Page 19

Sophie Clarke

Starting my day with a kale smoothie seemed like a good idea about four months ago—back when I was starting my day off with pancakes and coffee. But this year has been coming down the pike, about as welcome as a tax audit.

My twentieth high school reunion is at hand and I loathe that I was coerced into going. I missed the ten-year fiasco. There wasn’t a fifteen. I guess we’re sticking to round numbers.

And speaking of round, that’s something I refused to be come that infamous night. And since I’ve managed to shed zero weight over the last year—not that the effort wasn’t there on my part—it’s do or die at this point.

So far I’ve tried it all, keto, paleo, intermittent fasting, and working out like a loon. As it stands, I’ve decided I need fuel in the morning, thus this quasi-palate-pleasing green concoction that I somehow manage to choke down.

As soon as I chug the glug as I’ve come to call it, I lace up my running shoes for my usual trail run through the backwoods behind the condos where I live.

Deer Lick Flats is no Aspen Heights, but that was my parents’ zip code. That’s what they made for themselves. This is what I have. I should be proud and go into the reunion with my head held high. Although Deer Lick isn’t exactly anything to brag about either. Neither is my faltering career.

I do medical billing from home and I enjoy it. I get to choose my hours and my nap schedule. Honestly, it’s a dream. But in the back of my mind, I’ve already started comparing myself to the rest of my graduating class. It’s hard not to.

Alicia Adams, our old class president, started up a Facebook group where she asked us to reintroduce ourselves to one another and fill in the blanks about where we are now in life. I’ve never seen so many doctors, lawyers, and CEOs of Fortune 500s. Of course, there are the SAHMs and the self-professed MILFs, which got a laugh or two out of that last category. But everyone seems to have made something of themselves, something big, something with a legacy, even if the only thing that legacy is contributing to is a gene pool.

I step outside and take in a lungful of the fresh mountain air. The early morning light bathes the Colorado landscape in a soft, golden hue, casting long shadows alongside me as I jump onto my usual trail. The path ahead is flanked by towering pines and aspens, their leaves swishing softly in the gentle breeze like a choir that accompanies me on my every step. Ironically, the last time I ran like this was in high school and only because one of my grades depended on it.

But four months ago, when my bathroom scale topped out at a record peak, I bought myself a pair of track shoes and never looked back. Same trail day after day. The snow has finally melted, but in a few weeks fall will be upon us and the scenery around here will change once again.

I haven’t thought about whether or not I’ll hang up my running shoes after the reunion. I’ve sort of grown accustomed to my time with nature. Up until a few weeks ago, I had earbuds stuck in my ears, blasting the deep cuts of my youth just to get me in the mood. But one day I forgot them, and surprisingly I found myself enjoying the solitude and the sounds of nature even more.

I’m pretty sure that means I’m old.

I chuckle to myself at the thought. It had to happen one day. I’m just glad it was by way of solitude rather than a broken hip.

The crisp air fills my lungs, carrying the earthy scent of pine needles and damp soil, mixed with the subtle sweetness of the honeysuckle that dot the trail’s edges. The vibrant colors of the wildflowers are a sharp contrast against the lush green forest. The splashes of yellow, purple, and blue always seem as if they’re cheering me on as I trot by.

The serenity of the trail, with its towering pines and fresh mountain air, has become my sanctuary. Although, today, my mind is anything but serene. The looming high school reunion is a cloud over my sunlit path. It’s just days away, and in all honesty, my bathroom scale hasn’t moved that dramatically since I began this misadventure.

I haven’t touched a carb in months, all in the name of looking good—and for what? A night of forced smiles and feigned interest with people I’ve spent the better part of two decades avoiding?

And don’t get me started on the fact I’ll be showing up stag.

My mind flits back to that seven-year disaster I just crawled out of. I thought Stephen and I would last forever. And apparently, he thought we’d last until he found someone younger, hotter, and far more limber in the bedroom.

Stephen leaving me for some fresh-out-of-college girl who probably thinks his job at the local movie theater is the pinnacle of artistic achievement still stings.

But who needs him when I’ve built a new circle of friends? My coworkers, the librarians whom I love, and the baristas at the coffee shop. I have friends who value me for who I am, not the girl I was in high school.

Okay, so they’re more acquaintances than they are friends, but after the trauma my so-called friends put me through way back when, I’ve decided it’s best not to get too close to people.

