Don't Forget to Breathe (2 page)

As soon as Dad clicked the door my cool resolve vanished. My hands sheltered my face, huffing and puffing from one end of the kitchen to the other. I jolted at the pop of the toaster and gaped at the slice of toast, my stomach heaved.

The scream—it was real. A body was found on Tarpon on the banks of the cemetery. Did someone drag the corpse to Tarpon—why? What would’ve happened if I’d stayed with Henry?

The honk of a car disintegrated my thoughts. “Darnnit, he’s early.” I darted to my bedroom for my messenger bag and burst out the door.

While buckling in, I gazed at Henry navigating the car. He looked tired with droopy eyes. Coppery-brown nubs marched along his chin; evidently he didn’t find the time to shave.

“Did you hear the news,” I said, “about the dead body found on Tarpon last night?” His fingers seemed to circle the steering wheel in a tight grip.

“I don’t listen to the news. It’s all bad.”

“I agree, but my dad does.” I combed through my rebellious hair and stared through the windshield. A bright sun peeked over the horizon and golden fingers streaked into the sky. It was going to be a beautiful day—less one human.

I turned back to Henry. “Doesn’t that freak you out?”

“Huh, what are you saying?”

“We were there, by Tarpon Hill.”

“
So
? We don’t know when the dude was murdered.”

“I never said it was a dude.” He seemed so blasé. Disturbing. “It could’ve been a female.”

“Whatever.”

“Wow, you’re taking this information extremely light.”

“Leo—” He sounded brusque, pushing up his glasses. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, it’s a crime, happens every day. Get over it.” His bruised knuckles advanced from bloody red to white as he held the wheel. “It’s not like it’s someone we know.”

My innards churned. Mom’s gruesome murder scene had ingrained in my memory for all eternity. Absently, my thumb ironed over the little lump in my pocket, the pill. When the psychiatrist failed me, I took matters into my own hands, drowning my sorrows anyway possible. I couldn’t, and didn’t speak the rest of the drive. Henry parked and I barged out of the SUV, and jaunted into school without waiting for him. It took two hours to compose my internal war of contention.

During English class, Nona asked in a low tone, “You are going to practice after school, right?”

I nodded and veered toward my friend.

“Mrs. Zweigler’s teaching us a new routine.” She showed me her gag face. “She wants it ready for the football game on Saturday.”

“I hope it’s not lame like the last one.”

Nona grinned.

“Miss Nelson,” said Mr. Slepe, the teacher. “Do you have something to share with the class?”

Heads turned in my direction. “Uh…no,” I said.

“Then all eyes up here.” Exhibiting his eccentric two-finger point to his eyeballs, and then flipped the double point at me. “I’m the teacher, not you.”

Following class, we speed-walked to our favorite haunt, the third floor restroom, and were astonished to see a window partly open. Nona foraged in her purse and withdrew a pack of smokes. “Want one?” She offered the pack to me.

My shaky fingers pulled out a cigarette, then torched the tobacco.

“I can tell something’s bothering you.” Nona blew a torrent of smoke from her mouth.

In brief, I clarified my recent dream: The murder scene, the bloody prints, the dagger, and being grabbed.

“Leo,” she whispered even though the restroom was empty, “you’re starting to remember. You have to tell the police.”

“The police didn’t find the dagger. I…I’m not ready to…to…”

She prevented my stammering with a locked hug. “I’m here for you.”

“It’s probably nothing, but I went out with Henry last night—”

“Well that explains it all.” Her eyeballs bugged out. “Why the heck do you keep hanging with that boy?”

My head joggled from shoulder to shoulder. “He’s new and needs a friend. He’s…okay.” Her eyes crunched along with her face. “Why don’t you like him?”

“He’s…I don’t know.” Nona flicked her ash into the sink. “I can’t put my finger on it. He’s…different.”

“Henry’s introverted.” Clouds wreathed our heads and we fanned smoke toward the window. “So he’s not Becket Kane or Joseph Andreesson.”

“That’d be nice, though.” Nona giggled displaying a salacious brow wag. “I saw hottie looking y’all over at our last practice. If Henry hadn’t been there, Becket might’ve made a move on you.”

“You’re dreaming.” I tossed my cigarette into the toilet bowl. “Becket doesn’t know I exist. Besides, he’s a senior and we’re inferior juniors.”

“I hope you’re speaking for yourself, hun. My Reggie is a senior and I’m nobody’s inferior.” White defined her big brown eyes. “And yesterday Reggie asked me if you were going out with Henry.”

“Why would Reggie ask you that?”

“C’mon, Leo. Are you dense?” She smiled like a tiger with a secret. “He was asking
for
someone.”

“Oh, no.” My shoulders slouched. “What creepzoid wants to know?”

