Lessons From A Dead Girl Part 2

Out of the blue, Sam steps out of the room and comes back with a gift for me, too. I can tell Leah and Brooke aren't expecting it by the way their eyes narrow. I catch them exchange a look, but I can't tell what it means.

I touch the smooth wrapping paper and turn the gift around in my hands. The ribbon is real, not like the plastic curling ribbon my mother uses. But the edges of the paper are worn and faded, as if Sam has a bunch of wrapped-up gifts lying around in case he runs into someone he needs to give a present to.

"Well, Lainey, it isn't going to unwrap itself!" Mrs. Greene says, taking another sip of her wine.

I carefully untie the ribbon. Inside the box there's an oval-shaped wooden doll, hand-painted in bright colors: red, green, yellow, blue. I touch the paint, the tiny lines that decorate the doll's body. I move my finger over the seam in the doll's middle.

"Go on, open her up!" Sam's voice booms from the end of the table.

I turn the doll's halves and sure enough they come apart, revealing another doll inside, with a similar seam in the middle. When I open that doll, there's another.

Sam chuckles as I open the dolls. "I hope you like dolls, Lainey!"

Not since the second grade, I don't say. Instead I nod politely as I open them, leaving the doll sh.e.l.ls lined up neatly on my linen place mat. The dolls get smaller and smaller until, just when I think there can't possibly be a smaller one, I find a tiny doll without a seam. She's painted all red, except for her face, and she's solid.

Mrs. Greene repeats about a thousand times how generous Sam is while we eat dessert. She's had quite a few refills of wine, and so have Sam and Mr. Greene. Leah and Brooke beg for sips and get a few, but I don't ask and no one offers.

After dessert, Mrs. Greene ushers everyone into the living room, which is not to be mistaken for the family room. The living room is off-limits except for special company, like Sam. I've never even sat on the couch before. The gla.s.s French doors to the room are always firmly closed whenever I'm there.

Mr. Greene winds up the old Victrola he bought from my parents' antique store. The scratchy music that comes out sounds like an old movie.

I sit cross-legged on the floor, not sure what to do with my new doll. When I shake it, the smaller dolls rattle inside.

Mr. and Mrs. Greene sit on the light-blue velvet couch that looks like it's never been sat on. Leah and Brooke sit on either side of them, their hands on the armrests. Sam's already doing some sort of two-step around the shiny living-room floor. Slowly, he sashays his way onto the Oriental rug in front of the couch. He holds out his hands to Brooke and Leah. Brooke jumps up and starts dancing with him, but Leah stays put. Sam reaches for her hand and pulls her toward him, smiling and looking into her eyes. She stands reluctantly. He pulls her gently to the middle of the room. When Brooke steps in to join them, Leah starts to move to the music. Sam holds their hands and makes them twirl in synchronized circles. The longer they dance, the more Leah seems to enjoy it. They all do.

Mr. and Mrs. Greene watch, smiling, as Sam tries to dance like he's in high school. I actually feel embarra.s.sed for him. His forehead is wet, and the hair he brushes over the top of his head keeps slipping down so he has to flip it back over. I seem to be the only one to notice.

I hold the doll over the polished floor and make her dance above it so I don't have to watch Sam and "his girls." I set the doll down and try to spin her, but she just wobbles in an awkward circle and tips over. When I pick her up, there's a small scratch in the floor. I quickly lick my finger and try to wipe the scratch out, but it doesn't go away. I check to see if the Greenes noticed, but they're too busy dancing and singing to each other.

I decide I need to go to the bathroom.

No one notices me leave. Instead of going back to the party, I go to Leah's room and climb into my sleeping bag on the floor. I lie there and wait while the music goes on and on. I try not to think of sweaty Sam dancing with Leah and Brooke. Pretty soon it gets quiet, and I hear Mr. and Mrs. Greene giggling off to their bedroom. But there's no sign of Leah.

I don't know what time it is when Leah finally comes into the room. I must have drifted off. Leah doesn't notice that I'm awake. She pads across the room to her dresser. She rummages through the drawer for a long time. I try to see what she's doing, but it's too dark. She keeps sniffling. At first I think she has a runny nose, but then I realize she's crying.

It's the first time I've ever heard her cry.

I don't dare move. I'm sure she wouldn't want me to know.

When she finally gets what she's looking for, she closes the drawer. She starts to walk toward the bed and stops near my feet. I keep my eyes closed and breathe steadily so she'll think I'm asleep.

