Ninny kisses my cheek. “Do you want me to check for the boogeyman under your bed?”
Shivers cover my skin as I search for Katelyn, but I keep cool, making my voice even. I answer her the same way she used to answer me when I was little and asked her that question. “If a man’s gonna be in someone’s bed, it better be mine,” I say.
Ninny laughs. “Remember, dreams can’t hurt you, baby,” she says and shuts the door.
“I know,” I say, even though I know that the small things are sometimes the deadliest.
CHAPTER 8
The week after the party, my cast finally comes off. My calf is half the size it used to be, and so dry I think I might have leg dandruff for the rest of my life.
“Let’s makes a deal,” the doctor says. “I never want to see you again.” He hands me the orange Sharpie I stuffed down the cast to itch my leg.
My eyes bug out of my head, shocked at his words because his voice is so flat and doctor-ish that he sounds serious. Then he half smiles and it dawns on me that he’s making a joke. A really bad doctor joke.
“I’ll watch out for accidents,” I say, even though you can’t watch out for accidents because they’re unexpected.
After my dream, sleep becomes scarce. The boogeyman Ninny used to stare away seems to be tucked tightly in the corner of my room. But staying awake helps. Most nights, I draw until my hands and eyes get so tired, I’m forced to sleep. I even picked up a tube of cover-up. Every morning, I dab a cream colored blob of concealer over the blue shadows collecting under my eyes. The bags disappear in seconds.
My hands start to go numb at random times, too, like when I’m in the car or when Olivia and I exchange glances in the halls. She never smiles at me. Her cheeks will go from perky to deflated with one look in my direction. Her shoulders even slump, and I’ll want to throw up because she’s so sad. Usually when that happens, I focus on a crack in the wall or hum a song that I heard on the radio until the feeling returns to my hands.
Walking helps, too. I’ve started wandering my neighborhood at night, which I know may not be the safest decision, but it’s safer than my bedroom and safer than sleep. I just walk and stare at the stars. For the first time in my life, I’m glad Ninny has a date with dope every night that puts her into a sleeping coma. It’s that or she’s sleeping at Toaster’s, which makes leaving the house even easier. I even walk to school some days. I figure a little bit of exercise can’t hurt.
Some nights, I’ll feel Katelyn behind me, like a shadow creeping closer and closer. When that happens, I pick up the pace to a jog. I usually end up running full speed until I can’t breathe any more and I have to hunch over, my sides splitting from cramps.
One afternoon, I catch her sitting at a table in Shakedown Street. It scares me so badly I drop the shake I’m making. When I go to clean up the glass on the floor, I don’t notice it’s chipped. It slices my hand.
The shake mixes with my blood and I mutter, “I think I’m bleeding a rainbow.”
Ninny freaks when she sees the colorful mess, screaming at me, “What happened? What happened?” over and over. But I can’t say I just saw a dead person, so I just stand there.
She carts me down to the urgent care clinic. The glass only sliced my hand a little. It just looked like a lot of blood because of the liquid from the shake. The nurse puts one of those butterfly bandages on my hand.
“I hope I never see you again,” I say as we leave. By the look on her face, she doesn’t get the joke. “I guess it’s a doctor thing.”
By the time Ninny and I make it home, my head is swimming so badly, I go up to my room and stuff my head under my pillow until the pounding subsides.
When I go to see Dr. Brenda the next day, she asks what happened to my hand.
“I broke a glass.”
“How?”
I stumble over my words, and for a moment I debate telling her. I stare into Dr. Brenda’s brown eyes, as she leans forward, barely blinking.
“I saw something.”
“You saw something?” Dr. Brenda makes a note in her notebook. It’s a new addition to our sessions, always there on her lap, ready to collect the things I say. Like she’s a detective searching for clues and one day she’ll be able to piece together what happened that night based on the little things I say.
“Never mind.” I sit back in my seat and stare at the deer head hanging over the door.
