The Last Changeling (14 page)

“I set off the alarm. I needed someone to talk to and … you're the only one I have.”

“Oh my.” Mr. Jenkins leaned back, distancing himself from the situation. “Miss Mardsen, that was a very unwise thing to do.”

“I told you, you can call me Alexia.”

His face softened. “Alexia. What happened?”

“Remember that asshole boyfriend I was telling you about? The one that's a
total loser
?”

“I seem to recall something, yes.”

“I just found out he's been sleeping with my
best friend
. I mean, can you think of anything more horrifying?”

Mr. Jenkins struggled for words. “That's terrible. I'm very sorry.”

“
I'm
sorry. I can't believe I wasted four months of my life on that—that creep!” She hid behind her hands.

“But I don't understand, Miss … Alexia. You came to
the school because—”

“I wanted to reach you,” she said between muffled sobs. “I knew you'd come if you heard the alarm. I know it was selfish. I just felt so lost and I wanted to talk to somebody.”

“Well, that's—well, I wouldn't call it selfish. But it wasn't entirely wise. I didn't give you a key to the school with this in mind.”

“I know,” Alexia exclaimed. “You were just helping me get that book I forgot before midterms. And when I think about the trouble this might get you into, all because of my stupid problems, I just feel so awful.” She buried her face in her knees, howling in anguish.

“Now, now, don't do that.” He patted her back timidly. “It's okay. Nobody heard but me, and it all worked out just fine. Listen. Would you like to go get a soda and talk all this out?”

Alexia lifted her head. “That would be nice.”

Mr. Jenkins rose and locked the doors of the school before he and Alexia walked to their cars. Behind the tree, we waited in silence. When the cars disappeared down the darkened street, we emerged. Twenty minutes later, the first of the invitees arrived.

We let them in through the window.

–––––

The crowd was a ruffled bunch as I led them down the hall. I was pleased to see that they had, for the most part, dressed in black. When we reached the auditorium doors, Kylie held the door open so they could pass through. Taylor ushered them to their seats and Keegan stood by, doing an impromptu dance.

“What's with the dress code, anyway?” Kylie asked when the students were seated. She gestured to her black sweatshirt and tiered-lace skirt, the latter of which she wore over jeans.

“Stealth,” I said with a perfectly straight face.

“You did it for your own amusement,” said Keegan. He smoothed his black tracksuit.

I smiled. I got the feeling that he, like myself, viewed clothing as costume. “Possibly,” I said. “But the most important reason is to promote a feeling of unity. We are divided from one another by the false idea that we have nothing in common. Dressing in the same color, though a small detail, creates the feeling that we do in fact share commonality.”

“Tricksy,” Keegan replied.

Beside him, his sister fretted. “I hope Alexia's all right.”

“I hope she keeps Jim away long enough.” Taylor tossed a glance my way.

I caught it and held on for a moment. “He'd have to walk around the entire school and peer into these windows, which, if you haven't noticed, have curtains covering them at night.”

“Oh, he'd do it,” Taylor said.

“He's shifty,” Keegan agreed.

“This is quite a turn-out.” I tallied the crowd for the third time. “Ready to take your places?”

“Yes, sir.” Keegan gave a dramatic salute.

“Good. Scatter yourselves amongst them.”

Keegan and Kylie entered the auditorium through the main doors. Taylor followed me down the hall, toward the auditorium's back entrance. “This is crazy,” he said.

“All the more reason we should be doing it. Will the lighting be easy?”

“Piece of cake. I did tech last year on
Singing in the Rain
.”

I just nodded. I sensed that he had more to say.

“I actually considered trying out,” he said after a minute. “But I figured I'd suck, so I offered to do lights instead.” He shrugged the memory away. “I'll frame you in soft light.”

“So I appear to them as a dream.” I opened the backdoor to the auditorium.

Taylor stepped halfway through the door, stopping in front of me. “You appeared to me that way.” He slid his fingers down a strand of my hair, revealing a leaf hiding there.

“The moonlight suits me.” I tucked the leaf behind his ear.

“Do you want me to raise the curtain?”

“I can do it.”

“It'll take me a minute to get to the lighting booth.”

“That's all right.”

Taylor paused, glancing at my lips like he wanted to kiss me. Nowadays, I got that impression from him most of the time. More startling still was the feeling that I wanted to kiss him too. Of
course, I couldn't act on it.

