Deja Vu

Sometimes I think that the whole thing could have been avoided if I didn’t have the almost supernatural gift to remember when I had left something behind. My Nana (who had been unpleasant in her life) had always said it was my useless 6th sense and I had always thought I was just lucky. There are a lot of things like that in my little town. Like mothers who lift cars off their babies (though some people just called that “adrenaline”) and old ladies who can tell what the weather will be tomorrow without ever looking at the weather app, like Nana who could, well, I’m not exactly sure what she had been able to do. Things that are just bland enough not to warrant attention and yet just interesting enough to be notable.

That day, I, Maryanne, had left my small, pink notebook on the corner of my desk in math class. I could picture it exactly in her mind. A little weathered and dog-eared, enclosing pages and pages of little notes and tiny cat doodles. Now I almost barf at the idea of doodling cutie-cats and tiny kittens alongside giggling notes about how Max–no, Jordan–was the cutest boy in class. But back then I was 14, and I was so different then. Anyways, it had seemed important to get it back, so I had left the lunchroom (at 11:34 according to my account to the police) to walk down the hallway to the math room.

It had been almost deserted. Which was fairly normal. While students were allowed to eat their lunch in classrooms, hardly anyone chose to eat with the math teachers. Especially Mr. Barnes, who could be expected to launch into a heated debate on radicals at any moment. So, it made sense that the hallway was empty. 

Because I was so sure it would be empty, I almost shrieked when I saw a tall, willowy figure emerge from a classroom and walk into the hallway (this figure, according to Mr. Barnes' statement to police, had been eating lunch in his room before excusing herself to go to the bathroom).

 My heartrate had slowed by the time I recognized the person. It was the new girl. Well, new-ish. I used to think her name was Becky or Bella or something (it wasn’t until later when I learned her name was Bethany, a name no one was likely to forget for years to come). Whatever it is, I thought, she’s causing a lot of trouble. It was only her second month, and she was already despised by Veronica, my sister, the kind of sister that I looked up to and at the same time hated with a passion (the kind of sister who never ran from danger). I didn’t know Bethany’s name because Veronica usually just called her “that stupid little freak”.

It was hard to say when their little feud started but I would say it started the day Bethany walked into class, her eyes darting everywhere so fast it made me dizzy just to watch and plopped down in Veronica’s seat. Not on purpose, obviously, and Veronica probably wouldn’t have minded, she might have even changed seats, if Bethany hadn’t given her that stare. It was not just a defiant stare, it was like an I-Know-I’m-Better-Than-You and I-Know-Something-You-Don’t and Fight-Me-Cheerleader (Veronica, had been the cheer captain, which she never stopped bragging about to me) all wrapped up in one single glare. 

Most people, very normal, average, ignorant people, would have disagreed with me, but I remembered that Nana (may her soul rest in peace) would sometimes give that look to dad (who Nana had never thought was a good match for her lovely daughter) and had died young, of natural causes (“heart failure” according to the doctors), but I still thought that perhaps That Look was more dangerous than it first seemed. And, anyway, I knew my sister. I Didn't believe what everyone else said.

Veronica was, everyone said, a bully, the one-dimensional kind you only saw on TV. She wasn’t mean to everyone (in fact, she could be downright pleasant at home, something no one seemed to believe). Really, it just seemed to be Bethany she had an issue with. But that wasn’t important to everyone else, in the end, Veronica was just an average bully (they hadn’t known my sister very well).

On Tuesday, 2 weeks before “the event” (The police’s name for it, not mine) Veronica stopped and turned on her way to the lunch table she always sat at (cheerleader land, no Maryanne's allowed) and yelled: “Hey, Freak, you know, you could actually shower every once in a while. Do us all a favor.” The school faculty had seen it as a classic (if a little harsh) example of hazing the new girl. Veronica was universally seen as a bully. And as the principal said, bully’s stick to certain routines (on an unrelated note, I thought the principal was a total blockhead who clearly didn’t know his students very well. But that is unrelated).

