Flicker of whites and grayscale on the theatre backdrop. Dark house. Jared’s bicycle propped between two rows of audience seats. Jared’s feet on the row in front of him. Dyson in the balcony with a projector. Reverence among the three of them. Tiny voices of the actors coming through the single speaker on the projector. I’m coming in through one of the side front doors. Dyson waves silently. He’s got a Twizzler in his mouth. Rips off the head and chews. Waves at me with the rest of the Twizzler. Spencer is a few rows in front of Jared. Silently watching the screen. Dyson’s bike has its front wheel hanging over the balcony railing.
Moving slowly through the auditorium. Down the stairs. Adjust my bag. Peer over my shoulder to see what film it is. Black and white characters talking, people smoking—something old. A wheel drives through a mud puddle. Shot of the sky. Black and white clouds.
I go to Spencer, one row behind him. “Hey.”
“What.”
“Are you guys gonna kill yourselves tomorrow?”
Spencer leans back in his seat so our heads are closer. “We’re leaving it up to the.”—“Individual.”
“Are you?”
“I might flip a coin to.”—“Decide.”
“What about cameras? Won’t they know it was you?”
Spencer shrugs. His eyes never leave the screen.
“Hey.”
“Yeah.”
“Find me before you do it, ok?”
“I can’t.”—“Promise.”—“That.”—“I will.” He turns his head halfway in my direction. “I’ll.”—“Try.”
My hand on his shoulder. I stand. I’m crossing the rows of chairs. Half of them up. Half down. Some missing the seat. A run of what would have been four seats, entirely gone. Bolts on the concrete, jutting out. I turn sideways. Splintered wood of the chair backs. Drop my bag. Go down Jared’s aisle. Spencer turns all the way around. He smiles a smile that I see in his eyes. Sparkling. And goes back to watching the movie. Still smiling, I’m sure. I sit next to Jared. Right next to. Smooth my skirt and put my legs on the chair in front of me. Both legs, all the way up. Sit in silence a minute. Then lean toward Jared. “What did I miss?—”
“Shh.” Jared doesn’t even look at me. He says. “This is my favorite part.”
Half the time you’re watching a movie the screen is black. The room is dark when it’s switching frames. Your brain doesn’t notice. It strings together experience from little flashes.
Jared to my left. Black and white flashes on the walls of the set. Anna Frank’s living room. You can see the seams. But you forget about them. The movie shows on the set walls. On the couch. On part of the black curtain at the side of the stage. Flicker of a woman’s face. Half of it on a wall. Some of it on the floor. An edge of it on the coffeetable in Anna Frank’s living room. But all I see is the movie. Or that’s all I think about. Dazing out. Eyes blurring. A woman’s face. She’s crying. A man at a piano with a woman sitting at his feet. It’s garbled, a dream. People who seem like they mean what they’re saying. To me it’s lost, faint chatter coming through a tiny speaker on the projector in the balcony. Lost in the air on its way down to me. Leaning back next to he who cannot be interrupted. With my legs up and my ass exposed and my hand on his knee. Little play of fingers. Brush of fingers. Not tickling. Tickling distracts. Jared shifts. He’s thinking about me. He’s definitely thinking about me. Cars racing in black and white. Turning an impossible corner.
I scooch back in my seat. I may just watch this movie.
My head is on Jared’s shoulder and his head is leaning on mine. I say. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Dyson is snoring from the balcony. Spencer is lying on the couch in Anna Frank’s living room.
I scrape my fingernails on Jared’s thigh through thick jeans. “Come on.”
Leading Jared by the hand. Dark lower hallway.
His deep voice. “Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry.” I say.
“Nothing’s gonna—jump out at me or anything. Are they?”
“I don’t know. Do you have other people posted around here or is it just you three?”
“You’re not gonna tell anyone.”
“I’m not gonna tell anyone.”
“You’re gonna get emotional and try to save people. I know you.”
“I’m not even gonna save myself. I’m gonna eat lunch when I eat lunch and I’m gonna sit where I always sit. Regardless of your diagram.”
“Where are you taking me.”
“We’re here.”
“Why are we here?”
“This is Mrs. Skelton’s class.”
“Ok. Why are we at Mrs. Skelton’s class.”
Because. I touch Jared’s chest. “Because.”
“Are you gonna kill me now? Because I heard some girls like to kill people after they have sex. They kill the male. In some species.”
I step close to him. “Who says we’re gonna have sex?”
“You were acting all—smushy. And everything. At the movie.”
“Shhh.” Put my finger on his mouth. “We are gonna have sex. But I want you to remember something.”
“What.”
“This.” I put my finger on the door to Mrs. Skelton’s class. “109. Fifth period.” This is where Jenna has speech.
“Who are you after?”
“A bunch of assholes who hate me.”
Jared’s deep voice. “I can’t guarantee—”
“I’m not asking you to guarantee!” My voice echoes down the long hallway. Blue street light coming in through grated windows. I put my hand on Jared’s belt. “I’m not asking for a guarantee. I’m just saying.”
