Spark (14 page)

I finish opening my presents and my mom stuffs all the paper in a bag and is thanking everyone.  My favorite present is a charm bracelet from Dani and I immediately put it on.  Then people start to drift off doing their own thing.  Not sure who I want to hang out with at the moment, I end up on the swing, dipping my head back as I inch higher and higher, feeling dizzy and disoriented, the whirl of my stomach, as I come back down, and for some strange reason, all I can remember thinking is,
I’m thirteen.  I’m thirteen, and I am sitting here in a slowing-down swing. 
I stare at my new shoes, the pink and purple soles kicking high above the ground, feeling a little bit sick, bewildered, and free all at the same time. 

I feel, well…
in between.

I don’t really feel like a kid anymore, but I don’t feel like a grown up either.  If you want to know the truth, the idea of becoming a teenager scares me to death.  See, I am the youngest in my class, and a handful of my friends crossed over before me.  They might
seem
normal, but believe me, they are not.  There’s definitely something wrong with them.  They are…
doing things
.  Alyssa Morton, for instance, started wearing a bra even though everyone thought she’d be the last one in the county that would need one… much less want to wear one.  Joe Bridges wore cowboy boots and—are you ready for this?—
tight jeans
to school.  Super dorky.  Even Dani has started acting weird.  She’s been a teenager for a whole four months, and suddenly she’s an expert on everything.  Like, she was trying to explain to me the right way to put on eye shadow the other day and I kept doing it wrong and she just kept sighing, real dramatically, like putting on eye shadow was the most important thing in the world, right up there with flossing.  In other words, a really big deal.  Being a teenager, apparently, makes everything a really big deal.  And really big deals make people do really strange things.

I glance over at my mom, who has gone back to singing those awful songs, and I think, even adults do crazy things.  Adults can act like kids.  I think of all the times Dani and I would dance around in her basement, music way too loud, with our microphones fashioned from whatever was handy, singing at the top of our lungs.  I feel like I am going to miss that, but then I look at my mom and think maybe there’s hope.  Maybe Dani and I will always be best friends who can act goofy around each other.  But sometimes I have my doubts.

Case in point.  Right now, Dani’s over by the lake, sitting on a bench with the Dork, who just happened to be at the park today. The Dork is a kid who used to ride my bus.  We were sort of forced to be friends in third grade when the bus driver had decided to assign seats.  I had to sit next to him every morning and afternoon for six months.  Sometimes he’d bring cards on the bus and he taught me how to play some card game I’m pretty sure he made up so he’d always win, but I went along with it because there was no one else to play with, and besides, I felt sort of sorry for him because he had goofy looking front teeth.

The following year, the Dork moved to another neighborhood and I never saw him again until the first day of school last fall at the middle school.  He had braces and his teeth weren’t so bad anymore.  He and Dani ended up in biology together and now, for some reason, they are sitting together
at my birthday party
, laughing and joking around like they’ve known each other for like years, which is still way less than the number of years Dani and I have known each other.

Now tell me, why would Dani want to hang out with the Dork?  What on earth could they possibly have to talk about?  It’s not like they have anything in common.  If I remember correctly, all the Dork knew how to talk about was dumb things like his rock collection and his official book of
Star Wars
trivia.  Plus, he has these thick, nerdy-looking glasses and his hair has this stupid cowlick right on top of his head, like he just got out of bed.   He’s the world’s biggest nerd, hands down.   

I wonder all the time what Dani is doing, but it seems we never talk any more.  We don’t even talk about the move, and that’s the most important thing
ever.
She probably thinks I’m ignoring her, but I don’t really want to talk about it.  Besides, she doesn’t talk to me either, so we’re even.  It’s like she doesn’t want to admit it’s really happening.  And if you want to know the truth, neither do I.  But it
is. 
And I feel like I'm the only one in the whole world who cares.  My parents are too busy planning and organizing things to ask me what I think about it.  If they were to ask, I would tell them to take the new house and new school and stick it you know where.  Seriously.