Bethany had glowered and That Look flashed over her face for the barest moment. “Leave me alone, Veronica,” she said softly. She had gotten some sympathetic glances from the nearby students because Bethany was so strong in the face of adversity (I want to scoff every time I think back to that moment. Anyone who knew Veronica, really knew her, knew that this was a classic line she used on anyone she found interesting. Just classic teasing. She was testing the new girl out, that was all).

 But Bethany…Bethany didn’t pass. Not in Veronica’s eyes. Not in mine. We both remembered That Look (it's not a normal look. Bethany wasn't a normal girl, just like I’m not, just like Nana wasn’t). Veronica of all people should have recognized it, should have backed down, but no. She should have remembered Nana (Veronica should have run).

Anyways, I had been on my way to the math room and Bethany, new girl Bethany, had walked out of it. Because of my sister and Bethany’s…unpleasant history I had kept my head down (I did that a lot at 14) and ignored the other girl. Hoping against hope that maybe she would just go away. I imagined all the kitty-cats I was going to doodle in my pink notebook soon. 

It was at that moment that Veronica walked into the hallway (Oh how I wish, wish, wish I could go back and make Veronica run away), eyes gleaming the way I remember they always do when she was excited for something.

After that day, when I was talking with the police, I found it very odd that Veronica had happened to be walking down that hallway at that time. Veronica barely went to math class when she was supposed to, so during lunch it seemed downright incredible. Almost like fate had decided to violently mess with them that day. When I pointed this out, the police had said that Veronica’s on-again off-again boyfriend had texted her, asking to meet in the second-floor bathroom during lunch. Though, he later denied it, and I could have sworn she saw Bethany near Veronica’s phone only a few hours before. But I had been so frazzled by then, I guess I had just imagined it (right?).

Veronica squinted her eyes at the sight of Bethany.

“Oh, hello there,” Veronica had crooned in a sweet voice which was in total contrast with her eyes. Veronica's evil glare burned into Bethany, and I saw a glimmer of something. Hatred. I knew that my sister wasn’t a great role model. Everyone thought of her as a queen bee, a bully, a jerk (and also very, very pretty but I wasn’t jealous of that. Not at all. Stop saying I am). But Veronica didn’t just spontaneously hate people. She always had reasons. Veronica made a beeline towards Bethany, and I could almost hear what was going on in her mind right then. Found Target. Aiming. And…FIRE!

“You think you're so much better than the rest of us,” hissed Veronica in her most snake-like voice. Her hair was sleek and black (I had seen her practically dip her hair in gel) and her face was scary perfect due to the amount of makeup she used. Comparatively, Bethany looked like something that Veronica had pulled out of the sewers…which wasn’t really all that different from normal. Bethany was so tall and ghostly that she was frightening at the best of times. 

Veronica continued “But you're not better than me. Or Mary,” she gave a little gesture with her head at me. I had been rather surprised Veronica had even noticed I was there. “Ok? So, drop the high and mighty act, princess. I mean, you're not that special. My Nana was like you, and she died alone. Alone. Heck, even Maryanne’s sorta like you, with her 6th sense sorta thing.” Veronica’s smile looked more like she was baring her teeth.

Luckily, Bethany was smart enough not to say something cheesy or cliche like “I am special!” or anything dumb like that. But she also didn’t shrink to the size of a neutron like expected (I like science analogies, okay? Don’t judge).

Instead, she just looked mad, not That Look mad, just mad. “Shut up, Veronica. You wouldn’t know special if it smacked you in the face,” She snapped. 

By that point, I was starting to feel very uncomfortable (it reminded me, a little, of a conversation I heard–I wasn’t supposed to hear it–between my Nana and Dad) and I kind of wanted to run away, but the girls were standing in front of Mr. Barnes classroom and I really wanted that notebook (oh, if only I had just run away, maybe, maybe things would have been different. But probably not. I don’t believe it would have made a difference. It was too similar to Nana; it was already set in motion). So, I just stood awkwardly at the side of the hall (the police would later say it had been the perfect vantage point). I wasn’t exactly sure who I was rooting for at the time. Veronica was being a jerk, but, well, Veronica remembered Nana too. 

