Impostor (14 page)
Authors: Jill Hathaway
T
he parking lot at the mall is crammed with cars. Samantha parks at the far end. I climb out of the car at the same time Mattie pops out of the back. I feel as though I’m doing a death march as I walk toward JCPenney.
I’d rather be doing anything else than letting Samantha dress me up as her own personal Barbie doll. Well, I suppose hanging out at home with Lydia would be worse. So at least there’s that.
Samantha leads us to Forever 21 and makes a beeline for a display of baby tees. She selects a silver top, while Mattie fingers a purple one. They are talking, laughing. It’s good to see them carefree for a change.
“What do you think of this?” Mattie asks, holding up the shirt.
“I don’t think . . .”
The clothes in this store are most definitely
not me
. But Sam and Mattie don’t pay any attention. They prance around, picking out a pink tank top and a lacy white button-down to put over it with a very short jean skirt.
Mattie pushes me toward the dressing room.
“Seriously?” I ask.
Samantha gives me a stern look. “Trust me.”
I roll my eyes and carry the garments into the dressing room. Shimmying out of my torn jeans, I glance in the mirror. My legs appear to be thinner—they’re almost bony, with knobby knees poking out. When I pull off my T-shirt, I am struck by my lack of a chest.
An annoying thought buzzes around the back of my brain:
You know who has a great body? ANNA.
I tell my brain to shove it, but it does no good. A feeling of self-consciousness has settled over me as I think about going to the movie with Rollins and Anna tomorrow night.
He only likes her as a friend,
I remind myself, pulling on the skirt and top.
When I emerge, tugging at the uncomfortably snug clothing, Mattie claps her hands. “Yes,” she cries. “Just, yes. You have to get this.”
Samantha nods her approval. “My work here is done.”
I turn and study myself in the full-length mirror. The girl looking back at me seems familiar, like a girl I once knew but forgot long ago. Her long, blond hair falls around her face in wisps. Her cheeks are the same pink of the tank top. Her legs look kind of silly in a miniskirt and Converse shoes, but lovely just the same.
Mattie puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s perfect.”
“You think so?”
Samantha opens her purse and whips out a credit card. “Vee, let me buy it for you.”
“Don’t you mean let
your parents
buy it?”
She shrugs. “I get a clothing allowance. This won’t even make a dent in it. Besides, I didn’t get you anything for your birthday this year.”
I don’t want to make waves.
“Whatever,” I say. “That’s fine. Let’s just get it and go.” Mattie and Samantha beam, irritating me. “I’ll go change.”
When I return, Samantha is at the register with Mattie and an armload of clothes she seems to have gathered in the thirty seconds I was in the dressing room.
“Could you add these things, too, please?” Samantha sweetly asks the clerk. She takes the clothes out of my hands and puts them on the counter.
The saleslady folds the outfit neatly, slips it into a plastic bag, and hands it over to Samantha, who in turn passes it to me. I hold it at arm’s length.
“Shouldn’t we be getting home soon? Dad will be wondering where we are,” I say. I can’t wait to get out of this place.
Mattie checks the time on her phone. “Oh, you’re right. Let’s go.”
As we pass by the food court, I get the strangest feeling that someone is watching us. My eyes pass over the line of teenagers at Cinnabon, the haggard mother dragging three children behind her, the man eating Chinese and reading a paperback novel, finally coming to rest on the fountain in the center of everything.
There’s someone on the other side of the fountain.
A woman with graying hair pulled into a bun.
She is now standing and grabbing her purse and ducking her head down, probably hoping that I don’t recognize her. But I do.
It’s Diane.
Again.
What is she doing here?
She turns away before I can call her name.
Sitting in the back of the car, I tune Mattie and Samantha out as they excitedly discuss tomorrow’s plans. The outfit that Samantha bought for me is draped over my lap. I dig my fingers into the plastic, trying to make sense out of what just happened.
Why would Diane be following me?
I must have a strained look on my face because my sister glances back at me and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
I try to smile. “Oh, nothing. I just realized I have a Psych test on Monday. Totally haven’t studied for it.”
Samantha looks at me in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say anything.
“Well,” Mattie says breezily, “you have all weekend. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah,” I say.
It was just a coincidence,
I tell myself.
