by Dawn Klehr
I squeeze her a little closer. “I’m sorry, babe. Are you okay?”
“C’est la vie.” Riley flips her wrist.
“Yeah, but it still sucks.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t get it.” She sighs. “Only a few people knew about me and Emma—really only you, Jonah, and Libby. Not like you guys would say anything. Why did she make that scene? If she didn’t want to be with me, why couldn’t she dump me in private?”
“I don’t know, Rye.” My stomach clenches. “Maybe she got scared.”
She goes still, holding everything inside. We sit there like that for a while, Riley under the shield of my arm but still so far away.
“Hey, what about you? How was the double date?” She tries to change the subject.
“Not bad,” I say. “I made a young man very happy. I am Wingman,” I say, striking my best superhero pose.
“Oh yeah?” She laughs.
There’s the sound I was waiting for. The sound I needed to hear.
“I was afraid Jonah’s girl would drop him for you at first sight,” she adds. “Not a smart move choosing Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious as your wingman.”
“Guys don’t think about shit like that,” I say. “Why? Is that how you see me—tall, dark, and delicious?” I pull her closer and give her my best smoldering look.
“That’s how everyone sees you.” She punches my arm and breaks my hold on her, reminding me that this flirtation is completely futile. “Well, D.” She stands up, signaling that it’s time to go. “It’s a school night.”
“Okay, Mom.” I take her hint.
“See you in the a.m.”
I give her a two-finger salute.
“Good night, Dez.”
“’Night.”
I head across the lawn, home to my mom and my stepdad, Bernie. They’re curled up on the couch watching Letterman. Or, to be more accurate, they’re going at it in front of Letterman.
God, my eyes. My eyes!
“Hi there, buddy.” Bernie sits up quickly, looking like he just got busted with weed or something. “How was your night?”
“Good, good.” I stare at the TV, trying not to make eye contact. “I’m beat though, going up.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” Mom says, smoothing down her hair. “See you in the morning.”
I try to shake away the disturbing image and make a beeline for my room.
Actually, I have to say, Bernie is cool as shit. I was relieved when he and Mom got together—especially after years of all the tools sniffing around her. And since Bernie is a cop, I feel like I can finally let my guard down at home.
Inside my sanctuary, the curtains flap in the breeze from the open window. I see Riley in the gap between them. Just as I thought, she hasn’t gone inside. She’s still sitting on her porch, her shoulders all hunched over. She starts to shake.
I turn away because it gives me physical pain to see her like this. To know it’s my fault. I know I’ve got to stop. I’m just not sure I know how.
I close my window and try not to think of Riley outside.
Instead, I grab one of my many video cameras. My room is a shrine to cinema. I have vintage film reels and old studio lights scattered around. The walls are covered in hundreds of movie tickets and posters of my favorites, like Reservoir Dogs, Fight Club, and The Godfather. Mr. Pink, the Fight Club dudes, and Don Corleone are all staring at me now. They shake their heads in disgust and tell me I’m whipped over a girl I’ll never have.
I ignore them and go to work on the film—the piece we’ll be submitting to the festival next month, the piece that could get me into the film program at Columbia. In the viewfinder, images move across the tiny screen, but nothing registers in my head.
Riley’s still out there.
I put down the camera and grab my notebook. I start to outline the scenes we need to shoot tomorrow, but soon my outline turns to doodles and chicken scratch.
She’s still out there.
I sit on my bed and put my ear buds in, closing my eyes as the music fills my head. The Kings of Leon do nothing to take my mind off Rye.
The Godfather tells me to make her an offer she can’t refuse.
I tell him to shut his mafia-ass up.
I go to turn off the light. It reminds me of the game Riley and I played when we were kids. Rye used to be deathly afraid of the dark, but she was too embarrassed to tell her parents. Even then, she tried to be tough. I, in my infinite ten-year-old wisdom, came up with a plan to help. I told her that she could signal me with her lights when she couldn’t sleep. And when she did, I’d go to my window and stand guard—watch her room—to be sure nothing happened.
Rye would flick her lights when she needed me. Slow, fast, fast, fast. Slow. It was our version of Morse code.
I would answer back with three quick flicks of my light switch. Then I’d go to my window. She’d look out of hers and wave, and finally drift off to sleep knowing everything was safe.
It took her about a month to get over her fears. For me, that meant a month of standing guard at the window and falling asleep in class after my late nights. It was worth every second.
I flick my lights now, seven years later, and go to the window. Riley looks up. She smiles and waves.
After a few minutes she goes inside.
And answers me with her lights.
RILEY
The next morning, as I get ready for another day on social death row, I’m welcomed by a breakfast that I would definitely choose to be my last meal—banana chocolate chip pancakes. It’s quite a step up from the normal knock-off cereal I’ve become accustomed to. I mean, the Fruit Rings, Happy Shapes, and Crispy Rice taste okay, but breakfast is not the same without the toucan and the leprechaun and Snap, Crackle, and Pop. It’s lame, but I really miss those guys.
