Jaded

by Tijan

  "What?"

  "She…she didn't care about fitting in. She just did what she wanted. That's what all her friends are like." Logan added, "You don't care about fitting in. You do what you want and that's what she did. She was nice, but…she did her own tune. She didn't…conform like so many others do."

  "Like you," I noted.

  "Sheldon," Corrigan reprimanded.

  "No," Logan said quickly. "It's true. I conformed. I still am conforming. I get it, that's why…that's why you didn't like me for so long, right?"

  I smiled tightly.

  "That's why you still don't like me," Logan commented, wryly. "I think…at first I thought that I needed to be a bitch for you to like me, but that's not true…is it? I just…I have to be me, don't I? That's what all three of you guys do. You guys are just…you blow off anyone who stands in your way of that."

  Katrice frowned.

  I spoke up, "I wasn't trying to be mean just now."

  "I know," Logan nodded. "It hurt because it was true, but…not many can get through high school without conforming. You're either…I'm not popular enough and I don't have the words or the snappy comeback and…I don't have…I care what people think of me."

  "So did Leisha," I said. "She cared, but…I think she was just starting to not care. She was a 'good girl.'"

  "She wouldn't have been for long if she'd been our friend," Corrigan laughed.

  "No," Bryce spoke up. "I think she would've. I think she would've done what she wanted and liked who she wanted and blushed about lying to teachers."

  Katrice frowned a bit more.

  "She never apologized for it," I murmured as I looked at no one. "She skipped, but she was thrilled by it. I don't remember the last time that I skipped and I was excited by it. She was just refreshing because she was…"

  "Not us," Bryce followed my train of thought.

  "Yeah."

  "I didn't know her, but I wish that I would've." Logan raised her toast and I saw a tear had fallen down her cheek. Another followed and she said gravely, "I wish that I would've known what you knew and that I could've looked at her through your eyes."

  Corrigan smiled softly and chinked his glass against hers. They shared another smile and took a drink.

  Katrice sniffled. We looked over and she reared back to try to hide her face with a hand. "Oh, don't look at me."

  Corrigan laughed and stood next to his mother. He wrapped an embracing arm around her shoulders and lifted his glass, "To Leisha, who wasn't anything like us, but, hell, we got two people to cry because of her."

  It was an awful toast, but I couldn't help chuckling anyways.

  "A toast," Corrigan said further and all of us lifted our glasses. We toasted my friend and the different memory she'd leave us with.

  After a second and third glass, Katrice was beet red and she was giggling nonstop. She excused herself after many reassurances to drive safe when we left for the vigil.

  Bryce only had one glass of wine so he promised to drive safe and sober.

  It brought a blush to Mrs. Raimler and she held a hand to his cheek. She gushed about how adorable he was until Mr. Raimler walked through the door. With a quick gasp and a quick squeeze to her son's hand, Mrs. Raimler was off and embracing her husband after a long hard day at work. Mr. Raimler was silent until he expelled a resigned mutter about wine and all of us broke into a grin below.

  Corrigan rolled his eyes and shot a glare towards Bryce, "If you ever say a word about what just happened—you and I are not going to wake up in the hospital at the same time."

  Bryce grinned and stood up. He dangled his keys and remarked, "Let's go. The thing is going to start soon."

  Bryce drove. I rode shotgun and the two lovebirds sat in the back.

  Corrigan mused, "What is a vigil? Technically?"

  "It's a state of observance and prayer," Logan answered him softly.

  "So why can't they just say that we're going to get together and pray for her?" Corrigan asked. "That's stupid. It's like making up a name for another name of what we're actually doing."

  Bryce and I were quiet, but Logan had the answer. She said calmly, quietly, "There's a lot of opinions about what we're supposed to specifically believe in. I think it's just a way to make everyone happy by stamping a vague description on it."

  "But that's…," Corrigan started. "That's stupid. If people are praying then that means they're all praying to their god, right? And yet, it's called a candlelight vigil?"

  "There's a lot of specifics about a general concept," Bryce noted. "People want to have a say about those specifics because—"

  I finished for him, "Because in the end, we have no say whatsoever."

  "We die, we die," Corrigan put it simply. "We go where we're supposed to go."

  Bryce tipped the rearview mirror so he could meet Corrigan's eyes. He murmured, "You want to think of Stephen going somewhere that you're not? What about your mom?"

