by Dawn Klehr
“Yeah, of course.” I try to ignore the pain in her eyes. “Sorry.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“What about me?” I say, trying not to look guilty. I roll my second piece of pizza like a burrito and take a massive bite.
“I never got the chance to ask you what happened with Allie over the weekend. I noticed you didn’t go out on Friday night.”
Busted.
“Allie?” Jonah interrupts, confusion washing over his face.
Oh, shit.
I hold up a finger and finishing chewing while I send Jonah a look: Bro code, man. Bro code.
Jonah gets it and clams up.
“Her parents had a change of plans,” I finally answer.
Now it’s time for a quick diversion. I push my plate away and turn toward Jonah. “What about you?” I ask. “Tell us about your weekend with Ginger.”
It’s the perfect distraction technique. Pressure’s off me and onto Jonah. Though Riley looks skeptical, she never asks me any more about the Allie situation because we spend the rest of our lunch giving dating advice to Jonah.
Score one, Desmond.
A BAD, BAD THING
INT. THEATER PROP STORE, SUMMER BEFORE SOPHOMORE YEAR—DAY
Inside the store, 15-year-old RILEY has her dark hair pulled into two messy Princess Leia buns and wears a T-shirt and camouflage shorts. She plays around with fake guns and weapons, acting out various movie fight scenes.
DEZ, also 15 years old, is tall and lean, with unkempt hair and a handsome face. He’s lying on the floor watching Riley play with the props. He smiles at her longingly and we know immediately he has feelings for her. The two are out buying props for their high school film project—a story about gangsters.
RILEY
(puts the machine gun
under DEZ’S chin)
We’re going to be late.
You better call your mom.
DEZ pulls his phone out from his
pocket and looks at the screen.
DEZ
(turns the phone around so
RILEY can see it)
My phone’s dead.
RILEY
(reaches in her bag for
her new phone)
DUDE, you really need to get
your S-H-I-T together. Your
phone is always dead.
DEZ
(takes RILEY’s phone)
And? That’s some big crime?
RILEY
(waves the gun around and jokes) People have been killed for less.
DEZ makes the call to his mom and tells her they’re going to be late.
RILEY
(continues evaluating the props)
Will you text Homer too? I’m supposed to be at rehearsal tonight.
DEZ
(messes with the phone)
I can’t find Homer’s number.
CUT TO:
CLOSE UP: PHONE CONTACT LIST
CUT TO:
WIDE SHOT: RILEY AND DEZ
RILEY
Oh, yeah, my contacts didn’t transfer over. Look under recent calls. He’s in there. It’s the 636 number. Tell him I can’t make it because I’m shopping with you.
DEZ finds the number, types the message, and hits send. He sets the phone down in front of him while Riley moves behind a rack of costumes.
The phone buzzes, so DEZ picks it up.
CUT TO:
CLOSE UP: PHONE SCREEN
The message is from RILEY’s boyfriend, REED. DEZ realizes he accidently sent the text to Reed instead of Homer.
DEZ
(whispers)
Shit, wrong 636 number.
CUT TO:
CLOSE UP: PHONE SCREEN
Reed’s text message says: Are we still on for tomorrow?
RILEY
(yells from behind the rack)
What’s that?
DEZ
Oh nothing, just talking to myself.
DEZ looks around and types back: Sorry, can’t make it.
He hits send. Then he deletes the entire text message exchange.
RILEY
In gym my plan starts to take hold. Tori tells Coach K that I’m joining her foursome for doubles.
She’s picked me for badminton.
And maybe also for her church project.
“Fine.” Coach barely looks up and sends us to the first net.
I take a quick glance at Libby before I follow.
“What the hell?” Libby mouths.
I shrug and follow my new bestie.
“Riley, I’ve been thinking.” Tori links her arm through mine. “I could help you, you know? Help you work through your unnatural urges.”
“What do you mean?” I play dumb. This is what I was banking on; I’m exactly the project she’s been looking for.
“Well, if you’re willing and committed, I could help get you on the right path.”
“You could?” I ask, putting on my best innocent face. “How?” It’s the face I use on my parents when I’m trying to get out of something. It works like a charm.
“Well, the first step would be to welcome you into our fold.” Tori waves her arms at the Tori Rollers behind us. Natalie, Paige, and Alexa all smile and nod. “We’ll pray together and help show you the way.”
“You’d do that?” I stifle the evil laugh that wants to escape. This is going to be easier than I thought.
“Of course I would. That’s what our movement is all about. The Day of the Righteous is not just about one day. It’s about helping people in need at any time. What do you say?”
I stop and look at her straight in the eyes. “I say yes.”
“Yay.” Tori places my hand in hers and extends the other out to the Rollers. “Quick prayer, girls. Bring it in.”
The girls join us to create a linked circle. They all bow their heads and close their eyes.
I look around, half expecting a wind to pick up and the lights to flicker.
“God of mercy,” Tori begins. “You have called on us to help lead Riley on the path of righteousness. Please help us in your mission. Please allow Riley to acknowledge her sins and help us all live by Christ each and every day. In his name. Amen.”
