Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

Once we finish the dishes, we head up the wooden staircase to my room. Shana and I both have the habit of using the walls of the stairs for balance instead of the banister. Most of our walls seem too cluttered with portraits and decorations, but everything is at least neatly organized. That is, until we get to my room. Marked by a worn down Karen-O poster on the door, my room is the most cluttered of them all. Almost every inch of wall is taken up by some poster or picture or even some of the drawings I drew when I was Adam’s age.

On my floor are various clothes. Clean or dirty? I don’t care, and I just kick them all into a pile in the corner on top of my school papers. Oh well, I’ll sort through them tomorrow when I start my essay that’s not due till Tuesday. I can hear Adam and Denise playing what sounds like an old Dance Dance Revolution game, but with the lack of rhythm in their trampling I bet they aren’t getting very high scores.

The clothes are just part of the mess in my room. Even my decorations are placed messily. I have lopsided posters of some of my favorite bands like Chevelle and Paramore. Mom doesn’t stress me too much about the cleanliness of my room. She’s more worried about my grades. I’m lingering on the low end of a B average and she doesn’t want to see it decline any further.

After I clear out a decent space on my floor, I pull out the chair from my desk and move it near my vanity for Shana to sit. I take the vanity stool and Shana and I both proceed to remove our makeup which isn’t really much. We both wear eyeliner and lip gloss, and Shana wears a little blush on her cheeks, but when we finish removing the makeup from our faces, we begin reapplying nail polish.

“What colors should we do this week?” I ask. Shana looks at the assortment of colors laying on my vanity and picks out two. We always wear two different colors of nail polish, alternating the colors on every other fingernail.

“How ’bout… green, and black?” she asks.

“Dark green or light?” I respond

“Light,” she answers without hesitation.

As we apply the nail polish to our fingernails, we begin to speak. We mostly talk about school. She and I don’t really hang out with any of the other students. It’s not that we’re anti-social or that we don’t get along with the other students, it’s because both of us have parents that work in the school. Her mother is the school counselor and my father is the vice principal.

“At least having parents at the school keeps the boys respectful,” she says.

“Yeah, but when prom time comes that means we will probably be the only ones without a date,” I respond. She shook her head.

“Come on Lyss, if they’re afraid to approach us because of our parents, don’t you think they’d be even more reluctant to reject us?” she suggests.

“That’s evil,” I laugh.

“How’s track?” she asks. I’ve been part of the track team for the last two years.

“Awful!” I exclaim.

“Leanne has got some kind of problem with me. She always sprints to pass me and then when she’s tired she makes a point to body-block me so I can’t get ahead.”

“Doesn’t that slow her down too?” she asks. I shake my head.

“No, she and I are the fastest on the team by like ten seconds, but she finishes just ahead of me like half the time now just because she does that,” I explain. I’m getting angry just thinking about it.

“Is it really that hard to pass her?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll just fake her out and pass her on the opposite side I approach from,” I say. She claps once, as an idea just hit her.

“No! I have a better idea. When she speeds up to pass you, you speed up. That way she’ll tire out faster and won’t be able to keep up with you. She’ll probably end up slowing down to third or even worse if she tries too hard,” she explains. I like that idea.

“Well hey I’m going on my weekend jog tomorrow morning after I drop my brother— er our siblings off. You wanna come?” I ask. She looks hesitant.

“I mentioned to my mom about our run last time. She doesn’t want me going into the forest like that. She’s even surprised that your mom lets you do it alone,” she says. I bite my lip and fumble my labret ring with my teeth.

“But as long as we don’t tell her,” she continues. A sly smile crosses my lips. Shana is a worrier though so I can tell that’s not the right approach.

“My mom realizes it’s dangerous too,” I say, standing up.

I look around the mess in my room to find my purse. It’s a small colorful Alice in Wonderland bag that I’ve had since I was ten. It’s pretty worn now, but I’ve always used it. I open it and reach in.

“My mom always has me carry this,” I say, pulling out a small blue cylinder.

“Pepper spray?” she asks. I nod.

“Your momma lets you carry that around?” she asks.

“Makes me,” I correct. “Just don’t mention it to anyone. It’s not really… legal per se,” I add.

“Well what’s more legal then? A dead girl, or a crook with burning eyes?” she asks. “That’s what my mom said!” I exclaim. I clasp both hands to my mouth, thinking I was too loud.

I look at my clock and realize it’s only eight. It only seems darker because of the opaque purple curtain that hides my window. My mom buys into the urban legend that people will spy on me undressing if I don’t block the view from the window.

“So anyway, if you’re trying to outrun Leanne, won’t I slow you down on the trail?” she asks.

“Oh no that trail is like what three miles? I can’t run that at top speed. I can barely make it at a medium pace,” I laugh. The trail is not really a paved trail, but more of a path I found that can take me all the way to the school district and even further, so I can get to almost anywhere important in the town from it.

We spend the rest of the night talking about our schoolwork. The essays we have to write are on creative historical fiction. It’s a project that affects both our history and our English grade, so it’s kind of important. We both have to make up short stories where we place ourselves in a historical event and then explain how our lives worked through it. Shana brings up the idea that our stories should collide so that it was the same story, but through both of our points of view. I think it’s a great idea, but it makes our essays that much harder.

“At least we got plenty of time to do it,” she says.

“Yeah, and if I get an A on this my grades will go up, so my mother will stop breathing down my neck,” I say.

“So, what subject? The Civil War?” she asks. I shake my head.

“No, Ms. Alder will probably see a dozen of those and get so bored she drops our grades for it. How about something Asian?” I ask. She thinks about that for a second.

“I haven’t had Chinese food in a while,” she mumbles. From there we continue to sidetrack until it gets late. Not really late for a Saturday, but because of the whole trip tomorrow we won’t get to sleep in like normal. So we drop at about ten, with her sleeping on a mat in the floor. I sleep peacefully.

I brush my teeth. Shana is changing into some of my workout clothes since she didn’t bring any of hers. It took us a while to find some in the cluttered mess around my floor, and I had to face-palm myself when I found a full work-out outfit in the closet where they belong. We found a matching Nike vinyl jacket and pants for her to wear. I’m wearing my white and gray hoody and navy blue running shorts. I spit the water into the sink and then rinse my mouth out. I floss too. I know it’s something usually done at night, but I always forget and end up flossing in the morning. When I get back into my room, Shana has already brushed her teeth and is putting on some of my sneakers, while the day clothes she brought are placed neatly on my bed so she can find them easily when we get back.