"Not this again." Chet rolls his eyes. "Maybe what you heard was Greta running by."
"No!" I insist.
"What are you saying, you don't trust me? Look, I was only trying to help. I was just making sure the coast was clear."
I take a deep breath and try to decide whether I should believe him.
"It's clear, by the way," Chet continues. "The coast, I mean."
"Fine," I say, trying my headlight again. This time it works. I take a second peek behind me, deep into the utility room, half expecting to find something-- someone --else. But there's only us. "Let's go," I whisper, and move out into the hallway.
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LIZA
THE HOSPITAL IS keeping us captive. I honestly feel that way, as irrational as it sounds. With Chet and Mimi missing, it's just the four of us now. And nobody's really talking.
I grab Derik's hand as he leads me around the spot where the stairs collapsed. "Are you okay?" he asks.
I nod, pulling myself together, relieved somehow that we're doing the fight thing.
"It's this way," Tony says, using the map.
The hallway does look familiar. We're in the A wing, searching for Christine Belle's room, since that's obviously where Mimi and Chet sneaked off to.
We move slowly down the length of the hallway, our flashlight beams mingling together, crossing over one another, but then becoming one solid strip of light.
I look to the left, toward the room that I sneaked off to earlier--when I opened up the closet and found a rope tied
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into a noose, almost like a warning of the horrors yet to come.
Derik wraps his arm around me as we approach Christine's room. The door is open a crack. "Are you ready?" he asks.
I nod and take a step away from him, edging the door open just a little. I can see Mimi from here. She's sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth, Christine's doll cradled in her arms. And she's crying, whimpering like she can't get a grip--like I've never seen her before. I don't even think she notices us as we enter the room.
Nor do I think she cares.
Chet is with her, trying to be supportive. He sits behind her, patting her back, but I'm not sure she notices him either.
Derik locks eyes with him, wondering what to do. I look up for just a second, noticing how the headboard has been taken apart; the cover of one of the posts, about three inches in diameter, is ripped off completely--where Christine hid the doll.
The idea of it--of righting someone's past so far into the future, of helping someone's soul rest a little easier, maybe--gives me chills.
"We should go," Derik says.
Chet nods and helps Mimi up, taking her bag so that she can keep a firm grasp on the doll.
We leave, back down the hallway and down the stairwell, finally coming to the door that leads into
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the tunnel--the one that gets us out of this place.
"What are the odds that it won't be locked this time?" Derik asks, wrapping his hand around it.
"Pretty good," I whisper.
Derik turns the knob. And this time it works.
"Holy shit," Greta whispers.
She and Tony huddle together, as do Derik and I, and Chet and Mimi. We travel quickly, keeping a good pace until we reach the outlying building--the one we first entered.
Derik pauses at the door, afraid it won't open, maybe. Even though I know it will.
And it does. The outer door opens, too.
"Flashlights off," Derik orders, just before we step outside.
We click them off, in total darkness now, but it doesn't matter. Because we're finally out.
We may never be free of this place, but for now we're
out.
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ONE MONTH LATER
***
LIZA
April 22, 2007
Office of Undergraduate Admissions
Harvard University
86 Brattle Street
Cambridge, MA 02138
Dear Director of Admissions:
Please accept this as a formal letter of deferral for my fall 2007 admission. I would like to defer my admission until the spring semester, at which time I would like to pursue an academic course load consisting of my arts and science requirements, rather than concentrating in chemical and physical biology right from the start, as I had originally planned.
I would also like to take this opportunity to express my enthusiasm about attending Harvard,
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particularly as an undeclared major. Please be assured that this deferral does not in any way detract from my genuine interest in attending.
To be quite honest, since my initial application to your university, I have grown and learned a lot, really taking the opportunity to ask myself what it is I want to pursue, both academically and professionally.
For the first time in my life, I feel that I am making my own decisions, that life is throwing me a series of tests, and that I owe it to myself to complete these tests, to see what direction they're trying to point me in. I plan to take the fall semester to find out.
Many thanks in advance for your understanding, and for your faith in my academic abilities. I look forward to seeing you in the spring.
Sincerely,
Liza Miller
***
Dear Mom and Dad,
I know you don't understand the choices I'm making, but they are my choices I'm making but they are my choices. It's not Derrick's fault, so please stop blaming him. He's not the irresponsible person that you make
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him out to be. He's doing something important with his life, and he makes me happy. He's supportive. He listens to me. And he's always able to make me laugh.
Right now that's what I need. