She refused.
So when my parents went to sleep, I snuck downstairs and went into my mom’s wallet. She had a bunch of money in there. I took a fifty-dollar bill.
That weekend I went down to the shops on Main Street. I knew this one store my dad liked to bring his antique coins to. They had a lot of pocketknives there. The old man who owned the place didn’t seem keen to help me at first, but I told him I was shopping for my father’s birthday present and flashed him the fifty-dollar bill.
I ended up finding an old pocketknife that looked pretty close to the one Reeve had had. It had mother-of-pearl inlay in the handle and a lot of different tools you could slide out, like a can opener, a nail file, and a corkscrew. I knew it wouldn’t be as special as the one from his grandfather, but I hoped maybe this one could be special in a different way.
When I gave it to him on Monday, he was really surprised. I had chosen not to wrap it. I just handed it over like it was no big deal with his share of the Pop-Tarts.
“Where’d you get the money for this?”
I was glad he could tell it was expensive. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. It was funny. My mom hadn’t even noticed the money was missing. I was afraid she might ask me if I’d taken it. But she didn’t.
Reeve didn’t exactly say thank you, but I knew he was thankful. He was smiling super big, and he kept saying “Oh, cool!” over and over again as he fiddled with the features. He showed me what each little thing did. Even though the man at the shop had explained it to me, I pretended like I didn’t know a thing.
* * *
There it is. The pocketknife I gave to Reeve. I can’t believe he kept it. I concentrate hard and take it in my hand. It doesn’t look like he ever used it. The blade is shiny and sharp.
I sink down to the carpet and I frown. It’s not a keepsake. Reeve probably tossed it in here after I gave it to him, yet another thing Reeve wants to hide away and not think about. I’m not someone he wants to remember. I’m something to forget.
How funny, then, that I’ll use it to kill him.
* * *
It’s dark; the only light is the glowing face of the alarm clock on his bedside table. It’s just after three in the morning. The wind is whipping through the bare trees outside, and a few of the branches scrape against the window. Reeve’s asleep in his bed. I take quiet steps across the room, the knife in my hand, and move closer and closer to his bed. He won’t even see it coming.
Reeve’s lying on his back, shirtless, the covers tangled around his legs. I step closer to him and watch as his chest rises and falls in long, slow breaths. His hair is just slightly damp around his forehead. He looks more like a boy than a man, vulnerable and sweet and peaceful. It’s too bad his insides are the opposite of his outside.
I slowly lower myself onto his bed. Reeve groans, and I freeze. He shifts and rolls over onto his side, so he’s facing me. I give it a second, just to make sure he won’t wake up, and then lie down next to him, nose to nose, so that we’re almost touching but not quite. He’s so close to me, I can see the tiny bit of stubble on his chin.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Back when I was fat and he was the crown prince of Montessori, I’d daydream about it all the time. His lips on mine. My first kiss. I creep closer. His lips are parted the tiniest bit, and I can see the slick pink insides of his mouth.
Why shouldn’t I? I’ve earned the right to do whatever I want to him. I could do way, way worse.
I lean in over his face, my lips pouty and soft. I never should have kissed that boy David on Halloween night. I should have saved it for Reeve.
Just then he moves again, this time with a quiet mumble, and his lips lift into a smile.
I set the knife down. What’s he dreaming about?
If someone who has passed on regularly appears in your dreams, it may be due to more than your subconscious longing. Some spirits are known to actively reach into the dream states of the living to pass along messages or to simply communicate that they still exist in an active capacity. Therefore, it is advisable not to dismiss any information regarding the afterlife obtained via a dream or subconscious event.
I reach out and press my hand to his forehead. Reeve immediately shivers, and then, in a rush of energy, I’m pulled straight into his mind.
Being in someone else’s dream is just like Aunt Bette’s book said. Things look a little smoky. But I can definitely tell where I am. Reeve’s on a football field, dressed in a uniform that’s not Jar Island colors. The stands are full of fans, not unlike the games I went to early in the season. He’s in the middle of a play, throwing the football downfield. The other players are blurry, faceless.
Reeve cocks back his arm and lets a long pass fly. Instead of watching it, he turns away from the field and walks over to the sidelines, like he has every confidence the ball will land where he wants it to. He’s got a big grin on his face, and the crowd roars. I guess because he was right.
I walk quickly alongside him and try to see where he’s headed. And then I spot Lillia in the stands, clapping happily for him. She’s in a tight black dress, her hair impossibly shiny, her lips rose-petal red. It’s the dress Kat bought her, to get Reeve’s attention. I’ve always thought Lillia was the prettiest girl at our high school, but in Reeve’s eyes she’s more than that. She’s sexy.
She stands up and throws her arms out, ready to embrace him, and calls out “Reeve!” breathlessly, like they’ve been apart for years and years.
Before Reeve can get to her, I step in front of him.
“Guess who?” I say.
He startles. “Excuse me.”
I won’t let him step past.
“Um, hello. I was talking to you. Don’t be rude.”
Reeve looks confused. “Do I know you?”
I lick my lips. “Yup. You and me go way back.”
I reach up for his face and pull it down to mine. I force our lips together.
And then it’s happening. We’re kissing. Kissing kissing.
But only for a second or two. Then he pulls away, his brow furrowed with confusion. Behind us I hear Lillia calling for him.
He wants to drift past me and go to her, but I won’t let him. I keep my body between them. “Reeve,” I say, more loudly so that I drown out Lillia’s voice. “Remember? From Halloween night? I bumped into you in the maze.”
He finally focuses on me. “Yeah. I remember. You picked up my crutches for me. What’s your name again?”
