Sarah Sparrow - A Guide for Murdered Children

But oh, this one! exulted Rayanne. She was an armful but was worth it. And holy shit is she ever funny and smart, and all heart too. One of those “unforgettable characters” that you’re blessed to meet in this life.

“Ma- ma ? Pa -pa ?” she said, in her best-worst posh British accent. All her girlfriends had left except for her BFF, Zelda, who was lounging upstairs. They were having a sleepover. Honeychile ceremonially gathered her parents in the den, her favorite place, where she liked to read thriller-mysteries like The Light Between Oceans . “I have something for you,” she said. She brought out a box that was as beautifully wrapped as one of her birthday gifts.

“Sugar, you can’t be giving us a present,” said Rayanne. “It’s your birthday!”

Honeychile protested with a crazy-funny version of “It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To”—oh, this girl, this girl! Rayanne (because she was Rayanne) was already shedding a tear, which was Harold’s cue to step in. As he grabbed the gift, the birthday girl took the opportunity to admonish. “First Rule of Fight Club when given a present? You do not say no to the present! Second Rule of Fight Club when given a present? You do not say no to the present!”

He tore off the paper, revealing a snow globe. On closer inspection, they saw what she’d done. The small figure of a girl was being sandwich-hugged by the artful representations of Harold and Rayanne. They held it to the light and stared in wonder—the sculptures had their exact faces. “I worked on it after school for, like, a month . Do you think they look like us?”

“Yes,” said Harold. “It’s amazing.”

Rayanne couldn’t even speak.

Honeychile was pleased. “I just wanted to give you something special because of everything you’ve given me .” Her mom was crying but the tears came out in a weird, gloopy string of giggles that made everyone laugh. “I was going to tell you that I actually found my birth parents and was leaving tonight —but that would have been too mean!”

“Well, I’m glad a cooler head prevailed,” said Harold.

Honeychile’s humor could have a dark streak. Rayanne smiled and let it slide, focusing on the globe. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Thank you, dearest, dearest daughter.”

“Time for snow globe reenactment!” said Honeychile.

She took the gift, dramatically planted herself in the middle of the den and waited for them to join her. Then she held the globe aloft in her hand, its snowflakes flurrying over the tiny figures within, as the three of them imitated the group hug.

“See?” she said. “Are we not the adoption poster family of all time?”

3.

The walls were covered with photomontages of Honeychile’s favorites: Bowie, Pink, Nick Cave.

Zelda was poring over Instagram.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Roxanne took, like, ten thousand pictures of your party.”

“Did you see what she was wearing?” said Honeychile.

“She was totally dressed like a slut!”

“I know . I don’t think she left her house like that—she probably changed in the bushes. Even my dad said something.”

“Oh my God, I heard him! He told her to put on her sweater.”

“There weren’t even any boys .”

“ Roxanne didn’t mind. I think she’s totally found her Inner Dyke.”

“Really?” said Honeychile.

Zelda lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Jasmine told me something but you cannot tell anyone .”

“What!”

“You have to promise .”

“I promise, I promise—”

“Jasmine said that Roxanne told her that she masturbates to Kristen Stewart.”

“No…”

“I think when Kristen started having hundreds of girlfriends, it like gave her permission. I mean she was always attracted to Kristen. She used to lay in bed and watch Twilight in slow motion —now we know what she was doing!”

“Who isn’t attracted to Kristen Stewart?” said Honeychile, wryly.

“Oh my God, I’m not. Not in that way.”

“Speak for yourself,” she said roguishly.

“Honeychile!—”

“Oh come on, Zell. She’s hot .”

“She totally is but so is Selena and Hailee and Kendall and whoever . But it’s like a whole other level to think of them while you’re like pleasuring yourself with a vibrator.”

“Is that how she does it? With a vibrator?”

“That’s what Jasmine said.”

“Maybe she and Jasmine …”

“I don’t think so. Jasmine is totally penis-obsessed!”

“When do you think you’ll do it?” said Honeychile.

“Masturbate—?”

“When do you think you’ll fuck .”

“—because if you meant masturbate, I’m already pretty much a professional.”

“You are not.”

“I so am . And you better start , Honeychile. You need to be prepared . You have to have been doing it awhile before a guy puts his dick in you.”

“You are so repulsive!” said Honeychile. They laughed and swatted each other. “I guess you should have gotten me a vibrator for my birthday! Because it’s actually kind of hard to masturbate with a Walmart gift card.”

“You can try ,” said Zelda.

They were laughing so hard that Rayanne came to the bedroom door.

“Girls? I hope this isn’t going to go on all night.”

“It won’t, Mrs. Devonshire,” said Zelda obediently.

“Mom,” said Honeychile. “Can you just chill?”

She started belting “It’s My Party” again but Zelda was too shy to join in.

Rayanne shook her head, smiled and went to bed.

In the middle of the night, Honeychile had the worst asthma attack of her young life.

The scary episodes had happened twice since she’d been with the Devonshires. She would turn completely blue and then be revived by a shot of adrenaline that Rayanne kept on hand. This time, a minute before, Zelda awakened from a nightmare and crawled from her sleeping bag to rummage in the fridge. She made a bowl of Cheerios with soy milk that she heated in a saucepan, thinking it would calm her nerves, then sat at the table to read a story about Dakota Johnson and Zayn Malik in a magazine that she brought from home. When she got back to the room, Honeychile was on the floor gasping. She switched on the light: her skin was a shocking, diaphanous white, made more horrifying by the bottomless wishing wells of half-open eyes when her BFF tried to rouse her.

She bolted from the room screaming.

In the brief moment when Zelda ran down the hall to pound on their door—Harold leapt from bed and ran to his daughter while Rayanne retrieved the EpiPen from their bathroom—a paroxysmal shiver flooded the cold, dead body, bestirring it to life. Of course, the injection was of no use, but everyone was convinced it had saved her. Her lids fluttered. Honeychile looked at them in shock and awe, saying, “Oh,” then “Wow.” Her mother held her in her arms while the revived girl began telling everyone she was sorry. Rayanne told her not to be silly, to just lie quietly, that she was going to be all right now. They lifted her from the floor and put her in bed. Harold asked his wife if they should take her to the ER and Rayanne said, “We’ll see. Let’s see. Her color’s coming back. I’ll sit with her.” (Rayanne was actually cooler than Harold in such crises.) Honeychile said she was thirsty and Zelda brought her a glass of water.