Wake (2 page)

Club. Janie wipes her sweating hands on her jeans.

When Melinda arrives, Carrie doesn’t fawn over her. Janie nods hello. Melinda smirks. Tries to whisper something to Carrie, but Carrie ignores her and says,

“Hey! Let’s do Janie’s hair.”

Melinda throws a daggered look at Carrie.

Carrie smiles brightly at Janie, asking her with her eyes if it’s okay. Janie squelches a grin, and Melinda shrugs and pretends like she doesn’t mind after all. Even though Janie knows it’s killing her.

The three girls slowly grow more comfortable, or maybe just resigned, with one another. They put on makeup and watch Carrie’s favorite videos of old comedians, some of whom Janie’s never heard of before. And then they play truth or dare.

Carrie alternates: truth, dare, truth, dare.

Melinda always picks truth.

And then there’s Janie.

Janie never picks truth.

She’s a dare girl.

That way, nobody gets inside.

She can’t afford to let anyone inside.

They might find out about her secret.

The giggles become hysterics when Melinda’s dare for Janie is to run outside through the snow barefoot, around to the backyard, take off her clothes, and make a naked snow angel.

Janie doesn’t have a problem doing that.

Because, really, what does she have to lose?

She’ll take that dare over giving up her secrets any day.

Melinda watches Janie, arms folded in the cold night air, and with a sneer on her face, while Carrie giggles and helps Janie get her sweatshirt and jeans back on her wet body. Carrie takes Janie’s bra, fills the cups with snow, and slingshots them like snowballs at Melinda.

“Ew, gross,” Melinda sneers. “Where’d you get that old grungy thing, Salvation Army?”

Janie’s giggles fade. She grabs her bra back from Carrie and shoves it in her jeans pocket, embarrassed. “No,” she says hotly, then giggles again. “It was Goodwill. Why, does it look familiar?”

Carrie snorts.

Even Melinda laughs, reluctantly.

They trudge back inside for popcorn.

11:34 p.m.

The noise level in the living room of Carrie’s house fades along with the lights after Mr. Brandt, Carrie’s father, stomps to the doorway and hollers at the three girls to shut up and get to sleep.

Janie zips up the musty-smelling sleeping bag and closes her eyes, but she is too hyper to sleep after that exhilarating naked snow angel. She had a fun evening despite Melinda. She learned what it’s like to be a rich girl (sounds nice for about a day, but too many stinking lessons), and that Luke Drake is supposedly the hottest boy in the class (in Carrie’s mind), and what people like Melinda do four times a year (they take vacations to exotic places). Who knew?

Now the hushed giggles subside around her, and Janie opens her eyes to stare at the dark ceiling. She is glad to be here, even though Melinda teases her about her clothes. Melinda even had the nerve to ask Janie why she never wears anything new. But Carrie shut her up with a sudden exclamation: “Janie, you look simply stunning with your hair back like that. Doesn’t she, Melinda?”

For the first time ever, Janie’s hair is in French braids, and now, lying in the sleeping bag, she feels the bumps pressing against her scalp through the thin pillow. Maybe Carrie could teach her how to do it sometime.

She has to pee, but she is afraid to get up, in case Carrie’s father hears her and starts yelling again. She rests quietly like the other girls, listening to them breathe as they drift off to sleep. Melinda is in the middle, curled on her side facing Carrie, her back to Janie. 12:14 a.m.

The ceiling clouds over and disappears. Janie blinks and she is at school, in civics class. She looks around and realizes she is not in her normal fourth-period class, but in the class that follows hers. She stands at the back of the room. There are no empty seats. Ms. Parchelli, the teacher, drones about the judicial branch of government and what the Supreme Court justices wear under their robes. No one seems surprised that Ms. Parchelli is teaching them this. Some of the kids take notes.

Janie looks around at the faces in the room. In the third row, seated at the center desk, is Melinda. Melinda has a dreamy look on her face. She is staring at someone in the next row, one seat forward. As the teacher talks, Melinda stands up slowly and approaches the person she’s been staring at. From the back of the room, Janie cannot see who it is. The teacher doesn’t appear to notice. Melinda kneels next to the desk and touches the person’s hand. In slow motion, the person turns to Melinda, touches her cheek, and then leans forward. The two of them kiss. After a moment, they both rise to their feet, still kissing. When they part, Janie can see the face of Melinda’s kissing partner. Melinda leads her partner by the hand to the front of the room and opens the door of the supply closet. The bell rings, and like ants, the students crowd at the door to leave.

