Under the Moon

The General turned out to be easy as pie to convince. For Pete’s sake, she even helped me pack my overnight bag (all except for one highly confidential item). A sleepover at an honest-to-goodness friend’s house? Forget about the fact that she’d grounded me; she’s been praying for this day since I was born and there was no way in hell she was going to let me miss it. Believe you me. I mean, here I was on the verge of turning sixteen, finally doing something she considered “normal.” I could practically hear her victory thoughts as she dropped me off at Emma’s house. Hallelujah! Crack open the champagne! Her lifelong fantasy of having a halfway-human daughter was finally coming true! I’m just shocked she didn’t bring her video camera to record the moment for all eternity.

Sheesh.

What did I tell you about parents and normalcy? I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom goes and calls up all her friends to brag about my sleepover as soon as she gets home.

Anyway, it’s just after nine o’clock when I get to the Swartzes’ house. As soon as Mom is gone and my sneakers are off, Emma takes my hand and drags me upstairs to her bedroom. Her hair is divided into two red squirrely pigtails and she’s wearing a pair of pink flannel unicorn pyjamas. Very fuzzy and girly and fun. Suddenly, I’m so nervous I think I might vomit. Green chunks all over her pink bunny slippers. The mental image of it brings a smile to my face. Unfortunately, Emma takes that as a sign of encouragement and starts dragging me faster.

“Wait a minute,” I yelp. “You’re not going to make me watch High School Musical, are you?”

She shakes her head so hard, her curly pigtails slap against her face. “Unh-unh. I have something else in mind.”

She pushes open the door to her bedroom with an exaggerated Ta-da! I hold my breath and peek inside, certain on some instinctive level that I’m going to abhor what’s in there. Turns out I’m right. Her room is like something out of a corny teen movie. The four-poster canopy bed is the first thing I see. It stands out like a massive monument to Pepto-Bismol in its pink, frothy glory. A collection of pop music posters papers the walls from floor to ceiling. There’s a small bookcase under the window crammed with books. The ones I can see from the doorway have shiny, bright covers and smiling teenagers.

I guess it could have been worse. I mean, at least she’s gotten rid of the Barbies.

“We have a lot to do and not much time to do it in, so I think we should get started right away,” Emma says, pointing to a chipped orange stool beside the doorway.

“Hunh? Get started with what?”

Don’t laugh! My introversion, you understand, has left me pathetically unaware of the traditional slumber party transformative ritual. A moment later, it all becomes clear when I notice what’s sitting directly in front of the chipped orange stool: a small table set with makeup cases, small, candy-coloured nail-polish bottles, an array of beaded jewellery, a bottle of Justin Bieber perfume, and a purple brush with a matching comb. Tweezers, curlers, and various other unidentifiable instruments of torture have been ominously laid out beside an electrical outlet. The realization of what Emma’s plotting falls over me like a giant spider web. She takes a step toward me, a can of hairspray clutched in her hand.

Final Net.

How apropos.

I take a step back. “Maybe this sleepover thing isn’t such a good idea.”

But she grabs my arm before I can bolt. “Come on, Lily! Makeovers are what sleepovers are all about!”

“No!” I try to pull my arm away, but she’s stronger than she looks. “Let me go!”

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to see how good you could look?”

“No!”

“Would you stop acting so stubborn?”

“No!”

She stomps her bunny-slippered foot on the floor and gestures at me with the can of Final Net. “Well, you’re not going to go spill your heart out to Ben Matthews looking like that, are you?”

Ben. Just the sound of his name makes my heart leap up into my throat. I look down at myself. Track pants and the holey tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt I’ve been wearing since yesterday. I lean my head down and take a sniff. My entire body sags with defeat.

“Okay, no. I guess not.” Giving up, I let my muscles relax into spaghetti noodles as Emma pushes me down onto the stool. Her freckles are practically dancing with happiness.

“You’re going to love it, I promise!”

“I highly doubt that, but fine. Just a little bit.”

And so I do it. I close my eyes and let Emma Swartz have her way with me. For the next hour, she powders and polishes and plucks and plastic attacks me. I let her do it without any more complaining — I guess it feels like, in a way, I’m making up for ruining her Barbies all those years ago.

Karma’s une salope.

When she’s done, I open my eyes, look into the mirror, and scream.

Emma’s freckles sag with disappointment. “You don’t like it?”

“No! I look hideous!” I lean closer to examine the monster in the mirror. There isn’t even a trace of my former self behind all the colour and gloss and pouf she’s poured over me.

“But you look like a movie star,” Emma whines.

“I don’t want to look like a movie star. I want to look like me!”

“Don’t be that way, Lily.”

“Get it off, now!”

