Blue Is for Nightmares (9 page)

"Do you want to go see the nurse?"

"No. I just want to know who did this. Let's open it," she says, referring to the package.

'Are you sure?"

She nods and wipes the trickle of tears that's sliding down her cheeks. "I have to know" She slowly meanders her way to the wrapped-up gift, then turns to look at me. "Will you help me?"

"Do you want me to open it?"

She nods. "I'll open the card, you open the present. Deal?"

"Deal." I sit down on the bench with the package on my lap the small, white envelope with Drea's name, facing up. I deposit the envelope into her hand and watch as she tears it open with her thumb. She pulls out a folded piece of lined paper, the jagged edges freshly torn from someone's spiral notebook.

She unfolds it, smoothes out the creases, and reads the message. "This doesn't make sense.- She's shaking her head and scrunching up her face.

"What does it say? Can I see it?"

But she doesn't move or answer.

"Drea?" I pry the note from her fingers. It's written like Chad's--in block lettering with a red marker--FOUR MORE DAYS.

I look at her--at the fresh tears that stain her cheeks. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and rub the length of her hair and back, the way my grandmother used to hug me. "We don't have to open the box now," I whisper. "We can wait until after school, when we feel better. Or I can open it by myself later."

"No," she says, wiping at her face. "Open it now. I have to know now"

I nod, fully understanding how she feels. I have to know too.

I pull the ribbon free of the package, then slowly work at the wrapping, untaping the panels with care, trying to sense any vibrations coming from the paper. When the package is finally free, lying across my lap is a long, white cardboard box. I smile, somewhat relieved, but I have no idea why. I look up at Drea--she shares that same look. I

remove the cover and look down at the contents: four freshly cut lilies.

"Lilies," Drea says, swallowing. "The death flower. Isn't that what you said?"

I nod. There's no use lying anymore. Strength comes with honesty.

"So, four lilies. Four days till death, right?" Drea's lips tremble, but instead of crying she starts laughing, hysterical laughter. She plucks a lily from the box and bats it against her nose. "I guess he was too cheap to spring for a dozen. Or maybe a dozen would have been too long for him to wait. Hey, if he does it by Friday, I won't have to take my trig test. You think I could ask him to move it up?"

I touch Drea's hand and rub her back, watch these simple gestures convert laughter into tears.

She cups her hands over her face and collapses into my arms. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say to make it better. I can only try to stop the danger before it happens. I rock her back and forth on the bench and feel a nerve at the back of my neck tense up.

The sound of footsteps is coming toward us from the long row of showers. I stand, accidentally stepping on the wrapping paper and causing a slight rustle.

The footsteps stop.

Drea grasps at my arm to hold me back. I place my finger up to my lips to shush her, take a step closer to the sinks, and ready myself to peer around the wall.

Maybe the person who left the gift is still here, waiting. "Stacey" Drea whispers. "What are you doing?"

I peer around the corner but I don't see anyone, just a row of empty shower stalls, the curtains drawn open. I peel Drea's grasp from around my forearm and begin down the row of stalls. That's when I notice--the two at the end have their curtains drawn closed.

There's a clanking sound, like metal, coming from the last stall. I reach inside my pocket for my key ring and prepare the sharpest key to protect myself. "I know you're there," I call out. "Come out and show yourself"

A pair of feet--black leather clunk-shoes--takes a step closer to the curtain.

"Come out!" I demand.

"Stacey!" Drea shouts.

A white chiffon scarf pokes out from behind the curtain and waves back and forth. I look closer.

The scarf has yellow ducks patterned across the edges. It can only be one person.

"I surrender," Amber yells, jumping out from the stall. "Just don't hurt me."

I let out a long, relief-filled breath and release the key from my grip. 'Amber, what are you doing here?"

Drea emerges from behind the wall to join us. "You scared us half to death."

"Sorry" she says, banging her metal Daffy Duck lunch box against the wall. "Just having a little peek-a-boo fun. Didn't think you'd take it so seriously."

"How else are we supposed to take it?" I ask.

She ties the duck scarf around her neck so that it sticks out slightly from the collars of her uniform, just enough to piss off Mr. Gunther, her first period algebra teacher, and score her a big, fat detention.