Why are you doing this?
Keegan's voice asked in my mind.

“I'll see you soon,” I said to Taylor, looking away.

He slipped past me, heading to the balcony. I went in the opposite direction. I was almost to th
e stage when the curtain began to lift of its own accord—at least, it appeared that way. I was confident that Taylor had not yet reached his post and would not see it happening. I wanted the curtain to rise in one swift movement, fast enough to startle the onlookers. I couldn't trust hands to do this.

Even my own.

Now every eye was on the stage, trying to spy me in the shadows. Lights were lit about the room, but none upon the stage just yet. Then it all changed. The lights in the room went out and Taylor turned a soft pink spotlight on me. I felt a fluttering in my stomach.

Relax. You've done this before
.

But never for humans.

I stepped to the front of the stage, welcoming the visitors into my dream. “Hello friends, strangers … everything in between.” I spoke in a clear voice, letting the sound resonate throughout the room. “Some of you know me as Lora. Some of you may have heard other names for me.” I curled my lip, watching them glance at one another, whispering. “Perhaps I have heard names for you as well. It seems, at times, the sole purpose of Unity's elite is to brand us with identities that could define us for the rest of our lives. To be perfectly honest, that doesn't sit well with me.”

Another pause, carefully crafted, as the invitees raised their eyebrows and shifted in their seats.

“Now, let's face it. Identity itself cannot be ignored. Identity determines who we are. Yet in this world of a million possibilities, we are led to believe that every choice we make is a reflection of our identity. Each time we choose a brand of carbonated sugar water, we are judged for it. Each time we patronize a franchise at the mall, someone else gives us a name. But identity is not the summation of our tiniest choices. It is a combination of our most basic beliefs, our actions, and our dreams. It is formed and reformed every day.” I leaned in, as if sharing a delicious secret. “Identity is the reason we are here.”

The whispering stopped.

“This elusive concept, which should be treated as an ongoing process of discovery, is used by a small minority to make us feel we are not deserving of the most basic human rights: love, acceptance, self-worth. Identity is used by the beloved to separate themselves from the rest, using rules that they themselves create. Who can give me an example of an identity deemed unacceptable by the elite?”

“Gay!” Keegan offered gleefully from the back of the room.

A couple of people laughed. Several others tittered. But the majority of the crowd remained silent, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

He tried again. “Fat!” He patted his belly and plodded on before the laughter lost its momentum. “Or chubby. Chunky. Hefty.” He grinned sheepishly. “I've heard 'em all. Husky.”

“Poor,” Taylor yelled from his place in the balcony. Several people turned in his direction.

While their heads were turned, a girl in the back found her voice. “Dorky,” she called out, and immediately tried to duck behind her voluminous glasses.

Someone across the way stood up, adding, “Ditzy.”

And just like that, the girls took over the room. One yelled “Slutty,” while another offered “Prude.” The din grew louder as more joined in, and just when the clamor grew too great to distinguish any words, I brought them back.

“Exactly,” I said, my voice booming over the crowd. “The longer we are given to think on it, the longer the list will be. In the created social order of high school, we are required to project very specific identities in order to be accepted. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm
sick
of trying to fit in.”

I paused, letting the gravity of the words sink in. Half the crowd had risen to their feet, and these enthusiasts were nodding.

“I'm sick of trying to mold myself into someone else's definition of acceptable, beautiful, valuable. I know I'm valuable. Why must I spend every day of my life proving it to other people? And at night, as I lie in bed, I think about the efforts I made that day to fit into an impossibly narrow standard, and I feel like
I'm living a lie
.”

Living a lie as a human. Living a lie as a princess.
After all, what is royalty but a social invention? An imaginary title? It only has power because people believe in it.

“But now I'm done. I'm taking back my life and I'm taking back this school. And I need your help.”

“What can we do?” The voice was so soft I barely heard it. When I located its source, I sincerely questioned my perception. Gordon Grayson, the small boy from the Merry-Straight Alliance, who'd never so much as uttered a word in any of our meetings (who had, in fact, ignored my greetings each morning when I passed him on the way to math class), had spoken from his place in the front row. His pointy chin was tilted upward, an arrow aimed at my face, and he pressed his arms firmly into his armrests as he waited for my reply.

“We can do anything we want.”

Gordon sniffed, turning his head away.

“Well, answer me this,” I said. “When you received your invitation, did you think anyone would show up?”

