Change Of Season (12 page)

A pot light flickered and Autumn whimpered. 
He comes in the dark
. 
He knows I told Miraj.  He knows why I’m hiding
.  Her purse slid down her arm and her fingers quickly tangled in the strap, preparing to swing it in defense.  For once, she was grateful for the endless mountain of change she forgot to count out and spend and instead chucked into her bag.  Three doors now.  One more. 

The light fell dark overhead and Autumn lunged for the bathroom.

The door handle spun easily in her grip, a knife silently slicing butter.  Her back slammed against the cold metal as her fingers flipped the latch in place, the click deafening.  With a sob, she slid to the floor, pawing through her belongings until her hand met her phone in relief.  Campus security was in her contacts list already – she’d added it a week before beginning her studies at Casteel Prep.  Trembling fingers hesitated over the Send button, palms dampened in fear.

From beyond the door, she heard voices.  Veronica’s friends.  Surely, if there was a stranger roaming the backstage area, they wouldn’t be discussing the latest episode of
Dexter
… 

“You’re going crazy,” she whispered angrily.  “He’s not there.”

Phone met wallet in an angry collision as she pushed herself to her shaky feet.  This was ridiculous.  Lights went out all the time.  Plenty of guys wore that damn cologne.  Her imagination had run head-long onto the Crazy Train and taken her for a ride.  With a groan, she relieved herself and washed her hands in scalding water, her flesh red and raw as she tidied her hair. 
I need to keep control
, she admonished herself silently. 
What would Miraj do?  She wouldn’t live in fear.  Life brings plenty of reasons to be terrified
. 

Forcing a smile, Autumn slipped back into the corridor and headed briskly for the front of the theatre – and stumbled as her foot connected with something hard and small.  Cursing under her breath and massaging her ankle, she leaned forward, examining the hazard in confusion.

It appeared to be a barrette – a rather expensive one, given the shimmering Swarovski crystals adorning it.  Palming it, Autumn stared at the detailed design.  It was a glass slipper – completely Cinderella – and so intricate that it was surely custom-made for the owner.  Pale blue hues lent an icy sheen to the ornate shoe as she tilted it back and forth beneath the lights.  Autumn found herself mesmerized by the trinket as she walked, the terror of minutes before forgotten.  It twinkled, calling her playfully. 
Don’t look away
, it whispered.

“Autumn!  There you are!”

Her green eyes darted upwards as Veronica bounded off the stage from her right, embracing her warmly.  Sweat misted her limbs, her skin glowing with feverish energy.  Rehearsal had gone well.

“Did you get lost back there?” Veronica teased.  “Meg says you left like, ten minutes ago.”

Autumn feigned a chuckle.  “I had to drip dry.  All done for the day?” 

The barrette dug into her palm as her fist closed around it protectively.  Veronica held open the curtain, ushering her through with a flourish.

“My voice is begging for mercy.  I’m going to get packed and head for the buses.”  Veronica fumbled in her bag for a bottle of water, promptly downing it in one long chug.  “Hey, what’s that?”

Autumn startled, opening her palm.  “Tripped over it backstage.  Really pretty.  Did someone lose it today?”

From behind her, an audible gasp grabbed her attention.  Pivoting slightly, Autumn focused on Meg, whose own palm pressed against her lips, her body trembling violently.  She looked to Veronica, seeking answers, but found only a stoic wall, blue eyes steeled as she acted nonchalant.

“No one wore it today.  I’ll go leave it in the lost and found in the office,” Veronica said quietly.

Reluctantly, Autumn allowed the crystalline object to fall from her palm into Veronica’s.  Within her, she yearned to keep it – to
wear
it, even – but couldn’t fathom why.  Crystals were something she loathed on principle, the trappings of spoiled cheerleaders at Jarvis and the premium collars their pocket dogs wore. 
It’s mine
, she thought suddenly, biting her lip in surprise. 
Wait – what the hell
? 