"I was looking for you guys," she says. "Coming to breakfast?"

"How long have you been here?" Drea asks.

"I don't know. Like, two minutes."

"Did you see anyone coming this way, carrying a gift?" Drea asks.

"You got it?"

Drea nods.

"Holy shit." Amber's eyes slam shut for emphasis, exposing two more ducks, penciled onto her lids with brown and yellow eyeliner. "What was it?"

"We'll explain later," I say. "I don't want to talk here."

"This is so cool," Amber says. "It's like some bad horror movie or something. I feel like--who's that chick from the original
Halloween?"

"You mean Jamie Lee Curtis?" I say.

"Yeah, I feel like her."

"Amber," I say, "this is serious. It's not for your entertainment."

She looks at Drea, close to tears. "Oh yeah. Sorry, Dray. I can be such an insensitive beetle sometimes."

"Cockroach," Drea corrects.

"Right." Amber's cell phone rings from inside her lunch box. She ignores it out of courtesy. "Just tell me whatever I can do to help, and I will."

"We need to make a pact," I say. "Right here and now." I extend my hand in the air, facedown.

Drea places hers over mine. Amber does the same, until our hands make a sixinch-high pig pile.

"Close your eyes and repeat after me," I say, feeling the warmth of their hands enveloping my own. "To secrecy."

"To secrecy" Drea says.

"To secrecy," Amber repeats.

'And to honesty and strength," I say.

"And to honesty and strength," they both repeat in turn. "Or death will surely part us," I say.

"Or death will surely part us," Drea says.

"Or death will surely part us," Amber hiccups.

We open our eyes and lock them on each other for several seconds without saying a word. Then we take our hands back.

thirtte_r)

Breakfast is already over by the time we make it out of the shower room. So, we wait--the longest school day of the year--until after classes to go back to the dorm and make a plan. PJ

asked to come over, but we told him we needed some female-bonding time. He didn't argue. He only promised to come by and eavesdrop.

We sit in a circle on the floor, a chunky purple candle in the middle. I'm beyond tired at this point, can barely focus.

I need time to make a plan, but I also need time to sleep, to live out my nightmares and figure out what everything means.

Amber busies her fingers by plucking the lily petals from their stems and dropping them into the orange clay pot.

"Leave the stems to the side," I tell her. "We may need them later."

Drea grabs a fresh chocolate bar from her fridge. She peels the wrapper down and takes a bite, and for just one evil moment, I wonder why all that sugar never makes its way to the backs of her thighs.

-Do you think we should tell campus security about the note?" Amber asks.

"No," Drea says. "They'll call my parents and then I'll have security officers following me to the bathroom. No, thanks."

"Maybe we should," I say.

"Yeah, we'll just tell them that somebody gave me flowers along with a card that says 'four days'

on it. So threatening," she mocks. "Four days could mean anything. It could be four more days until I get my period, for god's sake. Four days until hell freezes over."

"Is that what you really think?" I ask.

"I don't know, Stace. What do you think? Maybe you should call the police. Maybe you should tell them all about your premonitions and the symbolism of lilies. They won't think we're crazy or anything."

"Why are you being like this?" I ask.

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that someone wants to kill me."

I grab the backpack from my bed and pull three lemons (courtesy of the cafeteria lady) out from the side pocket. "No. I mean, why are you so against going to the police?"

Amber pauses from petal-plucking to hear the answer as well.

"Because maybe I know who it is."

"You do?"

"Maybe."

"Who?" I ask.

"Maybe it's Chad."

"Chad?
Why would
Chad
do this?"

"Why else? To scare me, so I'll go running to him. To get me back, basically"

"That's so dumb," Amber says.

"What can I say? He's a boy. Maybe this is his little way of bringing us closer."

"You don't, like,
really
believe that, do you?" Amber stops her eyes mid-roll, speaking toward the crack in the ceiling.

"What else am I supposed to think?" Drea huddles her legs in close and crosses them at the ankle, so they make a valentine heart below her chin.

