The Locket

by Stacey Jay

  Hmm . . . maybe Dad would know something about the locket if I got up the courage to ask. I stepped out to the edge of the patio, scanning the leaf-strewn yard.

  “Dad? Are you—ah!” My words ended in a scream as fingers danced up my ribs, finding every ticklish place along the way.

  Mitch laughed as I spun around, slapping his hands together. “Got you. Again. That’s three times this month.” He smiled. “Your dad went around front to get an extra rake.”

  “You are disturbed,” I said, my heart still racing.

  Mitch loved to lurk just outside our sliding door and scare the crap out of me when I came outside. He’d been doing it since we were ten. I should have learned to watch my back by now, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t expected to see him so soon. Especially today. It seemed . . . wrong for him to be in my backyard.

  I reminded myself for the zillionth time that we had never kissed, never crossed the line that separated friends from more-than-friends. This was fine, normal even. Everything was good. Great.

  “I am disturbed,” Mitch said, a shadow creeping across his face.

  Okay, maybe everything was not so great.

  “You serious?” I asked, voice low.

  “Kind of.” He shrugged. “That’s actually why I came—”

  “Babe? Are you back there?” Isaac’s voice sounded from around the side of the house. My stomach jumped into my throat and sucker-punched my brain stem, making the world tilt on its axis.

  He was here. He was really here!

  “Back here!” My breath caught as I turned to watch the door to the fence open.

  For a moment, my mind flashed on an image of Isaac’s face, seeing again the disgust twisting his features when I’d reached for him on the night of our breakup. I heard him telling me again how I wouldn’t have to worry about him “liking” me anymore, let alone loving me, and everything inside me cringed.

  This was it, the true test of the entire do over. Would Isaac be like he had been on the phone—sweet and apologetic? Or would he be the boy who’d kicked me out of his truck onto the side of the road and left me to walk miles in a thunderstorm?

  I was terrified, frozen in place, certain this dream of a second chance was going to crumble like the brown sugar topping on the blueberry muffins Mom was baking. But then Isaac pushed through the gate, hair shining gold in the sun, big grin on his face, wearing his favorite orange shirt with the sketches of brown feathers on the front. He stopped to give Mitch a quick, easy high five, then pulled me into his arms. He hugged me tight, his cheek smooth against mine, his smell as perfectly, familiarly Isaac as ever.

  I squeezed him until he made a grunting sound and laughed into my hair. It was all I could do not to bawl like a baby. Isaac was here and he still loved me. I was the luckiest girl in the world.

  As I pulled away, my fingers flew to press against the locket, lying cool against my skin beneath my short-sleeved, brown sweater. I sent out a silent thank-you to God and the universe and enchanted jewelry makers and Gran’s leave-my-jewelry-lying-ina-big-messy-pile nature for this chance, this miracle.

  It really was a miracle. Isaac’s eyes held not a single shred of hate or doubt. This was the Isaac of two weeks ago, the Isaac who still loved me. Who called me babe and thought I was beautiful and wanted to marry me and be together forever.

  Oh man, I really was going to get sniffly if I didn’t watch out. I was just so thankful.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, mistaking the reason for my obvious emotional instability. “I suck.”

  “You don’t suck!”

  “You do suck, but she’s already forgiven you,” Mitch said. “You are a lucky bastard.”

  “I am a lucky bastard.” Isaac turned to punch Mitch on the arm, then the stomach, and then they were doing that weird not-quite-fighting thing boys do to bond. They were halfway across the lawn, falling into a pile of leaves, when my dad showed up with the rake.

  “You two are ruining my piles!” Dad yelled, but I could tell he didn’t mind. Now it would take him even longer to clear the yard and he’d be spared that vacuuming I’d so narrowly avoided.

  “Love you, Dad. We’re going to go,” I said, leaning in for a hug.

  “You all have fun. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  “We won’t,” Mitch said. “Later, Mr. M.”