He looked at me in silence.

I tried again. “Did you think there was any chance we would actually get into the school tonight, or did you think we were being overly optimistic? Foolhardy?”

Gordon clutched the sides of his chair, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “I thought … ” He cleared his throat. “I thought it was probably a scheme to get us in trouble.”

I smiled for him alone. “An elaborate scheme to punish you for believing in the possibility of change?”

His face reddened.

“Not surprising,” I said quickly. “It is easier to believe we are being misled than to believe in our own power, isn't it? But we did it. We broke into the school without breaking a window or a lock.”

“You did it,” Gordon said.

“And you came.” I turned to the people next to him. “And you came, and you came. If it was this easy to come together, think of what we can accomplish with the slightest bit of effort. Tonight, all you had to do was show up to learn that so many people feel the way you feel and want to make a change. Think of what you can do tomorrow, next week, next month. Think of the power our numbers have if we put them toward a cause that benefits us all.”

“Like the prom?” Taylor called out.

“The prom,” I said with practiced indignation, “is just
another chance for them to put us in our place. Or is it?” I grinned. “As someone who has only been in public school for a short while, it is easy for me to see the ridiculousness of such a ritual. We dress up in elaborate ensembles, are forced to pair off into perfect units of two, and prance about like peacocks—all of it, it seems, in preparation for a party that never comes. But perhaps we can gain more from this experience. Perhaps we can use it as an example of the way we will access our collective power for the rest of our lives.

“The principal has taken it upon herself to keep people with certain identities from attending the prom. Just as in the past, it has been decided for us which identities are a
ppropriate and which are not. But you have the chance to stand up to these prejudices, to make it known that you won't tolerate injustices based upon real or invented identities. You have the chance to tell Unity that regardless of someone else's perception, you deserve the same rights as your peers. And to accomplish this great feat … ” I looked out at their hopeful faces. “All you have to do is show up.”

18

T
aylo
R

The week before prom, both Brad and Lora were elected to the Prom Court. That Friday, Brad caught up to us at lunch. He swaggered across the grass and leaned against our tree, hands in his pockets. James Dean style, I guess. And he looked down at Lora like she was the only one there, giving her that patented sleaze-ball grin.

“Hey babe.”

Oh, God. Did he really just say that?

“Hello, Brad.” Lora's eyes sparkled the way they did when she was excited. Before her, I never thought anyone's eyes could actually glisten. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

For a minute, they played out this old-timey movie scene where two lovers meet for the first time. Coy glances. Little smirks. I thoug
ht I was going to be sick.

“I figured it out,” Brad said.

“You did?”

“Okay, not at first. But after that meteor shower, I started thinking about the stuff you said. About iron,
and … ” He stuck out his hand. A ragged dandelion drooped over his fist, still dangling its roots. Smeared across the petals …

“Is that blood?” K
ylie's eyes stretched to their limit.

Brad glared at her before turning back to Lora. “Blood has iron in it. Iron comes from stars.” He beamed. “A flower that shines with the light of the stars.”

What an idiot. Does he really think she'll fall for that?

“You did it,” Lora said, climbing to her feet.

Um. What?

“I did it,” Brad repeated dumbly. Everything about him was stupid. God, I hated him and his stupid dumb face.

“So now you have to go out with me,” he said.

“I have to,” Lora agreed, taking the blood-speckled weed. She slid it into the pouch she wore around her neck. “Well done.”

“So I'll see you tomorrow.” Brad grinned.

“Tomorrow it is.”

No. She can't be serious
.

Kylie gasped. “But that's—”

“Prom,” I finished for her.

“You have to,” Brad said again. “I mean, you agreed.”

“Oh, yes,” Lora said, clasping her hands. “I think I will find that quite enjoyable.”

She's messing with him. She has to be messing with him.

“But there is a complication,” she added.

“Complication?” Brad repeated.

“Too many syllables?” Keegan asked.

“The thing is,” Lora broke in, “I must officially enter the prom with Kylie. It's political. You wouldn't understand.” She waved her hand. “But once the party is underway, I see no reason why you cannot be my secret date. That is,” she stepped forward, trailing a finger beneath his chin, “if you don't mind being my dirty little secret.”

Brad nodded like one of those bobbleheaded dolls.