I’m not gonna say much about what happened next because I don’t want to piss you off. Are you mad at me? I hope not because when it comes right down to it it doesn’t add up to all that much. In all honesty, I liked doing it. And it wasn’t like I was mad at you or trying to get back at you or upset at you in any way. Jared and I weren’t into each other or anything. I mean we weren’t talking before that night. It certainly wasn’t planned. It was just kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Kind of an on-the-spot thing. I just made the decision and did it. I was horny. He was there. Please don’t read much more into it than that. Ok? It’s not like we’re ever gonna do it again. Obviously. It wasn’t the best sex I can imagine. It wasn’t the worst. I was kind of glad to get it over with. I mean it definitely made me want to do it again so it’s not like it was bad or anything. It was definitely not what I expected. But when is that not the case? Good but different. Like when I used to watch soap operas with my parents. I would imagine, while watching the actors kiss, what a kiss felt like. Funny I can’t remember now what I thought one would feel like then. But I remember that when my first one happened it was entirely different than what I imagined. More specific. Much less vague. And good. Very good. But also kind of gross. Just a little. Everything with the body is a little gross if you think about it. But wonderful. Wonderful. A nice surprise. Sometimes perfection. Perfect design when used as designed. So yeah, we fucked. I hope you don’t mind my stating it in those terms. It was just late and I was anxious and I was more susceptible to it after being locked in a closet by your sister and her bitch friends. I hope you know I don’t mean anything against you when I express my hate for her. I actually kind of like her. Which is extremely sick, I know, given the circumstances. She is, however, a horrible person. She’s a bitch. I just mean as a matter of definition. Her being your sister doesn’t erase the fact that she acts like a bitch. I’m not sure how you turned out so nice, given that you shared a womb. I haven’t always been the nicest person to her, either. I know that. You will never know how horrible I’ve been to her. Chalk it up to my instabilities. I am pretty sure there is something very very wrong with me. Sometimes it comes out in ways that most people would be very very afraid of, I think. I am glad we can have these conversations. Glad I can share with you. Even though it’s mostly for my benefit, since you can’t talk back. I think everyone needs a person who goes around with them inside their head. Someone who is there always. For me, that person is you. Maybe that’s what we really are. Not boyfriend and girlfriend, not friends even. Not, most essentially, lovers. But you are an angel who stays with me. I somehow know you’re there even though we have a one-way communication link. I am the one who talks to you. And you are the one who listens. The main thing I know about you is how you would respond. I never hear you. But I know what you would say.
Jared bending over by the wall in 109. I still have my boots on. Put one foot on top of him. Brace myself with my arm and about to pull myself up.
“You unlocked this?”
“I think it’s that one. We wirecut the welding actually. We did one in every room.”
I step on him. My boot presses its tread into his shirt and back. I put the other boot up. I hardly have my other hand up when he stands. Pushes me up. I slip down some but get one boot on his shoulder. He gets the other boot in his hand. Pushes me up.
“I’m pretty sure it’s that one. Do you see one with a wire cut in the middle?”
“Yeah. It’s cut out in the middle.”
“We put a mark on ones we cut so you could see ‘em from the inside.”
“You need to get a master key to the chains, go out the front door.”
“Slight problem with that.” He pushes me up.
I’m sliding open the plastic window frame.
“Can’t re-lock chains from the inside. People would know.”
I shake my head. “What do I do now?”
“Push on it.”
I do. I push on it. The wire grating falls out. “Push me up.”
Jared lifts me and I crawl out into the gravel of the alley. I stand and brush myself off. Gravel prints in my knees.
“You coming back?”
“What time is it?”
“4:13.”
“Yeah. I’m just gonna walk.”
“I’ll keep this open. Close the grate. Set it up against—”
“I see.”
“Ok. Have a nice walk.”
“Thank you Jared.”
I go to the teachers’ parking lot. Kick a parking bumper. Check my boot. The paint is dry. I’m looking at the moon. My skirt is too short to hold the wind from me. My stockings crumpled in a trash can in 109. Sitting on a parking bumper. Moon not full. Average almost-half moon, weird little rough-edged covering. Like someone’s not that far behind me holding up a ripped piece of paper to block the light. Doesn’t look anything like the earth—an almost perfectly smooth ball—is blocking that light. It looks much more like someone is holding up a ripped piece of paper. Rough edges. Does anyone ever think about this? About how little science holds together. Does the theory fit with what it actually looks like? Probably not. Probably no one thinks about it. I’m freezing. No car here. No buses running. No one out. I have to be back in three hours anyway. Might as well stay. Cold rush of wind. I actually enjoy it for once. Makes me cold enough to hurt. Bites me. But tonight I like it. It feels great. It makes me feel very very awake. Right here. Black sky, cardboard moon, gravel of the parking lot. Cold. And me. Hot blooded me. Total fucking mess me. Full of regret me. Doesn’t care me. What’s to regret me. Going forward me. Nothing is a mistake me. Tonight’s a night I could run away. If I got in the bug tonight I don’t even think I would tell you. If I did I would give you one chance. If you said no I would go without you. Tomorrow I might go. Tomorrow is the kind of day that we could go, pack up and go, and no one would question it. As long as they don’t find out about you. Which they won’t as long as Jared and those guys don’t say anything about you. Which they sound like they wouldn’t. Especially if they kill themselves. If they kill themselves and I don’t say anything no one will ever know. Even if they survive, I don’t think they’ll say anything. They would be too embarrassed if their plan didn’t work. They probably wouldn’t talk to me at all. I think I’m safe. There’s no evidence I’m involved. I’m not involved. I’m not involved. It doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’m not the one buying military shit from my cherished schoolmates. I’m not the ones making blast radius plans of the lunchroom. Anyway I might die tomorrow. And they might have told other people. Other people may know about this and not say anything. Dyson probably told someone. His dad? I don’t know. Maybe not. I could call the police. Tell them about Jenna. Tell them she locked me in the changing closet. I could say Jared raped me. Nothing there too too far from the truth. I wouldn’t do that. I mean I wouldn’t do that. I’m just saying. I could say that. I’m not gonna but I could. I could call in an anonymous bomb threat to the school tomorrow, very early, 7am. 6am. I don’t have to decide now. It’s tonight, it’s not tomorrow. I pull up my shirt. Cold air on my belly. Put my fingers on it. Feel the navel. I just had sex. I just had sex. I’m cold. I’m sitting with the moon.