“Energy can be neither created nor destroyed. It simply moves from one place to another,” Mr. Salmon says. Ben’s asleep next to me, resting his chin on his palm, the littlest bit of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. I laugh when his face slips off his palm and almost hits the desk. Mr. Salmon glares at me. “Mass-energy equivalence. Write it down.”
I scribble the words in my notebook as heat creeps up in my cheeks. A few people in class look at me, and I slouch lower in my seat.
At one point in the lesson, Mr. Salmon tells us that energy can become mass and mass can become energy, and then he notices that half the students are sleeping and says, “I can’t believe it’s only October.” He starts a countdown at the top of the board and sits down at his desk. 135 DAYS UNTIL THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL.
I steal a glance at Ben. He makes sleeping look so easy. So peaceful. I don’t know how he stays calm amidst all this commotion. The rumors are getting out of control. All anyone talks about is Katelyn and Ben. How people used to see them kissing on the soccer field. How someone overheard Ben say once that he wanted to marry Katelyn. How perfect they were. How perfect she was.
I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I need to know her, so a few days ago I looked up the definition of perfect.
Perfect (adj): 1) having all the required or desirable elements, qualities or characteristics.
The definition is so clinical. Suzy described Katelyn as the “best drunk of your life.”
Yesterday, I corrected a girl when she said that Katelyn was so awesome and so good at soccer and so perfect.
“Katelyn was actually the best drunk,” I said.
The girl crunched her nose up at me and said, “What?”
“Never mind,” I said and quickly walked away.
Today, I heard a rumor that I got drunk with Katelyn once.
The loudspeaker blares a few minutes before the end of class and shocks Ben out of his sleep. He sits up quickly, wiping the drool from his mouth. One of his cheeks is red with the imprint of his palm. He rubs it and yawns, arching back in his chair. I pull a red and white mint from my purse and pass it over to him.
“In lieu of a toothbrush,” I whisper.
Ben cups his hand over his mouth and smells his breath. “Thanks.” He smiles as he unwraps the mint.
“It’s that time again,” the cheery voice of Ella Vega, our student council president, says over the speaker. “The votes have been tallied, and I have the nominees for this year’s homecoming court. Final voting will take place next week, and king and queen will be announced at the homecoming game.”
I pull my sketchpad and a charcoal pencil out of my backpack and work on the picture of Dex Mayhem that I started last night. Since Cass said I should be a video game designer, I thought I’d try my hand at it.
“The nominees for queen are Olivia Torres . . . ” Ella’s voice continues.
I smudge the lines around Dex’s sculpted face, giving him a chiseled, dirty yet sexy I-kill-aliens look.
“ . . . Claire Diaz, Suzy Lions, Sophia Mohomedally . . . ”
I’m fading into my drawing trance when someone in the classroom says my name. Wiping my hair out of my face, I ignore the sound until Ben’s elbow knocks my side.
“I let you sleep,” I bark in a whisper. “You can let me draw.”
“Aspen.”
“What?” Ben’s face is covered in shock, his eyes bulging out of his head. I sit up quickly. “What is it?”
“You’re nominated.”
“What?”
“For homecoming court.”
�
��Very funny.” But then I feel it. Eyes. Every set in the classroom on me. My body comes to attention like I’m a caged animal looking to get out of a maze. Suzy’s face is almost exploding in a grin. “This is a joke, right?”
“Ella said your name.”
“Well, she can take it back. I don’t want to be on homecoming court. I don’t even believe in monarchies. Queens always get their heads chopped off, and I like my head. Other than my hair.”
“I like your hair.”
“You like my hair?” We stare at each other. I fumble with the words inside my head. Finally I manage in say in a whisper, “I can’t be nominated.”
Ben reaches up and brushes my cheek with his fingertips. “You have black on your cheek again,” he says.
“See, I can’t even keep my face clean.” My cheek heats to a fiery level just as Suzy flops into the seat in front of us.
“We need to celebrate. This is amazing,” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “Let’s go shopping.”