I make her take it all off and do it again, with a decimal point’s worth of stuff this time. She grumbles and groans to let me know she doesn’t approve. But she does it anyway.

Just as she’s finishing up, Mrs. Swartz pops her head in the doorway. She has short brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a perfectly spherical body. She’s actually quite the geometric marvel — for the life of me, I can’t tell where her bosom ends and her stomach begins. She’s so full of curve, she manages to make Emma look angular. Not an easy feat, believe you me.

“Goodnight, girls, I’m heading to bed,” she says with a wide, half-circle smile. “Your makeup looks lovely, Lily. Very natural.” I see her glance down at her watch. “But you’re not planning on going out at this hour, are you?”

I freeze on my stool. Does she know I’m planning on going out to meet Ben? Will she lock us in Emma’s room for the night? Or even worse, call my house and tell the General? Yikes. But lucky for me, Cool Emma isn’t fazed in the slightest. She just twirls the comb around her fingers like a mini-baton and laughs.

“No, of course not. We’re just playing around with the makeup.”

Très nonchalant.

Mrs. Swartz stifles a yawn. “Okay, well, have fun. Don’t stay up too late.”

The second the door closes, I breathe a sigh of relief. Emma points the comb at my body and wrinkles her nose like a pug dog.

“Okay … now, for your wardrobe.”

Before I can officially protest, she strides over to her closet and comes out holding up an armful of clothes. “I borrowed a few things from my sister’s room before you got here. She’s small and scrawny like you, so I’m guessing these will be close to your size.”

Next thing I know, she’s dressing me up in one of her little sister’s pairs of skinny jeans and a baby blue T-shirt with the words “Clearly Misunderstood” printed across the front.

Oxymoronic. Okay, I can handle that. I pull on the clothes and plunk myself back down on the stool.

“Fine, I’m dressed. What now?”

“Now we wait for my dad to go to sleep. Then we sneak you out.”

Her work done for the night, Emma flops onto her bed and cuddles up with a squishy-looking pink heart pillow.

“So what are you going to do about Todd? It’s not cool to leave him hanging like a lovesick puppy, you know.”

My stomach feels like it’s just dropped down an elevator shaft. “I’ll think of something. But not now — tomorrow, after I talk to Ben.”

Emma tilts her head and studies my face. “You look nervous. Have you figured out what you’re going to say?”

Shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just wing it.” After a small pause, I add, “Or maybe I’ll borrow a line or two from this.” With a grin, I reach for my overnight bag and pull out my one highly confidential item: my dog-eared copy of Summer of Love. Emma’s eyes widen the second she spots the half-naked bodies of Jason and Amy cavorting on the cover.

“Oh my God! Where did you get that?”

“It’s one of Aunt Su’s romance novels. I found it in her cabin. I’m not finished it yet, but so far there’s lots of juicy stuff.” I open it up and start flipping to the end of the first chapter. “I marked all of the best scenes to show you. But this one’s my favourite so far.” I open my mouth to start reading about what Jason and Amy do at the end of their first date. But before I know what’s happening, Emma is sprinting across the room and grabbing the book out of my hands.

“Holy crap! I can’t believe you got a copy of this! Dad won’t let me read these books ’til I’m sixteen!” She skips through the pages on high speed, as if the book is about to dissolve any second.

“Hey, be careful,” I warn, reaching to take it back. “That’s practically an antique, you know.”

But that’s when Emma pauses and pulls the book closer to her face. Her thin red eyebrows come together like a pinch.

“Look, I think your aunt put one of her little drawings in this one too.”

“What?”

She holds up the book for me to see, spread open to show the inside back cover. I lean closer and peer at the page. There’s a cartoon drawn in purple ink of two shadowy figures standing and holding hands on top of a mountain peak. The sky above them is filled with tiny flowers.

Lilies.

Suddenly, it feels like there’s a cool breeze blowing over my insides. “Let me see that,” I say, grabbing the book back from Emma. My eyes scrape over the page as my heart cartwheels against my ribcage.

It’s definitely a note from Aunt Su — dated almost exactly a month ago. The day of her suicide.

“It’s a note for me,” I whisper. And then I start to read in my head.

Suddenly, I feel Emma’s hand land on my shoulder. “So, what does it say?” Her voice is soft with concern. I cough to clear away the nest of prickles that has sprouted inside my throat.

“It’s something Aunt Su wrote before she died. She’s just … she’s just telling me how much she loves me.” I angle my body away so she won’t see the tears. Her hand squeezes my shoulder gently.

“Are you okay, Lily?”

