Shadow of a Life (2 page)

I should have known. The
football belonged to Travis Andrews. Football season ended months
before, but he still carried that stupid thing around all the time.
Heaven forbid anyone forget that he was one of our school’s star
players. Travis was also Camille’s date for Saturday’s prom. And
no, I was
not
going to the dance with anyone. I gathered my books once more,
waving away help from Travis who just shrugged his shoulders and
continued flirting with Camille, apparently feeling the need to
constantly be near her.

It was Friday and, after the weekend,
we only had one week of school left before summer break. My
countdown had begun. I both longed for and dreaded summer vacation.
It was nice having a three-month reprieve from homework and tests,
but I always grew bored long before the hot month of August came to
a close, heralding the start of another school year. When I was a
little kid, I would spend my summer breaks at Smiley’s Summer Camp.
Basically, it was a glorified day care for kids whose parents
worked and couldn’t be home to babysit when school wasn’t in
session. Needless to say, I was glad those days were behind
me.

CHAPTER 2

“
J
amie Peters?” Mr. Hanover called.

“
Here,” I yelled.

It was dissection day in our freshman
biology class—the last period of the day. I have a strong stomach
and seeing the insides of something that used to be alive doesn’t
bother me. Camille, on the other hand, refuses to watch horror
movies and turns pale at the sight of gore and blood. One time when
we were in second grade she fell off a swing and skinned her knee.
When she saw that she was bleeding, she totally passed out. I
thought she’d died. It was kind of traumatic for a
seven-year-old.

Camille skipped lunch that day in
anticipation of the upcoming science experiment. For some reason
she didn’t want a full stomach hindering her best efforts at a frog
autopsy. We had all but one class together, and since we were
pretty much inseparable, it was only natural that we were lab
partners in our science class. It’s not a secret that I’m a better
student than she. I try to help her out when I can, but that day I
wasn’t in the mood to do all the work on a project.

We both donned the unflattering
smocks—stained with the remains of countless science experiments
gone awry—and goggles that would undoubtedly leave circular
impressions around our eyes for the rest of the day. Needless to
say, we didn’t need to worry we’d be solicited by any modeling
agencies in those outfits. Camille hung back as I opened the
canister containing the frog. The smell of formaldehyde engulfed us
instantaneously and I could feel the little hairs in my nose
burn.

“
Jamie, I think maybe this
would be easier if I take notes while you do the cutting. It’ll
still be a team effort,” Camille pleaded.

“
No way, Cam. You’ll never
get over your squeamishness if I always jump in to rescue you. I
did all the cutting when we dissected grasshoppers
and
owl pellets. Owl
pellets aren’t even alive. It’s your turn to cut today,” I
responded, growing more annoyed by the minute. Call it PMS or lack
of sleep, but for some reason I wanted to lash out at her and
everyone else that day.

“
Maybe owl pellets aren’t
alive, but the stuff mushed up inside them used to be alive. Who
wants to touch stuff that some bird puked up?” Camille whined as
she pulled latex gloves over her purple-nailed fingers.

She gingerly inched the tray closer
and asked for a scalpel. I obliged, feeling like a nurse in an
operating room.

“
Just cut it. I’m sure that
once you dive in it will be easier than you think,” I
reassured.

She took a deep breath, gave me one
last imploring look, and plunged the knife into the belly of her
victim. Frog juice spurted onto the tray and into the air. Camille
screamed, threw her hands over her mouth, and ran from the
classroom. Everyone in the room laughed. I tried to ignore all of
them in defense of Cam, but inside I struggled to hold back my own
giggles. What a drama queen.

I sighed and finished mutilating the
frog, taking notes as I went. Five minutes after Camille made her
spectacular exit from the room, Mr. Hanover approached my lab
table.

“
Ms. Peters, will you go
check on Ms. Spencer? I’m sure she’s gone into the ladies room or
I’d do it myself. Let me know if she’s okay, will you?” he asked as
he pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back over the bridge of his
nose.

I felt guilty. I knew how much Camille
had been dreading the day, but in my bad attitude I made her do it
anyway. I went in search of her, heading straight for the nearest
girls’ bathroom. I stopped in surprise when I stepped through the
door. The blond Aphrodite that I’d literally run into at the bus
stop earlier that day was perched on top of the counter by the
sink, swinging her long slender legs. I’d never seen the girl
before in my life and now I’d seen her twice in one day. Aphrodite
looked at me sympathetically and pointed toward a graffiti-covered
stall. I stepped to the door and tapped on it softly.

“
Cam? Are you okay? Do you
need anything?” I whispered.

I’m not sure what I planned to do to
help. Maybe hold her hair out of the toilet? I hadn’t yet added
mothering skills to my repertoire. The stall door opened slowly and
Camille stepped out, wiping her mouth with a wad of toilet paper
and looking as pale as a ghost. I felt bad. Aphrodite must have
left while I was trying to talk to Camille through the door because
she was nowhere to be found when I turned around. I hadn’t even
heard the door shut. Weird. Camille shuffled over to a sink and
splashed cold water on her face. I offered her a drink from a water
bottle I’d grabbed out of my backpack before I left the classroom.
She took a sip and attempted to hand it back.

“
That’s okay.” I shuddered
and waved it away. “You keep it.”

We hurried back to the classroom and
finished cleaning up our lab table just as the final bell of the
day rang. Noisy students ready to begin their weekend jammed the
halls as we hurried to our lockers to retrieve our homework and
jackets—blissfully unaware that our lives were about to be turned
upside down.

*****

On Saturday morning I woke up way
earlier than intended, just as the sun rose over the ocean outside
my bedroom window. I slept much better than I had the night before.
Thankfully, no creepy feelings or sounds woke me up again. After
spending at least an hour trying unsuccessfully to fall back
asleep, I got out of bed and crossed the hall to my bathroom. Dad
had a bathroom in his bedroom, and since I didn’t have any siblings
I got the other bathroom all to myself. I guess that’s one perk of
being an only child.