Nothing more.
Deep down, though, I know I’ve seen Diane too many times in the past week for it to be a coincidence.
Saturday night. I stare with dismay into the full-length mirror on the back of my door. Against my better judgment, I let Samantha do my hair and makeup. She’s curled and teased my hair within an inch of its life. It literally does not move when I touch it. Eye shadow is layered from eyeball to eyebrow. She even pressed on fake eyelashes, which are itchy. Every time I fiddle with them, though, Samantha yells at me.
“What do you think?” Samantha asks, standing back to admire her work.
“It’s . . . great,” I say.
“You look gorgeous, Vee,” Mattie says. She’s wearing some skinny jeans and a low-cut tank top.
“I feel like a different person.”
And I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
The doorbell rings.
“That must be them,” Mattie says excitedly. She grabs her purse from the top of my desk and checks herself in the mirror one last time before opening the door. Samantha and I follow her downstairs, where my dad is standing with Russ and Rollins.
For a split second, I am nearly paralyzed with guilt. Here I am, about to go to a movie with my friends, while Scotch is lying unconscious in the hospital—because of me. I shake my head to make the thought go away. There’s nothing I can do for him now.
Not tonight.
Rollins’s eyes sweep over my body as I come down the stairs, then back up, resting on my face. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His face is unreadable.
“Remember your curfew,” my father warns. “Midnight. Not one second later.”
Mattie gives my dad a kiss on the cheek, and we all head outside. Russ’s and Rollins’s vehicles are both in the driveway. Mattie opens the passenger door of Russ’s silver pickup. Samantha walks to her own car, which is parked in the street.
“We’ve got to pick up Anna on the way,” Rollins says. He climbs into his car and turns the key. I get in and pull the seat belt over my lap, trying not to notice the way my boobs are practically popping out of my shirt.
“You look different,” Rollins says.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I ask.
“I guess I mean . . . You look the same as everyone else. I can hardly recognize you under all that makeup.”
A bad thing,
I think.
“Samantha gave me a makeover,” I say.
“Ah,” Rollins replies, looking over his shoulder as he pulls out of the driveway. He doesn’t say anything else on the way to Anna’s house.
T
he six of us stand in the lobby of the movie theater—Russ, Mattie, Rollins, Anna, Samantha, and me. It’s a strange grouping, and there are a few moments of awkward silence as we try to think of something to talk about. My mind keeps returning to Scotch, but I can’t bring him up in front of Russ and Anna.
“Well, shall we?” Russ asks Mattie finally, gesturing toward the ticket window. Russ digs out his wallet and retrieves a twenty-dollar bill.
The rest of us pay for our own tickets and head to the snack counter. Anna announces that she’ll buy the popcorn. Samantha gets some strawberry Twizzlers. I buy a small Mountain Dew, allowing myself a little caffeine to stay awake during the movie. We carry our loot into the theater.
Russ and Mattie take seats up front, where they can kick their legs up on the railing. They look like a real couple already, laughing and sharing popcorn. I feel a pang of jealousy when I have to follow Rollins and Anna to the back row, where Rollins and I usually sit so we can make fun of movies without people yelling at us. Samantha trails behind me.
Anna edges her way down the row first, and Rollins goes next. I take a seat on his other side and slouch down. My skirt rides up embarrassingly high, and I yank it so it covers my thighs. Samantha flops into the chair on my other side, already chewing on a Twizzler.
The lights dim, and the previews come up. Rollins has the popcorn in his lap, and I’m conscious of every time Anna reaches over to grab a handful. I watch out of the corner of my eye to make sure her hand doesn’t linger and brush against his. They both seem oblivious to my angst, though. Slowly, my attention moves away from Anna’s and Rollins’s hands dipping repeatedly into the popcorn.
Onscreen, a beautiful girl with dark brown hair is in the shower, lathering shampoo into her hair. Her eyes are closed, and she doesn’t see the shadow that moves across the bright orange shower curtain. She starts to sing a pop song, belting the lyrics over the sound of the cascading water.
Mattie, several rows ahead of me, hides her face against Russ’s shoulder. He raises his arm and wraps it around her.
After her shower, the girl in the movie throws open the curtain and steps into the bathroom. She reaches for a towel and wraps it around her. Through the steamy bathroom mirror, we see her take a step toward the closed door. She reaches out her hand, gets ready to open it.
