My dreams are plagued by that night. By the fire. By the look on the older boy’s face when I pointed him out in the courtroom. I wake up at night in cold sweats, with my heart pounding, gasping for air. It’s the same every time. I can’t breathe, it feels like I’m drowning, and for a brief moment, I actually think I am.
Then I open my eyes.
“Well, did you make a wish?” my father asks.
I wish I never went out that night. . .
“Of course I did.” Giving him an innocent smile, I fiddle with the napkin in front of me.
“And? What did you wish for?” Leaning over across the back of the chair, he swipes his finger through the frosting on the side of the cake.
Grimacing, my mother swats my father’s hand. “Get out of there. And don’t tell him, Prairie, unless you don’t want your wish to come true,” she says, tapping my shoulder as she walks around the table and starts to cut the cake. “You get first pick. What piece do you want, honey?”
“I don’t care. Any piece is fine.”
My mother passes me a small square, hands my father one, and takes one for herself. Sitting down across the table from me, her eyes are steady. “So, school starts this week. Are you excited?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I lick the frosting off the back of my fork. “Should I be?”
“Come on, you must be a little bit excited. I hear they have a good track team.” My father takes a big bite of cake and tries to keep talking. “They won state the last two years.”
“Really Tim?” she rolls her eyes and cocks a brow. “We can barely understand you.” My mother flashes puffed cheeks as she pokes my father. “At least swallow first.”
My father bounces his shoulders up and down as he finishes chewing, giving me a wink.
Giggling, I answer him. “Yeah, I heard that too.” Pushing my fork lightly against my cake, I take a small bite. I know I don’t sound excited at all, but it’s hard to be excited when all I can focus on is one thing.
One, unforgettable, nightmare creating, life changing, thing. I’m not the same. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.
My parents look at each other, and I can see their concern. They know what I’m going through, but they don’t understand what I’m feeling. No matter how much they say they get it, they don’t, and they never will.
Reaching across the table. My mother touches the top of my hand. Her eyes soften as she gives me a thin lipped smile. “I know this move hasn’t been easy on you. You’ve had a rough start, I get it, but it’s your last year, Prairie, make the best of it. Don’t let what happened get to you, you did the right thing. Remember what Dr. Marcos told you, you’re not the one to blame. You did nothing wrong, they did.”
Nodding, I pull the cake in closer and start to eat. My mother’s right. I wasn’t the one at fault, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I need to stop blaming myself for the choices of others. Those two boys lit that car on fire, not me.
I’ve known this since it happened, but no one else saw the look in that boy’s eyes. No one else could feel the hate I did in that older boy’s stare. It wasn’t natural. It was raw and feral, like a rogue coyote with rabies.
The only difference is he didn’t lash out and bite me—yet.
“This is delicious, Mom,” I say, quickly changing the subject. I don’t want to talk about it, not anymore. It’s on my mind enough, talking about it just adds another layer I don’t need.
My mom hands me the present and takes her seat. “Here, happy birthday, sweetie.” She’s smiling big, waiting for me to open my gift.
Pulling out the tissue paper, I pull out a small box. Opening it up, there’s a silver bracelet with a small charm of a girl running.
Taking it out, it lays flat over my fingertips. “It’s beautiful,” I say, folding it over my wrist and clipping the latch. “I love it.”
Kissing my cheek, my mom rubs my back. “Good, I’m glad.”
The party is small, it’s just my parents and myself, but it’s exactly what I need to get my head straight. School starts in four days, and I’m trying like hell to find some sort of normalcy here.
The next few days go by quickly. My parents fall into a routine of their own with my father starting his new practice, and my mother volunteering at the local library. The only people we know in this city is my Uncle Greg, who’s a local cop, and his wife Cynthia.
Applying a thin layer of lip gloss, I smack my lips together, and wipe the excess off around the edges. I take one last look in the floor length mirror, before closing my bedroom door.