“We might even have an after party …
if
you're elected King,” she added with a wink. “One has to be mindful of her status. You taught me that.” She was still touching him. I wanted to pull her hand away. Scratch that—I wanted to rip off his ugly face. How could she do this? Had she ever cared about me at all?

I should've been happy when Brad ambled away, but it barely registered. My heart had ached a million times since Lora's arrival, but now the pain in my chest was something I couldn't even name. It was all consuming.

“Holy crap,” Kylie said when Brad was out of earshot. “You're a scary good actress.”

Lora shrugged in that careless way of hers, settling in beside me. “Are you all right?”

Sure. I just can't look at you.

“Perhaps I should have told you that I was entering the prom with Kylie,” she said. “But I must set an example for the group. You understand that, don't you?”

“Yep,” I replied. “I understand everything.”

She'll go to prom with Kylie. She'll go to prom with Brad. She'll go to prom with anyone except me.

She narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“You baited him! You got him to give you his
blood
.” I turned away. There was nothing she could say to make this better. I'd finally seen who she was.

A scary good actress. A fake.

She touched me, and I hated how good it felt.

She doesn't mean it. She doesn't mean it. She doesn't mean it.

“Haven't we been plotting our revenge against Brad?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. We're all supposed to do it together, on a regular night—”

“We'll all be together at the prom. And he already thinks I'm his date—”

“Secret date.” Keegan snorted.

Anger flared inside of me. “Don't you guys get it? She's going to get herself really hurt.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Lora said.

“What if we get separated? What if he leads you away, and we can't get to you in time … ”

“I will be fine.”

It killed me, how nonchalant she was being. Did I really mean so little to her?

Does she really mean so little to herself?

“You're not invincible,” I said.

“No. But I'm much more creative than Mr. Dickson.”

“There are certain circumstances where that's not going to save you.”
And who is going to save her, then? Is it, by any chance, you?
a taunting little voice said
.
“What exactly are you plann
ing?” I asked.

Lora didn't answer right away. It looked like she was pondering the question. But after that little show she'd put on for Brad, I figured she was playing me.

“We could strip him down and take his picture,” she said finally.

Keegan rubbed his hands together. “Let's take his picture in a prom dress.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Doesn't that perpetuate the idea that it's wrong for a guy to wear a dress?”

All eyes turned on me.

“What? I listen.”

“Apparently,” said Keegan. “But we're not making a political statement. We just want to humiliate him. You know, an eye for an eye.”

“I don't know.” Kylie chewed her lip. “I think Taylor's right.”

“I think Taylor's skirting the issue,” said Lora with a sly smile. She was trying to win me over, but I wasn't falling for it. I knew those eyes didn't sparkle just for me.

Possessive much?

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. It didn't work. “Why don't you put him in a baby's bonnet while you're at it?” I said sarcastically.

Kylie giggled into her hand. “Wouldn't that be the greatest? Mister Big Man as a baby?”

“We'd never pull it off,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was to get Kylie on board.

“Maybe we wouldn't have to dress him up. Maybe we'd just have to create the illusion that he was dressed up,” said Lora. “They'd only have to see a hint of fabric to believe something was amiss.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You'll get the fabric?”

“I can get the fabric,” offered Kylie.

“See? Everything's falling into place.” Lora grinned. “Besides, if all goes well, we won't have to sink to his level and use drugs. From what I hear, Brad drinks himself into a stupor at every social event. So when he passes out—”

“We slip into his hotel room,” said Keegan.

“Hotel room?” I repeated.

“Everyone's renting one,” Lora said.

“We'll take a few pictures,” Keegan went on, but my mind had taken a trip to other places.

Hotel room.

“We wouldn't even have to undress him,” Kylie added.

Are we renting a hotel room?

“We'd hardly have to touch him,” Lora said. “With all the rumors going around, we'd just have to show a bit of something—”

“And people would believe it!” Kylie clapped her hands. “But is this okay? Is this right?”

“It's just a little prank,” Keegan said. “If Brad passes out on his own, there's virtually no danger. And we won't separate under any circumstances.”

He looked at me. In fact, everyone was looking at me, and all I could do was tear out clumps of grass. “Sounds like you guys have made up your minds,” I said.

“So you'll help?” Kylie asked. She looked so hopeful I didn't know what to say.

So I shrugged. “If that'll make you happy,” I said finally. But I wasn't talking to her and we all knew it.