I pound the trail harder as the ghosts of those days sneak up on me. I was part of them once—the Queens of Aspen Heights we called ourselves while reigning over the school with sharp tongues and cold shoulders, making life miserable for anyone who dared cross us—and even those who tried to steer clear.

Once the rest of the kids got wind of our little self-absorbed moniker, they gave a more reality-based twist and we were the Queens of Mean from there on out. We stepped right into that one and we knew it. But we sure as heck lived up to that name as well.

The thought of Robin and Brittney worms its way into my consciousness again, no matter how hard I try to shake it off. A double horror right here under our noses and just minutes from the big reunion they’ve both been clamoring over.

It doesn’t seem fair.

It’s not fair.

Murder never is.

And what about Brittney? They never found her body. Unless she’s still alive, but a part of me doubts that. These things never end well.

Their fates were so dark. And for some reason, it’s a reminder of the cruelty we once dished out so carelessly.

My therapist’s advice echoes in my head—Don’t let any rancid thought seep into your brain longer than three seconds. Combat it with three happy thoughts.

I’ve been seeing her to curb the trauma from my divorce, but now that Robin and Brittney have incited more than a few rancid thoughts in me, I’ve come to implement the technique when it comes to them as well.

One happy thought that you can control. One that you have on your vision board (another slightly woo-woo exercise she demanded I do in order to create the reality I wanted for myself). And lastly, a unicorn thought that is as wild as wild can be. But, of course, happy.

Okay, happy thought number one: The day after the reunion, I have an entire menu of indulgences planned out, mostly centered around a decadent chocolate cake. No softball game for me the day after that trauma. No thank you. I’ll be savoring every bite of my well-earned chocolaty feast.

Happy thought number two: I see myself on a beach in Hawaii, the warm sun kissing my skin as the sound of waves lulls me into a state of bliss. That’s where I belong, far from the petty concerns of high school politics and closer to my own peace. How I wish I could have run away to Hawaii way back when. How I wish I could be there now.

And my unicorn thought, my magical wild wish that never fails to bring a smile to my face: The idea of all of us former Queens of Mean coming together to make amends and somehow, someway heal the wounds we inflicted. It’s a far-fetched fantasy, I know—especially now that one of us is dead and another missing, but the thought of us sharing stories of redemption on a warm, sunny beach is my secret balm.

The trail widens a bit and I pick up my pace. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant call of a blue jay echoes through the trees. The occasional chatter of squirrels makes me slow down a notch as I watch them dart from one tree to another with their bushy tails moving in a blur of motion.

Above me a hawk circles lazily in the sky, its sharp eyes scanning the ground below for its next meal.

If only I can soar that high.

As much as I’d love a bird’s-eye view of this place, I’d love to let the wind pick me up and carry me off to wherever. I doubt I’ll ever be as free as a bird.

My life is a lot of things, but carefree isn’t one of them.

I slow my pace, trying to catch my breath, and my thoughts drift back to Stephen. All that bitterness swells up inside me as familiar as an unwelcome guest.

How could he toss away what we had for someone barely out of college?

He traded a woman for a girl. He’s practically a predator at this point.

I’ll admit, the wound is still fresh no matter the fact that a solid year has passed. A visit to my therapist is about as useful as lighting my money on fire. Come to think of it, I might have more fun with the fire.

Stephen is nothing but a constant reminder of my flawed judgment when it comes to men. I’ve had more boyfriends than I care to count, and each one of them was a walking, talking, red flag.

How am I such an idiot when it comes to all things heart-shaped?

Obviously, my picker is broken. And I can trace all of my boy-based malfeasances right back to high school—the origin of all my miseries. That’s where I started the pattern of falling for the wrong guys. No sooner did I crest puberty than I suddenly had a hankering for bad boys. And Aspen Heights had an entire litany of bad boys to choose from. My faves were Mitch, Derek, and Jackie.

A tiny laugh rumbles through me as each name conjures a whirlwind of memories, along with a mixture of thrills and the inevitable disappointment that followed.

Mitch, with his rebellious streak and that smirk that promised adventure but ultimately led to chaos. He was the one who taught me that boys are after one thing and it’s not holding hands in the park while eating ice cream. We were short and not-so-sweet, and I learned a hard lesson from the crash that followed. I wouldn’t say I was in love with him, but the pain was real once he moved on, after he announced he felt it was time.

