buried my head in my hands. Now what?

  A familiar ringing sounded down the hall. Maybe she was trying to call me. She didn’t have a cell phone, thought they were ridiculous, but I raced to my bedroom anyway.

  “Hello?” I answered, out of breath and anxious.

  “Sam? You okay?”

  I exhaled in disappointment.

  “Hello? You there?” Jeremy’s deep voice held concern.

  “Hey, Jer. Sorry, I’m here.”

  A heartbeat passed before he spoke again. “What’s wrong?”

  Suddenly exhausted, I sank to the floor next to my bed and leaned my head back against the mattress. I closed my eyes and gripped the phone tighter against my cheek.

  “It’s my aunt. She’s not here. I woke up and she was gone.” I whispered the words, afraid if I said them too loud something terrible would happen. I couldn’t bear to lose her, too.

  I paused, feeling kind of stupid for admitting how worried I was. After all, she was an adult; there was probably no reason to be acting like a scared two-year-old about it.

  But knowing that in my head didn’t change how I felt in my gut. What if she
’d forgotten to take her meds?

  “I’m sure she’s okay.”

  He meant well. I rubbed my eyes and said nothing.

  “You still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” My voice turned quiet, defeated.

  “I’m coming over.”

  A rustling noise accompanied his quick words and when he next spoke, his voice sounded muffled. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  I sat up straighter. “Jer, you don’t have to.

  I heard the jangle of keys and footsteps on hardwood. “Look, I’m sure everything’s fine, but I’ll stay with you until she gets back.”

  “Honestly, I’m—”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re fine. You’re always fine.” A car door opened and closed. A brief squeak of weight on leather, then the ding, ding, ding of Jeremy’s fasten seat belt alert carried through the phone.

  “Sam, you don’t always have to pretend to be so strong, you know.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “I’ll be there soon,” he promised.

  I opened my mouth to argue, but he’d already hung up.

  Seven

  All things appear and disappear because of the concurrence of causes and conditions. Nothing ever exists entirely alone; everything is in relationship to everything else.

  —Gautama Buddha

  “So do you have any idea at all where she might have gone?” Jeremy sat next to me on the crumbling brick porch step. The pitch-black sky matched my mood perfectly.

  I shook my head. “No. Like I said, she never goes out this late.” I shivered in the evening air.

  Jeremy leaned back a little to face me. “Here.” He reached across his chest to pull the gray hoodie up to take it off. For some odd reason, I found myself staring when the movement pulled his T-shirt up as well. His chest and stomach were muscled and still a bit tan, with a smattering of dark hair forming a T shape leading toward his…

  I jerked my eyes away from where they had no business looking and moved to safer territory. It had to be the stress messing with my head.