"If he wanted to get so close to you, then why would he break your breakfast date?" I take the lemons and cut them in half with a plastic knife.

Drea shrugs. She takes a huge bite of chocolate, making it difficult to answer any more questions. I don't think she really believes that Chad is behind this whole thing, but I think that's the only explanation her mind will let her digest right now.

"So, what are we doing with these lilies anyway?" Amber asks, shoving a flower behind her ear.

"Well," I say, grabbing it back, "first we're going to soak them in lemon juice and vinegar. And then we're going to put them into a bottle with pins and needles."

"That's what I thought," Amber says, rolling her eyes. She snatches Drea's chocolate bar mid-bite and breaks off a piece for herself. "I'm starving. Did you see that gelatin slop they were dishing out in the cafeteria today? Total yuck."

"I wasn't hungry" Drea says, grabbing her candy bar back.

I pick up one of the lilies and admire the strong, broad petals, the way they fall open in a perfect bell shape. I trace the silky threads with my fingertips. "The person who left this," I say, "is very close." I close my eyes and slide my thumb and index finger down the length of the stem to feel the smoothness. I can tell it was soaked in water for some time, at least a couple days, and that the end was cut with a delicate hand. I move my fingers upward to feel a leaf. I stop, press it between my fingers and feel at the veins to be sure. The veins travel straight up to the tip, but then taper off into tiny Vs that run east and west. "I feel a shelter of some sort."

"What kind of a shelter?" Drea asks.

I shake my head, frustrated that I can't tell more. I lift the petal to my nose. "Dirt," I nod. "It smells like dirt."

"Well, they did come from a florist," Amber says. "They do, like, have dirt there."

"No," I say, sniffing again. "Dirt. It's all around me." I drop the lily to my lap and sniff my fingers. The earthy

scent is everywhere--on my hands, in my clothes, tangled up in my hair.

I close my eyes and try to concentrate on the scent. I picture the powdery brown mass being turned, and overturned, and then turned again, the color alternating at points--from golden and hazel to dark chestnut, almost black. I press my fingers up to my nostrils and inhale the pinky skin, breathing in every grain of the earthy spirit. I can picture the dirt forming a tall pile of some sort. Cone shaped, like a tepee. "Someone's digging something."

"Like what?" Amber asks.

I open my eyes and shake my head. "I don't know" "Well, leave it to me to attract some psycho dirt-eater," Drea says.

"Dirt-digger," Amber corrects.

I'm almost surprised they're making jokes about it, especially Drea. But it's like that's the only way she can swallow the news and keep it down.

"When did you learn to do that?" Amber asks.

"What?"

"Read things like that?"

"It's weird," I say. "But I think I've always had it, like it was always there, even when I wasn't old enough to accept or understand it. I would touch something and get these mental pictures from it, these intense feelings. It didn't happen all the time; it still doesn't. I used to practice around the house--my mom's keys, a neighbor's watch--and feel nothing. Then I'd be out somewhere, like at a friend's house, and pick up a dishtowel and sense divorce."

"I wouldn't want to know things like that," Drea says.

TOO

"I used to feel that way. But I'm trying to think of it as a gift--you know, a way to help people."

"My parents are going to get a divorce," Drea says. "You don't have to go towel-touching to tell me."

"Hey, Stace, can you use that psychic stuff to tell me if Brantley Witherall is going to ask me to prom this year?" Amber grabs her lunchbox-purse and opens it. She takes out her florescent-green cell phone, decorated with tiny ladybug stickers, and the matching phone charger.

"Brantley Witherall, Mr. Tlove-to-flip-my-eyelids-insideout-for-my-own-amusement'?" Drea says. "A girl can only dream."

"Maybe I'll just ask Donovan to prom instead. He did smile at me in the cafeteria yesterday.-

Amber gives a little self-satisfied smirk as she plugs in the phone charger. Even though Drea has absolutely zero interest in Donovan, she still thinks she owns his affection.

"Why do you even need a cell phone?" Drea asks. "You're with us all day long. Who calls you on it?" "PJ."

"You two should just go back out," Drea says. "He so wants to."

"Wouldn't you just love that?" Amber says.

"What's that supposed to mean?"