Lessons from a Dead Girl (2 page)

“Come on,” Leah says, opening the closet door and motioning for me to go in first. I click on the night-light by the door and sit at the little table.

Leah comes in after me and closes the door behind her. It’s late spring, but it’s cold in the closet. It smells like dust and plastic toys. The dolls seem to watch us suspiciously. Sometimes Leah and I come in here and pretend we’re husband and wife and all the dolls are our babies. We make a joke out of it since we’re way too old to play with dolls. Leah gets to be the wife because she has long hair and mine is short. Once we put our hands over our mouths and pressed our faces together, pretending to kiss. Leah said only real friends like us could practice like that because we would never tell anyone. It’s our special secret. It makes
me
feel special to have it with her.

“Let’s practice again,” Leah says, as if reading my mind. She moves closer to me. “I’ll be the husband this time. You’re my wife, and you have to do what I say.”

I start to say “OK” but Leah stops me, putting her pointer finger on my lips.

“Don’t talk,” she says. “I didn’t say you could.”

I stop smiling.

“Close your eyes,” she whispers a little more gently.

I close them and feel her move closer to me. Her breath is warm on my face. When she puts her hands on my knees, her electricity goes right through me. I get a tingly feeling low in my stomach.

She slides her hands slowly up my thighs.

I open my eyes for a split second. Her face is so close to mine, I can see the tiny blue veins in her eyelids. My heart thumps wildly against my chest.

She puts both hands around my waist. I still don’t move or dare open my eyes again.

Then she kisses me. This time, she doesn’t put her hand between our lips. Her mouth pushes against mine. She moans. I’m too scared to move. But I’m excited, too.
Girls don’t do this. Leah must love me. Why? What does this mean?

A strange, prickly warmth spreads through my body. I sit perfectly still and let her kiss me. I let her hands pull me toward her until my chest presses up against hers and our hearts pound against each other. I keep my eyes closed tight and let her do what she wants.

When we step out of the closet, we don’t talk. I still feel her lips on me, her chest against mine. I wonder if she feels the same way.

I follow Leah downstairs and out to the backyard, where my dog, Seal, runs up to us, holding a stick in his mouth and wagging his tail. Leah tries to take the stick from him, but he steps back and runs. We chase him, but he darts between us.

I finally get close enough to touch his tail when Leah grabs my shoulders from behind. She pulls me backward and to the ground. I land with a hard thud. Before I can get up, Leah straddles me and pins my hands to the ground. She looks down at me and makes a face like she’s going to kiss me again. She looks like she wants to hurt me.

“Get off!” I say.

She laughs without opening her mouth. She pushes my wrists against the ground so hard I cry out, but she holds tighter. I try to pull my hands away, to wiggle my body out from under hers.

Then I feel it. Something warm and wet landing on my forehead. It rolls down my temple and into my ear, warm and cold at the same time.

Leah laughs out loud and climbs off me.

“You liked it,” she says.

I roll away and sit up, quickly rubbing her spit off my face.

“I did not!” I lie, trying not to cry. I get up and run to the back door.

“You know you did!” Leah calls after me.

I don’t turn around. I don’t argue with her again. I know it’s true. But what does it mean?

Later, after Leah’s mother picks her up, I go to my room. Christi and my mom and dad are all home, but they’re busy and don’t notice me. I listen to their usual sounds — my sister in her room singing to a CD, my parents downstairs listening to the news and arguing with the TV. My room feels different. Leah has touched everything in here. I can even smell her.

When I turn, I see my reflection in my dresser mirror. My hair is like a boy’s, short and brown and messy. My striped shirt is too small and has a grass stain on the front. Even my face is dirty. I look like a boy. An ugly boy. And I feel like one, too. Why would Leah be my friend? Why would she do those things to me? Was it all just a joke?

I grab my old Curious George and hide in my bedroom closet, where there’s only space for me. I press George’s face against mine.

