Butterfly Chaos

DEDICATION

––––––––

To Kerry Lynn Mortimore

I don’t even remember

the last things

we said to each other.

Neither of us had any idea

what would happen to you

and I am so sorry.

And to Chris Byous

We write because we can’t change the past.

Table of Contents

GHOSTS.......................................................................................

DRACONIAN................................................................................

LONELY GUITAR..........................................................................

THE BLAME GAME......................................................................

THE CHINKAPIN OAK..................................................................

STRIKE ONE................................................................................

IN MEMORY OF...........................................................................

MAKEUP.......................................................................................

HOW TO STUFF A TRASH CAN..................................................

DISCUSSION CONCUSSION.......................................................

SCHEMERS..................................................................................

RIVER...........................................................................................

FOOLHARDY................................................................................

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS..................................................

TERMINAL....................................................................................

MUNITIONS.................................................................................

A WIND IN THE DOOR................................................................

CHICKEN......................................................................................

SABOTAGE..................................................................................

BUTTERFLY EFFECT....................................................................

NO DO-OVERS............................................................................

STRIKE TWO................................................................................

LAST DAY....................................................................................

DROWN.......................................................................................

COUNTDOWN.............................................................................

THE PRIVY DEMOLITIONS CREW..............................................

A LITTLE BIT OF WATER............................................................

THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES....................................................

HERO...........................................................................................

GRIEF...........................................................................................

THIRTEEN SECONDS..................................................................

SUNRISE......................................................................................

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.................................................................

THOSE BLACK WINGS—SAMPLE CHAPTER

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to Mary Logue – Thanks so much for your guidance on Butterfly Chaos. Many, many thanks for understanding instantly what the tornado really meant. You can’t imagine how relieved I was to find out myself.

Thanks to Gary Schmidt – This isn’t the story we worked on, but I’ll be going back to that version, now that I’ve published this one. The previous one has a lot of good stuff I need to resolve.

And to all my intrepid critiquers, who have helped me make this story so much better than I could have alone: Shevi Arnold, Kat Brauer, Ted Curtis, Jennifer R. Hubbard, S.R. Kriger, Tania Lieman, Siobhan Mitchell, Ella Schwartz, and Crystal Schubert. You guys are peaches, every one of you.

And many thanks to Molly Phipps at We Got You Covered for book cover magic.

And of course Brad, for always being my rock, and Sophie and Stevie, for mushy reasons. You guys are the best things that have ever happened to me, and I love what we are all together.

GHOSTS

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The second-worst day of my life (so far) began on Wednesday, when I pushed through the swinging door into the high school bathroom. It was a pretty September afternoon outside, with a warm happy sun perfect for basking in, but in this old crumbling school you’d never know it. The bitty window let in only the teeniest teardrop of sunshine.

As I moved through the girls crowded in front of the mirrors, their voices quieted. At least it wasn’t the circle of silence it had been a month ago, when I started school and Toni’s death was on everybody’s lips. But still.

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and even those tiny buzzes echoed in this high-ceilinged, stone-floored bathroom. Everything you did could be heard two miles away, so I came in here only when my bladder was set to declare a national emergency. Otherwise I held it until I got home. A girl washed her hands, the water hissing like Niagara Falls. A roar of a flush from a nearby stall. I cringed.

Freshman year at Schopfer High was like having a bit part in a zombie movie, only the zombies looked like kids who were better than you, and instead of brains they ate your heart. I sat alone at lunch, my curly black hair was a wreck, and the level of mean from some of these girls was beyond anything I’d ever experienced.

Here was a stall that looked empty. I pushed the door open.

But when I opened the stall door, a wave of deathly cold rolled out from the door and washed over my feet, my body, like I’d stepped into a full-sized freezer. I could almost feel the ice crystals.

At the same moment, I lifted my eyes and was immediately was thrown into confusion. A girl was in the stall, standing on the toilet seat. What? No! The girl was floating in mid-air at the back of the toilet stall. And what was wrong with her –?

