Bad Girls Don't Die

by Katie Alender

  It actually kind of looked like a really vague silhouette of a person.

  But that was impossible. Not only impossible, but silly too. If you stare at anything long enough, you can make yourself see whatever you want to see.

  And there was a dust speck on this one too, but it looked even bigger. You could see it clearly—a little sphere of light, smack in the middle of the frame.

  Well, you can’t win ’em all.

  At least I’d managed to get a few eerie portraits of the house. Not bad for a roll that should have gone to the great darkroom in the sky.

  I WAS ON MY WAY back to my room when I heard a noise from downstairs.

  Shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle.

  It stopped abruptly.

  Gophers. The pipes. The house settling.

  As I turned toward my door I glanced back at Kasey’s room. For the first time I noticed a tiny bit of light shining through a crack. Her door was open. Only slightly, though. I craned my neck to see if I could see her outline under the covers. I couldn’t tell, so I turned back around.

  She was behind me.

  I gave a little shriek and did that really embarrassing terrified hand-wringing thing.

  Kasey just looked at me, completely calm.

  It took me a second to catch my breath. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting a drink of water.”

  “How did you get up the stairs without making any noise?”

  She looked at me like I had a screw loose. “Socks,” she said. She lifted her foot to show me. The underside was covered in a black coating of dirt, in the shape of a foot.

  “Those are filthy,” I said.

  Something occurred to me.

  “Did you just go outside?”

  Kasey looked puzzled. “Why would you think that?”

  “I just . . . heard—thought I heard . . .” I shrugged.

  “Lexi, are you feeling okay?” She studied me intently.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “Okay, because last night you got a little”—she considered carefully—“overexcited.”

  I couldn’t keep my cool any longer. “Well, maybe if I hadn’t had to follow you into the basement and then cook for you and do your homework and have you ruin my pictures—”

  “Oh,” she said. “Are they ruined?”

  There was no regret in her voice, only mild curiosity.

  “No,” I replied. “Lucky for you.”

  “Sorry,” she said, her eyes wandering up to the ceiling. “But you were acting really weird. It distracted me.”

  Was I acting weird?

  The story, the tree, the basement door, the cold air . . . all things that, in the light of early morning, seemed a lot more explainable than they had last night.

  Maybe a little weird.

  “See you later,” Kasey said, padding away down the hall.

  “Oh,” I said. “Wait.”

  She stopped and turned around.

  “Do you need any more help with your report?”

  She shrugged. “It’s cool. I finished it last night.”

  Oh. “Good for you,” I said. “Can I see it?”

  “Um, no . . . not right now,” she said. “It’s six thirty.”

  I nodded. “Right.”

  I hurried through my shower and getting dressed.

  For some reason I was highly disinterested in seeing my sister again that morning.

  All this time I’d thought Kasey was kind of on the verge of something, and suddenly it hit me that what if, you know, it wasn’t her? What if it was me? Can you go crazy without knowing you’re crazy?

  I mean, most crazy people do, right?

  See, times like these make you really wish you had a best friend. Someone you could go to and be like, “Am I nuts, or . . . ?” and they would just tell you flat-out.

  It was way too much to think about at seven fifteen, without even a Pop-Tart in my stomach. Mom was in the kitchen already, watching her coffee brew. She leaned against the counter, mesmerized.

  She didn’t look up when I came in, which was totally okay by me. I got a glass of juice, stuck my Pop-Tart in the toaster, and dropped a plate onto the counter with a clatter. Then I had to stop and wait, and the kitchen was quiet except for the electric buzz from the toaster and the soft, rhythmic bubbling of the coffee machine.

  “Thanks for doing the dishes.”

  I looked up in surprise to see Mom staring at me.

  “And helping Kasey with her schoolwork,” she said.

  I shrugged.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I have a huge interview on Friday. For a vice presidency. But if I don’t get the job . . .” She shook her head. “I’m so tired, Alexis. I want to be more involved with you girls.”

  My head swam. “Yeah, but . . . what would you do, quit?”

  She stared at the coffeepot.

  “Then how would we afford . . . ?” I let my voice trail off. Somehow it didn’t seem to be the right thing to say. I laid my palm flat against the counter. “Does Dad know?”

  “No,” she said. “I guess I have to talk to him about it.”

  “Will you tell Kasey?”

  “Tell me what?”

  We both jumped at the sound of Kasey’s voice. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, clutching her report.

  Mom took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, Kase. Right now I think it should be between your father and I.”

  “And me.”

  “Yes, and you and Alexis too, and we’ll talk about it as a family if it becomes an issue. I promise.”

  “No,” Kasey said. “Your grammar is wrong. ‘Between your father and me.’” She walked to the sink and filled a glass of water. After drinking the whole thing in one long series of glugs, she set the glass down on the counter and looked at Mom, who had frozen in place. “Just my opinion, but I don’t think you’d make a great housewife.” She glanced down at her watch. “I have to go. I’ll walk.”

  She turned and left.

  Mom stood speechlessly by the counter, staring at the spot where Kasey had been.

