Authors: Elissa Harris
Thinking about spirits makes me think about Amanda. Leanne could be right. Not about Brendan, but about Amanda being stuck. But she's not in a holding place; it's the astral plane. I know because I've been there. Twice, actually. One more time, and I could give tours.
Except why was Zack there? He's flesh and blood, nothing unearthly about him. And what about my father? Wouldn't he already have moved on? All this boo-loony sure is confusing.
It might very well be a load of boo-loony, but what if it isn't? Given the fact that I can hack into bodies, is Leanne's theory so farfetched?
My thoughts drift back to Zack. Just because the police didn't arrest him, it doesn't mean he's innocent. It just means they had nothing solid to go on when they grilled him. But I do. I have just the thing to make him squirm.
I have the locket.
Suddenly, I know my topic. All I need to do is a little online research and it's an easy A for sure. Too bad I can't get extra credit for solving a crime.
Weird how ideas can pop into your head.
A little research mushrooms into the entire day. Apparently the study of body language involves a lot more than a hair flip (girl likes boy) or a pat on the head (it's not mutual). Did you know that if you play with your ears when asked a question that means you're a psychopath? Okay, maybe not a psychopath, but you're lying about something.
***
That night I have another dream about Amanda. It's like the last one, except after I set the dove free, Amanda starts crying and reaches for my hand. What's weird is that even while I'm dreaming, I'm aware that I'm dreaming. Even weirder, I'm aware that I'm aware that I'm dreaming, like I'm looking at myself looking in a mirror.
But then everything changes, and I'm on a lake, in a rowboat with Ethan. He's smiling, and his eyes are locked on mine. He puts down the oars and pulls me to his chest. The wind in the trees sounds like laughter, and my heart is singing. I breathe in the scent of his hair. It smells like pine. He meshes his lips to mine and everything shifts again. It's still just me and Ethan, only we're lying on a beach, the sand warm and silky beneath our bodies, the ocean safely locked away behind a huge glass wall. He slips his hand under my shirt, and I stroke the back of his neck. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I'm sure,” I say. My lips melt into his, and his tongue finds mine. I'm sure I stop breathingâ¦
“Cassie, wake up!”
My eyes fly open.
“Are you all right?” My mother is hovering over me in her white nightgown, the one with the vertical stripes. She looks like a zebra.
“It's the middle of the night! Why'd you wake me up? I was having a great dream!”
“You were moaning. I thought something was wrong.”
“I'm fine. Go back to bed.”
She doesn't look convinced, but she goes anyway. I try to fall back to sleep, hoping to resume where I left off with Ethan.
I'm wide awake.
As if getting grounded wasn't enough, now I'm not even allowed to dream.
I look out the window, then gaze up at my canopy. In the moonlight it doesn't look so pink, but somehow it feels even pinker. I stare at my Cora Wood poster. She's glaring at me as if to say, “Don't just lie there, do something!”
I call Leanne on her cell.
“Why'd you wake me up?” she asks groggily. “I was having a great dream.”
“My mother has two open houses tomorrow. She'll be gone all day.”
“That's nice. I hope she gets a lot of offers. I'm going back to sleep.”
“I need a chauffeur, and you're it. You owe me for ditching me.”
“Yeah, well, I ditch, you bitch. I guess that makes us even. Hanging up now.”
“Pick me up at ten. She'll be gone by then. We're going skydiving.”
“We're going
what?
”
“Skydiving. Or hang gliding. Hell, I might even shoot out of a cannon. I want adventure, Leeny. I want to
live
. We'll work out the details tomorrow.”
After I convince her that the real Cassie Stewart hasn't been abducted by aliens, she agrees to come over in the morning and we hang up. I stare up at the canopy and inspiration strikes again. I'm going to be exhausted tomorrow, but so what? It's not like I'm going to need a lot of energy. I'll be unconscious for most of the day. I throw off my covers, stand on the mattress, reach high above my head. That canopy has to go.
Free Falling
“I made a list,” Leanne says as I climb into the car.
