Lessons from a Dead Girl (3 page)

“Number five, please exit the ring! Number eight, congratulations! Please walk to the center.”

“That’s us!” Leah shouts excitedly. “You can let go now!”

I let the strip slip from my fingers and into Leah’s eager grasp. She waves it over her head in big circles.

People around the ring cheer, clap, and even whistle.

One of the judges walks out with two blue ribbons and hooks them onto Lucky’s and Prince’s bridles. “Go ahead and do your victory lap, ladies!”

Prince leads the way, cantering. Lucky is like a little colt chasing after him. Leah keeps looking back at me, yelling, “We did it!” The crowd cheers and cheers. I’m smiling so wide, the sides of my mouth feel like they might crack.

Sitting in Mr. Greene’s truck on the way home, I run my fingers over the satin ribbon with the horse-head button in the middle. When we get back to the Greenes’, I start to put the ribbon in my bag so I can take it home with me. But Leah says I should hang it outside Lucky’s stall so everyone can see how well he did. I still want to take it home, but I know I can’t. Lucky isn’t even my pony. None of this is real. Leah can try to make me fit in her horsey world all she wants, but in the end, Lucky and I will never be like Leah and Prince. Still, I’m grateful for the taste.

“You’re right,” I say. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says. “You didn’t know.” She hangs her own ribbon on Prince’s stall door.

“Are you glad you tried, Lainey? Did you like it?”

“Yes,” I say.

“You could come again if you wanted. We could show together! It’s no fun doing it alone.” Her face looks so genuine. I want to say yes, but I know it won’t work. It’s one thing to be in the “just for fun” competition, but Lucky and I would never cut it in the real ones.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I don’t think I have what it takes.”

She frowns. “You could if you really wanted to.”

I shake my head. “My parents could never afford it — the clothes, the classes, the show fees …”

“I could get my parents to pay.”

I shake my head again. “Thanks, Leah. I’m really glad for today.”

She shrugs and looks away from me. I wonder if she’s wishing she’d picked a friend with more money. Someone who could keep up with her. I wonder again why she picked me in the first place. But I don’t ask. Today, for the first time in a long time, I just feel grateful she did.

Before I go home, I reach for the ribbon one last time and rub the soft fake satin between my fingers. I picture our victory lap around the riding ring. Leah and Prince and Lucky and me, cantering around while everyone clapped and cheered. And Leah, smiling back at me, waving that silly strip of newspaper in the air. I feel my mouth make the same wide grin it made earlier as I imagine Leah giving me her knowing look:
See how good it feels to win, Laine? Aren’t you glad I showed you this?

I wonder if what she really means is,
See what it’s like to be me?
And all I can think is,
Yes. This is pretty great. And you’re great for sharing it with me.

Today, I’m really happy that Leah Greene is my friend.

“Promise you won’t leave me alone with Sam,” Leah says.

It’s the following June and seventh grade is almost over. We’ve climbed the ladder to the cupola, where we hang out sometimes after riding Prince and Lucky, who I’m almost too big for now. The barn is filled with fresh hay, and it smells overwhelmingly sweet.

“Why don’t you want to be alone with him?” I ask.

“I just don’t. Don’t ask. Just promise.”

“OK,” I say. “I promise.”

“Want to hear a scary story?” Leah pulls the small book of ghost stories she bought at the library book sale out from under a hay bale we use as a table when we have picnics up here.

“No,” I say. I don’t tell her, but the last time she read me a story from that book, I spent the night in my sister’s room, even though I knew she’d tell me I was a baby the next morning, which she did.

“Scared?”

“No.”

“I think you are.” She grins that sneaky grin of hers and opens the book to a spot she’s dog-eared. She clears her throat and starts to read the same story that gave me nightmares.

“Don’t,” I say. “I know it already. It’s boring.”

“You’re scared.”

“I just don’t want to hear it again.”

“Do you think it really happened?” She moves closer to me. “Do you think it’s true, Lainey?”