Dad looks at me over his glasses and smiles. He quickly plants a kiss on my forehead and gets back to the stove. Instead of his usual morning routine of grading English Lit papers for his class, he’s cooking. And instead of rushing around getting ready for her day rounding up toddlers, Mom sits at the table with two monster cups of steaming coffee.
Yep, they know something’s up.
I sit next to Mom and she quickly turns over the newspaper. It’s too late. I’ve already caught the headline: Community Honors Slain Teacher. As if the newspaper will suddenly remind me that Ms. Dunn was murdered. As if I don’t think about her every day. She wasn’t just my teacher; she was so much more.
Mom pushes the paper to the side and hands me the coffee cup. I soak in the caffeine and it helps clear my head.
Mom gives me a few minutes before she dives in.
“So, do you want to talk about what’s been going on the past few days?”
“Not particularly,” I tell her.
“Riley, you’ve been so quiet and not eating. I’m starting to get worried.” She leans in and holds my hand. “Talk to me—maybe I can help.”
I shake her off and take a gulp of coffee.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“But, honey—”
“It’s okay.” I cut her off. My parents don’t know about Emma and I’m not about to play catch-up. Not that they wouldn’t understand—they’re pretty open about that kind of thing. Dad even has a few gay friends from the college. But I wasn’t about to come out to my parents before I was absolutely sure.
And Emma made me promise to keep us a secret. I did, because I wanted to keep her happy and I liked having her all to myself. I liked that I didn’t have to share that part of my life with anyone. I did at first, anyway. It was exciting. The soft looks that passed between us at school; the love notes she left in my locker; the way we held hands in her car when we snuck out for lunch. It was the first time I felt like someone could actually see me. The real me.
It’s hard to
breathe just thinking about it.
“I’ll tell you everything, Mom,” I assure her. “Just not now, okay?”
From the corner of my eye I can see Dad motioning to Mom. He’s pushing his hands down—the universal sign for take it easy.
I offer up a silent thank you for giving me a dad who understands.
“Okay, Riley.” Mom sighs. “You’ll come to me when you’re ready?” We both know it’s not a question. It’s an order.
“I will,” I reply, happy to say anything that will get her off my back. For the rest of breakfast, we play a normal family—we make small talk, eat banana chocolate chip pancakes, and pretend nothing’s wrong.
At school, Dez and I spend first period hanging in the edit suite going over footage from one of my scenes. It’s a tiny, soundproof room. Three of the walls are covered with gray acoustic foam and the back wall is glass with a small sliding door. A computer used for digital editing, an old monitor, a table, and two rolling chairs take up the entire space.
We’re working on a short feature for the Midwest High School Film Festival, one of the most important events around here for film. Our school is hosting it this year, and a lot of the local colleges will be coming to hold interviews and auditions. This could put me and Dez on the map. Plus, the scholarship opportunity is huge.
This is the project that’s going to get both of us out of the Heights.
Alternate Realities is Dez’s baby. It’s a dark story about a strange girl who is the pariah of the school. She’s odd, awkward, and alone. So when she’s given the chance to enter an alternate reality where she’s beautiful, popular, and revered, she doesn’t think twice. Dez calls it the female version of Fight Club.
It’s really pretty brilliant.
We go through my scenes, starting with the footage we shot last month. Dez fast-forwards to a medium shot of me and Jonah in a classroom. Ms. Dunn’s classroom. She let us use her room to film that day. Her last day.
For obvious reasons, we haven’t gone through this footage yet—but we no longer have an option. We’re getting close to crunch time. My stomach turns as I remember that day, but I power through it and concentrate on Dez.
“Okay, this scene here.” Dez freezes the video and goes into director mode. It helps me focus. “This is what I’m talking about. See how scared you look?”
“Yeah.” I watch my face on the computer screen. I really do look completely terrified.
“I want more of this in the beginning.” Dez taps his finger on my video face. “Rye, your character has been picked on, snubbed, and abused for years. Going to school for her is like going to war. Every. Single. Day. Imagine what that would be like.”
I laugh. Of course I can imagine what that’s like. I’m living it right now.
It sucks.
“Shit, Rye.” Dez drops his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He looks up and wraps an arm around me, and I close my eyes for a second. Dez is one of those people who just draws you in. Even before the latest dumping, Dez was always telling me I’m too good for the idiots at our school. Too smart, self-aware, original.
I have to laugh, because he must think the same of himself since he’s never dated anyone in the Heights. And he could. Any girl at school would be thrilled to have him.
“It’s okay,” I say, leaning into him. “Sometimes life imitates art, right?” I add, all drama geeky.
“Rye, believe me, you are not anything like this character.” He grabs the script and starts flipping through the pages. “Hey, if it’s too hard to play this part right now, I could do a rewrite. I still have time.”
“Um, no—you don’t. Plus, this is your masterpiece. Don’t worry, I’ll channel my pain.” I give him a quick wink. “Come on, let’s finish going through it.”
Dez hits play and we watch the scene. He continues to give direction, but I can tell he’s taking it easy on me.