A shock shot through my body into my feet. The floating girl was Toni. Toni, my dead cousin, suspended in mid-air only a few feet from where I stood. Her toes dangled above the ground, and she clawed at the air. She wore the same black Adidas t-shirt and jean shorts she’d worn the night she’d died, but one of her flip-flops was missing. She might have been climbing an invisible ladder, except her reddish hair drifted around her face like she was still underwater, and her head was thrown back as if she watched salvation floating up, and up, and up, out of her reach.

My screech propelled me backward out of the stall, reverberating off the stone walls and the ceiling and floor. I flung the stall door closed. But it rebounded right back open, shuddering, and Toni was still there, but now – worse – her eyes moved – clicked on mine. She saw me. Her glassy eyes were the same as those I’d met when she sank under the surface. And the whole time, my body was awash in the cold that drifted off her, cold so deep that it would sink into flesh and bone and silence it forever.

With a sob I ran, shoving past the amazed girls who’d turned from their mirrors, and I burst out the bathroom door, crashing into the mill of students going to class and knocking some books out of a girl’s hands. Hey, loser! somebody yelled, but I didn’t even look. My entire focus was on running, and running, and running, and never returning.

Except at that moment, Toni’s cold hand locked around my bicep.

I went completely out of my head, fighting to pull free. I probably could have pulled down a house, but I could not break from that steel grip. No! No! I shrieked, and spun to face Toni’s ghost, ready to punch, kick, bite.

But it wasn’t Toni. It was Jake from English class who held my arm, his black hair curling down over his eyes, his usual sarcastic grin vanishing when he saw my face.

Whoa, Cassie. Calm down, calm down, he said. What is going on?

My heart staggered as if it had tripped. Jake’s face was so close to mine that I could smell peppermint on his breath. I made a strangled gasping sound. Jake had been there the night Toni had drowned. I’d never had the nerve to thank him for helping us. I could barely manage to talk to him at all.

But even now, even now when I was going out of my head, I had enough brain to notice the girl snarling at me as she gathered up her books, the glowers from the passers-by, and the bathroom door springing open as a flock of prettified girls, hair half-straightened, burst out to watch the insane misfit – i.e., me – die in flames of eternal humiliation.

Th-there’s a rat in the bathroom! I shouted at Jake.

Best. Save. Ever.

In that split second, when the word rat hit the air, the shock waves moved out around me. Jake jerked upright. Oh, really? he cried, and whirled toward the girl’s bathroom – and recoiled. The next second, the plastic girls realized what I’d said, and the shock washed over their faces, followed by screaming and hairbrush-clutching. One girl pulled open the bathroom door and shouted, There’s a rat in the bathroom, get out! New shrieks, amplified by the stone walls and floors, rang out of the bathroom, and a bunch of girls pushed out. Some of the kids in the hall surged toward us to see, while others just as quickly surged back, squealing. The word Rat! spread in a ripple of voices.

I was amazed. I had started all this excitement, me!

For the merest instant, I wondered if this was how Toni felt when she watched her pranks turn out successfully.

I tore away from Jake and hurried down the hall, dodging through the crowds of students. I pushed through the big double doors to the outside, but instead of going to gym – my next class – I ducked around the corner of the building, out of sight, and pressed my back against the rough brick wall as if I could melt into it.

Around the corner, crowds of kids hurried to and from the outbuildings where they had band and art and gym. Alone, I shuddered, hugging myself tight.

Toni’s ghost had come back to me.

I laughed the awfullest laugh I ever felt, just to keep myself from crying.

DRACONIAN

I wanted to spend the rest of my afternoon lying in the grass all curled up like a pillbug. But the tardy bell was about to ring, so I dragged my rear to gym class.

Once we’d dressed out, the gym teacher made us play some basketball, but there was no way I could focus. The gym teacher kept yelling at me. At least her yells jolted me out of my thoughts. Karen kept fouling me, just for fun. The teacher didn’t notice until I fouled Karen back. Of course I got the penalty.

After gym, I struggled into my clothes in the sunless locker room and tried to tame the great curl explosion that was my hair. Here the lockers clanged like jail cell doors and the instruments of torture were unwashed T-shirts, stinky sneakers, general BO, and oh yeah, don’t forget the snarky girls.

Gabriella ran the straightener through her hair, though it was flat as a board  already. Did you hear that scream Cassie made in the bathroom today?

The blood drained from my face.

