Chapter 3: Skylar

My parents taught strength to Jo Beth and me every day, whether they meant to or not. They had no choice, not while raising us on a limited budget and in such an entitled environment. And they were so young when they had Jo Beth, yet they did okay. I loved hearing the story of how our family came about. We’d all sit at the kitchen table eating a fresh batch of snickerdoodles and drinking milk. I’d say, “How did Jo Beth get her name?” And even though it was a story told many times before, Mom and Dad would tell it jointly, trading off at various points, almost like it was rehearsed.

Many years ago—while they were still in high school—my mom, Elizabeth Simpson, and my dad, Joseph Reese-Wakefield, started dating. As graduation approached, they both applied and were accepted to C.U., but Mom got pregnant. The timing was bad but they were in love, so Mom and Dad decided it was more important to start a family than to go to college. Mom became a baker and Dad a preschool teacher/artist. They believed in equal rights and freedom of choice and, I don’t know, sticking it to their fathers, neither of whom supported their decision to marry. So, Joseph and Elizabeth combined their own first names to form their daughter’s first name, and they chose their mutual favorite color as her last name. Thus, Jo Beth Blue was born.

But how did she become a ski star? Well, both Mom and Dad liked to ski, so we spent most of our free time hitting the slopes. Somehow, they managed to budget in a family lift season pass every year, and we frequented the second-hand sporting goods shops to update our gear. I suppose Jo Beth and I both inherited a bit of talent, a bit of athleticism, and a penchant for snow. But Jo Beth got something else, a quality I would never, ever possess. Nothing intimidated her.

You could never say the same about me. Standing up to people was never really my strong suit. In my defense, Black Diamond is a wealthy ski town, girls are mean, and my middle school clique had my back until they realized that I wasn’t wearing the right clothes, that I raised my hand too often in class, that I said, “no thank you” when they passed me a joint at the last party they ever told me about. One Monday morning in math class I opened my Algebra textbook to find a note inside. This was after weeks of being shut out, of being ignored if I dared to speak at the lunch table. “Sky” was hand-written in large, loopy letters on a piece of lined paper folded in fourths. I unfolded it eagerly, hoping to find an invitation to a sleepover, or some inside joke, or maybe just an “I miss you” from my best friend, Eileen. The note was in her handwriting.

Everybody hates you. You should just kill yourself.

I spent the rest of the day with my lips clamped shut and my eyes cast down, so as not to cry. As soon as school was over I raced home to find Jo Beth, who usually stopped at our house for a snack before she met with her trainer. I rushed in through the backdoor and into the kitchen. Jo Beth was standing in front of an open refrigerator, but she shut it as soon as she saw my face.

“What’s wrong, Sky?”

Wordlessly, I showed her the note. Then I burst into tears.

Jo Beth’s eyes turned hard and her voice was like concrete. “Who did this?”

Through sniffs and hiccups, I answered. “Eileen. Ever since she became friends with Becca, she hates me because Becca hates me too.”

Jo Beth crumpled the sheet of notebook paper, shoved it down the garbage disposal, and hit the switch so that the note became nothing more than a memory forever stamped across my brain. “Forget those bitches,” Jo Beth said. “They’re not good enough for you.”

“But I want to be friends with them.”

“No.” Jo Beth put her bony fingers underneath my chin and tilted my head up, so our eyes met. “You don’t need them, and you’re coming with me.”

We spent the afternoon taking our aggression out on the slopes. For me, that precious time with my sister was enough to make me forget those mean girls, but not for Jo Beth. On Wednesday night, before I went to bed, Jo Beth came into my room, her urgency more glaring than usual.

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Was it Eileen you had over when you used the Ouija Board and tried to summon her dead grandmother?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“And I dropped you off at her house that one time? It has that big tree that’s right outside her bedroom?”

I paused before answering. It was exactly like Jo Beth to be plotting revenge. “Don’t do anything, Jo. Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it.”

“Okay.” She got up and went towards my bedroom door.

“Really?” Before, she’d never been easy to convince.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Sky.” She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, turned, and winked at me. “You’re my favorite and I love you best of all.”

“I love you, too.”

She walked out of my room and soon I fell asleep, confident that the world was right. But the next morning I woke, went to take a shower, and found Jo Beth in our bathroom. She was wiping off grey makeup that had been smeared all over face, covering her freckles. Her brown hair had been sprayed silver and the remains of black lipstick clung to her plump lips.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Did you go to a costume party?”