It's the next morning and I'm exhausted. Last night's canopy demolition took longer than expected. Plus, I'm stressing over my mother. She didn't mention the conspicuous gap looming above my bed. Didn't budge an eyelash at the mound of pink lace lying dead on my carpet. What does this mean? Yelling, I can handle, but this is torture. What is she cooking up in that devious mind of hers? A deadlock for my door? A grille on my window? Disney wallpaper?
Leanne fumbles through her purse. “I say we do the rodeo first,” she says, pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper. “A cowboy would make an excellent rabbit.”
“This isn't Texas,” I say, yawning. “Where are we going to find a rodeo? Besides, horses conjure up bad memories. When I was seven, my father let me ride a pony at the state fair. It got stuck in a patch of mud, and the whole time my mother was shrieking, âNo, horsey! Bad horsey!' Very embarrassing.”
“So where to?” Leanne says. She hands me the paper, then reverses out of my driveway. “There must be something on my list that won't embarrass you.”
I glance at the next entry. “Forget scuba. You know I don't do water.”
“That's the whole point. It won't actually be you in the water.”
Straining over her teeny handwriting, I read down the list: skateboarding, taekwondo, NASCAR, monster truck rally, boot camp, mountain climbing, flying trapeze, hang gliding⦠It goes on and on. “We need a reality check,” I say. Even if I wanted to do half these things, which I don't, I only have until five o'clock.”
“I didn't think of that.” She breaks into a smile. “Wait! The recreation center! You can get in a whole bunch of stuff.”
“It's closed for renovations,” I remind her. Ha. Is breaking-and-entering on the list?
“I'm talking about the new Shalom Center in Danbury. I hear it's massive. It has a pool and a gym and an indoor ice rink. There's even a massage room, but that costs extra.”
“Aren't you forgetting something? We're not members.”
“We'll bring knishes.”
I laugh. “Leeny, be serious.”
“Okay, then we'll tell them at the door that we want to check out a few classes before joining. We just want to observe, not do anything. In a manner of speaking,” she says, glancing over at me. “It's a reasonable request. Membership must cost a fortune.”
“I don't know⦔
“Take control of your life! Show some spine, girl!”
I sigh. I hate when she quotes me. “Fine. But forget knishes. Let's stop for bagels.”
***
“It's frigging cold,” I say to Leanne, the chill in the arena stinging my face. We're sitting high in the bleachers, watching a handful of hopeful gold medalists warming up on the ice. My breath floats away like a cloud.
“Hey, ice skating was your idea, not mine.” She looks at me with accusation. “You never told me you liked figure skating. I thought we had no secrets.”
I almost laugh. This from Miss I'm-On-The-Pill-And-Didn't-Bother-To-Tell-My-Best-Friend? “Oops,” I say. “Cat's out of the bag. Someone alert the media! I like watching figure skating. Sappy music, glittery tutus, guys in spandexâwhat's not to like?
“FYI, they're not called tutus. Tutus are for ballet.”
“Says who? So now you're a tutu expert?”
“Why are you acting so pissy?”
I frown. “I'm having second thoughts about this whole thing. You know I hate lying to my mother.”
“Please. Lying is easy. I do it all the time.”
Then I get a flash. “Maybe I can do it long distance. Let's go back. I won't even have to leave the house.”
“Will you stop? This is supposed to be your Liberation Day. Besides, how can you get the rabbits thinking about you if you're not here?”
“That's another thing. What am I supposed to say? âHello, my name is Cassie Goldstein and I'd like to borrow your body?'”
She lets out an exasperated breath. “Do I have to do everything?”
Without waiting for a reply, she vaults down the bleachers, and before I can say
triple lutz
, she's talking to a tall skinny guy in navy sweatpants and a long-sleeved jersey with the slogan HAVE AN ICE DAY, no spandex anywhere. I motion to her wildly. No! Not him! I don't want to be a tall skinny guy in sweatpants! The tall skinny guy hops onto the ice, and to my relief, Leanne starts talking to a girl in a silver tutu (or whatever it's called). A moment later, Tutu Girlânot to be confused with Tattoo Girlâstares up at me and gapes.