Karen pulled at the hem of her shirt, which was tight enough to show off her, er, special features. Cassie said she saw a rat, but that’s a lie. You know what really happened? She looked in the mirror and saw herself. She looked at Gabriella for approval.

She looks so nasty, I think a dog puked on her hair.

No, a dog barfed on her face. They giggled.

Usually I didn’t bother to talk to these idiots. This time, I started speaking really fast because otherwise, my head would explode. Let’s cut to the chase, Miss Witty Genius. I figured you’d give me a little leeway since you’re going out with my cousin, and you know perfectly well that our cousin Toni died this summer. A bolt of horror hit me to say Toni’s name out loud. Toni would have been a sophomore this year, and if she was alive right now, she would be beating the crap out of you. So here’s a crazy idea: why don’t you lay off, and then we’d all feel better.

Silence settled over the locker room. Gabriella looked stunned. For a moment it felt good to shove that in Karen’s face. But then Karen huffed.

Uh-huh, she said, smirking. Killer.

My mouth dropped open. The blood left my face.

There was no way on earth Big Mike would have told her. There was just no way. Despite that nasty smirk of hers.

It beats being a squirrel-brained nitwit like you, I roared back. Why don’t you do us all a favor and keep your mouth shut?

Well, that brought the blood right to my ears. Then the bell rang and I grabbed my books and hurried to the main building for English class.

This old high school was decaying faster than the poor maintenance man could fix it. Water stains on the classroom walls made brown ovals and river-like lines which teachers tried to hide with inspirational posters: a kitten clutching a branch with its front paws and saying, Hang in there! or grumpy bulldogs with sunglasses that said I hate Mondays. There were never enough plug-ins, so most outlets had a forest of cords sprouting from them. The power went out in the office if the poor secretary plugged her computer into the wrong outlet. Lights flickered when lightning flashed. The hallways were dark, and on rainy days, the stone stairwells would turn slick and students would slip and fall everywhere. It was nuts.

As I got out my notebook in English class, Jake zipped in. Jake’s black curls always looked windblown, like he’d just flown in from someplace. My face warmed. I leafed through pages for my assignment, hiding from his eyes.

On my first day in English, I had been flummoxed to see him. On that awful night two months ago, Jake, through some insane stroke of luck, intercepted Toni’s body and brought her out of the river before the current carried her away. Every day that he walked into class, I wanted to thank him. But I was chicken.

Jake didn’t seem to be affected by what happened on the river, because he was always joking with the teacher and arguing with the students. I hated that – I mean, what kind of boy can bring a drowned girl out of the water and then act all normal? But I envied him, too.

Most days – okay, every day – Jake just walked past me to his desk, carrying his books at his side. Today, though, he stopped, keeping my desk between us. I pulled in my arms and crossed them over my stomach, trying to look all cool but failing. He was a compact kid, taller than me, built for speed. I had an idea he was on the track team.

Hey. You all right? Jake asked. Then he started to grin. And how big was that rat?

About 5’5", I thought, feeling the cold in my face again, but this was not the time to freak. Jake was looking at me.

Um ... I’m fine! Fine, I lied. But the rat .... I held my hands about two feet apart, shaking them to show that this was a serious rat. It was big. Like a Pontiac!

Jake laughed. You were pretty freaked out.

Of course I was freaked out! I didn’t expect Godzilla to pop out from behind a toilet seat at me! I was talking at a million miles an hour.

The best part was when everybody was running and screaming all over. That was cool. Can you do that again sometime?

I groaned and rubbed my hands over my face, though I grinned. Oh, right, like I want to go through that again. Maybe you should find your own rat if you want to make trouble.

Jake laughed again. It felt so good to talk. Like some part of me was normal. And that stopped me cold.

The bell rang. Jake headed over to where Miss Wisp picked through her stacks of essays. He always took roll for her, being her teacher’s assistant.

I put my head in my hands. Oh, Toni. And then Jake went by with the attendance slip and I immediately straightened like nothing was wrong.

Miss Wisp handed our essays back. She was no bigger than a minute, with smiling black eyes and coarse black hair that curled around her shoulders like a Bollywood actress’s. When she handed me my essay, I was happy to see that I’d gotten an A.