  I shot Isaac a look, but he was already heading for the gate behind Mitch, not at all surprised or annoyed that Mitch had invited himself on our date. But then, Mitch had invited himself on our dates lots of times. Especially when he was the only one of us with a vehicle. Mitch was six months older than Isaac and had gotten his license early because his dad was a single parent and a doctor who worked odd hours.

  Still, this was supposed to be a special day. For me and Isaac. I couldn’t help but wish Mitch would go home. Just this once.

  “I brought bikes to take into Nashville. That sound cool?” Isaac asked when we reached the drive.

  “Sounds perfect.” I loved riding bikes in the city, but Isaac usually hated the hassle of loading them up.

  “So your car or mine?” he asked. This time, I didn’t bother to answer. I knew he was talking to Mitch. Isaac never let me drive.

  It was a man thing. Or a southern thing. Or some kind of thing. It had never bothered me before, but I couldn’t suppress a flash of anger as I watched the boys debate the pros and cons of Mitch’s family van versus Isaac’s souped-up Accord. If Isaac had let me drive on my birthday, I wouldn’t have been stuck walking home in the rain on a very dangerous stretch of country road, worrying that I was about to be struck by lightning.

  That. Never. Happened. Get it through your head, Katie. That was then, this is now.

  Actually . . . now was then and then was now. Or . . . something. I had to quit thinking about it or I was going to lose what was left of my mind.

  “Katie? Is my van cool with you?” Mitch asked, waiting for my approval. “Or do you want to drive? We could put the bike rack on your car.”

  “No, I’m fine. Let’s go.” I smiled and followed the boys to Mitch’s old family van, helping load my and Isaac’s bike inside.

  From here on out, there was no more angst, only awesome. I was going to make sure these two weeks were the best of my and Isaac’s life, starting right now.

  “I’m not wearing a wig, man!” Isaac laughed until his cheeks turned red as he watched Mitch struggle into the long blond wig the costume lady at the Broadway end of the Shelby Street Bridge had given him to wear.

  “It’s cross-dress-ing the bridge,” Mitch insisted. “There’s no other way across.”

  “I put on the dress. That’s enough,” Isaac said, gesturing at the bright red prom dress that hung down over his jeans. Somehow, he managed to look even more masculine in sequins. Maybe it was the barrel chest straining the seams at the sides.

  Mitch, on the other hand, was weirdly pretty. With his big brown eyes and full lips, he really could have been mistaken for a girl. Except for the size-fourteen shoes, weirdly wide shoulders, and the hint of stubble on his chin, of course.

  “Isaac, you need hair, you have to complete your look. Besides, it’s for charity,” Mitch said, keeping a straight face when the giggling costume woman handed him two round pillows to use to stuff the front of his blue polka-dotted dress. “Thanks!” He genuinely looked excited to be sporting fake boobs, the nut. “Do these make me look fat?”

  I laughed. “No, you can totally pull off a D cup,” I assured him. “You just look a little top heavy.”

  “Pamela Anderson top heavy or Bubbe Birnbaum top heavy?”

  I snorted, nearly dislodging my newly affixed mustache. Girls had to cross-dress to get across the bridge too. My brown sweater was now covered by a ratty old man’s suit jacket, my hair was shoved under a bowler cap, and my upper lip sported a thick mustache. The lady had even dug through her makeup kit to find a red one to match my hair. I was sure I looked like a little boy with a testosterone problem, but I didn’t care. I
t was exciting to be part of the charity event. I wanted to work for a nonprofit organization when I got out of college and loved seeing how creative people could get in the name of getting other people involved.

  The Shelby Street Bridge—the easiest bike route from downtown to the larger city parks—had been taken over by Nashville’s Society for Breast Cancer Awareness for a cross-dressing-the-bridge fund-raiser. They were charging five dollars to bike or walk across the bridge and supplying everyone with opposite gender “costumes” that smelled like they’d come straight from the Salvation Army donation box.

  We were probably all going to get lice or bedbugs or something, but at least everyone was having fun doing it.

  “How about a tiara?” the costume lady asked, grabbing one from the corner of her table and holding it out to Isaac. “We’re running low on wigs, and it would be a shame to cover that pretty blond hair.”