  All of the temporary closeness between Mom and me escaped out the front door with Kasey, making everything suddenly seem wrong, embarrassing. I reached over and flipped the toaster switch up, grabbing my half-cooked Pop-Tart out of its slot. I dropped it on my plate and walked out without another word.

  I WANTED TO FINISH UP AT MY LOCKER before Lydia arrived to pick another fight with the cheerleaders. After the past twelve hours, I couldn’t handle any more drama.

  So when a shadow fell over me as I searched for my copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God, I braced myself.

  “Good morning,” said Carter Blume.

  My math textbook slipped out of my arm and landed on his foot with a painful-sounding thud.

  The cheerleaders tittered.

  Carter picked up the book and handed it back to me, an amused smile on his face.

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  “Eye for an eye, right?” he asked. “Foot for a forehead? No problem.”

  “Look,” I said. “I just kind of want to be alone.”

  He nodded. “Okay, no problem.” He took a step back and looked around.

  I’d hurt his feelings. I had a chance to take it back, to tell him I didn’t mean it.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead I said, “Cool, thanks,” and let him walk away. Then I turned back to my locker, trying to ignore the contemptuous stares of the cheerleaders. I slammed the door shut and walked past them.

  In the courtyard I went right by the Doom Squad. No one even looked up. Not that I wanted to hang out with them, but it would have been nice if someone called me over. Whatever.

  Somehow I ended up in the library. I thought I’d be safe there—it’s always empty. Today was no different, except that right in my path, seated smack in the middle of one of the ancient, cracked, orange vinyl love seats was a single student—Carter. I sighed and walked over to him.

 
“Alexis Warren, you’re stalking me,” he said, his eyes wide.

  “I swear, I had no idea you’d be in here,” I said.

  He smiled a twisted little smile. “No, I’m flattered.” He looked around, kind of disoriented in (I hate to say) a very cute way. “But . . . I’ll go.”

  All of a sudden he didn’t seem like the worst company in the world. “You were here first.”

  He shrugged and reached for his bag.

  “You can hang out if you want,” I said. He was hoisting the bag over his shoulder.

  I would have to come right out with it.

  “Stay,” I said, my heart beginning to pound.

  Clear enough. He settled back against the worn sofa and smiled. “I described your house to my mother, and she’s horrified. She’s dying to see it.”

  I sat down on the love seat across from him. “That’s just what we need. Architects making fun of our home.”

  He studied the leather-tasseled zipper pull on his bag. “Obviously you don’t know anything about the art scene in Surrey. The worse something is, the more they like it.”

  I had to laugh. He sounded like some character out of a movie from the 1940s, always having a smart comeback. He could almost be cute, if he weren’t such a Ken doll.

  “Sorry I was rude before,” I said.

  “Which time?”

  “Oh, ha-ha. I haven’t been that bad.” I didn’t feel up to going into detail.

  He looked at the ceiling and held up his hand like in Hamlet, when Hamlet holds the skull. “That is without a doubt the stupidest question ever asked in the history of humanity.” He balled his hand into a fist as if he were crushing something.

  “I didn’t say it like that,” I said.

  He shrugged. “That’s how I remember it. It’s what I put in my blog, anyway.”

  I must have looked really horrified, because he burst out laughing.

  “I’m just kidding,” he said. “Really.”

  “You really are a politician,” I said. Only it kind of didn’t come out as jokey as I meant it. In fact, it came out so unjokey that it sucked all the fun right out of the conversation. Way to go, Alexis.

  Carter was quiet for a minute, then gestured to my clothes. “At least you remembered your red and white for School Colors Day.”

  I looked down at the short-sleeved red T-shirt I’d layered over a long-sleeved white one. “Oh no,” I said, laughing. “I swear I didn’t do this on purpose.”

  “Your reputation is about to take a huge hit,” he said. Carter, on the other hand, was proudly sporting an immaculate Surrey High sweatshirt.

  “I think yours will be worse,” I said, “if any of your friends see you with me.”

  He gave a little shrug. “I think you might be worth it.”

  Hearing that sent my brain spinning into confused blankness. I tried to show with my face that I didn’t attach any importance to what he’d said, but I just succeeded in raising my left eyebrow really high.

  He raised an eyebrow back and smiled. “I’m just remembering the first time I ever saw you.”

  “On the TV show,” I said.

  He shook his head. “No, before that. It was my first day at Surrey—I transferred two weeks into the school year, in the middle of September—and I was waiting in the office for my mom to sign some papers. I was listening to the secretaries, and they were all scandalized by some student who’d been caught putting bumper stickers that said ‘Gas Guzzler’ on every SUV in the parking lot.”

  Oh, yeah. My proactive environmentalist phase.

  “And then you came in, and the principal came out to meet you, and you told her you’d skipped her car because you knew she was on the waiting list for a hybrid.”

  Yup. Strangely enough, that didn’t really change Mrs. Ames’s view of the situation.

  He seemed to look off into the distance and smiled again. “That was the first time. The second time . . . How could I forget?”