I can only imagine what Leanne said to her. No, I take that back. After that fiasco with her mother, I don't want to know. Tutu Girl bounces onto the ice, and Leanne calls out, “Remember your country! These girls are everywhere!” Tutu Girl waves and gives me a stiff salute. I close my eyes, concentrate, and repeat, fervently, over and over in my head:
I want to be Tutu Girl, I want to be Tutu Girl, I want to be Tutu Girl
â¦
***
Rabbit #1:
â¦in the T formation, right foot pointing forward, left foot behind. Right foot pushes off left and glides ahead. Right knee straightens, left leg swings around and steps down. Feet now reversed, left pushes off right and cuts into the ice, swiftly, cleanly, like a streak of lightning, or a slashing swordâ¦
“C'mon, Chelsea,” says the guy in the navy sweatpants, pulling up beside her. “I said I was sorry.” He whirls around and grabs her mittened hands.
“Jerk,” she says, breaking away. “I told you, my mind's made up.” She races off and he dashes after her. They move side-by-side in wordless sync, blades pounding ice.
“You'll never find another partner so late in the game,” he says after three tours around the rink. His voice is almost petulant, like that of a child. “You can kiss Nationals good-bye.”
“Not if I go solo.” As if to prove her point, she shoots off toward the center ring, flips him the finger, takes a deep breathâ¦
â¦feet crossed, hands clasped together, she looks to the left, over her shoulder, then scoops up her body into the air, turning quickly, counterclockwise, once, twice, spiraling, spinning, in perfect momentum, a torrent of force against gravity and spaceâ¦
She opens her arms and the spell is broken. The ball of her right foot reaches for the ice, and she bends her leg to cushion the landing. She smiles triumphantly.
“Not bad,” he says. “But not good enough. Admit it, you need me.”
“You got that wrong,” she says, slightly breathless. “You need
me
.”
“Don't do this, Chels. Don't throw it all away. I said I was sorry. What else do you want?”
“You're the one who threw it away. Why don't you ask your slut to pair up with you? Wait, I forgot. According to Facebook, that's not her talent.”
He scowls. “Nice, Chels. Well, here's a news flash. You're not the only one who can make it solo.”
He skates backward, right foot crossing over left, left over right. He twists around, swings his left leg forward, leaps into the airâand all at once he's horizontal to the ice, in an arabesque, spinning like a top, until finally, abruptly, he comes to a stop.
“Do you know what else they call the flying camel?” she asks, circling him like a vulture.
“An axel,” he answers. “So?”
“Besides that.”
“Okay, I give. What?”
“The death drop.”
“So what's your point?”
“Drop dead,” she says, and flips him off again.
Rabbit #2:
Gripping the rail, the girl in the Speedo scrambles up the ladder. I must be insane. I can't believe I let Leanne talk me into this. “What better way to conquer your fear of water?” she'd argued. “It's easy to be brave when it's not really you.”
The staircase to hell, I think with dread. I feel like my world has been turned upside down; the diver, on the other hand, is soaring high on adrenaline.
She steps onto the platform. She glances down at the pool, then gets up on her toes. Bounces once, twice, to test the spring. She tugs at the bottom of her Speedo, though I have no idea why. It's only going to ride up again once she hits the water. She bends her knees, raises her arms. I can do this, I tell myself as she stares straight ahead.
Definition of
drown
: to suffocate by submersion, especially in water.
She springs into the air, bends at the waist, folds into a jackknife.
Bullets toward the water at the speed of light.
She's bubbling with endorphins. If I had a stomach, I'd be puking.
Screw this. I'm outta here.
Rabbit #3:
The rocks studding the wall are really just chunks of plastic. Breathing heavily, the girl in the purple leggings steps onto a blue one and grabs hold of a green one. “Carrie, stick to the same color!” comes a voice from the ground. “Don't change course!” The belayer, I think she called him. The guy who holds the safety rope. She gropes for another hold and pulls herself up. “You're doing great!” the guy below says. “Almost there!”
And then she looks down.