“I told Reg that you friended that oddball because you felt sorry for him.”

“Henry is…is…Henry. That’s all.” God forbid I acknowledge he tried making out with me last night. She’d hemorrhage. “So who’s asking about me?” Eager, I grabbed her arm. “No way, it’s Becket.”

“I betcha it is.” She included her butt to the toilet bowl. “I couldn’t shag it out of Reg. If I wasn’t taken I’d be all over Becket like a bee on honey.”

“Yeah, you and the whole swarm of queen bees.”

“He hasn’t gone with anybody steady since tenth grade,” she harped. “Becket’s one of those love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guys. Probably ‘cause Joyce broke his heart. Do you remember Joyce Winter? We were freshman at the time.”

“She was drop-dead gorgeous.”

“I’m glad she moved to another state.” She folded a strand of ebony hair over her ear. “And you’re gorgeous too, hun.”

I tsked, blowing air between my teeth.

“You’re selling yourself short, girl!” Her hand came forward and pincered my chin between her thumb and finger, studying my face like a beauty consultant. “I was shocked when you cut your long hair. It was almost to your waist.”

I remembered the day well. Eight months ago when I considered breathing was overrated. A waste product hunkered in the corner of my bedroom on a psychedelic trip. Like a shroud, hair covered my body and I felt the need to free myself from its weight. Snatching a pair of scissors, I hacked away.

“It’s kind of…unique.” She sounded uncertain. “Red hair with orangy-blond highlights.”

“Foiled dye job,” I grumped.

“Makes you look badass with those gnarly razored layers.”

“Real badass,” I mocked turning sour, “and pure candyass on the inside.”

She persisted. “And green eyes…”

Emitting an exaggerated head loll, I nipped her embellished observation. “Did you hear about the body they found on Tarpon?”

“No—” She cringed. “That’s not far from my house.”

“I guess no one listens to the morning news around here.” The bell pealed for the start of class.

“Oh poop! I’m late again.” Nona dashed from the restroom.

However, I didn’t care about being late and inspected my face in the mirror while fingering the pill that hugged my pocket. “Mom,” I said to my reflection, “how else can I put up with cheerleading today?”

***

Outfitted in school colors of red, white and blue, the skimpy uniform molded to my body like shrink-wrap. The cheerleading squad gamboled onto the football field, flashing pom-poms like their lives depended on their enthusiasm. Sloth-like, waiting for the pill to kick in, I feigned zeal and plastered on a bogus smile, shaking that pom-pom for all it was worth.

Mrs. Zwiegler, fists shelved on her hips, sturdy legs parted, looking like the jolly green giant in teal green sweats, supervised our every move. A shrill whistle twanged around the field, our signal. We lined up in our assigned formations, hands clasped behind our backs.

Abruptly a clamor like a herd of buffalo came stampeding. Grunting and clanking of shoulder pads, a pack of twenty-something players galloped over the terrain. Helmets clutched in their hands, a team of muscular, broad shouldered boys reeking of testosterone.

The boys had a mystical, magnetic pull, every head on the cheerleading squad turned to watch. Such remarkable synchronization that Mrs. Zwiegler actually laughed. “Girls, girls,” her voice held a strict edge, “I wish all your routines were choreographed as precise and crisp.”

My prerogative was to zero in on Becket Kane and trusted my ability to remain unnoticed. Except this time, I was met head-on with lancing dark eyes. Caught and tackled.

“C’mon, stay with me,” Nona pleaded fifteen minutes after peeling off our uniforms. “I’m going to watch Reggie practice.”

“I’m beat.” The pill was a dud. “I just want to go home and sle-e-ep.” We walked toward the bleachers to look for Henry, my ride home. A number of classmates and half of the cheerleading squad were there fawning over the boys.

“Henry isn’t here today,” she said while canvassing the stands. “Reggie will give you a ride home. Then you won’t have to take the late bus.”

More than likely, Henry was home fast asleep, right where I’d like to be. I hated taking the smelly late bus and accepted her offer with a sigh. We headed up the stairs to take a seat and heard, “Yo, Nona.” We twisted and noticed a waving Reggie. “Love ya, baby.”

Nona’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Backatcha, Reg.” She blew him a kiss.

“Ple-ease,” I grumbled. “You two are making me nauseous.”

“You’re just jealous.”

I was.

Since entering Star Hallow High, I’d been a discreet Becket Kane observer. Morsels of spicy gossip regarding his escapades highlighted my days. Even when he only had eyes for Joyce, it had been fruitless pining after him. What exacerbated my dilemma, Nona had been privy to my obsession. We’d been hanging out less and less with Reggie in the picture, and needless to say, she’d been conniving to set me up with one of his friends.

Nona pinched my knee. “Did you see that pass Becket made to Reggie? Oh my gosh, that was phenomenal.”