“Yeah, I’m fine … thanks.” I take a second to wipe at my eyes and shove the book back into my bag. “But it’s late — I should probably get going soon if I want to see Ben …”

Emma releases my shoulder just long enough to check her watch. “It’s almost midnight. I’m sure my dad will be going to bed any time now. He likes to stay up late reading. Shouldn’t be too much longer. You’re not getting tired, are you?”

I laugh at that. Hard. Yeah, I laugh so hard, I almost pee my borrowed pair of little sister pants. And Emma laughs along with me, even though she has no idea why. It’s a cheek-smarting, mouth-stretching, hold-your-stomach-and-cross-your-legs-so-youdon’t-have-an-accident kind of laugh. And it’s so much better than anything I’ve felt in a long, long time.

Finally, after a few minutes, Emma catches her breath enough to ask: “So w-what’s so funny, anyway?”

“I … I don’t sleep. Like, at all. I kind of lost it after my Aunt Su died. I don’t know where it went. And I’m kind of beginning to think I’ll never find it again.”

Silence with a side order of confused frownage. “What, you don’t sleep at all?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a catnap?”

Vigorous shake.

Emma whistles as she wipes a stray strand of hair out of her face. “God, Lily, I didn’t think that was humanly possible.”

“It is … but just for eighteen days.”

“What happens after eighteen days?”

“You die.”

“And how many days has it been for you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Seriously?”

Nod.

“Why aren’t you dead?”

My voice shrinks down to a tiny whisper. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m a genetic anomaly.”

Emma smiles and air-pokes me from across the room. “Yeah. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

And that’s it. No doubts, no arguments, no thinly veiled looks of scepticism. I wait for her to tell me I’m crazy, that it’s impossible, that I must be lying. But she doesn’t. Instead, she just squishes her heart pillow in half to make a shelf for her chin and silently believes me. Just like the main character’s best buddy inside all those cheesy teen books lined up on Emma’s shelf.

Who knew stuff like that actually happens in real life?

For the second time tonight, I feel the tears coming on and don’t know how to stop them. Oh God, I’m so terrified I can barely think straight. Terrified of dying, of losing the cabin, of having my first real friend, of telling Ben how I feel, and of him not feeling the same way about me. I turn towards the wall and swipe my hands over my eyes. My breath stutters painfully in my throat.

“Lily, are you okay?”

I nod, mopping the last of the tears with the hem of my borrowed T-shirt. Before I can say anything, there’s another knock at the door. We both turn to see Mr. Swartz poking his head into the room. “You girls still up?”

Picture an older, male version of Emma and you’ll get a good idea of what Mr. Swartz looks like. The similarity is kind of eerie, actually. Except his red hair has streaks of silver winding through the curls. And his freckles have all joined together to make a ruddy looking tan. Plus he’s wearing a pair of those funny old-person reading glasses that look like half-moons. I recognize him vaguely from the few times I’d gone browsing inside Beachside Books. And I think I probably saw him at Aunt Su’s funeral reception too — but pretty much everyone in Big Bend had charged through our house that day, so that’s kind of a given.

“Well, for goodness’ sake! Lily MacArthur? Is that you?” Mr. Swartz walks into the room and reaches for my hand. “It’s so nice to see you!”

Did I mention the fact that his eyebrows are totally fused together in the middle of his forehead? It looks like there’s a long, bushy, red caterpillar sleeping on top of his nose. Just as I’m opening my mouth to speak, the caterpillar opens its beady little eyes and smiles at me.

“Thanks,” I reply, pulling my hand back. “It’s … um, nice to see you too, Mr. Swartz.”

Mr. Swartz and his caterpillar are both staring at me so intensely. Makes me feel like a bug under a microscope. “You look all grown up with that makeup! Is that my daughter’s doing?”

I hear Emma groan beside me. “Dad, please!”

“Sorry Em.” Chuckle, chuckle. “It’s just that I always think of Lily as Su’s little niece.”

Now the caterpillar is chuckling too. A line of shivers runs up my spine. Is this another hallucination? Man, I really hope so. I take a small step back. Mr. Swartz takes a small one forward.

“I was a good friend of your aunt’s, you know?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah, she went to your bookstore a lot, right?”

The caterpillar rises up and starts hopping up and down his forehead. “That, she did,” Mr. Swartz replies. “We’ve been friends for years and years.”

“Really?” Why can’t I remember her mentioning him?

“Really. And she talked about you constantly. I have, in fact, been hearing all about you since the day you were born.”

Right then, my guts feel like they’d been dropped onto the floor. And then stomped on. And then set on fire. Where have I heard those exact same words recently? And why do they make me feel so icky inside? But before I have the chance to figure it out, Emma has her hands on his shoulders and is pushing Mr. Swartz back toward the doorway. “Time for you to go now, Dad. This is a girls only night, remember?”