Why did she do it? Why did I let her? What’s wrong with me?

My tears soak George’s fur, but he just smiles at me in the dim light, no matter how hard I cry.

That night, when Christi and I are in the bathroom getting ready for bed, she asks me what’s on my hand. I look at the slightly faded
F
s.

“Nothing,” I say. I scrub the letters with soap as hard as I can, but they won’t come off.

“Must be permanent marker,” Christi says. “Way to go, Brain.”

“It will come off,” I say, scrubbing harder. But even when my hand is almost raw, I still see some of the red marker.

I go back to my room and hug George again.

“We won’t be friends forever,” I whisper into his fur. “We won’t.”

But he keeps smiling, like he knows better.

The next day at school, Leah waits for me on the playground. I try to go the other way, but she chases after me.

“What’s wrong?” she asks innocently.

I don’t say anything. She knows the answer.

“Oh, Laine, it was just a silly game. You need to toughen up,” she says.

“It didn’t feel like a game,” I tell her. I look at my feet, remembering her lips on mine, her chest pressed against mine, her spit on my face.

“OK, I’ll tell you the truth,” she says. “I was testing you.”

“What do you mean?”

She steps closer. “You know. To see if you trusted me. We have to practice for when we get older, remember? It’s what best friends do.”

“Then why did you spit on me?”

“I was afraid you’d tell our secret.”

“I would never!”

She sighs heavily, like she’s talking to a stupid five-year-old. “You’re right,” she says. “I should have trusted you. I know you’re not the type to break a promise. That’s why we’re friends.”

She reaches for my hand and squeezes it, then quickly lets go before anyone sees. “Come on,” she says, ending the conversation. She heads for the swings. I hesitate, wondering what she’d do if I didn’t follow.

She turns back and motions to me to come with her. I don’t move. She smiles, then looks around for someone else to call. I’m sure every girl in my class would die to have Leah call her name, and I panic at the thought of being replaced. I follow her.

A few weeks go by before Leah comes over again. As soon as we’re alone, she takes my hand. “We need to practice,” she tells me. She pulls me forward before I can answer. As her fingers lace tightly through mine, I feel her magic and let her lead me into the closet. She closes the door and we kiss. Then she rubs her hands over my body.

I’m scared and excited all over again, but I don’t want her to accuse me of liking it the way she did the last time, as if something was wrong with me. So I close my eyes and try not to feel her hands on me, her lips on me, the way my stomach tightens at her touch.

We’re just practicing,
I tell myself.
That’s all.

By the summer after sixth grade, Leah and I have had lots of practice. It’s always the same. Always at my house, in front of the lifeless dolls. Leah says this is the year — when we start seventh grade, we’ll start practicing with boys. Each time we go into the closet, I wonder if it will be our last, and each time we step out, I’m filled with shame over the small part of me that doesn’t want it to be.

Then Mr. and Mrs. Greene decide to buy horses for Leah and Brooke, and Leah seems to forget all about the doll closet. Brooke’s horse, Sunshine, is tall and a beautiful light brown. She came from a big, fancy horse farm in Massachusetts. Leah’s horse, Prince, is shiny black. Just like the Black Stallion. He also came with a pony named Lucky. Leah said the woman who owned Prince had the pony to keep Prince company and because he helped keep the horse calm. Leah threw a fit when her dad told the lady they didn’t want Lucky. She cried and told him how it would be cruel to separate them. But part of me wonders if she got the pony for me.

One day when the horses and Lucky are out in the pasture, Leah takes me into one of their stalls. She stomps around and acts goofy and makes me try their grain, which is surprisingly not bad. I love when Leah and I can just be silly and act totally immature together. Leah would never do these things in front of the other girls in our group, and I like having a secret thing we do together that feels safe.