  Isaac blushed and took the tiara. The woman had him. The manners ingrained in him by his southern mama wouldn’t allow him to say “no” after he’d received a compliment. He was going to have to wear the tiara.

  “Thanks, ma’am.” He plunked it down on his head and jumped back on his bike. “Are you two coming? Or what?” Oh, he was annoyed, but the tiara was hysterical. The funniest thing I’d seen in months.

  Mitch and I managed to hold our laughter for about thirty seconds before we both lost it. I giggled so hard I nearly fell off my bike.

  “What pretty blond hair you have, Isaac,” Mitch said, in an exaggerated southern drawl. “You were just born to wear a tiara.”

  “Shut up, jackass.” Isaac flipped Mitch off, but I could tell he wasn’t really mad.

  “Mitch is right. If I’d known, I would have given you my crown at homecoming last year,” I said, still laughing so hard I could barely form the words.

  “I’ll get you later, girl. You just wait.” Isaac’s threat was accompanied by a heated look that made my pulse pick up. I sincerely hoped he’d “get me” later, preferably as soon as Mitch dropped us off at my house and we could sneak up to my room while my parents were watching TiVoed episodes of Iron Chef.

  “Homecoming’s only a couple of weeks away,” Mitch said. “You know you two are going to be king and queen again. It’s not too late for Isaac to show the rest of the senior class how to sparkle.”

  “I think Katie does a better job of sparkling,” Isaac said with a sincerity that made me blush. “You looked awesome last year.”

  “She was awesome in the play last night,” Mitch said. “You should have seen her. I was shocked. I thought she was going to suck.”

  “Thanks, Mitch.” I forced a laugh, shrugging off the apprehension clutching at the back of my throat. The conversation was similar to the one Mitch and I had at the original cast party. So what? It didn’t have to mean anything.

  “No, you were good. You really were.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m not going to miss another one,” Isaac said. “Next time you get to go onstage, I’ll be there, I promise.” His smile made me smile, but I couldn’t help but think that there wouldn’t be a “next time.”

  I’d been at the understudy stuff since freshman year and only had to fill in one time. The spring musical was the last play left before Isaac graduated, and I highly doubted he’d have time to come home from college to see me perform even if I managed to land a full-fledged speaking part of my own my senior year.

  But, whatever. It didn’t matter. Isaac and I were together. That was the most important thing, the only important thing.

  “What a beautiful day,” I said, turning my attention to brighter thoughts.

  The view from the bridge was one of my favorites. Nashville’s skyline stood out in crisp relief against a perfect blue sky while the Cumberland River rolled slowly by, reflecting the antenna of the Sommet Center, where Isaac had taken me to a Predators game last February. He loved hockey. I loved popcorn and giant hot dogs and the excitement of screaming along with the crowd, so it all worked out.

  “We should come back and do this again,” Mitch said. “I forgot how much I love riding bikes.”

  “Remember when we rode our bikes across the highway to get McDonald’s ice cream in third grade?” I asked, the memory sending a shiver across my skin even now. Our parents had nearly killed us. Dead. I’d never seen my dad so mad. “I thought we were going to be grounded forever.”

  “That was all you, Minnesota.” Mitch shook his head at me. “That was your big idea.”

  “It was not, it was Isaac! It was always Isaac,” I protested. Isaac had gone out of his way to get us in trouble as kids, his daredevil nature inspiring Mitch and me to heights of bravery and stupidity we never would have achieved on our own.

  Isaac was the one who dared us to sneak into the old mill when it was still condemned, instigated a race across the deep end of the pool when all three of us could barely swim, and had to call the fire department when he’d talked me into climbing out on his roof and I’d been too scared to climb back in. Isaac had been trouble when we were little, but Mitch and I had loved him for it. Without him, our play adventures wouldn’t have been nearly as exhilarating.

  “Not that time,” Mitch said. “It was you who had to have ice cream at ten in the morning.”

  “Yeah, it was totally you,” Isaac agreed. “Remember, you already had your piggy bank in your backpack when you showed up at my house.”