I smirked at her love of the game. Reggie was a nice looking boy, not quite reaching six feet tall and could run faster than a coyote. His black hair snipped close to his head and he had an indelible smile. What held my interest, the boys’ snug fitting uniforms, in particular, Becket’s. My eyes latched onto him like a boring tick.

Nona ruined my concentration. “You still got the hots for him, don’t you?”

Masking my infatuation, I said, “Who’s that?”

“Leo, you’re not that cunning, give it up. I know you like the back of my hand.”

Yes, Nona did know me, too well. We’d been friends since fifth grade. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have been in a sanitarium after Mom passed.

Dad had evolved into a slobbering, incoherent wreck, and I barricaded myself away from the world. On a destructive mission to join Mom, and thanks to Dad’s endless supply, a good drunk was always available. The psychiatrist had been nice enough to dole out prescription drugs: One drug to speed me up and one to make me sleep.

Then one day at school, the local druggies, Skip and Dave had noticed I was a hurting puppy and hooked me up with something to forget all my problems. Skipper said, “What you need is a little Zen.” The acid took me on some wild rollercoaster rides. I preferred cocaine to ecstasy, but beggars can’t be choosy. School played second fiddle to my becoming a recluse. Hibernating in my bedroom for days didn’t bode well with dad, like he’d been in any shape to criticize. When my savings ran dry, Dave put the kibosh on freebies.

I don’t know if I’d be alive today if it hadn’t for Nona’s profound cajoling. Her ceaseless, uplifting prayers to the point of clinging to my heaving body as I puked, cried, screamed, and pulled my hair out. I’d been struggling to stay somewhat clean. I never constituted weed as a hard hitting drug, but Nona’s not pleased when I indulge. Perhaps that’s her logic for disliking Henry, his tangy odor of hemp.

After practice most guys took to the showers and Nona and I lingered next to Reggie’s car, waiting. My body felt wilted like my scraggly ponytail. It wasn’t long before Reggie swaggered from school and to my daunting bewilderment, Becket Kane sidled beside him.

I swerved to face Nona and complained, “Did you set me up?”

“Chill, Leo. I did not set you up.” Her bottom lip bulged. “I have no idea why Becket is deliciously sauntering over here with my Reggie.”

“I look like puke.” I played with the little stands of hair that escaped my ponytail, retwisting them into my hair tie.

Nona etched a fake smile on her face and whispered out of the side of her mouth, “He knows you saw him. Turn around and be cool, be nice.”

“Oh God—”

“That’s right, hun, you pray.”

I revolved toward the boys heading our way and tensed. With great effort of acting badass and not candyass, I leaned onto Reggie’s car, crossed my ankles and hooked my thumbs into my belt loops.

Nona was accurate with her analysis, Becket didn’t just walk—he prowled with graceful intent. Clad in delectable tight jeans that hugged in all the right places and a black T-shirt stretching across his chest. His lengthy pale hair looked like he’d just roughed a towel over his head. Damp golden strands caught a breeze exposing his flawless facial features. Chiseled, with a strong jaw, full mouth, and as they neared his eyes weren’t dark like I’d imagined. Flashing in my direction were eyes the color of periwinkle blue, taking my breath away.

Becket gazed with a critical eye. I felt naked and vulnerable under his weighty check-out. Unlinking my thumbs from my belt loops, I crossed my arms over my skimpy chest. In stocking feet, I topped the charts at five-feet-six inches, my ankle boots added two inches, and I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

Following his thorough scrutiny, those starry eyes delved into mine. The corner of his mouth quirked up like I passed inspection and I replied with one of my own.

“Hello, Leocadia.” His arm rose, lean fingers pointed my way.

He said my full name
. So frickin’ awe-some
. Feeling numb, I reached forward and smoothed my palm into his. Warm, though callused, his touch jettisoned a current up my arm. Then like a dorkatron I corrected him, “Leo.” I liked the way he said my name.

Grinning, he said, “Leo.”

His smile threw me over the edge. Heat stole into my face, and when he released my hand, I felt chilled.

My nitwit brain collapsed when Becket strode within a yard of me and I hadn’t noticed Reggie and Nona sucking face. Not until a slurpy noise turned me in their direction. Gross.

Becket teased, “Get a room.”

A single lip smacking peck and Nona said, “Of course it’s alright, Reg. I don’t mind do you, Leo?”

“Huh?”

“Becket’s car is at the mechanics on Rigley Street. Reggie’s going to give him a ride over there before taking you home. Is that alright?”

“Sure, yes, fine.” I sounded pathetic.