  Corrigan shrugged again. "I won't care. I'll be dead or they'll be dead. They'll be happier than me because I guarantee, if anyone's going to heaven, it'll be them before me."

  Immorality and immortality. I wondered about the relationship between the two or if there was one.

  "She's happy," I murmured, to myself, but the car heard. "That's all I care about right now. If there's a heaven or whatever—I'm sure she's there and I'm sure that she's happy."

  "Yeah."

  Corrigan had heard too. He added, "She's dead. She might've died an awful—"

  He choked off abruptly.

  Logan frowned and glanced over.

  "She died because of me." I said softly.

  "No," Corrigan said first.

  Logan frowned.

  Bryce shook his head and said roughly, "Shut up, Sheldon."

  The car turned another corner and it wasn't until we'd covered a mile before I asked, chilled, "Do you think he's going to be there?"

  "Shut up, Sheldon!" Bryce cried out. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't…this night is about your friend and that's it."

  "This isn't about you," I cried back.

  Logan and Corrigan didn't move.

  "Yes, it is!" Bryce snapped. "Yes, it is and I'm done with it. I'm done with this loser who's just a coward. I'm done with it. We're going to this damned vigil and we're not talking about that psycho."

  An uneasy chill settled over the car.

  Corrigan broke it as he commented, "I don't think you're supposed to say 'damned vigil' together. That's like…what's the word? A dichotomy or something?"

  A relieved giggle broke from Logan that was quickly covered up.

  Bryce shook his head and sighed, "Shut up, man, just…shut up."

  I said softly, "For the record, I wanted to talk about it and you didn't."

  Bryce sighed another ragged breath and uncurled his clenched fingers from the steering wheel. "Can we…not right now?"

  "Fine." I fell back against my seat.

  "Fine."

  Corrigan sighed dramatically in the backseat and groaned, "I think today has been the longest day in the history of my life. It won't end!"

  Bryce fell silent and resumed his driving duties.

  I sighed and folded my arms across my chest.

  I heard Logan lean and whisper in Corrigan's ears. He laughed softly and said, "No, it's not like that."

  The rest of the drive wasn't long and it took five more minutes before we arrived. The parking lot was overflowing at HolyMountChurch and Tabernacle. Even at night, the college's campus was a serene portrait. The sidewalks were bricked with burnt red and dusty rose colored tablets that matched the building's bricked fortresses.

  It seemed the entire school's population had shown up for the candlelight vigil.

  Inside the tabernacle, candles were placed along the aisles and at the end of each row of chairs. The stage was masked in thick blood-red robes, roses of every color, and candles.

  Bryce grabbed my hand and led us to the narthex where we could sit above
the rest. Corrigan and Logan followed close behind and Bryce snuck us into a back corner where little attention was spared in our direction.

  As we sat, Bryce released my hand and I looked at him. He refused to meet my eyes so I slowly slid my hand down his arm and entwined our fingers.

  Bryce held limp, glanced at me, saw the quiet yearning, and tightened his hold over mine.

  "Whoa—how many candles do you think are on there?" Corrigan leaned over our chairs.

  Bryce shrugged.

  "It seems like a thousand," I remarked, not really giving it thought.

  Corrigan nudged my shoulder and nodded behind me.

  I turned and saw Officer Sheila in the doorway with her partner. She nodded in greeting, but didn't move our way. Instead, Sheila gestured downstairs and I turned to see my mother framed in a white chiffon coat with Luther cloaked in a textured black suit. They looked like they stepped from a magazine cover and I even saw some glitter in my mother's hair. They stood off to the side of the stage and I saw, horrified, that my mother was smiling graciously at Becky with a comforting hand to her shoulder.

  "What the hell is my mother doing here?" I gasped through gritted teeth.

  Corrigan and Bryce wisely kept quiet.

  I stood up and started away, but Bryce hauled me back down with a firm tug.

  "Stay," he said simply.

  "My mother—"

  "Is probably doing what my mother is doing." He nodded in an opposite corner and there stood AnnaBelle Scout with her hair primped and tied with a bow. Savannah glowed in a golden princess dress as she stood in the circle of her mother's arms. Luca was nowhere to be found.

  Just then, as the thought occurred, Luca tapped his brother on the shoulder from behind. No one spoke, but everyone stood up and shifted down a seat so Luca could sit where Bryce had vacated.