Someone in the front shouts, “Don’t do it!”
But of course she does.
She opens the door, and there the killer is, wearing a clown mask.
The girl screams, takes a step backward, stumbles on the bath mat, and falls. We see the shiny steel raise into the air. And lower. Again and again.
Without thinking, I reach over and grab Rollins’s sleeve. My eyes are glued to the screen.
The last shot is of the knife, speckled with dots of red. Then the title sequence begins. My heart is thumping under my shirt, even though I’ve seen the previous
Scar
movies and anticipated what was going to happen. There’s something about seeing a movie in the theater, as opposed to my own living room. Makes it scarier. More delicious.
I’m just about to lean over and tell Rollins as much when I realize I’m not the only one grabbing on to him. On his other side, Anna is clutching Rollins’s bicep and averting her eyes from the screen. And Rollins has a half smile on his face, as if he’s enjoying it.
I choose this moment to go to the ladies’ room. I’m so upset, I almost trip over Samantha while I’m rushing to get out of the theater. I hurry out the door, and the brightness of the hallway makes me squint. I’m disoriented for a moment, but then I see the sign for the women’s room.
Inside, I take my time. My face is wet, and I realize I’ve been crying, which just makes me even angrier because some girl grabbing Rollins’s arm is nothing to cry about. I unroll a few squares of toilet paper and use it to wipe my face off, then flush it down the toilet.
When I open the stall door, I come face-to-face with Mattie, her brow furrowed with worry. “I saw you running out of the theater. I wanted to make sure everything was okay. Are you all right?”
I sniff, hoping she can’t tell I’ve been crying. I’m supposed to be the tough one. I’m supposed to take care of
her
. But look at me now, standing here in my too-tight pink tank top and too-short skirt, crying over a guy. I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this stupid outfit.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, pushing past her to the sink. “I guess I’m just not really in the mood for a scary movie.”
After drying my hands, I throw the wadded-up paper towel in the trash. I turn around to look at Mattie, who’s folded her arms across her chest.
“Don’t give me that crap. What happened?”
I sigh in exasperation. “It’s just—Rollins and I always go to these movies together, and all of a sudden Anna’s in the picture. He says she’s just a friend, but it seems like she’s always around. I know she likes him . . .”
Mattie squeezes my shoulder. “You know Rollins isn’t into Anna. He’s been in love with you ever since he laid eyes on you, practically. A blind person could see that.”
Her words confirm what Rollins has already said to me, but I can’t accept them, for some reason. Maybe it’s because Rollins said yes to Anna’s invitation when it should be obvious to anyone that it would hurt me. Maybe it’s the expression on his face when she clung to his arm during the murder scene.
Mattie pulls me toward the door. “Now can I get back to my date? Russ threatened to eat all of the popcorn if I was gone too long.”
I resist. “You go ahead. I just need to be alone for a few minutes.”
In case I start crying again,
I think, but there’s no way I’m going to say that out loud.
Mattie gives me a reproachful look but lets go of me. “Okay. Don’t take too long, though. Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to make this situation any better.”
She leaves me, but her words remain. Mattie is right, of course. It’s not going to do me any good to sit here in the bathroom and bawl all night.
I take a deep breath.
Then I straighten my skirt and walk out of the bathroom, wobbling a little on the high heels Samantha and Mattie insisted I wear.
Anna manages to refrain from touching Rollins for the rest of the movie. Not that I’m keeping track or anything. The lights go on, and I stand up quickly, grabbing my empty cup so I can dump it in the trash on the way out.
Russ and Mattie wait for us at the front of the theater.
Samantha yawns. “That was boring.”
“It was okay,” Russ replies, “but it’s no
Evil Dead II
.”
Rollins slaps Russ on the back. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Mattie holds her cell phone, scrolling through messages. From the look on her face, I can tell something’s wrong. I let Rollins and Anna head toward the exit without me so I can see what’s going on. Russ follows, claiming he has to use the bathroom.
I touch Mattie’s elbow.
She looks up. “Regina texted me.”
Samantha suddenly looks very alert.
“And?”
Mattie looks at us with wide eyes.
“Scotch is awake.”