Leah’s always asking me if I think something’s true or not. I think she’s just trying to get me to say yes so she can tease me.

“It could be true, you know,” she says quietly. “There are a lot of psychos out there.”

“Yeah, but not around here,” I say, squeezing my knees to my chest.

“Sure there are. What makes you think here is so special? There are crazy people everywhere. Where you least expect them. You’d be surprised.”

Goose bumps poke up on my arms. She turns away from me.

A car horn and the sound of wheels crunching up the Greenes’ long, stone-covered driveway save me.

Leah jumps off the dusty bale of hay she’s been sitting on and stands at the window. I stand beside her and peek out to see Sam stepping from his black Jaguar.

We watch him climb out of the car and stretch. He’s wearing a pair of new-looking jeans and a sports jacket. His thin, sandy hair is brushed across the top of his head.

Sam is Mr. Greene’s best friend from college. He comes to visit about once a month. The Greenes think he’s a god or something, though seeing him now, I have no idea why. I’ve never actually met him because usually I’m not invited over when he comes. But today Leah begged to let me stay.

“I better go,” Leah says. She heads for the ladder without waiting for me. She’s out of the barn before I reach the bottom rung.

“Wait for me!” I call. How am I supposed to not leave her alone if I can’t even keep up? I watch from the doorway of the barn as Leah reaches Sam and stops a few feet away. At the same time, Brooke comes running out of the house, then Mrs. Greene steps onto the porch and waves.

Sam stands next to his Jaguar and smiles at them all. He walks closer to Leah and says something, then wraps her up in his arms. She turns her head in my direction, as if to make sure I’m coming. Sam says something to Brooke that I don’t hear. She walks around in front of him, wiggling her hips.

I move toward them, conscious of my unwashed hair, grimy jeans, and dirty fingernails.

I’m not surprised when Sam doesn’t notice me.

“That’s my girl,” he says to Brooke when she stops strutting.

“I’m fifteen, Sam. I’m not a girl anymore.”

His eyes trace her body. “You’ll always be my special girls,” he says sweetly.

Brooke smirks at him, and he lets go of Leah to hug her.

“Who’s this?” he asks when he finally notices me lurking off to the side.

“That’s my best friend, Laine,” Leah says, stepping between us. “Didn’t Mom tell you she’d be here?”

“Right! Of course! Any friend of Leah’s is a friend of mine,” he says, reaching out his hand to shake. It’s warm and clammy. Luckily he lets go quickly.

At dinner that night, Sam brings out gifts for Brooke and Leah. Brooke’s is a bottle of perfume with a pink shell for a cap. She puts a dab behind each ear and walks around the table so everyone can sniff. I think it smells like my old great-aunts, but I pretend it smells nice.

Leah’s gift is the softest sweater I’ve ever touched. It’s pale pink with little pearl buttons. When she puts it on, her blond hair looks almost pink, too. Like Brooke, she walks around the table, letting everyone touch her sleeve. The sweater is much nicer than the little glass figurines, purses, earrings, and things Leah has shown me from Sam’s other visits. I wonder what makes this visit so special.

Out of the blue, Sam steps out of the room and comes back with a gift for me, too. I can tell Leah and Brooke aren’t expecting it by the way their eyes narrow. I catch them exchange a look, but I can’t tell what it means.

I touch the smooth wrapping paper and turn the gift around in my hands. The ribbon is real, not like the plastic curling ribbon my mother uses. But the edges of the paper are worn and faded, as if Sam has a bunch of wrapped-up gifts lying around in case he runs into someone he needs to give a present to.

“Well, Lainey, it isn’t going to unwrap itself!” Mrs. Greene says, taking another sip of her wine.

I carefully untie the ribbon. Inside the box there’s an oval-shaped wooden doll, hand-painted in bright colors: red, green, yellow, blue. I touch the paint, the tiny lines that decorate the doll’s body. I move my finger over the seam in the doll’s middle.

“Go on, open her up!” Sam’s voice booms from the end of the table.