She sniffs and makes a sound like she's wiping her eyes or nose with her hand. Then, instead of getting undressed, she crawls into bed. I hear her moving around in the bed above me. After a while, she throws something down on the floor next to me. I slowly reach my hand out and touch her soft pink sweater.

It's quiet now, except for her steady sniffling. I should say something, but I don't know what.

Promise you won't leave me alone with Sam, she'd said.

But I didn't. She was with her family, having a good time. She was with Sam, but she wasn't alone.

So why do I feel guilty?

In the morning, Sam offers to take me home in his Jaguar. Leah and Brooke insist on coming along. Leah and I sit in the tiny backseat. She pretends to be a movie star, waving out the window to invisible fans. Only Leah could do that without being embarra.s.sed.

"You really could be a star, honey," Sam says. He smiles at her in the rearview mirror.

Leah doesn't answer him.

When we turn onto my road, Leah looks over at the wooden doll in my hands. "Let me borrow it for a while," she says. She reaches over and takes the doll from me. I think I see Sam give her a fake disapproving look, but I can't be sure.

As soon as they drop me off, I go to my room and shut the door. My old Curious George smiles disapprovingly at me from the shelf. "What did I do?" I ask.

But I know. Leah took the doll because I let her down. I broke my promise and Sam did something to her. I don't know what specifically, but I know it wasn't good.

The following weekend, Leah comes to my house. She pulls me straight into the doll closet. She doesn't ask or even tell me what we're going to do. She's rough and angry. It doesn't feel like practice. It feels like punishment.

I hold myself as stiff as I can, my eyes squeezed shut, feeling like I deserve it.

"Sam says we could be supermodel sisters," Leah says, sticking out her chest.

It's the fall of eighth grade. Leah and Brooke are strutting down the catwalk that is the path between the twin beds in Christi's room. They have light blue bath towels wrapped around their heads like turbans. They swing their hips as they walk, pretending to pose for photographers.

Christi and I watch from Christi's bed with our mouths open.

"Sam says they make tons of money," Leah adds.

Christi and I had watched Sam from Christi's window when he dropped Leah and Brooke off here earlier. He kissed them both good-bye on the lips. I swear his hand brushed against Leah's b.u.t.t as she walked away from him. If it did, she didn't seem to respond. The way she talks about him now, you'd never know he was the same guy she didn't want to be left alone with.

"And if it doesn't work out, we could always be strippers," Brooke says, lifting up her shirt to just below her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She and Christi are soph.o.m.ores, but Brooke looks more like a college girl. Brooke is beautiful, like Leah. But that's their only similarity. Brooke doesn't have the same "I'm in charge" look in her eyes. She just seems to like being watched.

"How pathetic," Christi says, nudging me with her elbow.

Brooke stands above us and sticks out her chest. She turns, a graceful little half-step, her hands on her hips. "If you've got it, flaunt it. That's what my mother says."

Christi jabs me in the ribs again, and we exchange knowing looks. Mrs. Greene is always wearing low-cut blouses that show the tops of her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Flaunt it? That's so - s.l.u.tty," Christi says, wrinkling her nose.

"What's s.l.u.tty about it?" Leah asks. "Just because you show off your goods doesn't mean you're giving them away." She's gathered the waist of her T-shirt and pulled it through the neck, making a halter top out of it. She walks up to us and sticks her bare stomach close to our faces. Her eye-like belly b.u.t.ton watches me.

"Don't be gross," Christi says.

But Leah keeps her stomach inches from my face.

I feel my own stomach tighten the way it does when Leah and I are in the doll closet. My cheeks go p.r.i.c.kly hot.

"What do you think, E-laine? Am I gross?" she asks.

I don't answer.

"Don't call her that. You know she hates it." Christi moves closer to me on the bed, going into protector mode.

Leah ignores her. "E-laine, you don't think I'm gross, do you?"

"Leave her alone," Christi says. She sounds nervous, as if she knows what Leah is getting at.

I force myself to look up into Leah's face and plead with my eyes for her not to say anything. Leah smirks and turns around.

Later that afternoon, Christi and Brooke are outside practicing new cheers for tryouts. Leah and I are alone in my room.

"Let's play house," Leah says quietly. "We haven't practiced in a while."

"I don't think so," I say, remembering what it was like the last time.

