Doomed. I kept turning up in the wrong house where I wasn’t supposed to be. Then I got caught by women in bathrobes. I would have thought how unfair this is if I hadn’t been more scared than I’d ever—
“I said, who are you?” Her glasses flashed. Otherwise I might have seen something in her eyes. I felt it anyway. Fear. I wasn’t the only one. She took a step back. Her skirts stirred.
“Kerry Williamson,” I said as history kept repeating, word for word. I came close to telling her I was Miss Garland’s niece. I came this close.
“This is yours, then.” She meant the backpack in her old, papery hands. I was still too scared to think straight. I could hardly hear her for the pounding of my heart under the underwire. But maybe I had as much right to be here as she did. She’d been through my backpack. I’d almost caught her at it. She’d seen the copy of Lord of the Flies and my name on the CVS card—all my stuff, my comb and—
“You weren’t in the car,” she said. It wasn’t quite a question, and I knew the car she meant, the BMW. Tanya’s SUV.
No, I wasn’t one of them. And never had been. But I was blocking the door, and she looked like she wanted to make a run for it.
“How do you come to be here?” she said in an old, tired voice.
“Tanya texted me,” I murmured. I’d been eighteen all evening. Now I was fifteen again.
“How could that be?” the old woman said. “How could she do that?”
“The contract on her phone hadn’t been canceled yet,” I said, in a smaller voice still.
There was a sound now above us, something like rolling thunder. A sound of thunder coming in waves, far off.
“Listen,” the old woman said. She dropped my backpack and pointed to the ceiling with an immensely long finger. I remembered all the fingers pointing to the ceiling and the stars at Fabian’s, all the young fingers.
“What is it?” I asked in a whisper.
“Them,” she said. “The three of them. Roller-skating. We used to skate up there years and years ago when I was a girl. My girlfriends and I. Jackie. Lee.”
Did she meant that Tanya and Natalie and Makenzie were upstairs in the penthouse . . . roller-skating? I remembered that day when I came to school all upset after they’d left me behind in Alyssa’s house, and they were wearing pajamas. Pajamas. I remembered that for some reason.
“Go now.” The old woman’s hands jittered. “Here, take your backpack and go. We’ll be all right as long as we can hear them skating. Use the time before it runs out. Call your family and go.”
“I don’t know where my phone is,” I said. I could feel her panic, cold on my face. There was enough for both of us. She looked over at the old ivory rotary dial phone by the bed, which was dead.
“Just go then. Straight home.”
“Not like this,” I said. “I need my own clothes.” She blinked at my sequins. She probably hadn’t even noticed what I was wearing. “There’s no time to change. You don’t have that kind of time. Grab your things and stick them in your backpack.”
“They’re in there.” Meaning the dressing room. I still wanted to keep my distance. I was still scared of her. I didn’t know what was real.
She moved aside. “Hurry.” Her voice was like leaves blowing along a gutter. Dry, dry leaves. “Hurry.”
I had to pick through everything we’d left on the floor. All the things we’d rejected, the not-quite-rights and the wrong sizes. You could hear the far-off thunder in here too. I found my flip-flops, and then my school skirt and top. I decided to forget my old underwear. Some crazy voice babbling inside me, some crazy person wanted to keep the underwire bra.
It was brighter in here, dazzling, and there were all the mirrors. Next to my sweatshirt Makenzie’s skirt was in a wad on the floor, a little kilt-style skirt with a buckle.
I’d just noticed it when the old woman pointed down past me. She was standing over me, between me and the thunder.
“I said, who are you?” Her glasses flashed. Otherwise I might have seen something in her eyes. I felt it anyway. Fear. I wasn’t the only one. She took a step back. Her skirts stirred.
“Kerry Williamson,” I said as history kept repeating, word for word. I came close to telling her I was Miss Garland’s niece. I came this close.
“This is yours, then.” She meant the backpack in her old, papery hands. I was still too scared to think straight. I could hardly hear her for the pounding of my heart under the underwire. But maybe I had as much right to be here as she did. She’d been through my backpack. I’d almost caught her at it. She’d seen the copy of Lord of the Flies and my name on the CVS card—all my stuff, my comb and—
“You weren’t in the car,” she said. It wasn’t quite a question, and I knew the car she meant, the BMW. Tanya’s SUV.
No, I wasn’t one of them. And never had been. But I was blocking the door, and she looked like she wanted to make a run for it.
“How do you come to be here?” she said in an old, tired voice.
“Tanya texted me,” I murmured. I’d been eighteen all evening. Now I was fifteen again.
“How could that be?” the old woman said. “How could she do that?”
“The contract on her phone hadn’t been canceled yet,” I said, in a smaller voice still.
There was a sound now above us, something like rolling thunder. A sound of thunder coming in waves, far off.
“Listen,” the old woman said. She dropped my backpack and pointed to the ceiling with an immensely long finger. I remembered all the fingers pointing to the ceiling and the stars at Fabian’s, all the young fingers.
“What is it?” I asked in a whisper.
“Them,” she said. “The three of them. Roller-skating. We used to skate up there years and years ago when I was a girl. My girlfriends and I. Jackie. Lee.”
Did she meant that Tanya and Natalie and Makenzie were upstairs in the penthouse . . . roller-skating? I remembered that day when I came to school all upset after they’d left me behind in Alyssa’s house, and they were wearing pajamas. Pajamas. I remembered that for some reason.
“Go now.” The old woman’s hands jittered. “Here, take your backpack and go. We’ll be all right as long as we can hear them skating. Use the time before it runs out. Call your family and go.”
“I don’t know where my phone is,” I said. I could feel her panic, cold on my face. There was enough for both of us. She looked over at the old ivory rotary dial phone by the bed, which was dead.
“Just go then. Straight home.”
“Not like this,” I said. “I need my own clothes.” She blinked at my sequins. She probably hadn’t even noticed what I was wearing. “There’s no time to change. You don’t have that kind of time. Grab your things and stick them in your backpack.”
“They’re in there.” Meaning the dressing room. I still wanted to keep my distance. I was still scared of her. I didn’t know what was real.
She moved aside. “Hurry.” Her voice was like leaves blowing along a gutter. Dry, dry leaves. “Hurry.”
I had to pick through everything we’d left on the floor. All the things we’d rejected, the not-quite-rights and the wrong sizes. You could hear the far-off thunder in here too. I found my flip-flops, and then my school skirt and top. I decided to forget my old underwear. Some crazy voice babbling inside me, some crazy person wanted to keep the underwire bra.
It was brighter in here, dazzling, and there were all the mirrors. Next to my sweatshirt Makenzie’s skirt was in a wad on the floor, a little kilt-style skirt with a buckle.
I’d just noticed it when the old woman pointed down past me. She was standing over me, between me and the thunder.
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