There must be at least a hundred feet, thirty for sure, between her feet and the ground. The room starts swimming and she lets go, and now she's bouncing at the end of her safety line, dangling upside down.
Probably not her most flattering angle.
Rabbit #4:
Out in the courtyard, black dots are dancing in front of his eyes. It feels like that time Serena Myers jabbed me in the chest with her elbow (don't ask). My boobs, or lack thereof, felt like they'd been laid out like pancakes and smashed with a hammer.
Except it's not his chest that's throbbing in agony, it's his groin. If I weren't already unconscious, I'd probably pass out.
Omigod, what if they're broken?
I'm (mental gasp) outta here.
This is the last time I play dodgeball.
Rabbit #5:
“Go, Nadia!” says the cute boy in the skullcap.
On the other side of the gym, a group of girls practicing their mat routines all turn to watch. Nadia focuses on the balance beam. She draws in her breath and makes the leap. She flips over, her long ponytail thumping at the back of her head. A warm flush spreads through her as she lands and straightens, one foot in front of the other, arms in the air.
The cute boy claps his hands. “You did it!” he exclaims. “Mazel tov!”
Rabbit #6:
Wow. She's got great abs.
Okay, so Pilates isn't exactly life-threatening, but hey, I get to wear a nose ring.
***
“Six rabbits in three hours,” Leanne says at lunch. “Too bad you jumped out of that diver. You missed out on a free massage.” I'm having a grilled cheese; she's having a sundae. She opens her mouth and shovels in a heap. “You must be exhausted,” she says, licking the spoon.
“Why would I be tired? I slept the whole time.” But I have another headache, and it's a monster. Six jumps in a row will do that. At last it won't last long. They never do.
“Tell me about it. People were asking questions. I told them you have necrophilia.”
“You mean narcolepsy. I don't make out with dead people.”
“I know that, airhead. I was joking. And now I'm gravely insulted.” She scoops up another spoonful, and I shake my head. “What?” she asks, suspending her hand in mid-mouth entry.
“Ice cream? For lunch?”
“It's dessert. I had a BLT while you were bouncing around in the gym. Actually, it was an FLT. Fake bacon.” The whipped cream unites with her tongue, dripping down her chin. “Want some?”
“Do you know how many calories are in that thing?” I take a bite out of my boring sandwich.
She looks at her bowl, then eyes me with suspicion. “Don't get any ideas. I don't want you poking around in my stomach.”
“It's a lot healthier than sharing a spoon,” I quip.
“Just forget it,” she snaps.
“Whoa. Who peed on
your
shoes?”
“Come on, Cass. You have to admit, it's kind of intrusive. Don't get me wrong,” she says, putting down her spoon. “I'm not saying you should stop. I mean, it's not like you control the rabbits. I'm just saying
I
don't want to be a rabbit, especially after what happened the last time. I happen to be a very private person.” She picks at a piece of walnut wedged in her teeth. “Though, who knows? Maybe there's an alien in each of us, telling us what to do. Maybe they
are
us. Think about it, Cass. How do we know we are who we think we are?”
“Be happy you're not me,” I say.
“How do you know I'm not?”
“If you were me, I wouldn't be me.”
“So who's next?” asks my born-again New Age friend.
I pause. On the one hand, I don't want to be a narcoleptic voyeur. On the other hand, even with the mammoth headache, I've never felt so aliveâ¦
L'chaim.
To life!
“Take me to Falcon Field,” I say.
“You want to fly a plane?”
“No, I want to jump out of one.”
***
He inches his right foot onto the step, hangs his left foot over the edge. Grips the wing strut, waits for the signal. Holds his breath andâ¦
â¦go!
He pushes off the plane and into the wind, legs parted, arms extended, face flapping like a fish on caffeine. Weird how it's warm on the ground but cold up here. How there's so much air yet so hard to breathe. How I'm sucking in oxygen right through his skin.
Is this really me? Am I actually doing this?
Figuratively speaking.
“Look at me now!” I want to shout at the universe, but of course I can't. I don't have a voice. It's back in my body, which is currently taking a nap in the hangar.