November 8, 2010

• nanowrimo, day eight.

  

  “Come on, now, that isn’t fair,” Charlotte scolds, flopping down into a nearby beanbag chair. “He’ll make some desperate girl a fine little whipping post one day.”

  “He really is kind,” I say, “he’s just so creepy. I don’t understand it.”

  I crouch down to retrieve a large, transparent pink plastic bin from underneath my bed while Lottie watches curiously. I remove the lid and pull out a dark pink binder with a collage-plastered cover and hold it up proudly.

  “Behold: ideas,” I exclaim, and she claps.

  “See, I know about your artsy collage habit since we’re roomies. And I knew you’d be good at this whole planning thing,” Charlotte says, jumping up out of the beanbag seat and landing on my bottom bunk gracefully.

  “So, you just want to use my creativity?” I peer at her sideways.

  “Basically,” she shrugs.

  I find that it’s much easier to get honesty in return from your friends when truth is all that you can successfully give away.

  “Fair enough,” I shrug it off and sit down beside her.

  She is eager like a little girl when I turn to my fantasy pages – foil stars and pictures of twinkle lights in pure white cover them, with model-thin women in incredibly exquisite dresses toting impossibly gorgeous men dancing across the bottoms of the sheets of lined paper. When I get to my interpretation of a black and white affair, we both gasp in awe of the loveliness.

  “That’s the one,” Charlotte points a small finger at the stark contrast laid out before us.

  “I agree,” I breathe, running my hand over more silver stars. “Lydia will be in charge of the music, Jonathan and Zahari will handle the food, you and I will definitely need some helpful volunteers for the decorating… but this could work. We should do it on New Year’s Eve – it’s a perfect excuse to have a big party. Lydia will be over the moon, I think, but I’ll run it past her at our meeting later…” I run off the mental checklist, but Charlotte is still just staring at all of the grayscale glory.

  “What’s up? You are really quiet and distracted and it’s starting to freak me out,” I wave a hand in front of her too-serious face.

  “Did you go to prom, Georgia?” she asks me, but her tone is distant.

  “No, because Nadia and I were homeschooled,” I sigh. “It was always something I wanted to do, though.”

  Charlotte’s eyes were far away and haunted as she stared off into space.

  “I never made it to mine,” she begins.

  I swallow, afraid of where this is going.

  “My boyfriend Max was driving us to junior prom, and on the way there a man who was very, very drunk ran a red light to the left of us at seventy-two miles an hour. Max and I were both thrown from the car, and Max died on impact. The paramedics said I should have died too and technically, I did, but on the way to the hospital, in the ambulance, my heart started beating again on its own.”

  I was struck dumb, and she swallows to compose herself, to continue.

  “I remember the doctors were freaked out by my parents’ calmness when they found me. My mother couldn’t look at me, but my father told them he would take me home – that I could recover from this. The doctor in charge of my case insisted that I stay, at least for the night. In the end, I was simply in a deep sleep for a few days, but my broken bones healed without complication or scars. When I woke up, looking at me, it was like nothing had ever happened.”

  Charlotte runs a hand through her short, messy layers of blonde hair and sighs. “That’s why I want to have this stupid dance. That’s why I’m reckless, and why I live my life without fear of consequences. I should have been dead, Georgia, and I survived. I loved Max very much, and he loved me back – my mother told me the first night I tried to kill myself that Max would want me to be as alive and free as I could.” Charlotte looks down at her little white hands and I see her brown eyes flooding with tears.

  “Lottie, I’m sorry,” I squeeze her hand. I know there is nothing else I can say. She leans her head on my shoulder and I feel tears hitting my thin black shirt.

  “Here I always thought you healers were just cocky like that because y’all can cheat death, and become fancy doctors without expensive degrees,” I tease her, even though I did think that about her at first. “But you actually have a legit reason to act crazy.”

  “You’re really mean,” Charlotte laughs through her tears, “but I still love you.”

  “Of course you do,” I snort. “Bitch, I’m awesome.”

  “You speak the truth,” Charlotte smiles and wipes her eyes.

  “All day, every day,” I roll my eyes.

  “So, seriously, what’s it like feeling what other people feel? Do you suddenly feel like you had your heart cut out of you at sixteen which is why you can act like a total fool without feeling guilty?”

