by Tonya Hurley
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Brain cautioned. “I didn’t say that.”
“But there’s a chance, right?” Charlotte asked, pressing him.
“We won’t know that until afterward,” Brain offered cryptically. “There are so many variables….”
Charlotte interrupted Mr. Brain’s explanation, weighing her options out loud and quite dramatically. “To kiss or not to kiss,” she said, pacing the floor frenetically like the lead in a third-rate middle school production of Hamlet.
“The stakes are high, Charlotte,” he warned. “We may be trusting you with… our future.”
The possibilities ran through Charlotte’s mind and she made a calculation. Her answer was never really in doubt.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Mr. Brain,” Charlotte said, suddenly very willing to shoulder this heavy burden.
“Remember, just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should,” Brain stressed.
She was barely listening any longer. Brain had told her exactly what she wanted to hear. The dance, Damen, the Midnight Kiss, it was all hers for the taking.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said sincerely. “You are a lifesaver.”
“A lifesaver?” Brain said, a look of concern flashing across his face. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”
“To kiss.” Charlotte sighed, nearly swooning as she left the room.
Prue, who was hiding behind the open door, was now more determined than ever to stop her.
“Or not to kiss,” Prue muttered cryptically to herself.
Charlotte, meanwhile, had a smaller but no less important issue to resolve. Scarlet. They were still not on speaking terms, and without her cooperation, nothing would be possible.
Just then, an announcement from Principal Styx echoed through the vacant halls of the school.
“Attention Hawthorne students. Due to the flooding of the gym, we are unable to hold the annual Fall Ball in that location this year. Unless we find another suitable venue, we will be forced to cancel. I should inform you now that there are no good prospects at this time.”
Everyone seemed to have a different reaction to the breaking news. Petula, who was in front of her Speech class reading an article on “How to Please a Man” from her latest issue of Cosmo, was bubbling with vindictive delight over the news. Damen, almost suited up for football practice, was visibly bummed, and Scarlet, who was sitting in her History class, was secretly crestfallen.
Outside in the courtyard, Charlotte strolled past Prue with renewed confidence.
“I’ve got it!” she squealed with excitement.
21
Dead Can Dance
They shifted the statues for harboring ghosts Reddened their necks, collared their clothes Then we danced the dance till the menace got out She gathered the corners and called it her gown.
—R.E.M.
Pretty persuasion.
In order to be infl uenced by someone, especially to do or believe something that is totally out of character for you, that person must have some credibility. An element of trust between two parties. That trust, once broken, is hard to mend. Charlotte had become more persuasive, but until now, it wasn’t so pretty.
The brass, woodwind, and timpani arrangement of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart” assaulted the first period classes as the Hawthorne High marching band circled the building. Charlotte was above it all, perched on a stone ledge over the entranceway. Before long, she saw Scarlet coming toward the building. She appeared in front of her and scared her half to death.
“Look, I know we’re not friends anymore,” Charlotte said, getting right down to business, “but what about being ‘frenemies’?”
Scarlet pulled out her ear buds, paused her iPod, and crossed her arms tightly, appearing, as far as Charlotte could tell, to be a tiny bit open to the conversation.
“Go on…,” Scarlet challenged, giving her a second to make her case.
“Right now you can’t go to the dance and get back at your sister… unless they find a new place,” Charlotte explained.
“Well, that seems unlikely,” Scarlet snapped, “so I wouldn’t get your shriveled little organs in an uproar.”
Charlotte naïvely thought taking revenge on Petula was motivation enough for Scarlet, but what Scarlet could not admit to Charlotte or even herself completely was how excited she was at the prospect of going to the dance with Damen.
“What about having it at Hawthorne Manor?” Charlotte blurted before Scarlet could put her ear buds back in and take off for class.
“There are two major problems with your suggestion. One being ‘rigor mortis on the rag,’ ” Scarlet said.
“Let me worry about Prue. If you agree to let me possess you at the dance, I’ll find a way to get all of them out of the house,” Charlotte replied.
“… and two: How the hell are you going to get the Dance Committee to agree to that when the house is about to be condemned?” Scarlet asked.
“I’m not,” Charlotte responded. “You are.”