I turn the doll’s halves and sure enough they come apart, revealing another doll inside, with a similar seam in the middle. When I open that doll, there’s another.

Sam chuckles as I open the dolls. “I hope you like dolls, Lainey!”

Not since the second grade,
I don’t say. Instead I nod politely as I open them, leaving the doll shells lined up neatly on my linen place mat. The dolls get smaller and smaller until, just when I think there can’t possibly be a smaller one, I find a tiny doll without a seam. She’s painted all red, except for her face, and she’s solid.

Mrs. Greene repeats about a thousand times how generous Sam is while we eat dessert. She’s had quite a few refills of wine, and so have Sam and Mr. Greene. Leah and Brooke beg for sips and get a few, but I don’t ask and no one offers.

After dessert, Mrs. Greene ushers everyone into the living room, which is not to be mistaken for the family room. The living room is off-limits except for special company, like Sam. I’ve never even sat on the couch before. The glass French doors to the room are always firmly closed whenever I’m there.

Mr. Greene winds up the old Victrola he bought from my parents’ antique store. The scratchy music that comes out sounds like an old movie.

I sit cross-legged on the floor, not sure what to do with my new doll. When I shake it, the smaller dolls rattle inside.

Mr. and Mrs. Greene sit on the light-blue velvet couch that looks like it’s never been sat on. Leah and Brooke sit on either side of them, their hands on the armrests. Sam’s already doing some sort of two-step around the shiny living-room floor. Slowly, he sashays his way onto the Oriental rug in front of the couch. He holds out his hands to Brooke and Leah. Brooke jumps up and starts dancing with him, but Leah stays put. Sam reaches for her hand and pulls her toward him, smiling and looking into her eyes. She stands reluctantly. He pulls her gently to the middle of the room. When Brooke steps in to join them, Leah starts to move to the music. Sam holds their hands and makes them twirl in synchronized circles. The longer they dance, the more Leah seems to enjoy it. They all do.

Mr. and Mrs. Greene watch, smiling, as Sam tries to dance like he’s in high school. I actually feel embarrassed for him. His forehead is wet, and the hair he brushes over the top of his head keeps slipping down so he has to flip it back over. I seem to be the only one to notice.

I hold the doll over the polished floor and make her dance above it so I don’t have to watch Sam and “his girls.” I set the doll down and try to spin her, but she just wobbles in an awkward circle and tips over. When I pick her up, there’s a small scratch in the floor. I quickly lick my finger and try to wipe the scratch out, but it doesn’t go away. I check to see if the Greenes noticed, but they’re too busy dancing and singing to each other.

I decide I need to go to the bathroom.

No one notices me leave. Instead of going back to the party, I go to Leah’s room and climb into my sleeping bag on the floor. I lie there and wait while the music goes on and on. I try not to think of sweaty Sam dancing with Leah and Brooke. Pretty soon it gets quiet, and I hear Mr. and Mrs. Greene giggling off to their bedroom. But there’s no sign of Leah.

I don’t know what time it is when Leah finally comes into the room. I must have drifted off. Leah doesn’t notice that I’m awake. She pads across the room to her dresser. She rummages through the drawer for a long time. I try to see what she’s doing, but it’s too dark. She keeps sniffling. At first I think she has a runny nose, but then I realize she’s crying.

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her cry.

I don’t dare move. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me to know.

When she finally gets what she’s looking for, she closes the drawer. She starts to walk toward the bed and stops near my feet. I keep my eyes closed and breathe steadily so she’ll think I’m asleep.

She sniffs and makes a sound like she’s wiping her eyes or nose with her hand. Then, instead of getting undressed, she crawls into bed. I hear her moving around in the bed above me. After a while, she throws something down on the floor next to me. I slowly reach my hand out and touch her soft pink sweater.

It’s quiet now, except for her steady sniffling. I should say something, but I don’t know what.

Promise you won’t leave me alone with Sam,
she’d said.

But I didn’t. She was with her family, having a good time. She was with Sam, but she wasn’t alone.

So why do I feel guilty?