The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,67

than they could ever hate me.

* * *

“Becca’s on the phone,” my mom said, peeking in my bedroom.

I lowered my book just below my eyes. Yesterday she was talking about me behind my back and now she wanted to talk to me? Not even funny. “Can you tell her I’m taking a nap?” I said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t feel good.”

Her eyebrows went up, wrinkling her forehead, but she shut the door. A little later, she came back and perched on my bed. “Sit up,” she said.

“I don’t want to,” I said. “I’m reading.”

“But I want you to,” she said.

I sighed, but did as she asked.

“Move closer, please, and turn around.” When I did, she gathered my hair together and ran her fingers through it, catching on the tangles. “What a mess you’ve got here.”

Slow and careful, she brushed the ends, working out the tangles one by one. Her hair wasn’t as long as mine, but it was thick, too, so she knew how to do it so it wouldn’t hurt too much. She didn’t talk while she brushed, but when all the snarls were gone, she said, “Now count to one hundred.”

“Mo-om,” I said.

“Hea-ther,” she imitated. “Count.”

“One, two, three …”

I kept counting as she kept brushing, long, even strokes from my scalp to the bottom. She stopped when I reached one hundred and kissed the top of my head. “Feel better?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“Good. Counting was the only way you’d sit still when you were little.”

“Not true.”

“Yes, very true,” she said. “If I wanted you to sit, I had to get you to count.”

“How come you’ve never told me that before?” I said.

“Pretty sure I have.”

“I would remember.”

“Hmph,” she said. “Not if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t.”

“Hmph,” I said, and she bonked my shoulder.

“What’s that on your finger?” she said, pointing to blue smears on my index finger.

“I don’t know. Ink, I guess. Next you’ll tell me how I used to draw on myself.”

She gave a little laugh. “And how you did. Luckily only once with a permanent marker. And I know I’ve told you that story.”

“Yeah, I remember that one.”

“See? All right, I need to throw some laundry in. Your dad’s out of underwear and we don’t want him running around the house naked.”

“Mom! That’s gross.”

She took my hand again, and I tried to curl my fingers in so she wouldn’t see the ragged cuticles. She didn’t speak, just kissed them one by one, as if she was wishing away the hurt, and I did feel better, a little.

* * *

The phone rang while my parents were grocery shopping, and L. THOMAS flashed on the caller ID. Was Becca going to call me every day until I answered? Were her and Rachel and Gia giggling and calling me names, waiting for me to pick up? But I did anyway, waiting until the fifth ring. “Hello?” Everything was quiet on the other end, and I said louder, my stomach tight, “Hello?”

“Heather?” Becca said.

“Yeah?”

“Um, I … can I come over? I …”

Her words melted into a puddle of sadness. Yes rolled on my tongue, but I shoved it between my cheek and teeth, remembering the way she looked at me, the way she didn’t defend me. The lava boiled to the surface again, so hot it scorched my throat.

She kept sniffling.

“Please,” I said. “You’re so faking. Is this supposed to be a prank call, because hello, it’s ridiculous.”

“I’m not. I swear I’m not.”

“So why don’t you call Rachel or Gia?” I said. “They’re your new best friends now.”

I could be cruel, too, but the words hurt me deep inside.

“Please be kind,” she said.

And rewind, I mouthed, but hung up before I could say it aloud.

I started jumping every time the phone rang. I wasn’t sure if I’d talk to her if she called again, but I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t either, even if it was a trick or if all she wanted to talk about was the Red Lady.

I missed my best friend so much that after brushing my teeth one night, I put the necklace back on as though I could magic our friendship back together via the heart.

Propped up with my pillows, I opened The Dark Half, the last book from the used bookstore I had to read. On the first page, the words HELP HER were written in the margin. It wasn’t the first used book I’d found with writing in it. Most of the time it was jokes or doodles, and once a note said