That night at the Dance Committee meeting, Scarlet sauntered in uninvited and addressed them.
“I know where we can have the dance,” Scarlet said, not wasting a single breath.
The room got quiet and everyone put down their refreshments, curious as to what Scarlet had to say.
“We already checked the graveyard and it’s booked… there are tons of people dying to get in,” a snarky guy yelled out from the back of the room. As a popular girl nudged him in the arm to shut up, Scarlet continued, surprised by the respect she seemed to have earned.
“Where?” the girl asked.
Meanwhile, Charlotte was in a meeting of her own at the Dead Dorm.
“Have the dance here? How is that gonna save the house?” Metal Mike asked.
“If we vacate the house and let the Living kids have their dance here, the authorities will see that it is safe and won’t bulldoze it,” Charlotte responded confidently. “It will also show that there can be other purposes for the building.” She nervously awaited their reaction, fearing the worst, hoping for the best.
Scarlet continued her argument simultaneously on the other side of town.
“It’s big enough. It’s vacant…,” Scarlet said, “… kind of.”
Lucinda, Hawthorne High’s resident faculty cheerleading sponsor, immediately stood up in support of Scarlet’s plan. She looked like Dolly Parton, sans the talent, with huge white hair, a heavily painted face, and long talons polished whore red.
“Well, someone does owe me a favor downtown… I’m sure we can get an okay from them to use the space for one night,” she said, winking at Scarlet.
Scarlet was relieved that someone was on her side.
“We can even have a haunted house fund-raiser to repair the water damage in the gym,” Scarlet said, thinking on her steel-toed, fishnetted feet.
“It’s kind of cool, having the dance in a creepy, abandoned manor,” the popular girl added, sealing the deal in a bizarre twist.
“So, it’s agreed. We let the Living have their dance here,” Piccolo Pam said as she winked at Charlotte. “Besides, what do we have to lose?”
Charlotte couldn’t believe that, after all she’d done, Pam still had her back.
“Will there be a red carpet?” CoCo asked, completely glazed over.
Everyone was bursting with enthusiasm, except Prue, who was beyond livid that Charlotte had sealed the deal.
Charlotte was being congratulated by everyone as they filed out of the room. It was her moment to shine, and did she ever. She was glowing until Prue popped up at the end of the line.
“I know you think you’re meant to go to the dance,” Prue said antagonistically. “That fits right in with your selfish little agenda.”
“What are you talking about?” Charlotte asked sheepishly.
“You may have fooled everyone else, but you don’t fool me,” Prue declared. “Saving the house for our sake means nothi
ng to you.”
“Weren’t you just in the meeting?” Charlotte retorted, finding some backbone. “I’ve got it all worked out. You’re just jealous because I am The One and you’re not,” Charlotte said naïvely.
Prue paused for effect before replying. “You’re a choker, remember?”
Scarlet and Charlotte wasted no time, for fear that either side would have a change of heart, and feverishly wrangled everyone to prepare for the dance.
The Clean Teams assigned by the Hawthorne Dance Committee worked their little hearts out making the old house presentable. All the broken ceiling tiles and Sheetrock were scrapped and carted away. Floors were scrubbed, dust vacuumed, furniture and lighting repaired, and woodwork polished.
Before long, the makeshift haunted house was coming to life. Totally unaware of the ghostly presences surrounding them, the Living kids sprayed fake spider webs in all the corners and over all the doorways, dripped red-tinged Karo syrup and red dye down the walls, put down a flimsy track for the haunted house “ride” and loaded in dry ice for the smoke machines. The Dead kids’ decorations were a little bit more… authentic.
Rotting Rita spit real spiders out of her mouth to populate the webs. Kim pressed her head wound on an opposite wall and rolled it, leaving a purplish bloody stain ringed with scabrous flesh. She stepped back and admired her work as one would a priceless Renaissance painting. Everyone was getting into the spirit.
Scarlet was setting up the DJ booth and sound checking, alternating between her trusty iPod and the two CD mixers. She had her headphones on and was deep in thought, weighing every selection with the utmost importance.
“I need to talk to you,” Charlotte said, broadcasting her voice through Scarlet’s iPod.