She moves closer. "Please, Lainey. It will be fun," she says softly. She looks almost sad, like I hurt her feelings by not wanting to go. She reaches for my hand and tries to pull me. Her hand feels delicate and strong at the same time.

"I don't want to," I say. As she laces her fingers with mine, though, I feel that strange, familiar tingling in my stomach. I shake my head, but even as I do, I'm already walking with her up the stairs.

Once we're inside the closet, Leah shuts the door. I turn on the tiny light. Leah comes closer, raising her eyebrows.

I close my eyes and pretend I'm someone else. I pretend I'm one of the dolls, sitting in the corner, watching Leah kiss me and put her hands up my shirt and down my pants, feeling every part of me, then taking my hands and making me feel every part of her. I try not to let it feel good, but it does. It feels good and horrible at the same time. Every part of my body feels alive.

"Right here," she says.

"Right there," she whispers.

Her voice is deep and not like her own. It scares me. Why is it that the only times I feel really alive are when I'm terrified?

When it's over and Leah opens the door, Christi is standing there, looking at us.

"What were you guys doing in there?" she asks. Her face is pale.

I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I pray Christi won't look in my eyes, because if she does, I'm sure she'll know. I hear her words from earlier. Don't be gross.

But I know what she really meant, because it's how I feel now. Dirty.

Leah clears her throat. "Playing house," she says coolly. She walks past Christi as if that's all she needs to say.

I stay put, looking at the floor. Eighth-graders don't play house.

I wait for Christi to say so, but she just turns and leaves, careful to avoid making eye contact with me.

Later, when Leah and I are alone outside, I tell her I'm finished with practicing.

Leah shrugs her shoulders. "I don't care," she says casually.

I feel my mouth drop open. Then why do you make me do it?! I want to scream. She makes her own mouth drop open to imitate me. Then she turns and walks away. I swear I see her smile, as if she's had a new idea.

"I was just talking to Zack Wallace," she tells me the next week at school. "I was telling him about this neat closet you have in your house. How you call it the doll closet, and how we used to play in it together." She smiles, showing me her white teeth. One of her top front teeth crosses over the other just slightly. It's one of Leah's only flaws, and I always catch myself looking at it when she talks to me.

"Leah, please," I say. "You can't tell anyone."

She grins at me. "Why not?"

"Because -" But I don't know how to answer. And, anyway, she knows.

"You said it was a secret," I tell her.

"A secret is like a promise," she says. "And you broke a promise to me. Maybe if I tell the secret, we'll be even."

"But I didn't -" I want to tell her I didn't mean to break the promise about Sam. But the more I think about it, the more I'm not sure.

We look at each other, both waiting for the other to say something. The words I want to ask are in the back of my throat. What happened with Sam? What did he do? But when I open my mouth to force them out, Leah rolls her eyes at me and walks away.

"Let's see if your dad has any dirty magazines," Leah says. She's found my old Barbie suitcase in my closet and is making Ken and Malibu Barbie do obscene things to each other.

"Why do you keep these things, anyway? My mom gave away all my old toys." She digs through the suitcase and finds Skipper. "Looks like you, Lainey!" She laughs, pointing at my chest.

I roll my eyes.

"You still play with them, don't you?"

I'm used to this. Ever since I broke my promise, Leah has gotten increasingly nasty.

"I don't play with them," I say. "My dad says they'll be worth a lot some day."

I grab the dolls and shove them back in their case. "And my dad does not have dirty magazines," I add. "He's not like that."

"Like what? There's nothing wrong with looking. That's what my dad tells my mom."

"Well, my dad doesn't," I tell her.

"Whatever." Leah smiles. "But I bet he does."

"How would you know?" There is no way my father looks at that stuff. "The only time my dad ever had a Playboy is the one he got at the surprise party my mom had for him when he turned forty."

"Mmm-hmm," Leah says. I want to hit her. She reaches over and puts her hand on my thigh. "Prove it."

My cheeks get hot with her touch, and a familiar, horrible warm feeling fills my stomach - and lower down. I feel my body wake up with excitement and the fear that always comes with it.

"I told you my dad doesn't have any. He's not like that."

"We'll see." Leah stands and walks out of my room.

As the stairs creak under her weight, I know I'm going to follow. I don't want her looking through my parents' stuff without me. I look out the window to make sure my mom is still outside in the garden, then I follow.

I hear Leah in my parents' bedroom. When I go in, I find her searching through my father's closet.