  Luca shook his head, grim, and muttered, "Mom's showing off again. I swear, every soccer mom or soccer-mom-wanna-be had to show up here tonight. It's turned into the 'thing' to be at."

  Corrigan chuckled. "Man, my mom's so out of the loop."

  I whipped around and said bluntly, "You have a good mom."

  Corrigan raised an eyebrow and said, "I know."

  Bryce lightly punched his brother's shoulder and Luca grinned, ducked his head, and murmured, "Mom's on the warpath for you so you better take off as soon as this thing is over."

  I remembered Bryce's words from before and thought that Luca was a 'chill' fourteen year old.

  "That's why my mom's here. She's entering the social circle again." I sighed as my fate resumed its old stance. I'd gotten a vacation with my parents gone, but now with the house hunting and the new boyfriend—mom was home to stay. I wondered if there'd be barbeques with the neighbors.

  The vigil started as the lights dimmed and a hush settled over the crowd. I'd been right. The entire student population had shown up, complete with their parents and siblings and all their little friends.

  And all for little Leisha, who a mere handful actually knew. And those who remembered her were even less than that.

  A few touching words were shared by Becky and Mandy, the organizers of the event. They introduced Leisha's parents and her little brother who were seated in the front row, as if part of the show. They sniffled, hugged each other for support, and nodded their thanks to the two 'popular' girls who hadn't known Leisha existed until she was dead.

  "Let's go," I said abruptly. "I don't want to be here. These people didn't even know her."

  Luca shrugged and said, "Doesn't mean they can't pray for her or her family. It's just support."

  Bryce stayed in his seat. So did Corrigan. And I shoved up and started down the aisle.

  "Hey," Bryce whispered sharply.

  "I'm just—," I turned back and gestured, helplessly, outside the doors. "I'm going to go out there. I won't be far."

  I didn't wait for a nod of permission. I shoved my way through the crowd and stopped short at the surreal emptiness of the lounge that lay just beyond four opened doors. In the corner, tucked away behind the coat-racks, couches, chairs, and coffee tables was a girl with spiked hair. She looked like a peacock.

  I remembered and approached her. Her head was downcast, studying her lap, and she seemed to shrink in size as I sat in a chair next to her.

  She looked up after a moment and I saw the same injustice that raged inside of me. She had startling blue eyes, but she looked away again.

  "You can just leave," she bit out.

  "You were friends with Leisha. I remember seeing you at her table once."

  She whipped up and snarled, "It was my table and Leisha is my friend…she's just gone right now."

  "Don't tell me your name is Cassandra Bens." I remembered that Carlos had had a thing for her.

  "God, no!" She blinked, startled, and in disgust. "I'm Bailey, Leisha's best friend."

  "I'm—"

  "I know who you are," she said quickly. "Leisha worshiped you."

  "I know," I said faintly.

  I caught movement at the doorway and looked up to see Bryce standing in the doorway. He met my gaze and turned to lean against the doorframe as he watched the vigil inside.

  Bailey looked over too and shook her head, "He's really gorgeous, isn't he?"

  "He's an ass." I smiled faintly.

  "Yeah." Bailey laughed dryly. "Only you can say that because he's yours."

  I frowned, but didn't correct her. "I liked Leisha," I said instead.

  "I know. Me too," Bailey whispered hoarsely.

  "I'm really sorry."

  "Why? Leisha was the one who went to the party. She was the one who walked down the block."

  I frowned and asked, sharply, "What?"

  Bailey looked up. Blank.

  "What do you mean—she walked down the block?"

  "She was at my house that night. Carlos called her and she wanted to go. He said that you invited her. I live two blocks from Evans' house. He's a dipshit."

  "I thought—I thought she was walking in the park because that was the straightest way from her house."

  "Hell, no. Leisha's not stupid. She would never have walked in that park alone. Someone who's high might go there at night or if they want to get murdered and raped."

  I was stunned. And speechless.

  "I told her not to go. I thought it was stupid. She liked Carlos so much. I thought she was stupid for liking you too and I really thought she was stupid when she skipped with you and Mr. Gorgeous." Bailey shook her head as a haunted grin flitted over her features, "Leisha was so stupid sometimes, but…she said that you weren't what everyone said you were. I guess she was right after