Veronica jogged off to the left, barrette in hand, leaving Autumn to awkwardly pack their respective bags.  Meg remained shaky in a corner, whispering quietly with someone whose name was either Jeremy or Jerry.  Strong arms enveloped the brunette’s shuddering shoulders and Autumn felt a pang of jealousy. 
No one holds me when I’m upset.  Not like that
.  Ken handed Autumn sheet music – Veronica’s pieces – and she slipped them gingerly into her friend’s tote bag, taking care not to crease them. 

“Ready?”

Autumn glanced up, handing Veronica’s bag to her.  Steel-face greeted her.  “Yeah.”

It was perhaps five seconds after they emerged into the overcast afternoon when Veronica dropped her guard, feet grinding to a halt.  Autumn stumbled into her from behind, cursing and apologizing, but Veronica waved it away.

“Where did you find it?” Veronica asked abruptly.

Autumn frowned.  “Backstage, on my way back from the bathroom.  V, what’s wrong with Meg?”

“Just in the hall?”  Veronica was ignoring her. 
Why
?

“Yes!  What the hell is going on?  I nearly took my ankle out on the thing and now I’m getting a death glare!”  Bile rose in Autumn’s throat. 
It’s a fucking hair accessory!  What is everyone’s big deal about it? 

Veronica sighed deeply, kicking the moist dirt beneath them with the toe of her shoe.  “I’m sorry, Autumn.  It’s just…  I don’t understand how it would go unnoticed before now, and you’re in – well, it’s really fucked up, okay?”

“Try me.  If I upset Meg, maybe I should go apologize-”

“No!” Veronica insisted loudly.  “Look, it’s a very long story, but summing up: it belonged to one of Meg’s friends.  It was a shock.”

The consoling inside the theatre… Veronica’s sudden all-business posturing…  Autumn swallowed hard, her voice a whisper.

“The friend died.”

Veronica nodded sadly.  “Meg took it hard.  It was two years ago, so…”

“And it only turned up now?”  Autumn shook her head, confused.  “I get it.”

“Don’t mention that you know, or that you even found it, okay?”  Veronica’s voice was softer now, but urgent.  “I’ll get Hurst to give it to Meg on Monday, but for now, I had to do the proper protocols.  Not everyone knows what’s up.”

“Secret’s safe with me.” 

They began walking slowly towards Ashbury, both girls lost in thought.  Autumn’s chest ached for Meg’s loss.  She’d drifted from Heather, but she could still call her up and try to make amends.  Death, however, didn’t negotiate.  She’d learned that lesson well last December.

And what was with her strange attachment to the glass slipper trinket?  Her body had yearned for it on a primal level, even as her brain rejected it as loathsome and ostentatious.  Was it a message from her subconscious?  Had she dreamed of something like it – something she longed to possess?

Hugging Veronica goodbye on the steps of Ashbury, Autumn found herself lingering on the cement, watching the leaves dance in the crisp September breeze.  There was more to the story; she was sure of it.  But why would Veronica conceal it? 

“You’re paranoid,” she mumbled to herself angrily.

So much for seventeen being better than sixteen
, the worker bees taunted within.

The hive came alive as Autumn pressed her head to her knees. 
Sixteen, seventeen, nothing but a drama queen.
  Her whimper of protest was futile. 
Your fault.  Always your fault
.  In her mind, she grasped wildly at music, at melodies she knew, but the thrumming noise grew in her skull. 
You worthless whore.  Misery-making mad girl
. 

It followed her up the spiralling staircase, down the desolate hall, into her room. 
Mad girl, crazy girl, helpless girl, worthless girl
.  They sang inside her, a symphony of her shortcomings. 
Crazy, crazy, crazy!
 

“No… Stop…”

And then
he
hissed in her ear, and she wailed, scrambling in her purse wildly. 
Autumn, who are you trying to fool?  Me?
  Her hand fumbled with the blister pack, foil crinkling as she jabbed and pressed until a pill fell onto her purple blanket. 
You can’t get away from me
, he hissed again, and she tumbled to the floor as she strained for a bottle of water on her desk.  She pressed to her knees, pill on her tongue as she batted the water to the floor, unscrewed the cap.

Where are you going, bitch?

Water flowed down her throat; tears fell upon her cheeks.  “Go away,” she murmured softly, curling up on the floor.  Too much effort to stand. 