Scarlet, freaked out, threw off her headphones, and saw Charlotte standing eerily behind her.
“Can’t you just tap me on the shoulder like a normal person?” Scarlet asked. “I know what you’re gonna say. Don’t worry; you’ll get your turn.”
“Well the thing is, I have to be the one who dances with him at midnight because of the kiss,” Charlotte said.
“What are you, CinderHELLa?” Scarlet asked. “That’s just a myth. A joke.”
“It’s not a joke. Mr. Brain explained it to me,” Charlotte replied, Prue’s words taunting her in her head. “Scarlet, I’m The One.”
“You’re The One?” Scarlet asked, still cynical about Charlotte’s motives.
“Yes, for once, I really am.” Charlotte explained breathlessly. “This kiss, you being able to see me, everything, it all proves that Damen is my unfinished business. That this kiss will bring resolution not only to me but to all of us Dead kids,” Charlotte said. “He’s my destiny, and you are my only hope.”
Scarlet just wore a blank expression as Charlotte continued to explain that she was the chosen one.
“Scarlet, you may not believe me, but you believe in me, right?” Charlotte asked, seeking to rekindle just a little bit of the trust they had between them.
“Sure, yeah, it’s only one kiss, right?” Scarlet agreed, reminding herself that it was only one night for her but an eternity for Charlotte.
While everyone was working hard to prepare for the dance at Hawthorne Manor, Petula and the Wendys were working just as hard to ruin it. There was no catty gossip to be heard coming from Petula’s bedroom. They were all business, and Petula was clearly becoming a little unhinged.
“So, what do you guys think?” Petula asked as she turned around, smearing on Scarlet’s crimson lipstick, the one that she took from Principal Styx, and smacked her lips.
“You look just like Marilyn,” Wendy Anderson said in amazement. “Marilyn Manson, that is!”
The Wendys burst into uncontrollable laughter at the sight.
“You are so funny, Petula.” Wendy Thomas giggled.
“Oh really? Am I funny to you?” Petula said with a deadpan expression. “Funny, how?”
“You know, funny, like funny ha-ha,” Wendy said nervously.
“So you mean funny like a joke?” Petula asked, wide-eyed. “Like I’m here to amuse you?”
The mood in the room got deadly serious.
“Kidding,” Petula said, her psychosis passing for the time being.
The Wendys looked at each other, exhaled, and returned eagerly to plotting Petula’s revenge.
“Come on, guys, think,” Wendy Thomas said.
“I want the punishment to fit the crime,” Petula said through her gritted unnaturally bleached pearly whites.
“Well, it’s all about the dance, then,” Wendy Anderson reasoned. “But she will be hard to get to there.”
Petula thought for a minute and interrupted.
“What is the absolute worst thing you can do to a Goth girl in front of the whole school?” Petula asked.
“We can drop a bucket of blood on her,” Wendy Anderson suggested.
“It’s been done, Wendy. Besides, she’d probably love that,” Petula said. “But you might be on to something there….”
Scarlet decided to take another crack at researching Prue. She figured that knowledge was power, and she wanted to be prepared. She typed “Prue” again, only this time armed with her newspaper advisor Mr. Filosa’s password—“fit2print”—which she “got” from his desk drawer.
With it, she would have greater access to the school database and online archives. She waited and waited for the advance search to complete. Finally, a link to just one article popped up on screen.
“Hawthorne Hit-and-Run Ruled an Accident,” the headline read. Scarlet scrolled down farther, her hand shaking, knowing that she finally had found what she was looking for.
A DISTRICT COURT JUDGE RULED TODAY THAT THE HIT-AND-RUN KILLING OF SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD HAWTHORNE REGIONAL HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT PRUDENCE SHELLEY WAS AN ACCIDENT. SHELLEY WAS RIDING WITH HAWTHORNE TRACK STAR RANDOLPH HEARST TO THE ANNUAL HARVEST BALL WHEN, BY HIS ACCOUNT, SHE REQUESTED TO BE LET OUT ALONG THE WAY. IT WAS THE LAST TIME SHE WAS SEEN ALIVE. AFTER A TWO-DAY SEARCH HER BODY WAS FOUND IN A DITCH BY A MILK DELIVERYMAN.
“Prudence,” Scarlet said, smacking her forehead.
LAW ENFORCEMENT HAD LONG BELIEVED THERE WAS MORE TO THE DEATH THAN HEARST ADMITTED AND CHARGED HIM WITH MANSLAUGHTER AND VEHICULAR HOMICIDE, BUT WAS UNABLE TO PROVE EITHER COUNT AT TRIAL. THERE WERE NO OTHER SUSPECTS.
“GIVEN THE NATURE OF THE WOUNDS TO HER BODY, I WILL NEVER BELIEVE THIS WAS A SIMPLE HIT-AND-RUN,” THE PROSECUTOR TOLD US EXCLUSIVELY.
HER AGGRIEVED PARENTS SAID, “WE TOLD HER NOT TO MIX WITH THOSE RICH KIDS. THAT IT WOULD ONLY BRING TROUBLE. BUT SHE WOULDN’T LISTEN. SHE NEVER LISTENED TO ANYTHING WE SAID.”
“Ouch,” Scarlet said. “Her own parents threw her under the bus, so to speak.”
HEARST IS RETURNING TO HIS STUDIES AT A UNIVERSITY WHERE HE IS MAJORING IN FINANCE. HE HAD NO COMMENT ON THE DECISION, BUT HIS ATTORNEY, RUFUS BENCH, SAID HEARST WAS “RELIEVED.”
She stared at the screen for a long while, reflecting on the tragic details. Scarlet had found her answers… and her ammo.
At Hawthorne High, Prue stood alone amid the clutter in Dead Ed, scratching her nails down the length of the chalkboard, over and over, still steaming over the code violations dilemma and Charlotte’s screw-up.
“I know, let’s scare away the buyers,” she snipped in a nasal, mocking voice, chastising herself as much as Charlotte for the terrible outcome of the original “haunting.”
This little pity party was unlike Prue, but with the new strategy of holding the dance at the house in order to save it, and the whole Midnight Kiss thing, she was sure that Charlotte had driven them all dangerously close to Oblivion. Moreover, she was feeling almost completely powerless to stop it.
“Scare them,” Prue said out loud, throwing her hands up in the stagnant air. “What a stupid ide…,” She paused mid-thought and went silent.
“Brain is right,” Prue stated to herself as she stared at his empty desk and chair. “I’m going to have to find anothe
r way to bring her around.”
“There isn’t much I can do to her,” Prue theorized. “But the rest of them…,” she said, this time with the certitude of a true believer.
22
Bleeding Heart
The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies, When love is done.
—Francis W. Bourdillon
We transform in life and we transform in love.
When we transform, we never end. We change. Not completely, but we more or less adapt our new form to our new feelings. The hardest part about this natural process is letting go and allowing it to happen. There is a time and place for everything. A time in life to be someone, and then after that is gone, an opportunity to transform into something else. And, if we’re lucky, there is also a time to love someone and, hopefully in Charlotte’s case, to transform into someone who is loved.
The great room had been magically transformed into an elaborate, enchanted forest with cool Mexican Day of The Dead skeletons dangling from enormous dead trees that stretched the entire way to the cathedral ceiling, all wrapped in thousands of twinkling lights, mirroring the tiny white star-shaped lilies that Charlotte had tucked throughout her dark head of hair. It was more spectacular than she ever imagined it would be. She couldn’t believe that she was actually on the brink of realizing her wildest dreams.
Charlotte walked past the exterior of the haunted house on her way to the dance floor and marveled at the macabre games, like “Pick a Dead Duck” and a dart game with wax replicas of their teachers’ heads mounted on the wall as targets. She stopped to watch, thoroughly enjoying herself, as one student threw a dart into a wax Mr. Widget head, piercing the middle of his good eyeball. Charlotte chuckled as the student was handed a dead baby doll wearing a torn and dirty Hawthorne High sweatshirt as a prize.
She checked out the haunted ride and noticed a girl dressed as a dead prom queen waiting to board. Charlotte watched as she addressed everyone in line, all groping each other and only really interested in getting their dates in the dark.