Sometimes I think Dani doesn’t even care if I move, but then she’ll do something like she did the night I was packing up my room.  My phone rang, and I already knew it was Dani, because who else would be calling me on a Thursday night?  I was moving, basically a non-existent person at that point.  Who would bother?  I was already gone.  I counted one, two, three rings. 

“What took you so long?”  She said, sounding a little annoyed.

“Relax.  You know I always let my phone ring three times before I answer.  It’s my thing.”

“Well get over it.”

“Why?  It’s not like there’s something urgent going on, some crisis that only Tess Turner can fix,” I replied sarcastically.  “Unless you count these nine million empty boxes waiting for me in my room.”  I glance at them again, my stomach knotting up.

“You mean I’m not urgent enough for you?  I’m hurt.”
              “Yeah, well, as that great philosopher once said, ‘get over it.’”

“Very funny.  So you want me to come over and help you?  I’m not doing anything.”

“You seriously need to get a life,” I said, half teasing, half serious.  I opened my dresser drawer, grabbed an armload of underwear and socks and tossed them in the nearest box.  “Packing is definitely
not
the most productive use of one’s Thursday night.”  The sound of thunder rumbled up out of nowhere.  “Besides, it looks like it’s going to rain.”

“So?”

“So nothing.  It was just an observation.”  

“Well, the offer is there,” she said, tentatively.  “If you want it.”

              “Nah,” I said.  “I’m almost done anyway.”

              “Suit yourself,” Dani said.  “See you around.”

             
Scratch that
, I thought. 
See you… never
.  Why didn’t I get to decide where I live?  Why did my parents get to decide?  How is that even remotely fair?  What I really wanted to do right then was put all my things back in my drawers, plop back down on my bed and listen to some music, really loud.  But I couldn’t.  I was stuck.  There was no getting out of this now.

             
I drag my feet on the ground, slowing down, admiring the bracelet, which has a flower, a musical note, and my initials, among others.  My favorite one is a star with a tiny pink crystal in the center.  It has gotten windy, and my hair starts whipping around in a frenzy, covering my face.  It’s long and black, so I can’t see much through it, but I catch a glimpse of Dani’s head, looking upward in slow motion, then her whole body is up, she’s on her feet, running toward me.  For a split second, our eyes sort of lock together, and it seems like one of those corny beach scenes from some dumb old movie, where two people are running toward each other.  Only I’m not running and she is, and suddenly, all I notice is her hair.  Would you believe it’s fanned out above her head, fluttering in the wind like some ridiculous flower with enormous long petals?  It’s really weird and I start to laugh.  It’s then I realize the wind has stopped.  Which doesn’t make sense because of her hair, flying around.

              In that flash, Dani’s eyes meet mine and she sticks her arm out and her mouth drops open to say something, pointing toward me.  I am a little embarrassed that she is pointing at me, but I don’t have time to think about it, because the world starts spinning, my whole body curving into the arc of the swing.  There is a strange cracking sound, a flash of light. 

              I feel the heat first, like one enormous slap across my entire body.  I let go of the chains and drop forward.  I keep my eyes open long enough to see Dani’s body, lying on the ground like a limp doll.  All I can see is black sky.  Then I feel something like a cord being yanked through my body, from my toes to my ears, and all of a sudden, I realize I am thirteen. 

I am thirteen, but I will never, ever be the same again.

Closure

When I woke up, I was covered in sweat, wrapped up in my sheet.  I ran my hand across my face and my fingers got tangled in something.  What was going on?  Then I remembered.  Project Zero.  The simulation.  The wires attached to my head.  There were three of them.  I pulled them off and looked at the clock.  It was 6 a.m.  My parents, apparently, did not come in to check on me.  I gathered up the equipment and put it back in the black duffle bag Zach gave me and slid it under my bed. 

I crawled back in bed and pulled the covers up over my shoulders, trying to piece together what I’d just experienced.  It was surprisingly vivid—the party, the swing, Dani running toward me.  I replayed the sequence in my head two or three times, but everything just froze on Dani, her wild hair and that look on her face that was both fear and determination all at once.  Dani, I realized, was trying to protect me, warn me to get off the swing and take cover.  It would have made a great story, her courageous act.  Not thinking of herself, she simply lunged forward, her hand outstretched.  And then, it was just over.