I took a long, hot shower and only
came out when my skin was beet red and shriveled and the water had
started to run cold. After pulling my still-wet hair into a
ponytail, I shuffled down the stairs. Dad sat at the kitchen table
reading the newspaper.

“
Good morning. How was your
night? I came in to see you when I got home, but you were already
asleep,” he said.

“
I was tired so I went to
bed kind of early.” I poured myself a bowl of cereal.

“
What are you doing this
weekend? Any grand adventures planned?” he joked.

“
Not really. Cam and I might
get together Sunday, but tonight is the prom. She’s going. I’m
not.”

“
Oh. I see.” Dad twisted
uncomfortably in his seat before changing the subject. “Jamie, I
know I’ve been working a lot lately, but we’re trying really hard
to straighten out some budget issues for next year and I’ll
probably be working most of the weekend. Do you have any books to
read or something else to keep you occupied?”

“
Not right now. I’ve
finished everything I checked out during my last trip to the
library,” I said between bites. Dad hated it when I talked with
food in my mouth. “I planned on biking over there this morning. I
still need to finish an English report, too. I’m sure I can keep
myself busy.”

He folded his newspaper and gave me a
look mixed with both love and pity. Leaning down, he kissed me on
the forehead before grabbing his car keys and briefcase and
hurrying out the door to the garage.

Dad, or Randall Peters to his
colleagues, was the Dean of Academic Affairs at Newton University
in nearby New Bedford. He was a good father and he tried hard, but
I think he sometimes hid at work so he wasn't reminded of his
loneliness. My mom left us when I was only six. I had a few happy
memories from when she was still around, but mostly I just
remembered her fighting with Dad all the time. When she left they
didn’t get divorced—they separated. It only made matters worse. Dad
wouldn’t even consider dating anyone else since he was technically
still married. I think he secretly hoped she’d return for good
someday. Anyway, Dad was an economics professor at Newton
University, but shortly after Mom left he was promoted to Dean of
Academic Affairs and left me with the task of raising
myself.

I carried my empty cereal bowl to the
sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher along with the dishes
Dad left. Gazing out the kitchen window, I let out a deep sigh. I
felt dull. It was as if life was passing me by and I just watched,
waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever did.

While in junior high, I read all the
Nancy Drew mysteries. I used to think of myself as Nancy Drew. She
was raised by her father like me, but Dad and I don’t have the
luxury of a full-time housekeeper like Nancy did. In our home, I
was the housekeeper. I wished that there would be some mystery that
would fall into my lap so I could go on fact-finding journeys with
my friends George and Bess. In my case, it would be Camille and
whichever other friends we could persuade to come along. I wouldn’t
even mind having a hot boyfriend like Nancy did. I really did live
in a fantasy world.

I wandered back upstairs to
my room and plopped onto my bed, sitting cross-legged with my
laptop in front of me. If I started right then, I knew I could
finish my English report before the library even opened for the
day. I was writing a report on the John Steinbeck novel,
Of Mice and Men
. We’d
been given two weeks to read the book and then another week to
write a three-page paper about it. I finished the book in two days.
I was pretty sure Camille was still somewhere in the first
half.

At eleven o’clock I hit save on my
computer and printed the final copy of my report. Probably not my
best work, but I was confident it would get an ‘A’ anyway. I
stretched my arms over my head and twisted in my chair in an effort
to straighten my back, stiff from being hunched over the computer
for an hour. I emptied the contents of my backpack onto my bed,
refilled it with library books ready to return, and headed for the
garage. At least Dad had gotten me a nice bike a couple of years
before. I would have hated to ride the same purple bike with a
basket and a bell that I had when I was a child. Talk about a
reputation killer. I got plenty of exercise riding my bike
everywhere. If there were frequent flyer miles for library addicts,
I’d be traveling free for the rest of my life. I think there’s even
a rut on the sidewalk—thanks to me and my Schwinn—between my house
and the library in town. It’s not that I didn’t like to do anything
else but read, I just got bored by myself. A lot. And books could
take me to places I couldn’t go in reality.

I let myself out through the garage
using the keyless entry and headed down the driveway. That morning
felt much more like spring than the previous day and my light
jacket was more than enough to keep me warm. I even heard birds
chirping in the trees. I could feel my mood getting better with
every turn of my wheels.

The Elizabeth Taber Library is an
older multi-story building with mature trees shading the front of
the structure. Its white and gray exterior welcomed me as it always
did. I chained my bike to a rack on the rear side of the building
and went inside. I browsed through the young adult section, looking
for any good mysteries that I hadn’t already read a million times.
Since nothing jumped off the shelf at me, I made my way to the
adult section in hopes of finding something more
intriguing.

As I moved up and down the aisles,
pulling out books and reading their covers, the familiar creepy
feeling returned. I felt like I was being watched. The hair on my
arms stood up and I shivered unexpectedly. Slowly, I lifted my head
and turned my gaze toward the end of the aisle. I gasped and
dropped the book I’d been holding when I saw who was standing
there. Aphrodite.

Okay, things were getting a
little weird. Other than Dad and kids from school, I didn’t usually
see people I knew three times in two days, let alone complete
strangers. Our town was small so it was odd that I didn’t know who
the new girl was. Aphrodite disappeared around a shelf as quickly
as she’d appeared and I went back to making my book selections,
shrugging off the incident. I finally chose three that sounded
promising from the descriptions on their book jackets and weaved my
way to the circulation desk. You know you’re a library freak
when
all
the
librarians can greet you by name before you even pull out your
library card.