The ceiling in Carrie Brandt’s living room reappears as Melinda sighs and flops onto her stomach in the sleeping bag next to Janie. Cripes! thinks Janie. She looks at the clock. It’s 1:23 a.m.

1:24 a.m.

Janie rolls to her side and she’s walking into a forest. It’s dark from shade, not night. A few rays of weak sunlight slip through the tree cover. Walking in front of Janie is Carrie. They walk for what seems to be a mile or more, and suddenly a rushing river appears a few steps in front of them. Carrie stops and cups her ear, listening for something. She calls out in a desperate voice, “Carson!” Over and over, Carrie calls the name, until the forest rings with her voice. Carrie walks along the high bank and stumbles over a tree root. Janie bumps into her, falls, and then Carrie helps her up. She gives Janie a puzzled look and says, “You’ve never been here.” Carrie turns back to her search for Carson, her cries growing louder. There is a splash in the river, and a little boy appears above the surface, bobbing and moving swiftly in the current. Carrie runs along the bank and cries, “Carson! Get out of there! Carson!”

The boy grins and chokes on the water. He goes under and resurfaces. Carrie is frantic. She reaches out her hand to the boy, but it makes no difference—the bank is too high, the river too wide for her to come close to reaching him. She is crying now. Janie watches, her heart pounding. The boy is still grinning and choking, falling under the water. He is drowning.

“Help him!” screams Carrie. “Save him!”

Janie leaps toward the boy in the water, but she lands on the bank in the same spot she took off from. She tries again as Carrie screams, but the results are the same. The boy’s eyes are closed now. His grin has turned eerie. From the water behind the boy, an enormous shark bursts above the surface, mouth open, hundreds of sharp teeth gleaming. It closes its mouth around the boy and disappears.

Carrie sits up in her sleeping bag and screams.

Janie screams too, but it catches in her throat.

Her voice is hoarse.

Her fingers are numb.

Her body shakes from the nightmare.

The two girls look at each other in the darkness, while Melinda stirs, groans, and goes back to sleep. “Are you okay?” Janie whispers, sitting up.

Carrie nods, breathing hard. She whisper-laughs, embarrassed. Her voice shakes. “I’m sorry I woke you. Bad dream.”

Janie hesitates. “You want to talk about it?” Her mind is racing.

“Nah. Go back to sleep.” Carrie rolls to her side. Melinda stirs, rolls a few inches closer to Carrie, and is quiet again.

Janie glances at the clock. 3:42 a.m. She is exhausted. She drifts off to sleep…. 3:51 a.m.

…she is jolted awake when she falls into a huge, beautiful bedroom. There are framed posters of *NSYNC and Sheryl Crow on the walls. At a desk sits Melinda, doodling on the edge of her notebook. Janie tries to blink herself out of the room. She feels herself sit up in the sleeping bag, but her motions don’t affect what she sees. She lies back down, resigned to watch.

Melinda is drawing hearts. Janie walks toward her. She says, “Melinda,” but no sound comes out. When someone knocks on the bedroom window, Melinda looks over and smiles. “Help me open this window, will you?”

Janie stares at Melinda. Melinda stares back, then points to the window with a jerk of her head. Janie, feeling compelled, stumbles over to the window next to Melinda and they open it. Carrie climbs in.

She is naked from the waist up.

And has breasts the size of watermelons.

The breasts sway from side to side when Carrie scrambles over the sill. She walks through Janie and stands shyly in front of Melinda.

Janie tries to turn away, but she can’t. She waves a hand in front of Carrie’s face, but Carrie doesn’t respond. Melinda winks at Janie and folds Carrie into her arms. They embrace and kiss. Janie rolls her eyes, and suddenly all three are back in Ms. Parchelli’s civics classroom. Once again, Melinda is embracing someone in the aisle. It’s Carrie. She leads Carrie to the front of the room. Janie can see that no one else in the class gives an ounce of notice to the naked Carrie and her enormous breasts.

Janie sits up in her sleeping bag again and shakes her head wildly. She feels the ends of her braids slap the sides of her cheeks, but she is unable to remove herself from the classroom. She is forced not only to be there, but also to watch.

Melinda glides to the supply closet and leads Carrie in there with her. Janie, against her wishes, follows. Melinda closes the door once Carrie and Janie are inside, and Melinda starts kissing Carrie on the lips again.