His fingers caressed her flesh and she gagged, hugging herself tightly.  The sleeping pills took twenty minutes to kick in, but they promised twelve hours of reprieve.  She had to keep her eyes on that prize, had to remember that the fingers on her thighs weren’t real, that the voices would fade out, that
he
couldn’t find her. 

Autumn… a season of dying. 
Her muse never rested: even now, she was composing pathetic poetry.  Eyes fluttering softly, she sang to herself, snatches of songs strung together, coherency lost to chemicals as she tumbled down her rabbit hole to safety. 

111

Change Of Season

SEVEN

Toronto; October 15, 2010

A squeal behind Autumn’s head caused her to spin around, triggering a neck spasm and making her wince in pain.  Scampering down the hall in a black mini-dress was her best friend, Heather Saunders, her backpack slapping lightly with each galloping step.  Her pale blue eyes were wide, her smile enormous.

Football captain must have asked her out to the dance tonight, after all
, Autumn concluded.  
So much for all the girls going stag out of spite!

“Autumn!” Heather shrieked, earning a glare from the art students congregated on the floor nearby.  “Holy
shit
!  Have you been to your locker yet?”

Autumn frowned. “No.  I had Science and Math this morning and the books were with me.  Heather, what’s going on?  Did you start your day with Pixy Stix again?”  The gears slid into place in her brain and she felt her heart stop.  “What’s wrong with my locker?”

“Of course you haven’t seen it yet, or you wouldn’t be – well, you!”  Heather hugged her tightly, which only compounded Autumn’s concern.  “Come!  See!”

There was no choice:  Heather seized her hand and literally dragged her down the hallway, past several groups of girls who were far too interested in Autumn for her liking, past the music room where the band was rehearsing, and sailing around to the Drama hall, where for reasons unknown, Autumn had her locker assigned.  As she rounded the corner, she immediately gasped and felt her head spin.

Her locker was covered in balloons and orchids.  Covered.  Batting her eyes furiously against the spins, she made out at least five flowers and eight balloons in a variety of colours.  A bag of aerodynamic Skittles had vomited on her beige locker door.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Autumn murmured.

“This is so sweet!  You
know
he did this!” Heather enthused. 

“My locker is Winnie The Pooh.  It’s about to take flight towards the freaking honey tree,” Autumn grumbled.  “Is everyone staring?”  She couldn’t bear to look herself.

“Of course they are!”

“I’m gonna hurl,” Autumn moaned.

Autumn’s palm pressed to her forehead as a headache blossomed beneath.  This was insane.  Crazy.  Okay sure, she’d finally let Chris take her to a movie – with Heather and her date, as well as Corrina.  Maybe she’d chatted with him once or twice on the bleachers.  Maybe they’d made out at Greg Desouza’s party last week, after drinking far too much schnapps.  But she’d been perfectly clear about tonight’s Homecoming Dance being a girls’ night.  Judging from this display, either a clown had moved into her locker, or Chris wasn’t ready to take no for a final answer.

“Help me get rid of it,” Autumn hissed at Heather.

“What?  No way!  This is so sweet of him.  You really should go with him.  He likes you,” Heather whispered back.

“I know.”

“And didn’t you say he was an epic kisser?” Heather continued quietly.

“Heather, you
know
how Homecoming goes! He wants one thing, and I don’t want to give it to him,” Autumn grumbled. 

“Maybe, maybe not.  You could still go with him, and leave with Corrina and me at the end,” Heather suggested.  “Either way, think fast: he’s coming over.”

“What?  Shit!”

Loose waves of auburn tumbled over her face as Autumn bowed her head in embarrassment.  The whispering girls nearby grew cattier in their cacophony, the dirge dulled only by the erratic pounding of her heart.  Heather, in contrast, was glowing in delight, and for a moment, Autumn considered suggesting Chris take
her
to the dance – and move the kaleidoscope on her door to Heather’s locker while he was at it. 
Damn it!  Now what am I going to do?  Oh hell!

“Autumn Brody: just the lovely lady I’ve been looking for all morning!”

Maybe if I pretend not to hear him, he’ll just go away… or get distracted by that model over there
.

“Answer him,” Heather growled quietly.