  “Then we had to break the bank when we got to McDonald’s to pay for the ice cream, but there wasn’t enough money in there, so they called our parents.” Mitch waved at a group of girls standing at the edge of the bridge, staring and pointing at his outfit. With his wig and fake boobs, he was one of the girliest men on the bridge, but he didn’t seem to care. Mitch honestly didn’t worry about what other people thought of him. It was one of his best, and most enviable, traits.

  “Okay, fine,” I said, smiling. “But you two should have known better than to listen to a nine-year-old.”

  “You were very persuasive, always have been,” Mitch said, something in his voice making me glance over my shoulder.

  Even his wig, dress, and padding couldn’t detract from the intensity of his look. He was thinking about something other than little kids getting in trouble for riding their bikes too far from home.

  For a second, the air between us hummed with that “not just friends” energy, but then he stuck his tongue out at me and it was over. It probably had never been there in the first place. I was just having a hard time forgetting the things I didn’t need to remember anymore.

  I turned around, pinning my eyes on Isaac, who had come to the end of the bridge and was turning his bike around with some kind of crazy wheelie.

  “And we were only ten. Boys are dumb at ten.” Isaac’s front wheel plunked back to the ground. He pulled at the neck of his sparkly gown. “Dudes, I’m about done being a girl. It’s too itchy. Ya’ll want to take these clothes back and go get a beer? You’ve got a fake ID, right, Mitch?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got one.” Mitch shrugged. “I’m not up for beer yet, but I’m definitely in for some music. Legends has good stuff on Sundays and it’s all ages until seven o’clock so Katie won’t have any trouble getting in.”

  “Awesome. You in, babe?”

  “Sounds perfect.” And it did. The perfect end to a perfect afternoon with my two best friends.

  I was so glad Mitch had invited himself on our date. He and Isaac and I hadn’t had so much fun together in years. I couldn’t believe we’d nearly lost this. Friendships like ours were rare, special, not the kind of thing you tossed away because you were too busy with basketball or your band or angry with your boy-friend and had a few too many shots of rum.

  The three of us had too much history to let it all slip away. Thanks to the locket, we’d gotten a second chance to save our friendship. This wasn’t just about me and Isaac, it was about all of us. Three lives were going to be better because of my do over.

  I pumped
a little harder, catching up with the boys, full of enough energy to light up every honky-tonk on Broadway.

  Chapter Five

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 12:24 P.M.

  Lunch hour is the most overrated forty-five minutes of the entire school day.

  Even at a well-funded school like BHH, the cafeteria food stinks, the lines are horrible, and the choice of where to sit is fraught with dangerous social implications. Last year, Isaac and I hadn’t had the same lunch, so I’d sat with Mitch, Michael—the drummer in his band—Sarah, and a couple of our drama-club friends. I’d missed seeing Isaac but enjoyed significantly lower stress levels than the year before, when I’d shared a table with Isaac and the other platinum people.

  This year, however, I’d been lucky enough to get second lunch with my senior boyfriend. Or unlucky enough, depending on the day and whether Rachel Pruitt decided to eat lunch on campus and bless us with her shining presence.

  Today was a “blessed” day.

  “It’s going to be amazing, Isaac.” Rachel stabbed a tomato from her salad, managing to make even that simple movement elegant, perfect. Her dark brown hair caught the sunlight streaming in from the nearby windows and gleamed like the coat of a ridiculously expensive horse, attracting the attention of every male passing by our table. “You and Rader should come with us to Ziggies to pick out outfits. You’d be great models.”

  “I don’t model.” Rader took a huge bite of whatever meat was masquerading as chicken-fried steak and glared at the rest of the lunchroom. He looked cranky. But then, he always looked cranky. Ever since he and Rachel had broken up their sophomore year, Rader had been in a foul mood.

  Losing Rachel inspired years of mourning. Years. She was that kind of girl.

  “Me either,” Isaac said around a mouthful of food. His mom had packed his lunch today—two ham sandwiches and three bananas. Isaac had a strange and unnatural love of bananas. He probably ate more in one week than your average marmoset. It was amazing he hadn’t overdosed on potassium.