The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,95

I went down the stairs quietly, but not so quiet she wouldn’t know I was there.

She was on the floor with her back to me, her hair in a ponytail. Her pillow and blanket rested near the wall, with a collection of juice boxes and crumpled granola bar and Pop Tart wrappers, a box of vanilla wafers next to them. A few books sat in a pile. A drawing hung on the wall of the two of us from the back, holding hands and walking toward the house.

Along with the basement stink, I smelled dirty feet, sweaty armpits, and unbrushed teeth. I stood perfectly still, afraid it wasn’t Becca at all. I tried to say her name, but it stuck in my mouth like peanut butter.

She turned. The grease was gone from her hair. Her clothes were clean, and while circles still marred the skin below her eyes, they weren’t as dark. Her eyes were bright, not dull and vacant.

“Have you been sleeping here?” I didn’t need to ask; the answer was in front of me.

“Sometimes, when Lauren gets really bad. It’s safer here. I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, toeing the carpet. “I fell asleep waiting for my parents.”

Her gaze found my necklace. “Best friends?”

I gripped the heart between my finger and thumb. “Forever.” I sat, legs crossed. “So what do we have to—”

“Not yet,” she said. “Can we just be friends for a while, and talk the way we used to?”

I smiled so wide it made my cheeks sore and I felt like crying, but in a good way. “Sure.”

She smiled, too. “Do you remember when Kyle peed his pants in first grade? And said he spilled water from the water fountain?”

“And how mad he got when Mrs. Jackson sent him to the nurse?”

It was silly to remember that after so long, but it was okay, too. We kept talking about kids in school, about books, about music, about everything. Leaning back, arms straight, I thought things would be okay. I didn’t think this was the ritual, but it was sort of one all by itself. Maybe it would be enough. I felt like I had my best friend back. Finally.

Then she tucked her knees beneath her chin. “Sometimes I hate everything, but I hate myself most of all, and the feeling never, ever goes away. I want to scream and kick and punch everyone, but I almost don’t even care anymore. Anyway, what difference would it make? At the end of the day, I’d still be me. And no one wants me.”

I hunched forward, not sure what to say, not sure if I was part of the “no one.” But she had to know I wanted her, because I was here with her.

She cocked her head to the side, as if listening. “Okay,” she said.

I was afraid she’d start jumping around like she had in her room, but she stayed put. She was almost the old Becca, but different, too. More grown-up, which seemed silly to think. But her eyes were different. Not scared or stormy. Peaceful.

“Okay what?”

She linked her fingers together. “Everything will be okay tomorrow night.”

“What do you mean, tomorrow night?”

“Tonight I had to be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“Sure you were really my friend. If not, the ritual won’t work.” She yawned. “You should go now. It’s really late. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be okay,” I said, my voice small.

She walked me upstairs and leaned close at the door. “Promise you’ll come back tomorrow night?”

“I promise.”

“And you’d do anything I asked, right? If I told you it would help me? Even if it didn’t make sense?”

I looked her right in the eye and said, “Yes.” I meant it, too.

* * *

Sneaking out was easier the second time. I wasn’t even scared.

All the trash was gone from the basement. Becca’s blanket and pillow, too. Everything save the picture on the wall. She was sitting on a towel inside a circle of unlit candles, her head down, hair loose, a red ribbon as a headband.

“Don’t get upset,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

She lifted her chin, and I gasped. The skin around her eye was purple and red, and blood was crusted beneath her nose. Her lower lip was split, beginning to scab. I stepped over the candles and dropped to my knees, my hands making frantic designs in the air.

“I went home to change,” she said, “and Lauren was there. I didn’t do anything. She just started yelling at me and she