I think about what he said: your character has been picked on and abused for years. I think about all the insults Tori has spewed at me. The jokes I’ve had to brush off. My horrible track record in relationships. Ever since I started high school, I’ve been dumped by both boys and girls—I’ve become an equal opportunity dumpee. And that’s all before things even get going. I’m a senior and I haven’t even made it to second base yet.
So, playing the part of a social pariah? Yes, this might just be the easiest role I’ve ever had.
Dez’s phone rings. It’s the theme to The Godfather. He picks it up and looks at the caller ID.
“Shit, it’s Jonah. This might take a minute.”
Dez motions for me to keep working while he heads out of the edit suite. I continue to watch myself—something I detest. I jot down a few notes until the scene is over. But once my face leaves the screen, the video keeps going. Looks like Dez forgot to turn it off during our break.
I remember how we left to get snacks out of the vending machine that afternoon. Dez bought a Snickers. Jonah chose a bag of chips. I got M&Ms. Of course I remember that day perfectly—I had to tell the cops about it over a dozen times because we were the last known people in Ms. Dunn’s classroom. She had a staff meeting that day, so we had the room to ourselves.
I’m about to fast-forward the video when I hear a voice.
“Hurry up, they’ll be back any minute,” the voice says through the speakers. I recognize it immediately. It belongs to Libby.
She walks into the frame and my scalp tingles.
What is she doing there? On our video?
I don’t think I want to see this. I don’t want to know this.
“Where did that bitch put it?” asks a different voice. A guy’s voice. It’s weirdly distorted. I stare at the empty screen while the conversation continues.
“In the desk,” Libby says.
“Find it. That shit can be linked back to me. I ordered it online.”
“Shut up and keep a lookout.”
I can hear the guy’s voice though he never enters the screen. The desk drawers open and close and there’s a rumbling of papers.
“If Dunn fucks me up because of this … ” the guy says.
“She doesn’t even know it’s yours,” Libby says. “I’m the one on the line here.”
“Fuck, they’re coming,” the guy says.
Libby’s body runs past the screen. And then they’re gone.
My heart races and I can’t begin to process what I’ve just watched. Instinctively, I hit stop. I need to know more, but I don’t want anyone else to see it. I need a copy.
I don’t have much time. I snag a DVD from the stack on the table. I shove it into the computer, convert the file to DVD, and click the start burning button.
I hear someone’s feet shuffle outside the door. The video is recording and I can’t stop it, so I stand up to block the monitor.
Just in time.
There’s a tap on the sliding glass door. Marcus smiles and peeks his head in. “Watching your girl-on-girl porn in here?”
I turn my head but keep my body angled, strategically covering the monitor. “What do you want, Marcus?”
“Just replacing the bulbs on these babies.” He signals to the lights. Marcus’ dad owns the only photo studio in town, and that means Marcus has complete access to all the lighting gear, backdrops, and props he can get his creepy little hands on. With our non-existent budget, Dez really had no choice but to let him join the crew. Strangely, he’s also a hard worker. So I put up with him, even if I hear “giggity” in my head after every one of his sentences.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” I tell him.
“Okay, okay.” Marcus smirks. “I just thought you might be watching something interesting in here, that’s all.”
“Whatever.” I try to wrap it up, sure that Dez is on his way back. “Anything else? I’m trying to work.”
“Goodbye, Marcus.”
He shuffles away and I get back to the video. It’s almost done recording. Then I hear Dez’s voice; he’s still on the phone.
Come on, come on, come on.
The monitor finally goes black and the computer ejects the DVD. I stuff it into my bag, close the video file, and hit delete so it doesn’t end up in the wrong hands. I can’t risk Dez going back to look at it. I finish just as he says “later” into the phone.
“Sorry, Rye.” He pops his head in. “I’ve wasted all our time. Should we finish this after rehearsal?”
“No,” I say, a little too fast.
“Oh. Kay.” Dez tips his head.
“I mean, I think we should just re-shoot that scene. I know I can do it better.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Trust me.”
“Yeah, okay. We’ll reshoot.”
“Great.” I exhale. Guilt tears at me for lying to Dez, but I can’t tell him about this. His stepdad’s a cop, for God’s sake. Plus, he doesn’t even like Libby. Not after she tried to steal Reed—one of my many dumpers—out from under me sophomore year.
That’s Dez’s version of what happened, anyway. Libby swears it was Reed who came after her, but Dez isn’t convinced. He calls her Slippery Libby behind her back. Not that creative, but it stuck.
Right now, I can’t think about that. I don’t even care anymore. The only thing I can do at this moment is protect Libby, at least until I know more.
Oh Libby, what did you get yourself into this time?
DEZ
“See you at the taping,” I tell Riley when I drop her at the door for second period, lingering a little longer than I should. I know she’s still upset over Emma, but there’s no way she’ll let me in.
It’s for the best. That’s what I have to remember.
Rye gives me an unconvincing smile. She is so strong and feisty, and yet soft and delicate at the same time. There’s always a battle going on inside her; I like watching to see which side will win. Her energy is magnetic and pulses out of her. It’s like a gravitational pull that holds me there in the doorway until Tori shows up.