Leah is determined to teach me what she learns at her riding lessons. After each one, she forces me onto lazy Lucky’s back and out to the riding ring to practice. She has her work cut out for her. The only thing Lucky wants to do is head back to the barn. But Leah does teach me how to post and get him on the right lead.

By late summer Leah and Brooke have been to several horse shows. Leah decides she wants me to go, too. She begs and begs her father to bring Lucky, even though I say I don’t want to go. Leah ignores me. She says it will be good for Lucky to get a feel for what it’s like.

The day of the next show, we all get up before the sun rises and wash and braid the horses’ manes. Even Lucky’s. I don’t know why Leah is so determined to make me a part of this horsey life. It’s clear I don’t fit in. Poor old Lucky and I look ridiculous next to Leah and Brooke on their fancy horses. But Leah seems blind to this. She never questions whether she can do something — and now she seems to have the same confidence in me.

At the show, I watch Leah and Brooke compete a few times, then I saddle Lucky and we walk around, checking out the expensive horse trailers. Lucky has an extra bounce in his step. I can tell he knows how pretty he looks with his mane braided and his dappled gray coat all clean and free of dust. For a little while, it feels like he’s mine and that I’m a part of this world, even though my parents probably couldn’t even afford to buy the saddle, much less the pony I’m riding.

Toward the end of the day, Leah comes rushing over to me. She’s smiling and holding out a white paper with a number on it.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“You. We’re signed up for Breaking and Out together!”

“What? I can’t be in the show. I don’t know how! I don’t even know what Breaking and Out is!”

“It’s just for fun,” she tells me. “It will be perfect. You have to start somewhere, don’t you?”

The next thing I know, we’re walking along, looking as silly as ever. The rules are that you partner up with someone and walk your horses side by side, riding bareback, while holding a strip of newspaper. Then you have to follow the judge’s instructions to walk or trot. If your strip breaks, you’re out.

Prince is much taller than Lucky. I have to reach up high and Leah has to hunch down low in order for us both to keep hold of the strip. The other girls giggle at us as we enter the ring. They cover their mouths with their hands as if acting properly when they’re being nasty makes it OK.

Leah holds her head high. She’s dressed as if she’s in an Olympic event, with her black velvet riding hat, tailored jacket, leather boots, and clean riding pants. I look pathetic next to her in my ratty T-shirt and jeans.

“We can win,” she says between her teeth as we make our way down the ring. My stomach is full of knots. Lucky is extra antsy. I think he may want to run for the first time in his lazy life. Maybe for the first time, he’s starting to feel like he belongs with all the special horses. I wish I felt as confident.

Leah winks when the announcer calls for us to begin trotting. Prince prances gracefully and Lucky kicks up and trots along, his little legs racing to keep up with Prince’s long strides. I squeeze my knees to stay on.

I hear a few people say “Awww” as we ride by. I don’t dare look anywhere but straight ahead, one hand squeezing the reins, the other holding on to the newspaper strip as if my life depends on it.

“You’re doing great!” Leah calls over her shoulder. “Don’t let go!”

My arm is so heavy it hurts. Poor Lucky pants and snorts like mad. I almost wish the strip would break. But I know I can’t let Leah down. Lucky seems as determined as me. We’re both out of place, but Leah believes in us.

“Number twelve and number seven, please exit the ring!” the announcer calls. And then, “Walk now, please walk.”

Leah and I trade a smile of relief to be walking again. When I look around, I see only one other pair left!

After we walk the ring once more, the announcer calls for us to reverse directions. As we try to make a tight reverse turn, Lucky bumps Prince. Leah pulls the paper toward her. My arm goes with her, and I start sliding off.

“Hang on!” she says loudly. She narrows her eyes and grits her teeth. I don’t let go.

With Prince on the inside, Lucky has to hustle around every corner to keep up. I hope Leah is the one to let go of the paper, so it won’t be my fault when we lose.

“Slow down, boy,” Leah keeps whispering, but Prince’s ears only flick as if he’s getting rid of a fly.