“Do I have to?” Autumn retorted under her breath.  Turning around reluctantly, hair protectively draped across her cheeks, she forced a smile.  “Chris Miller: the living embodiment of a Rick Astley song.  Ever consider giving up?”

His hand came to rest upon the locker beside her as he winked playfully.  “Never crossed my mind.  Do you like your surprise?  Heather told me of your appreciation of orchids.”

Autumn glared angrily at her purported best friend, who winced and mouthed an apology.  “I don’t care for surprises, and
my best friend
knows it.”

Chris dialed up his perpetual smile to a celebrity stunner, and Autumn swore someone’s panties literally dropped behind her.  “You don’t respond to the direct approach, Autumn.  You pose a challenge.  A guy’s gotta pull out all the stops with you, it seems.”

“Consider them pulled.  Please stop yanking on them?”

He leaned in, his bright blue eyes focused upon hers as he whispered in her ear. “The dance.  Go with me.”

“I d-don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Autumn murmured, pinching her thigh in a desperate attempt to remain calm. 
Those lips… God, they’re soft – NO!

“What idea would that be?”  His voice was husky, his breath warm upon her ear.  “We go, we dance.  Or are things different in Toronto?”

She summoned what little snark remained in the puddle of girl she was fast becoming. “Oh it’s like
She’s All That
: choreographed group numbers, bets about geeky art girls.  Have you learned the steps?”

“Teach me, then.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Heather fawning over their exchange as if it were the chick flick of the week on Lifetime. 
I am going to strangle her.  I am not her Barbie doll, and he is not Ken, and this is not Degrassi
.  Her heart raced wildly as she ran her hand through her hair to buy time to steel her resolve.

“I meet you there,” Autumn cautioned.

“Okay.”

“I’m taking the TTC home with Heather,” she added firmly.

Chris shrugged. “Okay.”

“And you make this shit disappear off my locker door, like now.”  Her eyes met his, pleading for mercy. “I’m serious.  Go give them to a hospital ICU or something.”

Heather gasped. “No way! They’re so pretty! And these are primo orchids – definitely not grocery store.”

“Heather?” Autumn cooed, glancing to her friend. “Shut up.”

“You have to keep the orchids,” Chris insisted, edging closer.

“And do what with them all day?  I have class, remember?”

“Keep three of them.  A small bouquet.”

Autumn rolled her eyes. “One orchid. Final offer, Miller.”

Without warning, his lips crashed into hers, and Autumn melted into the locker behind her back with a sigh.  His lips were as soft as she remembered, his scent as intoxicating as the night they’d tangled together on Greg’s couch. 
I’m so screwed
, Autumn realized as her hand toyed with his waves.  As he pulled away, he thrust the largest bloom towards her right hand with a wink.

“Done.  See you tonight, Ms. Brody.”

She drew shuddering breaths as he plucked the balloons and flowers free, inwardly cursing his nonchalance.  It was unfair, the effect he had upon her.  He was magnetic, mesmerizing with just a smile.  Someone called her a bitch across the hall, but she couldn’t care enough to reply. 
Chris must really want me as a person
, she mused.  Why would he go to so much trouble just to dance and make out?  He could have any girl in the school – hell, a whole entourage across the hall lay in waiting.  The gentle kiss on her cheek as he departed, oblivious to staring eyes, said everything she needed to hear.

“Oh my god!” Heather shrieked, hugging her tightly. “He is so romantic!  Isn’t he romantic?”

“He is,” Autumn sighed happily.  “And persistent.”

“Good thing he is!  You are going to be the envy of our entire grade tonight!”

Autumn jabbed her friend’s arm hard. “I’m still pissed at you for helping him Hallmark-bomb my locker.”

Heather grinned. “You’ll get over it.  Ooh! We’ll have to do your hair.  I’ll come over right after I drop my books at home. You need to be a princess!”

“Heather-”

“Shut up! I’m living vicariously through you.  Now, let’s go grab lunch and plan out your look!”

With a sigh, Autumn acquiesced, following Heather absently down the hall with her orchid still in hand.  So much to do before tonight…   She would never understand his fascination with her, but she was grateful he’d looked her way – and continued to stare.  If this was some strange, complex dream, she hoped to never awaken from it.