Tears were running down my face like faucets by the time I’d gone over the scene the third time.  I kept thinking it was like skipping backwards in a movie, only I kept hoping the ending would be different, and it never was.  This one would go down in history as an epic fail.  I wiped my tears on the bedcover. If you want to know the truth, I started to get mad.  Why did she bother trying to save me anyway?  Why did she have to leave me with such a crappy story to tell?  Maybe I’d just bury it away, I thought.  Leave all this stuff with Zach behind and just forget all of it.  Never tell a soul.  It made me feel a little better to think I could be free from the past, but still, it didn’t seem quite right.  I tried to picture myself, sitting around the table with a bunch of ladies when I’m like seventy, telling them how my best friend died trying to save me.  But that wasn’t quite right either. 

I wanted to call Zach but it was too early, plus it was Saturday, so he wouldn’t be up for a while anyway.  I lay there for about thirty minutes until I heard my mom making coffee downstairs, then decided to get dressed and take a walk.  It would be chilly, but I needed some fresh air. 

My mom was sitting in the living room flipping through a magazine, coffee mug in one hand, her morning ritual.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“I couldn’t go back to sleep,” I said, sitting on the couch.

Mom sipped her coffee, steam swirling around her nose.  “You have plans today?” 

“Not really. I’m thinking about going for a walk or something.” 

“Hmmm,” Mom said, going back to her magazine.

Mom and I had never really talked about what happened that day at my party, not in depth anyway.  It was just one of those subjects families avoid because it’s easier that way.  What I really wanted to know more than anything just then, was where she died.  I couldn’t remember where the park was. 

“Mom can I ask you something?”  I asked.  “About the accident?”

My mom put the magazine away and set her coffee on the side table, looked at me.  Just as I suspected, she was uncomfortable with the subject.  “What?”  Her eyes darted, like they did when she was nervous.

“How come you’ve never taken me there?  To where it happened?”

She looked down, searching for an answer.  “We thought it would be too hard ...”

“For me or for you?”

She shot me a look of surprise and confusion all rolled into one.  “We were just trying to protect you.”

“From what?  The worst has already happened.  How could that have made any difference?”

Mom’s face contorted into a sad grimace.  “I’m sorry, honey.”  Her voice cracked.

It sort of made me mad, her response.  What right did she have to be so sad?  I was the one who’d been through the hard stuff.  “What are you sorry for?”

Mom sniffled, wiped her nose with a tissue.  “For not taking you there.  For not thinking about what you might want—I don’t know.  For everything.”

“Well, it’s not like we can’t still go.”  I offered.

“Maybe,” Mom considered.  “It would be good for you.”  She had brightened up a bit, with this new possibility.  She’d never thought that returning to the scene of the tragedy could be helpful.  “If you’re sure.”

I nodded.  “I’m sure.”

              By noon that day, Mom had planned the whole day around going to Fuller Park, where Dani died.  It was on the other side of town, so we’d drive, take a lunch.  She even brought Dad to the outing.  I didn’t really want my closure to become a family event, but whatever.  I guess my parents had been through hell, too.  It’s not easy losing your daughter for four years, not knowing if she’d come back.  I know it sounds crazy, but somehow I think going through something like that would be worse than death.  Don’t get me wrong.  It wasn’t like I
wanted
to be dead.  I just thought sometimes it would have been easier for my parents.  Then when I thought about Dani and how much it hurt to lose her, I wasn’t so sure.             

              I rode the whole way to the park in silence, partly because I felt sick to my stomach, and partly because I just didn’t have anything to say.  My parents felt the same way, apparently, because they didn’t even have the radio on, listening to their old 80s songs like they usually did.  They were somber, but not sad, really.  More like relieved—like we were all doing something productive, finally, together—something that would end a bad chapter in our lives.  But somehow, I felt like that chapter was just beginning.  I’m weird like that.  Endings are just beginnings in a new light.