Ben stuffs his physics book in his backpack. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. He doesn’t look at me as he leaves the room.
“We need to go to the Cherry Creek Mall. They have the best stores,” Suzy continues. “Hello, Aspen, are you listening to me?”
“What?” I snap back to Suzy.
“Cherry Creek Mall.”
“I hate malls. Too many doors that only open inside.”
“No girl hates malls,” Suzy says as we walk out of the class together.
“Look, I’ve gotta do a thing down this way,” I say, pointing in the opposite direction from Suzy’s locker. “I’ll see you later.”
“Cherry Creek, Monday after school.”
“Whatever,” I say as I walk away, lost in a zone.
It takes five hardy bangs before the principal’s door opens. I try to calm down, but my jaw is tight and my foot won’t stop tapping on the ground.
“Aspen,” Mr. James says as he opens the door. I’m beginning to hate the sound of my name. “Can I help you?”
“You said I could come to you with anything.”
“Yes.”
I try to keep my voice even when I say, “I don’t want to be on homecoming court.”
“Why not?” Even Mr. James has pity voice and pity eyes, the kind that pull down on the side all sad-like.
“I just . . . I don’t think . . . ” I can’t find the words to say what’s in my head. The truth that, if said out loud, would make me seem ungrateful and selfish: I’m only nominated because of the accident with Katelyn. And I can’t accept that.
“What is it?” Mr. James touches my arm.
I take a deep breath, my resolve fading. “Never mind.”
“People want to support you, Aspen. Consider this their way of showing it.”
“Great,” I say with emphasis and I give him two thumbs up, even though everything in my body hangs down about to splatter on the floor.
Kim waits by my locker, a pensive look on her face. My nerves pick up.
The picture Suzy took of us at her party got a gazillion “likes” on Instagram. I’m pretty sure the entire school saw it. People commented on how pretty I looked and how awesome Suzy’s tie-dye shirt was. I know it’s all supposed to make me feel better, like Mr. James said, and I don’t want to be ungrateful, but it just makes me feel shittier. Like I’m on some bad reality TV show that makes me famous because I have five kids with five different guys. And I’m pretty sure, by the way Kim’s face is contorted into a sour expression, that it makes her feel shitty, too.
Before Kim can say anything, Cass comes screaming down the hall. “Hail, Queen Aspen!” He runs up to me, and lifts me off the ground. “Do you think we’ll be able to see your crown through your ‘fro-hair?”
I smack the top of his head. “I haven’t won yet.”
He sets me down, his tall figure towering over me. “You got this in the bag.”
“I don’t want to be in a bag or a dress or a crown.” I elbow him in the side and look at Kim. She’s biting her bottom lip, more like chewing on it, her eyebrows pulled tight. “Say something snarky and make me feel better.”
“I have a date to the dance,” Kim says.
“What?” Cass bites.
“To homecoming. I have a date.”
“Who?” Cass asks. There’s tension in his throat like the words hurts.
“Jason Park.”
“What?” he yells. “Is this some Jasmine thing? An alternate person who’s taken over your brain? You said he was a douche.”
I cringe. Jason is the only other Korean in our grade and Uma’s dream guy for Kim. Cass can’t compete with that.
“My exact words were ‘he’s a douche with a bad Asian mustache,’ but I changed my mind. He’s nice.”
“Nice,” Cass mocks. “I hope no girl ever calls me nice. That’s code for ‘I’m never gonna touch her boobs.’”
“Maybe Jason will touch my—”
I cut Kim off. “Then will you go with me, Cass? Pretty please.” His eyes are still shooting daggers at Kim. “If I’m going to kowtow to this archaic high school ritual, I need a date to give me a corsage. Plus, every queen needs a king, right?”
Cass’s shoulders fall and he huffs. “Of course, I’ll go with you. But I’m pretty sure Ben Tyler will be your king.”
“What?”
