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In the box are various trinkets. Subway tokens that we don't use anymore since we have gone to plastic access cards. A small key. Other odds and ends and a slightly bent ring with a cloudy stone. It can't be worth anything. My fingers close around it.
It's not like a wedding ring or anything. It's just some piece of carnival-quality jewelry, but it's worn, rounded around the edges. Somebody - maybe several somebodies - definitely had this on a finger for some time. It's probably very old. It's far too small for him, but it fits perfectly on my ring finger.
As I slide it snugly over the knuckle, I just kind of stare at for a minute. That's what that would feel like: to have someone slide a ring onto my finger.
Okay, I've gone from ridiculous to somewhere close to certifiably insane. What am I doing, fantasizing about a ring? In Daniel's bedroom?
But when I close the drawer and back out of the room, it's still on my finger. He probably won't notice it. I'll take it off. There is just something kind of sweet about it and having it on makes me feel just a little bit closer to him.
I spend the rest of the day studying, going over my notes long into the evening. Since they’re just freshman level classes, they're not incredibly advanced but I still want to keep as high a GPA as I can.
A map of pre-World War II Southeast Asia swims in front of my eyes as I try to concentrate. The borders have shifted since then, but it's important that I memorize this the way that it is. The old names like Formosa… it means beautiful girl. Such a lovely thing, to name an island beautiful girl…
A bang wakes me up and I leap from my chair, knocking it over backward behind me. But then I don't hear anything for a few more seconds and wonder, was I just dreaming?
I strain to hear, squinting and standing completely still as my heart races. Quickly I pad across the wide slate tiles to the front door, going as silently as I can.
And then, there it is: laughter. Voices. I hear them quickly go quiet and hear a shuffling sound like somebody rummaging aro
und the front door.
Freddie might be here, but he might not. I can't remember. He more or less avoids me, so I'm not sure. Am I alone? Should I open the door?
You're being ridiculous, I tell myself. Open the door. What are you going to do, just stand here and be afraid?
Slowly I unlatch the big door, pulling it open. I don't see anyone, but I can still hear shuffling. Whoever it is, they’re not far away. I begin to close the door, and that's when I see it.
Wrapped around the door handle is a bright pink swatch of stretchy fabric. It's the halter that Lizzie gave me to wear at the bake sale. Why is she leaving it here? How did she even know where I was? What am I supposed to think about all this?
I yank the halter off the doorknob and slam the door, snapping the deadbolt into place. That was just for show, since I'm fairly certain whoever's outside can still hear me.
And I’m completely ticked off, remembering the videos that they posted, remembering how callously Lizzie acted to humiliate me. Am I supposed to take this as a threat? Is there going to be more?
I back away from the door, unsure what to do next. Without even really formulating a plan I find myself tapping out a text to Daniel immediately.
Hi. Is all I say.
I scowl at the cell phone, realizing what a pathetic thing that was to write. I need to say more.
Do you know if Freddie is still here?
He texts me back immediately. No, he's at his sister's house this weekend, I believe.
I don't say anything, just stare at the words. So I am alone here. The phone begins to ring immediately, buzzing in my hands. I thumb the face to connect the call.
“Kita? Is everything all right?” he asks me urgently.
I don't know what to say. It is something like 2:30 in the morning. What am I thinking? Just freaking out like a little kid and calling him?
“Kita? Answer me please.”
“It's just that… I'm sorry,” I say in a rush. “I thought I heard something… I mean, it's probably nothing.”
“You heard something? What did you hear?”
He's taking me seriously, I realize. He doesn't sound angry with me, but he does sound upset. But he's not going to just dismiss me, so I figure the least I can do is answer his questions.
“I thought I heard a noise,” I explain, trying to assemble the words so that they make sense. “I went to the front door and somebody left… a top.”