  He meant that stupid TV show. “I’d actually rather you forgot, if you don’t mind,” I said.

  “What are you talking about? You were brilliant. Utterly amazing. You cut right through the drivel and made everyone else look stupid. And I’m not just saying that for the obvious reason.” He smiled at me, his eyes squinting appraisingly. “I said to myself, ‘Carter, there’s a girl that you need to knock down in the hallway sometime.’”

  Without thinking about it, I clammed up and sat back.

  “What’s wrong?” Carter asked.

  “I just . . . I can’t do this.”

  “What, take a compliment?”

  “I can’t be me and hang out with you being you.” I tried to think of a way to say it. “I mean, you’re nicer than I thought you would be, and it’s cool about the architecture, but I . . .”

  He leaned close to me and swallowed. “What?” he asked. His voice was low.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Just say something real. Everyone always just tries so hard, and it all comes out the same. I just want someone to say something real.”

  He broke his glance away from mine and looked at the carpet.

  “Forget it,” I said. “I’m sorry. That was rude, even for me. I’ll go.”

  I grabbed my backpack.

  “I tried to kill myself last year,” Carter said.

  My grip loosened and the bag fell back to the couch.

  “And I had to transfer schools because my dad”—he laughed bitterly—“my dad is a psychiatrist, and if word got around, it would ruin his business.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again without saying anything.

  “And nobody here knows,” Carter said quietly, looking into my eyes without blinking. “Well, except you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Was that what you were supposed to say to someone who was suicidal?

  “Don’t be,” he said. “It’s funny . . . I’m serious about Surrey Survey. I know you didn’t mean to, but you really helped me. It made things a lot easier. Overnight, I had friends and something to do with my time. It was . . . convenient.”

  I aim to please, after all.

  “So what else do you do?” he asked. “Besides, you know, the TV appearances and the environmental terrorism.”

  “Nothing much,” I said. We were back to the superficial stuff, but that was fine by me. One thing was certain—I’d think long and hard before I asked someone to get real with me in the future.

  “Nothing? No sports? No arts and crafts?” He leaned toward me.

  “Oh. Well, I really like photography.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Really?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, really. I take black-and-white pictures. I have a darkroom in my house.”

  “It’s my civic duty to ask why you aren’t on the yearbook staff,” he said.

  I recoiled. “Are you kidding?”

  He stared at me very seriously for a few seconds, then laughed. “Yes, I’m kidding. I know people on the yearbook staff. They’re not your type. And I don’t think I could sleep at night knowing I’d unleashed you on them.”

  I exhaled. Carter knew how to keep a girl on her toes.

  “So what do you photograph?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know . . .” I said. I thought about explaining my current photographic mystery, but thought I should keep things light. “Lately I’ve been experimenting a lot with this German philosophy called gestalt. Not just taking a photo of a bowl of fruit, but of the table it’s on, the room it’s in. How it all adds up to make one image. Like, a house at night and the trees behind it and the moon and stars.” And a mystery glow in the tree.

  Carter’s eyebrows went up.

  “I’ll stop now,” I said, feeling more than a little dumb.

  “No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “It’s fascinating. It’s cool that you have this secret side.”

  “It’s not a secret,” I said. “And no offense, but why do you even care?”

  “What do you mean?”

&
nbsp; “I mean, haven’t you heard about me? I’m rude. I’m always in trouble. I skip classes and none of the teachers like me. Why are we even doing this? Why do you care about any of it?”

  He laughed again, a real, honest laugh. “Believe it or not, I care about it because of those things.”

  “Oh, right. Opposites attract.” I looked around. “That’s easy to say sitting alone in the library. Or in a car.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Truth be told, I really didn’t know what I meant. “I mean . . . we get along great when nobody else is around . . . but I just can’t imagine hanging out in front of other people.”

  He shook his head. “Are you kidding? I’m not afraid to been seen with you public.”

  I widened my eyes and tried to sound solemn. “Well, maybe it’s the world that isn’t ready for our friendship.”

  He caught my mocking tone and sat back, shaking his head. Suddenly he brightened and leaned forward. “Then let’s show the world,” he said. It was like a challenge.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  His eyes flashed. “Come to the dance with me Friday.”

  The library floor could have dropped out from under my feet and I could not possibly have been more surprised than I was at that moment.

  “That is . . . unless you’re the one who’s afraid to be seen with me,” he said.

  “I’m not afraid,” I said.

  “Then say yes. Come to the dance with me.”

  My brain was absolutely no help to me at this point. So my gut spoke instead. “Okay, fine.” I shrugged. “If that will make you happy.”

  He looked straight into my eyes, and I noticed that our heads were so close I could smell his shampoo.

  The bell rang.

  Carter moved away quickly and glanced at his watch. “I’ll walk you to class?” he asked.

  I hesitated. We’d have to walk right past the Doom Squad.

  “I don’t want to cost you any friendships or anything,” Carter said smoothly, but his cool voice sounded a little cooler than usual.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said. I straightened my shoulders. What could they do, throw their leather bracelets at us? “I’ll protect you if they attack.”

  He gave a wary smile.