The girls echo, “Amen.” Then Tori leans in and whispers, “Don’t worry, Riley. We’ll pray away the gay.”
I’m dying to ask just how that works but instead, I say my own little prayer.
Please, God, let this be over soon.
The next morning, I take it up a notch. If I’m going to play the part, I need to look the part. I page through a fashion magazine I picked up, and the glossy pages invite me into a new world. One where boys like girls and girls like boys.
I sneak into Mom’s bathroom, grab a few tubes and bottles, and lock myself in my room. It’s too early for my parents to be up, but I take no chances.
The sun shines through my window. The fall leaves have peaked—all yellows and golds of the birches, reds of the maples, orange of the oaks. Unfortunately, it won’t last long. Soon they’ll turn that deep shade of cinnamon, burnt leaves in a final burst before they fall. That’s how I feel—my old self falling away like the leaves so that I can begin anew.
I rest on the floor, surrounded by lotions and potions, with magazine photos ripped out and taped to my mirror. I use the photos as a guide and take out Mom’s pink bottle of Maybelline mascara. I pump the wand and go to work. Slowly, I take the tiny brush and run it up the length of my lashes. First the top, then the bottom.
It feels heavy when I blink but the reflection blinking back looks all right, so I keep going.
So far, so good.
When I study my eyes in the mirror, I can see that my lids are covered in tiny black dots from my lashes brushing up against them. I wet a Q-tip in my mouth and swab them clean. Th
en I take a huge makeup brush and dab it in Mom’s translucent powder. I paint in wide strokes across my forehead,
down my nose to my chin. It tickles and some of the powder gets in my nose, making me sneeze.
Once my eyes clear, I can see the results. It’s not so horrible.
Next, I assess the selection of lip color. We have lipstick, lip liner, lip gloss, and lip stain in various shades of berry, brown, and nude. That’s the one funny thing about Mom, my liberal, green, feminist mother. She’s simple and principled and all that, but the lady goes to great lengths to look good. And, given this sampling of makeup, I’d say someone has a bit of a cosmetics addiction going on.
I look over all the choices and settle on the nude gloss. I take the tube and squeeze out a shiny bead the size of a pea and smear it on. My lips feel goopy and I have the strangest feeling they’re going to be sealed shut if I keep my mouth closed for too long.
I study my closet and decide to swap my tennies for a pair of boots. Mom picked them up at a consignment shop last year. They were never worn, she said before telling me how much they go for at the store. I tried wearing them once and they killed my feet. But if I’m going to become a real girl, sore feet is a small price to pay. I tuck my leggings into my boots, throw on a shirt without a hood, and call it good.
It’s funny, though. As I walk through the halls at school, I get a few raised eyebrows and even more smiles than normal.
It feels like I did something right.
“All right, Frost, what’s going on?” Libby corners me in the hallway. “I leave you alone for a minute and you suddenly become one of Tori’s clones?”
Think fast.
“I’m playing a part.” I motion with my head so she’ll come closer.
“And what part is that? Bible-thumping Barbie?”
“Our film for the festival, remember? Dorky girl turns into Cinderella? I need to see how the other half lives to get this right.”
“But you hate Tori and … ” Libby wipes my cheek with her thumb. “And makeup.”
“It’s for my art,” I tell her, but she’s not amused. She lets out a huff and rushes off to class.
During gym, things don’t improve. When Libby overhears Tori inviting me to her annual Halloween party, she shoots flaming daggers at me with her eyes.
I brush her off.
Tori tells me there will be games and food and a bonfire outside, but all I’m thinking is that there will also be plenty of time to look around for evidence against her scumbag dad. And that’s when I realize I need backup. I have to come clean to Dez; he’ll know what to do.
I say “yes” to Tori’s invitation, already plotting my next move, and practically skip into the locker room.
DEZ
It’s the shoot I’ve been dreading. The major love scene. I snap orders and everyone complies, but I can tell they’re trying to steer clear of me. I call for the actors. It’s a cool thing, being in charge of people this way. Telling them what to do and how to do it. Plus, I’m good at it. And not just on screen.
That first time I started messing with Riley’s love life, the guilt consumed me. I couldn’t look her in the eyes for weeks. Yet after I erased that text message on her phone, it somehow felt like I’d done the right thing. I felt it in my gut. In a fucked-up way, I was actually helping her.
When Riley tried talking to Reed again, after the texting fiasco, he blew her off. Then Libby made her move on Reed. Of course, she denies it, but I saw them together. Rye never knew what hit her and the romance with Reed was over before it ever really started. She was crushed, but I made it up to her. I was there with flowers and food, and I listened. I listened to what she wanted, what she hoped for, and that’s what I’ve tried to become for her.
It sounds a little crazy, I’ll admit, but Reed didn’t deserve Riley. He had no idea what kind of person she is—beyond the superficial. He would never have appreciated her like I do. Nobody can.