“No. Don’t worry about it. But do me a favor, okay? If Eileen is suddenly nice to you, ignore her.”

“Huh?”

Jo Beth smiled. “Refuse to be her friend. Promise me, Sky.”

I should have been in the shower by now, letting warm water wash over me as I tried to wake up. Yet I was instantly alert as dread washed over me instead. “Oh my God!” I yelled. “You said you wouldn’t do anything!”

She stepped forward and placed her greasy, soapy palm over my mouth. “Shush! If Mom and Dad see me like this, they’ll know I sneaked out.”

I spoke through her hand that pressed against my lips. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!!”

“I fixed things for you, okay? Relax! Your life would be so much easier if you stopped worrying so much. TRUST ME.”

I relented. After all, what choice did I have? Whatever Jo Beth had done it was too late to take back now. Speaking of late, Jo Beth took forever to shower, so when I finally made it through the doors of West Diamond Middle School, first hour had already begun. But nothing seemed any different. Same groups of people ignoring me, same burnt out teachers spurting out their lesson plans, same sun shining up over the mountains and through the large picture windows, making it all the more difficult to sit inside rather than enjoy the day.

Yet at lunch time I was startled when Eileen set her tray down across from mine. “I have to talk to you,” she said, and I noticed she was pale underneath the cafeteria’s fluorescent light. I also noticed her perfectly painted magenta fingernails; she must have learned all about hair and makeup from her new set of friends. Speaking of which, why wasn’t Eileen sitting with that pack of Abercrombie-clad Emmas?

Jo Beth’s words from that morning rang in my head: Don’t be friends with Eileen. I made fists, hiding my own nails, which were ragged from being chewed. And I kept my voice stiff, like an unpromising handshake. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to come over today after school?”

I had to pause for a moment and reign myself in. “No.”

Eileen’s face fell. “Please, Skylar? I sort of need you to.”

“Why?”

She ran her fork through her mashed potatoes, keeping her eyes on the goopy white tracks. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Let’s just say I heard from my grandma last night.”

“But your grandmother is dead.”

Eileen looked up. She had dark circles underneath her bloodshot eyes and she spoke in a vicious whisper. “Yeah… but I was woken by this bright light shining through my curtains, and when I looked outside, there was this figure.”

“Your grandmother?”

“No.” She shrugged. “Maybe. It was dark and I couldn’t see much, but it was the creepiest face I’d ever seen, all grey and dead looking, like she was floating in the air.”

I breathed steadily, trying to calm my racing heart. “Like, where that tree is?”

“Maybe, but there was this deep, scary voice, and she told me…” Eileen shook her head. “Never mind. Nobody is going to believe me, and if I tell anyone, I’ll go to hell.”

Eileen has never been the brightest bulb. She’d believed Noah Simmons when he’d told her that the school cafeteria imprisoned child slaves to make the popcorn chicken tenders for our lunches, because only tiny fingers could bread pieces so small. So whatever prank Jo Beth had pulled, it was plausible that Eileen would buy it, hook, line, and sinker. I looked at her face, all pinched with fear. I imagined Jo Beth outside her window, scaring her, but I could muster no sympathy for Eileen, only admiration for my brave, hilarious sister.

“Excuse me, but I’d really rather eat alone.” I picked up my tray and moved down three spaces. Eileen twisted her mouth like she was about to say something, but I turned away.

I ate lunch by myself, with nobody to talk to, and I pulled out a copy of Jane Eyre for company. Yet as I read, I could hear Jo Beth’s voice as clearly as if she sat across from me. I just want you to be in control, Skylar. Never give away your power. I resolved that I wouldn’t give my power away, unless, of course, it was to my sister. She was the best company I could keep, and if I couldn’t be with her, I’d keep company with my favorite authors instead, like Mary Shelly, Jane Austen, or most especially, the Brontë sisters. I imagined Jo Beth and me to be like them, for when Charlotte, Emily, and Anne first wrote their respective novels (each under a different male pseudonym) the literary community was convinced it was all the work of a singular talent. The Brontë sisters were competitive for sure, but their isolation and dependence upon each other was what made them capable of inventing worlds full of gothic romance, hauntings, and devastating love. They were complete individuals, seemingly sharing the same soul.

Just like Jo Beth and me.