Ann Aguirre - Mortal Danger

“We have to do that again soon,” she said. “Saturday afternoon?”

“Definitely. I’ll show you how to use the stuff we bought, if you want.”

She hugged me again, this time without asking. “You probably think I’m odd for not knowing any of this, but … I remember once, when I was eleven, my mother got me only beauty products for Christmas. She got me a curling iron, hair spray, fancy brushes, hot rollers, eye shadow. When I opened all my packages, I pretended to be thankful, then I went to my room and cried. I thought she was saying that I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough—that it wasn’t enough for me to be smart.”

Wow. I never knew that. “So you turned your back on all girlie stuff. I get it.”

“But … it’s fun with you.”

“I don’t let it rule my life or anything, but I like feeling pretty.”

“So do I,” Mom admitted quietly. “But I never thought I was, so no point in trying.”

“You should never give up,” I said, conscious of the irony of me saying that. But I had come to believe it.

“So when you came home this summer, I was taken aback. It felt like you were trying to tell me something. Then I realized I was transferring old hurts. If I’d known you were interested in a makeover, maybe we could’ve worked on it together. I just never wanted to make you feel like my mom did me. I always wanted you to feel that however you are, it’s okay with me.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I was almost crying, unable to see for the stinging in my eyes.

In that moment, I desperately wanted to tell her everything. Fear for her safety kept me silent, along with remorse over what I might’ve done. She seemed to think so highly of me; I couldn’t stand to tarnish that image. To give me time to recover, she patted my head and went to talk to my dad. I went to my room for five minutes to settle down.

Dinner was lively; I actually paid attention when they were talking about the new project and to my surprise, I had ideas to contribute. My mom made notes while my dad treated me like I was a genius. I could get used to this. If working with my parents led to my optimum future, at the moment, I didn’t feel like fighting.

Now and then, the Pandora’s box in my head slammed from side to side, thoughts of Brittany and Russ trying to escape. I didn’t let them. There was no other way I could cope. I have to push forward. If I quit, they win. Stubbornness kept me in school, still turning in work.

Friday, cheerleading tryouts went every bit as bad for me as I’d anticipated. I didn’t screw up my personal routine too badly, but I had zero aptitude for learning choreography. Though I didn’t fall down, that was about all that could be said for my performance. Davina, on the other, was like a rocket, bright, on point, and utterly graceful. If the teachers who picked the squad didn’t put her on the A-list, then I could only assume they had already accepted bribes from parents who wanted a cheerleader in the family.

“You feel good about your chances?” I asked her afterward.

“You know … I do. Thank you.” She hugged me.

That made the ordeal worth it.

Saturday morning, I had the SAT. Fortunately, I was no longer grounded and I didn’t have to explain that the test I claimed to have aced last spring, I never took. I felt like I did well, but I wouldn’t find out for a while. Then I met my mom for lunch near the university, and after our food settled, we went to the fitness center, nothing extraordinary, but these were things I’d rarely done with my mother.

This is normal. Feels like another country.

But … I could get used to living here.

A week later, Davina and I stood in front of the list Miss Tina, the cheerleading coach, had just posted. Girls clustered around, making it impossible to see, so I pushed my way to the front as the crowd thinned. Occasionally, excited squees popped up but most of the hopefuls went trudged with their dreams crushed.

I ran my fingertip down the page. “There you are on the varsity list.”

“No way.” She bounced forward and then danced in a circle when she confirmed.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t even make alternate, but since that wasn’t the point, I didn’t care. “Happy?”

“Yeah! Surprised, though. I honestly thought this crap was fixed.”

Maybe some slots, but Blackbriar cared about trophies, which meant they needed some athletic girls on the squad. Otherwise, they’d be screwed later in the year. She got out her phone, already dialing to tell her mom. This was happiest she’d been since Russ died.

I’d expected Kian to make up for lost time, but he was busy with classes—or so he claimed. Instead of spending time together, I got texts and Snapchats, like we were in a long-distance relationship.

That week I also got an e-mail from Jen.

Hope you’re happy. I’m in THAILAND. With my grandmother. My mom told her about what happened to Brittany and now I spend my mornings lighting candles in shrines and temples. I’m finishing the semester online, but Blackbriar is holding my spot. I’ll be back after winter break.

We miss you, I sent back. And I’m sorry if this was all in my head. If so, I’ll get help.

Her answer came the next day. I don’t think it was.

That was all she said, but it reassured me that she didn’t hate me for sending her into exile. Mr. Love still watched me and Nicole looked more and more like a ghost, but the rest of Blackbriar got back to normal. Every night, Davina had cheerleading practice and, like Ken, I joined drama, not because I wanted to act, but it might help with college applications. I also spent more time with my parents between working out with Mom and talking about the laser array they were working on. Their theories on time travel and alternate realities were kind of fascinating, especially when paired with actual hypotheses.

With his increased workload and me in extracurriculars, I saw Kian even less; he picked me up twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. Sometimes we went out on weekends, but he seemed … different. Since he’d showed me his apartment, there was a new distance between us. Though he’d told me he was unpacking his boxes, he hadn’t invited me over again to see how it turned out.

The resulting quiet felt more like the calm before the storm than a permanent peace. While I planned for college, studied, and spent time with my mom, I feared the silence would be shattered by a scream—or a disaster of such epic proportions that the enemy needed time to put all the pieces in play. Kian’s remoteness only reinforced that impression. He denied anything had changed and he said the right words, but sometimes I caught him looking at me with an ocean of grief shining from his eyes. His words came back to me in quiet moments:

I am afraid.

Of what?

Having you. Losing you.

But I couldn’t let sorrow or worry keep me from living. Otherwise all of this had been for nothing. So, even knowing things weren’t … right, I had to persevere. I’d never give up again.

A week after I took the SAT, I confronted him about it. “Kian, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, why?”

“You’re different.”

He just smiled and kissed me.

No matter what I said, he refused to open up. So I resigned myself to letting him tell me what was wrong in his own time. The distance hurt, even as it reassured me that I could trust him: I suspected he was shielding me from something bad … and I let him.

I wish I hadn’t.

It took about three weeks for my SAT results to arrive, and I grabbed the envelope from the mailbox before my parents saw it. Hiding in my room, I opened it alone, relieved to find my scores were high enough to get me into my school of choice, provided the rest of my application package lined up. I spent the next week scribbling my essay and then I sent the packets, grateful I could do most of it online. I used my mom’s Visa to pay the application fees, and then it was oddly anticlimactic. Replies should start in January; I finally felt like maybe I had made up for lying to my parents for all those months.