Riley and Jonah take their places and I say, “Action.”
Rye oozes with confidence. Jonah’s a little more reluctant until they get into the scene. Then it flows easily. Riley has become Ashley—bold, cool, and totally into boys. My stomach twists when she goes in for the kiss. I’m completely captivated. Jonah is trapped in her gaze. She slowly closes in, and when her lips meet his, he doesn’t hold back. He dives in, and his hands travel all over her back.
I want to look away. It’s torture. I don’t know what’s gotten into Riley, but I don’t like it. I didn’t even know she knew how to kiss like that. And Jonah? He’s worse.
“Jesus, Jonah!” I yell. “Slow down. You’re supposed to kiss her, not make a meal of her.”
Everyone laughs and Rye looks particularly pleased.
I fight my way through the scene, and I’m relieved when we’re finally walking to my car.
“So, you were into the scene today.” I try to keep my voice casual. “A little too into it.”
“Really?” She smirks. “Can you be too into a scene?”
“Well, think of Jonah. You almost gave the guy a stroke.”
She laughs, clearly proud of herself.
“Come on, Rye, what’s going on with you? I also heard that you and Tori were all cozy today.”
That’s what really has me on edge. What’s with Tori’s sudden personal interest in Rye? It’s the last thing I need.
“Yeah, I know,” she says. “I think I’m going to have a lot of people pissed at me.”
“For what?”
“For what I’m about to do.”
“And what’s that?” I don’t like the sound of this.
She looks around, trying to decide if she should tell me. She scoots close. “Can you keep a secret?”
She hauls me back into the school, to the edit suite, and pulls a DVD and a folder from her bag, gently placing them on the table.
“Can I show you something?” she asks.
“’Course,” I say. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“You’ve got to promise me—this stays between us. No matter what.”
“Okay, Rye. I promise.”
Riley puts the DVD into the drive and hits play. It’s that scene she made us reshoot.
“Why do you have this on DVD?” I ask.
“Because I deleted the file off the computer.”
“Why?”
“If you’d shut up for a minute, I’ll show you.”
She fast-forwards to the end of the scene, but the footage keeps rolling. I must’ve forgotten to turn it off when we finished. Then I hear it. This is why she brought me here.
I listen as Libby and some guy talk about a stash Ms. Dunn had.
“Must be Will,” I tell Riley. “He’s the only one I know who buys synthetic drugs online.”
“How do you know that?”
“How do we know anything around here?” We look into our stepfather’s police database. “People talk, Riley.”
“I mean, how do you know he was talking about synthetic drugs?”
“Why else would he be so worried about something being traced back to him?”
“Makes sense, I guess.” Riley’s lost in thought, tapping on the table.
“So you found this the day we were reviewing the tape?”
Riley nods.
“And that’s why you wanted to reshoot?”
Another nod.
Nice.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Because I knew you’d assume the worst about Libby.”
“Well, it doesn’t look good, Rye.”
“That’s not all,” she adds, holding up a folder. “These were hidden in one of Ms. Dunn’s picture frames.” She opens the folder and pulls out a bunch of papers. “There could be clues in here, Dez. I think these might tell us who killed her.”
“Didn’t the police already go through Ms. Dunn’s things?”
“Well, they obviously didn’t see the video, and all of this stuff was hidden.” Riley flicks the contents of the folder with her fingers and the papers flitter to the ground.
I snatch them up almost as fast, and Rye grabs my arm. Her eyes fill and my heart aches.
“Ms. Dunn was scared, Dez. She knew something.”
“Maybe we should give it to the police now.”
“No, we can’t. Libby would be toast if we did.”
“Rye, I really think the person who killed Ms. Dunn is long gone.”
“No. I think that person has been right here the entire time.”
“You’re playing with fire. I don’t think we should get involved.”
“I’m already involved.”
Of course she is. We both are.
I stay with her and we look through Ms. Dunn’s papers. There’s a bunch of stuff with Ron Devlin’s name and phone number: his notes to the school board voicing complaints about the humanities class, correspondence between the two of them, meeting appointments, a notice about the cancelation of her class. Letters from an attorney in Minneapolis about a potential lawsuit—Ms. Dunn was trying to get our high school in on a class action case, something having to do with religious discrimination. And worse, information about the city government, like hiring documents, HR records, and a bunch financial papers covered in Post-its with words like misuse of funds, illegal, and bribery written all over them. As Bernie would say, pretty incriminating stuff. I wonder if the cops even looked into Devlin after Ms. Dunn’s murder, or if he brushed them off.
“Look at this stuff. I don’t know, maybe we should talk to Bernie,” Riley says.
Now I’m the one to backpedal. “Not yet.” I put my hands on hers. “Let’s wait it out.”
RILEY
Apparently my mini-makeover isn’t quite enough to hang with the Tori Rollers.
“I don’t care what you have going on tonight.” Tori puts her hands on my shoulders at the end of the day. “After your rehearsal we’re having a makeover party. My house. I will not take no for an answer.”