Then there was Derek. A chill rides through me. I never should have looked in his direction, let alone made a move.

Jackie comes to mind. Oh, good grief.

I laugh out loud as I shake my head at the memory.

Jackie showed me the highs of attention and the lows of neglect, leaving me always wanting more but never fully satisfied. He’s a man’s man in a nutshell. I can’t believe I’ll be seeing him in just a few days. That is, if he shows. But according to Alicia, his name is on the roster. I should know, I asked.

I’m going to give him the biggest hug. Boy, was he hot.

What are the odds of him being single? Maybe we could pick up where we left off? How I’d love to parade Jackie Stone in front of Stephen and that walking tramp stamp he’s leashed himself to. That would teach him.

Derek comes back to mind and my mood darkens.

It was all based on a dare, a challenge thrown down by Robin who was the ringleader of our ridiculous clique. With Derek, the entire ordeal felt like a performance, because it was.

He had a girlfriend, for Pete’s sake. A sweet thing if I remember correctly. But then, Derek would bed a squirrel if it shook its tail his way. The guy gave even bad boys a bad look. Or more to the point, he was the leader of the bad boy pack.

Robin’s wickedness was undeniable. But she had the type of personality that made you want to be near her. Everyone wished she was their best friend, and for those four years, she was mine. How I wish she wasn’t. As much as I hate to speak ill of the dead, that girl was trouble.

She’s the reason I ditched those friendships as soon as graduation hit. I could only take so much of her toxicity. And I guess whoever thrust a dagger into her heart felt the exact same way. Leopards don’t change their spots. I read enough of her catty blog to know that.

One million fans.

More like one million suckers.

Some people wish they could relive their high school glory days all over again. And with Robin’s gossip gab sessions, it made you feel as if you were right back in homeroom.

I force all thoughts of the reunion, of the deceased, and the kidnapped out of my mind. Instead, I take in another lungful of fresh Colorado summer air. But no matter how hard I try to relax, there’s something gnawing at me, something grave and dark.

My eyes flit to either side of the woods as I begin to slow down. For whatever reason, these past few weeks I’ve had the eerie feeling that someone is watching me.

It’s stupid, I know, and totally paranoid, but if I’ve been anything these last few days, it’s been paranoid.

I mean, what are the odds that something happened to both Robin and Brittney? What if there’s some maniac out there who’s decided to pick all of us off one by one?

I shake the thought out of my head. It’s ridiculous. Those things only happen in horror movies. It’s not like we hurt anyone. Okay, so it’s not like we decapitated anyone. Although it probably would have felt better to a few of those people we dragged through hell.

As I push forward on the trail, another shiver runs down my spine. I try to shake it off. I’ve got one heck of an overactive imagination.

But then I see it—a dark figure emerging from the shadows ahead, the glint of what looks like a hunting knife in their hand.

“What?” I hiss as I slow to a stop and blink hard that way, hoping that it’s nothing more than a bear.

A bear, of all things. I never thought I’d hope so hard to see a wild animal that could maul me.

The figure lunges my way and a scream gets locked in my throat.

They’re clad in black, ski mask included, nothing but the glint from the whites of their eyes staring back at me, and that knife gleams with the promise of a certain death.

Panic seizes me and grips my heart like an ice-cold vise.

My feet do an odd pirouette as I turn and start running back the way I came, and suddenly my legs feel like rubber.

A grunt evicts from me instead of a scream as I propel myself forward in a desperate sprint fueled by sheer terror.

“No,” I pant as I hear their footfalls closing in. “Please.” I gasp as the world seems to spin into a blur.

The trees give a demonic sway and the ground seems to be coming up to greet my feet, making me falter as I’m electrocuted by this newfound blind panic.

The trail that once seemed so tranquil has morphed into a nightmare as the footfalls quickly catch up from behind.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as my mind begins to race. My eyes flit to the woods on either side, far too dense to get three feet, let alone escape.

“Help,” I whimper as my right hand fumbles for the phone in my pocket.

I’m tackled from behind and hit the ground face-first. I’m flipped over in one violent move and I look up in time to see the blade as it plunges into my chest.

A wildfire of pain explodes through me all at once. A weak croak escapes my throat as the world begins to fade.

That hawk and the bird’s-eye view of the world I’ve always wanted comes to mind just as I rise out of my body.

Death can bring the strangest gifts.