The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,64
be. Witches weren’t real. Friends were. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. I wanted Becca back the way she was.
She stepped so close the green edges of her bruise were blurry. “I think you know that’s not true. I think you believe in her as much as we do, you just don’t want to admit it.”
I stepped back, blew air through my nose. “I can’t admit to something that isn’t true.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter whether you admit it or not. I know you saw her.”
“Oh, and how do you know?”
“I told you, she talks to me. And she said you did.”
“You’re crazy if you think that.”
She poked my chest with a finger. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that. I’m not crazy.”
She walked away, her feet heavy. I called her name three times, but she didn’t even turn. I stood, thumbs crooked over my waistband, until she turned the corner and I couldn’t see her anymore. Then I waited even longer to see if maybe she’d come back, but she didn’t.
* * *
I waited two days before I called Becca. I didn’t like that I was scared to talk to her. Didn’t like that I almost hung up when she answered. But, like normal, I said, “Want to hang out?”
“I can’t,” she said.
There was talking in the background; she covered the phone and spoke, but I couldn’t hear what she said.
“Who’s that?” I said.
“The television. I just had to turn it down.”
I heard a familiar giggle, a Rachel giggle. If she was there, Gia was, too. I wiped tears away before they fell, so they didn’t count.
“Maybe later, then?” I said, trying to sound fine. I bit the side of a cuticle, ignoring the sharp sting.
“Sure,” she said, then added in a whisper, “It was their idea not to invite you. Don’t be mad at me. Why would you want to hang out with me anyway? I’m crazy, right?”
With that, she hung up. I hugged myself tight. What were the three of them doing right now? Were they talking about the Red Lady, or were they talking about me?
* * *
When my mom started vacuuming and told me to scoot, I took a book to the playground. There was a mom with a little kid near the slide, but by the time I climbed to the top of the monkey bars, they were on their way out. Swinging my legs, I read a few pages, the sun warm.
A trill of laughter broke the quiet. My fingers clenched the bars; my stomach knotted. On the sidewalk passing the playground, Becca, Rachel, and Gia were walking together. I drew air to call out but clamped my lips shut. I was right there. All they had to do was look to the side. Then Becca did look. Her gaze caught mine, then she cat-blinked and looked away. I told myself it didn’t matter, but it did. It mattered more than anything in the whole world. I closed my eyes, not wanting to cry, and when I opened them again, my friends were gone. I felt like I had a huge hole inside me. If I’d told the truth the night of the second ritual, everything would be different. Becca would still be my best friend, and she’d be walking with me, not Rachel and Gia.
My side ached with a sharp pain in the wrong place to be a cramp. Hands in fists, not caring if anyone heard, not caring that she wasn’t real, I said, “You took my friends away from me; isn’t that enough? You made them hate me. Just leave me alone.”
I stayed at the playground for a little while longer, but every time I tried to read, the words jumbled in my head. I spent the rest of the day in my bedroom with the door closed.
For dinner, it was only me and Mom. Dad went to the Orioles game with his work friends. I pushed my peas in small circles and dragged my fork through my mashed potatoes. My mom started eating, but she kept sneaking peeks. Usually it was cool when it was the two of us, because we’d talk about stuff like periods and bras. My dad never cared if we talked about it around him, but it was easier when he wasn’t there.
“Is everything okay?” she said. “You seem a little down lately.”
I stared at my plate. “It’s nothing.”
“You know you can talk to me about anything at all.”