We climbed into the back seat of Reggie’s compact car. With long-legged Becket sitting beside me, there was minor personal space. He had to part his legs around the front seat to fit and his left knee rode high over the middle hump. When his leg swerved and touched mine, I wrestled with wanting to touch him. Over the years, I’d conjured all kinds of daydreams with the boy, and now, I tried making myself as little as possible. I could talk to Henry, no prob, but Becket, no way.

Reggie and Nona chatted up a storm while Becket and I remained mum. I averted my eyes toward the window, playing it cool, but Becket’s scent festooned around me like an enchanting lariat. He smelled like soap and I whiffed in appreciation.

I caught Nona’s turn of head, throwing me an awry brow. Her eyeballs giving me juvenile twitches to speak to the boy.

Smith’s Garage came into view, delayed in traffic, Reggie then implemented a right hand turn through the intersection. “Leo,” Becket’s voice was assertive, eliciting my neck to kink in his direction. “Reggie said you live on Westgate, that’s in my direction. I’ll drive you home.”

Even
if
I had a rebuttal, he elbowed the door and stepped out before I had a chance to answer. I’d heard he was a domineering quarterback and the team obeyed his every command.

My head whipped to Nona. I must’ve looked like a deer in headlights, cause she encouraged, “Go, girl. Call me later.” Her eyebrows jumped to her forehead tendering a go-get- ‘em smile.

Outside the mechanic’s garage, I waved to a departing Reggie and Nona and tried steeling myself against a happy dance performance. The pitter-patter of my heart kept beat to a conga-line.

With keys juggling in his hand, Becket ambled from the garage to his car. In a gentlemen fashion he held the passenger door open and looked for me. Still standing by the garage entrance, I felt like a ditz, and scraped some dignity to walk with him watching.

Once stationed behind the steering wheel, he turned to me with impassive eyes. “I’m an excellent driver. But you might want to put on your seatbelt.”

I was also a doofus, and buckled up.

“You live at eighty-six Westgate, right?”

I nodded and wondered if Reggie told him my address.

“You’re quiet, for a girl.” His message was clear; girls talk too much. I fiddled with the hem of my sleeve as my tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth.

“Well if you’re not going to speak, mind if I put on some tunes?”

I initiated a simple shrug. He then provided me with a smile, enhancing his features to the tenth degree. I read a book recently where the protagonist swooned in her lover’s arms, and I’d snickered, yet, I think I just swooned.

I hadn’t expected his choice of music as he leveled the radio’s volume. I had him pegged as a head-banger, wild boy, but a baroque style of strings floated through the speakers.

My body relaxed, drawing in a peaceful breath.

“There, that’s better.” He watched me. “You’re a pretty uptight girl.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Ah-h, she speaks,” he said, awarding me another mind-blowing smile. “The next street is Westgate, right?”

Disheartened with the short drive, I nodded.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Baffled, I glanced at him. “No, why?”

“You were just opening up, getting all talkative. I could hardly get a word in edgewise.”

I offered a tight-lipped smile.

We coasted along Westgate and I indicated where I lived. “That’s my house on the right. The one with the green trim.” Pulling into the driveway, he let the car idle. “Thanks for the ride.” I snapped the door open.

“Leo.” I swiveled on the car seat, looking at him over my shoulder. “Would you like to go for a cup of coffee some day?”

I blinked a yes, and again, nodded an affirmative.

“Great, nice chatting with you.” I liked his suggestive grin.

I waltzed into the house and found Dad in the living room watching the World News.

“Hey, Leo. Who was that?”

“Who was what?”

Frowning, he repeated, “Who brought you home. It wasn’t that Henry kid.”

“Were you spying on me through the curtains?” I wasn’t angry, it struck me as silly.

“That’s my job, kiddo.”

“Becket Kane drove me home after practice.”

“A kid from school, I assume.”

I sighed. “Yes.”

His mouth gathered to the side.

I plopped onto the couch and pillowed an arm beneath my head.

Dad fractured my effervescent mood. “The local news is teeming with allegations about that dead body found on Tarpon Hill. They said it was badly mutilated.”

“Did they say who it was yet?”

“Yeah, a guy that graduated from Star Hallow last year. Skipper Townsend. Do you remember him?”

My chest caved, of course I knew Skipper. He was Star Hallows’s renowned drug dealer. “I…I kind of remember seeing him around school.”

“And they found a second body in Hallow Saints Cemetery. He went by the name of David Galbraith, did you know him too?”

In shock, I mumbled, “Ah-huh.”

“Police are investigating. The news is presuming it’s a drug related crime. They interviewed Detective Dyl.” Dad’s voice sounded scratchy. “You…you remember him?”

I laid there like a corpse.

Dad went on, “He said they had an anonymous tip. A garbled 911 call leading them to the cemetery. The Detective is asking for anyone with information to…to please step forward.”

After a tenuous pause, Dad cried, “I’m reliving it all over again, Leo.”