Jake spoke up without raising his hand. What? An A minus? I did better work than that! He slapped his hand down on the paper, playing his mock indignation to the hilt. Four out of five scholars agree my bibliography is a work of art.

I sat up, grinning. I couldn’t help it. When Jake started talking smack like that, it meant a debate – my favorite part of English class, not counting Story Fridays. Not to mention it would help get my mind off stuff.

Miss Wisp rose to the bait. Jake, you got that grade because your paper didn’t meet your usual draconian standards. Because people, if you think I’m tough on your papers, you should listen to this guy rant about bad writing in yearbook class, she said, looking over her blue reading glasses at the class.

You make me sound like Stalin. Jake leaned back in his seat, grinning, one hand splayed on the paper. Draconian. Please. No, you gave me an A minus to drop the curve so everybody else in this class could get a passing grade.

Several students said, Oooo!

Before you start your big talk, Mr. Perfect, Makayla said, "my paper got an A+. So you can stick that argument in ... your ... ear."

Jake sneered, Maybe our esteemed teacher thinks girls are better than boys.

Makayla rose halfway out of her seat. "Oh, you did not just say that."

It would be so awesome to argue the way Jake did, like a duelist crossing swords with his enemy, spouting wisecracks even while his life was in peril. Even if that particular argument of his was way, way wrong.

Miss Wisp curled her hand at her chin, one dainty knuckle barely concealing her smile. Jake, I’m not sure why you’re complaining. You still have an A.

"No, I have an A minus. That’s a nine-point difference."

Ooooh, I see. Perhaps you’d prefer a 58-point difference instead.

What? Jake skidded his chair back and stood in mock indignation. Fifty-eight points? That’s an F! You’d give me an F for questioning your grading?

I don’t mind your questioning it. I do mind your confrontational style in doing so.

Me, confrontational?

Miss Wisp raised an eyebrow as if pleased by this turnaround. Yes, you, since nobody else brings the class to a screeching halt to complain about an A minus.

Oh, well, fine. I am what I am. Give me that F.

She laughed. Okay, you got it.

Hey, everybody, my draconian teacher gave me an F. Jake strode to the open door to lean out and say down the hall, I got an F. Yay Rebellion!

And who are you calling draconian? Miss Wisp said. Get back in here before I give you another F, just for fun.

You’d do that, wouldn’t you? Fine. I’m calling the office.

Miss Wisp singsonged, "You better not ...."

"Oh, yes, I will, Jake singsonged back as he went to the intercom and pretended to press the call button. Hey, office. I got an F."

I busted a gut.

Until my eye was caught by a movement at the door. Toni silently laughing, leaning on the doorframe, her eyes on me. Shimmering like heatstroke. In my mouth, the tang of river water and mud.

She vanished when I met her eyes. Toni’s words were in my mind as if she’d spoken – You. Me. We’re having a little discussion tonight.

A huge clatter. The class went silent. My heart lurched. Maybe they saw her too!

Except I realized that I had made that clatter – that I was on my feet and my chair lay on the floor behind me, and everybody, especially Jake and Miss Wisp, stared at me, dumbfounded.

LONELY GUITAR

––––––––

After school, I slumped in my usual place in the front of the bus, alone, as my cousin Big Mike went up the aisle, putting his big hands on every other seat as if climbing a wall. Didn’t look my way. Big Mike wore a football jacket – it looked a little tight across his shoulders – and blue jeans over scuffed boots. He was a tank of a guy with tousled black hair cut along his eyebrows. He always wore a silver cross around his neck under his T-shirt. His shoulders made up half of the JV football team, which was why he could go down the hall at school with a guitar on his back and not have some idiot bust it.

He ignored me. I ignored him. After he passed, though, I sneaked a look at his guitar. It lay, strings up, on his back, covered with autographs from everybody in our family. My name was still on there – Cassandra J. Calvert – and it was still next to the cross-eyed face with its tongue sticking out that our cousin Toni had doodled. Toni’s signature and doodle were fading.

Maybe Big Mike was feeling a little nostalgic today, to bring his guitar. But to be honest, I really didn’t want to know. I kind of wished he hadn’t brought it at all.

My little flock of cousins – okay, a big flock – were already in the back. The munchkins kicked at each other. Mia, Big Mike’s little sister, did a dance number