  “Not quite. Most of the time, it’s really vague,” I admit. “Like, I feel your sadness, but I wouldn’t have known what it was about until you told me – wait.”

  “What?” she asks. She closes up the binder with a loud whap.

  My brow wrinkles in concentration. “I just had this same conversation, in reverse.”

  “With whom?”

  “Jonathan.”

  “Isn’t Jonathan a Counselor?” Charlotte raises her eyebrows.

  “Yes.”

  “Okayyy,” she prompts. “I thought you didn’t know what you were?”

  I scratch my scalp above my right ear – a habit I’ve had since I was nine. “I didn’t – I don’t. But my gift is really sporadic, and I usually have to know the person before I get anything substantial from them.”

  “Ohhh, so you didn’t notice the super sex vibes from Luke Browning, then?” Charlottle interjects coyly.

  “Lucas Browning,” I correct as my face folds into a scowl. “I’m not really sure what ‘super sex vibes’ even are, so I’d have to say no, I did not notice them.”

  “Girl, that boy is sixteen kinds of delicious. So, if you don’t want him, I will certainly take him off your hands.” Charlotte’s smile is absolute evil.

  “He isn’t ‘on my hands’, Charlotte Reese,” I mock her with use of the middle name she hates.

  “Do you want him to be?” Charlotte baits me.

  “I don’t even know what you’re insinuating. But I find him very attractive, yes, and if he wanted me – well, I definitely wouldn’t turn him down. But if he doesn’t, which I’m fairly sure is or will be the case, you may have your evil, corrupting way with him.” The sarcasm and mockery flow freely.

  “Yessss,” Charlotte pumps her fist in the air, punching the bunk above us at full speed, and then cradles the offended appendage to her chest, hissing through her teeth.

  I am fully amused by her come-uppance. “Douche.”

  Her fiery retort is interrupted by a rap on our doorframe.

  “Georgia Lynn, you got a minute?” Lydia’s blazing red hair catches my eye as she pokes her head inside of the room.

  “Yeah, I’m free. I thought we had a meeting later, though?” I get up from my seat on the mattress and Charlotte punches me right in the butt cheek. I grit my teeth and close one eye; her tiny fists are more effectual then you would believe.

  Lydia smiles, all freckles and dimples. “We do, but I want to talk to you now, if that’s alright. I have something going on tonight, so I just figured if you weren’t busy, we’d up your meeting time.”

  “Fine by me,” I say, but turn around to look at Charlotte. “You gonna be alright planning our crazy shindig for an hour or so?”

  Charlotte smiles up at me like a grateful little sister. “Yes, Mama, I’ll be just fine while you go and have a big grown-up talk.” Her tiny, pale white legs dangle over the edge of the pillow-top mattress, a stark contrast from my pinkish-red sheets and the black bunk bed frame.

  “Okay, but don’t use the oven or light any candles while I’m gone, dear. You remember what happened last time,” I tease.

  “I won’t,” she calls after me as I follow Lydia out the door.

  “So, what shindig is she planning?” Lydia asks as she links our arms together comfortably. We are very much like a big family, us Outsiders. And Lydia is like our crazy yet soft-spoken, red-headed mama.

  “We want to have a big black and white formal to celebrate New Year’s Eve,” I explain, though I’m curious as to what she wanted to move our meeting for.

  “Sounds like a wonderful idea to me,” Lydia says, obviously pleased. “I’ll help in any way I can, for sure.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

  “I know you’re probably wondering why I am not just talking to you in sifting class like we planned…” Lydia sighs. “But we can’t have our usual class because I have a very, very unexpected visitor coming.”

  “Really? Who is it?” I ask, my pulse spiking at her words.

  “Regina,” she says quietly.

  I swallow. “Regina, as in… Regina? Like, head leader of all things Outsider Alliance, Regina?”

  All I remember of my first and only meeting with that woman is her very black hair, her light gray eyes, and her scarlet lipstick. She did not acknowledge me for more than two seconds when she was here last, and I was fresh off of my airplane. All I remember is being extremely intimidated.

  Lydia turns her usually serene pale blue eyes to me, and they are full of something I can’t pinpoint. “Yes, Regina Ward, founder of the Outsider Alliance. She’s coming here because she has something important she has to discuss with me.”

  • 10:53 pm
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