–––––

When the school day ended, I couldn't wait to get out of there. The thought of sitting next to Lora was almost too much to bear. I felt so betrayed by her. Betrayed and hurt and angry. But I waited for her outside of class like a gentleman, and I offered to give her a ride, because I still cared.

I cared way too much.

Big surprise, she declined. I peeled out of the parking lot in a pathetic display of frustration. But as I raced down the streets, just fast enough to piss off the cops that
really
needed to meet their quotas, it occurred to me that it wasn't even Lora I was mad at. I knew she didn't like Brad. I
knew
it, in that deep part of me beneath the sinew and marrow. I knew it in my soul, if I had a soul.

She makes me feel like I have a soul.

I was mad at Brad and I was mad
at my father. Most of all I was mad at myself for letting the people I cared about get into situations where others could take advantage of them. What kind of a man was I if I could
n't defend the people I loved? Was I really that much better than the assholes of the world?

I'd had enough.

Pulling up to my parents' house, I slammed my car door hard enough to rattle the hinges. On one side of the lawn, like a beacon of light, stood the door to the garage and my sanctuary. On the other side, my parents' house rose up before me, tall and foreboding. Possibly surrounded in flames. I knew where I had to go if I wanted to be able to look myself in the face for the rest of my life. I knew, too, what it was going to cost me.

I plodded toward it. Across the swamps of soggy grass, and up the steps that multiplied as I walked. My heart felt heavy—my entire body felt heavy—but I couldn't let it hold me back. What else could I do? Lie down in the grass and wait for death to take me? I had no choice but to start living.

“Where are you?” I called, trailing mud through the hallway. I'd clean it up later, for Mom's sake. For now I needed the fire and the fury. I knew Mom was in her usual afternoon spot, grading finger-paintings or whatever the kids had done that day.

It struck me, like a blade in the heart, how devastating it must've been for her to work with kids so close to Aaron's age. To see them, so full of life, crawling into their parents' arms at the end of the day. What greater torture could there be for her? Why did she stay?

They need the money
.

I never should have let them stay in this house. I should have been giving her money, any money I could make, but it was too late now to let the guilt crush me. I had to move forward, to focus on the things I could change. As the family room moved toward me, or I toward it, my legs picked up speed, and I pushed into the room without time to think.

“Of course,” I said. “What was I thinking? You're right where you always are, glued to the couch.”

My father turned around, aghast at my intrusion. He didn't know the half of it. I could've said much worse things. Deep inside, all the pain he'd caused me was bubbling up, but I wouldn't use it against him.

We were different in that way.

He recovered, emotions shifting before his face returned to neutral. “Well, well. It's the prodigal son,” he said. “To what do I owe this performance?”

“You've been watching too much TV.” My gaze flicked to the black, soul-sucking box. The faces of missing teens were flashing across the screen. Black-haired, red-haired, brown-haired, blond. So many faces. I started to feel dizzy.

“I need to talk to you,” I said. “Man to man.”

He turned back to the TV. “Hope you brought a friend.”

“What is your deal? Why do you fucking—” I stopped, reined myself in. But it was too late to take back the cardinal sin. I'd shown my emotions. Now he could gut me and not feel bad about it.

“Very nice,” Dad said, not bothering to look at me. “A real man wouldn't lose control like that.”

“A real man takes care of his family.” I walked around to the side of the couch. Even with his eyes glued to the TV, he'd have to glimpse me in the periphery. “A real man doesn't treat his wife like she's an insect buzzing around his arm.” That got his attention. “And a real man looks out for his kids instead of throwing them to the wolves to die!”

I didn't mean it like that. Really, I was going for a metaphor. But the words had already left my mouth, and now I couldn't stop. I'd wanted to say these things for years. I'd only needed Lora to validate them so I knew I wasn't completely insane.

“You are the parent.” I stepped forward, boxing him in. “You are the adult. You put it on me, but it wasn't my responsibility to raise your son, and it wasn't my responsibility to save your house! You needed to make those decisions. You and Mom both. How could you put that on me? How could you let me move into the garage and hate myself and think the whole thing was my fault? You made me wish I was the one who was dead.”

God, it felt good to say it. Relief rushed through me. I knew my words would hurt him, but I had to say them, this one time. I had to let him know what he'd put on me and how it had hurt. I had to be free of it. Because even if Mom insisted they bring me along to their new home, I wasn't going to come.

I didn't belong with them anymore.