DO YOU REALLY WANT TO HURT ME?

Seven Years Ago

“WOW,” I SAID WHEN WE REACHED THE CLEARING where you had set up our picnic. “It’s bee-yoo-ti-ful.”

“Thank you.” You gave a little curtsy, then gestured to the blanket laid out on the grass. “Please have a seat.”

I carefully lowered myself onto the blanket and crossed my legs so that I didn’t bump any of the dishes set there. Chance barked excitedly and leaped beside me. Grabbing him by the collar, I pulled him away. You had taken GG’s best china—without permission. We’d both be dead if he accidentally broke something.

After getting Chance to lie down a few feet away, I took a moment to admire the elegant serving bowls and platters. I hated sitting at GG’s table, knowing she’d scold me if I even breathed on them the wrong way. But here they were in the woods, in our territory, being used to hold all of our favorite treats. The serving bowl that GG usually used for her extra-sour sauerkraut was filled with butterscotch pudding. The platter on which GG placed slices of rare roast beef now held pizza bagels instead. And to finish it off, GG’s giant crystal punch bowl was overflowing with a gigantic root beer float.

“This is amazing,” I said as you took your seat across from me.

“It was nothing,” you said with a shrug. “And besides, you deserve some credit too. You did an excellent job keeping GG distracted while I ransacked the china chest.”

I made a face. “Don’t remind me.”

“What’s wrong, Pollywog? Was she lecturing you again on the duties of a Gardner?”

“At first,” I admitted slowly. “But then I told her she was a hypocrite. That she should’ve done her time in the reformatory like everyone else if she was so interested in duty.”

“Oh, Sky.” You sighed. “You have a singular gift for antagonizing GG.”

“I don’t know what that means.” I hated when you used big words. You’d been doing it more and more since you’d moved up to the high school.

“You piss her off,” you clarified.

“Well, she pisses me off too!” I felt angry all over again just remembering it. Normally I would have stomped away, but I’d promised you that I would keep GG distracted until you gave me the all-clear signal. So instead of fleeing, I’d opened my stupid mouth, determined to show GG I wasn’t just a dumb kid. That I knew more than she thought I did.

“They say you created a duplicate of every single person in your class, using nothing more than a lock of the person’s hair,” I’d told GG. “It was like having an instant twin, except they were just a copy owned by the original. At first everyone thought it was fun. They had their duplicate do their homework and chores for them while they went out all night. But after a week of that, the duplicates wanted more and rebelled. After two weeks some of the duplicates went missing. Or maybe the originals were gone. Nobody really knew. Your friends asked you to get rid of the rest of the duplicates, but you said you couldn’t, that they had to do it themselves. The duplicates were tied with rope and dropped into the Salt Spring. Some people say they couldn’t drown and that they’re still down there waiting to be found. And you were sent to the reformatory. But most people say you didn’t go. That you sent your own duplicate instead, while you hid away and waited. And after she was finally released, you drowned her too.”

GG grabbed me and pulled me close so that our eyes were only inches apart. “The correct term is doppelgänger. And I didn’t drown her. She went into the water on her own and liked it so much she decided to stay there. But if you’re so clever, Skylar, why don’t you tell me: what would you do with a doppelgänger of your own? Would you get rid of her, or would you make her your best friend? Would you give her parts of yourself just to keep her from going away?” GG’s fingernails dug into my skin as she gave me a little shake.

I jerked away, losing a few bits of skin in the process. “Maybe we would be friends. What’s so bad about that?”

“Someday you’ll find out,” GG said, while she stared at me in this awful, knowing way. I shivered, suddenly afraid that GG was going to tell me that I was your doppelgänger. That she’d created me to be your shadow. I would deny it. Of course I would. Even if it did feel so terribly much like truth itself.

I never got the chance to hear what else GG was going to say, though, because you had appeared, whistling a happy tune that was the signal for “mission accomplished.”

“Never mind GG,” you said, bringing me back to our picnic. With a flourish, you handed me a spoon. “Where should we start?”

I tapped the spoon against my lips, taking my time deciding, trying to get into the spirit of the thing. “Ummm . . . How about the butterscotch pudding?”

“Excellent choice.”

Together we dipped our spoons into the bowl, clinked them together in a silent toast, and then each took a dainty little bite. After that, though, we stopped pretending and tore into the feast. You even let me lick the pudding bowl since butterscotch pudding was my favorite.

When it was over, I lay on the grass moaning, my stomach painfully full. You packed the now empty dishes back into the picnic basket, and we started to walk home. Halfway there, I began to sweat and shake. Tears streamed from my eyes.

“Piper!” I cried, and then I fell down, unable to take another step.

Pain like I’d never felt before came in waves. I curled into a ball, trying to make myself small, wishing I could disappear entirely.

You took my hand in yours and gave it a tight squeeze. “It’s okay, Sky. You’re gonna be okay.”

“No,” I sobbed. “I’m dying. I am, I know I am, Piper.”

You peeled my eyes open and then lowered yourself to the ground so that your nose was pressed against mine. “You’re not dying. You’re getting stronger. You’re growing armor. And it hurts.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Remember the dirt from the reformatory, Sky? Remember the plan? Well, today’s the day.”

“You put it in the food.” I felt stupid for not guessing it sooner.

“Just a tiny bit. Next time it’ll be more.”

“Next time.” I moaned the words and rolled away from you, hating you for doing this to me. Hating you for wanting to do it again. “Nooo.”

Undeterred, you finger-combed my hair away from my face and then rubbed your hand against my back. “Do you want to know when I first got the idea? It was in English class. We read this poem. It’s pretty long, but this is the good part.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” I moaned.

“Try not to throw up. The longer you can hold it in, the better it will be next time.”

I cried then for real. Hot, angry tears of pain and anger and frustration. I cried, knowing that I would have to do this again. And as I cried, you recited the poem:

 

“There was a king reigned in the East:

There, when kings will sit to feast,

They get their fill before they think

With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.

He gathered all the springs to birth

From the many-venomed earth;

First a little, thence to more,

He sampled all her killing store;

And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,

Sate the king when healths went round.

They put arsenic in his meat

And stared aghast to watch him eat;

They poured strychnine in his cup

And shook to see him drink it up:

They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:

Them it was their poison hurt.

—I tell the tale that I heard told.

Mithridates, he died old.”

 

Every time after that, when we had our feasts of dirt, you would recite that same poem for me. And when I told you that wasn’t enough, you added a patient explanation of the plan. We were taking the reformatory poison now in small, controlled doses to build a resistance to it in case we ended up there later. The more people who had this immunity, the easier it would become to fight the reformatory from the inside.

I hated the explanation. I hated that poem. And I hated you. Every single time.

But I still went along with it. Resentful as hell but still a good little soldier.

Eventually I asked why you weren’t getting sick too. You said it must affect everyone differently. But when we started sneaking the dirt into the school cafeteria food, everyone who ate it got sick. Everyone. Every time. But not you. Not once. It was like the reformatory dirt didn’t affect you at all. But that couldn’t be right.

Could it, Piper?