Janie lunges in her sleeping bag blindly.

Kicks Melinda, hard.

And Janie is back in Carrie’s living room.

Melinda sits up, hair disheveled, and scrambles around to look at Janie. “What the hell did you do that for?” Melinda is furious.

Feigning sleep, Janie peers out of one eye. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “There was a spider crawling over your sleeping bag. I saved your life.”

“What?!”

“Never mind, he’s gone.”

“Oh, great. Like I’m gonna get back to sleep now.”

Janie grins in the darkness. It’s 5:51 a.m.

7:45 a.m.

Something nudges Janie’s legs. She opens her eyes, wondering where she is. It’s pitch dark. Carrie turns the sleeping bag flap off Janie’s head. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” The sunlight is blinding.

“Mmph,” Janie grunts. Slowly she sits up.

Carrie is balancing on her haunches, eyeing her, one brow raised. Janie remembers. Does Carrie?

“Did you sleep well?” Carrie asks.

Janie’s stomach twists. “Um…yeah.” She gauges Carrie’s reaction. “Did you?”

Carrie smiles. “Like a baby. Even on this hard floor.”

“Ah, hmm. Well, that’s great.” Janie scrambles to her feet and untwists from her nightgown. “Where’s Melinda?”

“She left about ten minutes ago. She was acting weird. Said she forgot she had a piano lesson at eight.” Carrie snorts. “Duh.”

Janie laughs weakly. She’s starving. The two girls fix breakfast. Carrie doesn’t appear to remember her nightmare.

Janie can’t forget it.

As they munch on toast, Janie steals a glance at Carrie’s chest. Her breasts are the size of half an apple, each.

Janie goes home, falls into bed, thinking about the strange night. Wondering if this ever happens to anyone else. Knowing, deep down, it probably doesn’t. She falls into a hard sleep until late afternoon.

Decides sleepovers are not for her.

They’ll never be for her.

June 7, 2004

Janie is sixteen. She buys her own clothing now. Often she buys food, too. The welfare check covers the rent and the booze, and not much else.

Two years ago, Janie started working a few hours after school and on the weekends at Heather Nursing Home. Now she works full-time for the summer. The office staff and the other aides at Heather Home like Janie, especially during school holidays, because she’ll pick up anybody’s shifts, day or night, so they can take a lastminute sick day or vacation. Janie needs the money, and they know it. She’s determined to go to college.

Five days a week or more, Janie puts on her hospital scrubs and takes a bus to the nursing home. She likes old people. They don’t sleep soundly.

Janie and Carrie are still friends and next-door neighbors. They spend a lot of time at Janie’s house, waiting for Janie’s mother to pass out in her bedroom before they watch movies and talk about boys. They talk about other things too, like why Carrie’s father is so angry all the time, and why Carrie’s mother doesn’t like company. Mostly, Janie thinks, it’s just because they’re grouchy people. Plain and simple. Whenever Carrie asks if she can have Janie sleep over, her mother says, “You just had a sleepover on your birthday.” Carrie doesn’t bother to remind her that that was four years ago.

Janie thinks about Carson and wonders if Carrie really is an only child. But Carrie doesn’t seem to talk about anything with sharp edges. Maybe she’s afraid they might poke into her and then she’d burst.

Carrie and Melinda are also still friends. Melinda’s parents are still rich. Melinda plays tennis. She is a cheerleader. Her parents have condos in Vegas, Marco Island, Vail, and somewhere in Greece. Melinda mostly hangs out with other rich kids. And then there’s Carrie.

Janie doesn’t mind being with Melinda. Melinda still can’t stand Janie. Janie thinks she knows the real reason why, and it doesn’t have anything to do with having money. June 25, 2004, 11:15 p.m.

After working a record eleven evenings straight, and being caught by old Mr. Reed’s recurring nightmare about World War II seven of those eleven evenings, Janie collapses on the couch and kicks her shoes off. By the number of empty bottles on the ring-stained coffee table, she assumes her mother is in her bedroom, down for the count. Carrie lets herself in. “Can I crash here?” Her eyes are rimmed in red. Janie sighs inwardly. She wants to sleep. “’Course. You okay with the couch?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Janie relaxes. Carrie, on the couch, would work fine.

Carrie sniffles loudly.

“So, what’s wrong?” Janie asks, trying to put as much sympathy in her voice as she can muster. It’s enough.

“Dad’s yelling again. I got asked out. Dad says no.”