I hadn’t thought about a king. Of course, it’ll be Ben, for the same reason I’m nominated. That and he’s just plain hot. Everyone likes a hot king. Thinking about him makes my stomach tight.
“Have you ever noticed how long his eyelashes are?” Cass says.
“He does have nice eyelashes.” Kim leans back against the lockers.
“Are we seriously talking about his eyelashes?” I ask, a confused anger coming over me. I don’t want to know Ben’s eyelashes, and yet I do, so well. His eyelashes are kind of like Snuffleupagus’s on Sesame Street, all long and accentuating his colorful eyes.
I grab books out of my locker, shoving them in my backpack without looking to see if they’re actually the ones I need for my homework.
“Can I have a ride?” Kim asks me.
“I walked today.”
“You walked when you have a car?”
“Exercise is good for you.”
“That’s propaganda sold to you by the American government. Exercise is overrated. Asian people never exercise and we’re, like, the skinniest race.”
“That’s because half the population is starving,” Cass interjects.
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“Will you both shut up?” I yell and rub my temples. Kim and Cass look at me.
“My mom’s picking me up, anyway. Dentist appointment.” Cass stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He pauses for a second and stares at Kim, as if he’s holding back words. But Kim doesn’t say anything, just wrinkles her nose and looks at the wall. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
Cass leaves, his head hanging low over hunched shoulders.
“Will you go to Common Threads with me to get a dress?” Kim asks when Cass is out of earshot.
“Why did you do that to him?”
“Do what?”
“And why the sudden school spirit?”
“We’re seniors,” Kim says. “We need to do this stuff. We never went to a party at Suzy’s before, but we did it.”
“Cass almost got his ass kicked by Brian Fontaine.”
“Whatever. He shouldn’t have French-kissed Lily.”
“Are you jealous?”
Kim adjusts her backpack, shifting her weight from side to side. She looks at me with resolute eyes. “Will you go shopping with me or what?”
I say yes, but as we walk out of school, I can’t stop thinking about the love the two of them ignore. Don’t they know we’re all one accident away from death? There might not be a tomorrow for them to love each other.
The next day, Hunter Hunter shows up at Shakedown Street, r
iding his skateboard up to the counter. He flings his head off to the side to move the hair falling in his face.
“Do you get free shakes?”
“Sometimes.”
“Cool. Is that the Dead?” He points at my mural.
“It is.”
“Cool. Do you have a date to homecoming?”
“I do.”
“Cool. Maybe we could dance together?”
“Sure.”
He leans down on the counter. “Your scar is totally bad ass.”
“Cool,” I say. He’s rubbing off on me.
Hunter smiles. Ninny walks out of the back room and gives him a suspicious look, but not a “mom” suspicious look of “what the hell do you want with my daughter?” It’s an intrigued suspicious look, as if the second he walks out the door she’s going to ask me if we’ve made out.
“I better hit it.” Hunter jumps on his skateboard. “I totally voted for you,” he says over his shoulder as he rides out the door.
“Voted for you?” Ninny taps my butt.
“Ugh, homecoming court.” I go back to cutting strawberries.
“Oh, my God! You are, like, so cool!”
“Shut up, Ninny. Don’t make it worse.”
“I think I need to do a cartwheel. This is so exciting.” Ninny walks to the middle of Shakedown Street and flings herself forward, looking like a five year old. She jumps up, her hair in her face. “I’ve still got it,” she says a little out of breath.
“You just flashed Pearl Street.”
“Whatever.” She adjusts her shirt.
Mickey comes in the back door with two huge grocery bags in his arms. “Who just flashed Pearl Street?”
“Ninny,” I say, my head down, focused on the strawberries.
“Damn.” Mickey sets down the bags and snaps his fingers.
“That’s because Aspen-tree is on homecoming court,” Ninny squeals.
He groans, putting a bunch of kale in the refrigerator. “I thought I taught you to fight against conformists, not join them.”
I help Mickey unload the other bag. “I’m not joining anybody. But I can’t turn down the nomination.”
Aspen Page 8