“Ugh!” Veronica groaned in a loud, accusatory noise. “You people will never stop, will you? It's like because of this one…thing, you think you can do whatever you want and hurt whoever you want to hurt.” Veronica's eyes flickered to my face with an almost frightening amount of protectiveness (it reminded me of the look she had given me whenever Nana was around). “Well, you can’t.” Veronica narrowed her eyes on Bethany.

Bethany had rolled her eyes and given Veronica a pitying sort of look. I had wondered why at the time, if anyone should be feeling pity it should’ve been me, since to me, it appeared I was witnessing a vicious takedown. I don’t wonder now (run, Veronica).

Then Bethany turned away. And for one, beautiful moment, it looked like she was going back into the math classroom (oh, please let her walk away). I didn’t really want to follow her in there because Bethany seemed pretty weird, but I was willing to do it if it meant she could get her precious notebook (Note: 12 hours after…everything, that notebook was a pile of ash in my backyard, it had felt like that stupid notebook was the cause of everything).

“Um, s’cuse me,” I had murmured, my tiny 14-year-old voice squeaking as I tried to brush past Bethany into the classroom. Bethany looked down at me (I had been that small) like I was a piece of gum on her shoe. Which, to be fair, was how most upperclassmen looked at freshmen, but it seemed more than that. It reminded me, quite a bit, of how Nana had looked at her dad (I miss dad).

Veronica had spoken up (why couldn’t she have just shut her mouth and went to make out with her boyfriend like she thought was going to happen? No, I know why. I know my sister, she was keeping me safe. Just like she had before). “Theeeeeere it is. That’s the look.”

Bethany’s head had whipped around. “What are you even talking about?” She looked pretty angry then (but she didn’t have That Look on her face anymore).

Veronica seemed unperturbed, almost triumphant. Like she had caught something in her net (she had always known what That Look meant. She had never let me spend much time with Nana. She had always been so protective, always, always, always). “The look on your face. All of you people get it, like you think you're better and more powerful than the rest of us because of your extra…skills. You're not. You're just normal people–no, not normal–terrible people who like to hurt others.”

(I hate That Look).

I could sense that Veronica had somehow, in some way, gone too far. Bethany paused for a moment, then smiled.  (I had described the look on her face to the police as “oh well, cat’s out of the bag now” if you’d seen it you would agree).

“We are special,” Bethany had whispered, almost to herself, her eyes finding Veronica’s (they had That Look in them). 

“Doesn't mean you can’t hurt people.” Veronica answered (and I could tell from her face she was thinking about Dad).

“I can hurt whoever I want.” Then, Bethany raised her hand slowly (I told the police it had been like that sick girl was savoring the moment, that sick, sick, girl) and pointed it at Veronica, a fierce look in her eye that I could’ve sworn seemed extraterrestrial. Like she was being possessed, like she was eaten up by an alien and her skin was being worn, like she knew she was Better-Than-You'll-Ever-Be-Because-I-Have-Something-You'll-Never-Have, like she was Nana (poor Dad).

And Bethany yelled (poor Veronica).

“AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The only way I could explain it (and it had taken several sob-filled hours to explain it at the police station) was that it was like Deja vu. Something I vaguely remembered (like it was part of a conversation I was never supposed to hear. But he-that was just natural causes, right? Heart failure?) but it was a little different this time (not natural, not at all).

Dead silence. For only a moment. Just one moment where it is the classic story of a bully and a new girl and there is nothing beneath the surface (I had hoped for that one moment that Veronica would run).

Then another scream. (I hate hate hate Hate HATE that scream). This one wasn’t angry. Or confident. It’s full of pain (sounded like dad, actually). And it sure wasn’t coming from Bethany. 

(Veronica didn’t run. She never ran.)

The end.