He holds up a hand to stop her. “Actually, Em, I think I’d like to have a moment alone with Lily.”

Alone?

“Dad …” There’s a hint of a warning crouched behind Emma’s words. Jeepers creepers, why is this night suddenly making no sense? It feels like I’m trapped in some kind of weird, dystopian nightmare. But of course, that would be impossible because only people who sleep are allowed to have nightmares. Sucks to be me.

“Don’t worry, Em, it won’t be long,” he says. “I just want to have a little chat about Su.” In a split second, everything goes and flips upside down. Now Mr. Swartz is the one pushing Emma out the door. I leap forward before she can leave, frantically trying to signal her with my eyes. Morse code eyelid blinks — everyone knows how to decipher those, right?

No, don’t go, Emma, I blink desperately.

She pauses.

Yes! It worked!

“Is the mascara bothering you, Lily?”

Merde! No. No. No. Don’t leave me alone with your dad and his freaky caterpillar! I blink again.

“Hmmm, I’ll see if we have a fresh box of tissues. Be back in a minute.”

And then she’s gone. The door closes behind her with an ominous snap. Mr. Swartz reaches for my hand again.

“How you doing, honey?”

I back away. Across the room to Emma’s big, pink bed. Why is he asking me that? And why is he calling me honey? “Yeah, thanks … I’m good.” Now the warning has settled in behind my words. Hopefully he hears it. And maybe he does because he doesn’t try to come after me or take my hand again. Instead, he just talks.

Relief.

“I know it must have been quite shocking to hear the news about your aunt.”

I grip onto one of the bed’s posts. “Yeah, sure.”

Mr. Swartz’s voice suddenly shrinks down to a whisper. “Believe me, I would rather have told you in person instead of in a letter. But I think it was important for Su to let you know the truth her own words.”

What letter? “What letter?”

“The one from your aunt. I mailed it to your father’s house after the funeral.” The bushy red caterpillar, which had been lying still for the past minute, suddenly starts hunching down over Mr. Swartz’s eyes. “You did get my letter, didn’t you?”

The letter. Oh my God! That’s why this guy’s giving me such ick! He’s the strange old person with the stamp who isn’t my friend! The writer of the first white letter! Aunt Su’s suicide note suddenly comes rushing back to me like a fierce gust of wind. My knees wobble and I sink down onto the end of Emma’s frothy bed. I get that funny, bitter taste at the back of my mouth. You know the taste I’m talking about? The one that makes you think your dinner is moments away from making a reappearance on the floor? I white-knuckle the bedpost and focus hard on the Pepto-Bismol pink. Please, let it be okay.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

A bit better.

Mr. Swartz’s caterpillar is peering at me over the rim of his half-moon glasses. “Lily, honey? Are you all right?”

No, not even close. “Yes, Mr. Swartz, I did get the letter.”

He takes a fraction of a step forward. This time, I don’t mind so much. This guy is Aunt Su’s friend, after all. She trusted him with her biggest secret. It’s okay for me to trust him too.

“I’m just so glad you and Emma have become friends,” he says. “I knew it would be a good idea for you two to reconnect.”

“Um, you did?”

The caterpillar climbs up his forehead — like it’s looking for a safe place to build its cocoon. “Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s just that, you know, after getting the news about your aunt, I figured you could use a friend.”

My stomach suddenly feels like I’ve swallowed a hornet’s nest.

“Y-you asked Emma to be my friend?”

The answer is right there on his reddening face. I mean, you could power a city from the heat radiating off his cheeks. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I’m centimetres away from hitting this guy. No, make that millimetres. Aunt Su’s friend or not, what he did was so vastly wrong on so many levels. Maybe Mr. Swartz senses my prickly mood, because he ends our private tête-à-tête right there.

“Well, I’ll let you go. I can see this is bringing back some powerful memories for you. But please keep in touch. You’re welcome to come by the store whenever you’re in the neighbourhood. I’ll tell you some old stories about your aunt.”

Rigid, tight-lipped, signature General MacArthur nod. The hornets in my stomach buzz angrily. The caterpillar on Mr. Swartz’s forehead seems to have gone back to sleep. He reaches for the door knob. “Okay, guess I’ll go get Emma now.”

Did I mention that I’m prone to great acts of stupidity when I’m angry?

The second his back is turned, I’m off the bed and out the window. Justlikethat. The landing pad beneath Emma’s bedroom isn’t nearly as soft as the one beneath mine. The ground rises up to hit me with a smash. Twin lightning bolts shoot up my legs from the impact. I take a few seconds to shake off the pain, just like Mom taught me to do all those years ago.

And then I start to run.