***

Heather and Corrina squealed in delight as Britney Spears called out for a girl named Amy, her two friends pulling Autumn to her feet to dance beneath the shimmering blue lights.  Autumn laughed, slightly tipsy from the spiked punch she’d downed unwittingly an hour ago.  The gym was pulsing with the damp bodies around them, the teacher chaperones turning a blind eye to kissing couples in the shadows.  Her black silk dress clung to her bare thighs as she and Heather began to grind, earning hoots from the footballers nearby – one of whom was Heather’s crush.  Corrina twirled and swayed around them, her wrist lit by a glow bracelet that matched her fuschia gown perfectly.

“This is the best dance ever!” Heather exclaimed, giggling as her white strapless dress slid down, revealing a little more cleavage.

“It’s pretty damn wonderful,” Autumn agreed, swaying her head side to side and giggling as her curls flew in each direction.

To her right she saw Chris returning and felt her lips curl into a grin.  True to their agreement, he’d met up with them at eight, an orchid corsage in hand to match the purple tie he wore with what Heather had sworn was “a genuine Armani suit, in the flesh!” and he’d been a perfect gentlemen – except when she’d wanted him to not be.  A flush spread across her cheeks as he spun her away from Heather, pulling her tight against his hips, swaying with her to the beat.

“I missed you,” he murmured in her ear.

“You were gone five minutes,” Autumn countered breathlessly.

“Five minutes too long,” Chris insisted, dipping her backwards and pulling her back up to meet his lips.

Feeling bold, she coyly replied, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Spinning around, she pressed her back against him, her hips grinding against his groin as she sang along with the music.  She heard him groan, his hands drifting to grip her hips as his arousal become undeniable.  Tease? Maybe she was, but he’d been no better, ghosting his lips over her neck in the way he knew made her knees buckle at every opportunity.  Corrina whistled and Autumn laughed, nearly falling forward, saved by Chris’ grip upon her body.

God, she loved the feel of his hands on her!

“You’ll be the death of me, Autumn,” Chris moaned in her ear.

“You asked me to be your date, Miller,” Autumn teased. “You play with a fiery redhead and you get burned.”  She had no idea what had come over her, but with him, she felt empowered, bold and brash.

“Moth to the flame,” Chris replied, his tongue drifting lightly over her earlobe.  “I need air before I combust.”

She needed air, too; it was harder to breathe with his body melded to hers. 
And those lips
… With a whispered explanation to Heather, Autumn led Chris through the main corridor, ducking quickly through a side hallway that spilled into a small courtyard.  It was technically off limits for the dance, but Autumn knew the supposedly secure latch was anything but.  Chris grinned as she edged towards the bench in the corner, inhaling the crisp air deep into her lungs.

“A personal hideaway?”

She shook her head. “Nah, most of the football team knows this place is never locked up right. But for now, it looks deserted.” Sitting down anxiously on the bench, she flipped her hair back over her shoulder, eyes averted.  “Still combusting?”

“Always, when you’re near,” Chris growled, pulling her half onto his lap as he kissed her hard.

She melted into him, her arms tightly wound around his neck, fingers fisting in his hair as she met his fevered his kiss with her own heat.  It was Greg DeSouza’s party all over again, only this time, she was wearing something far more flimsy and the surface beneath her was cold and unyielding.  His hands cupped her rear, squeezing gently, and she heard herself groan into his mouth.  In a fleeting thought, she knew that if she wanted to, she could go home with him.  They wouldn’t have sex – she was firm on that, no matter how erratically her pulse ran in his presence – but they could kiss more, touch, taste…

Too soon
, her sensible self intervened. 
This is enough for now
.

Distantly, she could hear an old Def Leppard song playing, and she almost laughed at what a movie cliché this was becoming.  Her sensible self irritated her; she wanted – needed – more.  She wanted to be held, wanted his kisses everywhere.  She was a raging ball of hormones in desperate need of a cold shower.  As Chris cupped her breast, she gasped. 
Shower.  An ice bath.  Shit, I’ve gotta stop this
.  She pushed against his chest, coming up for air.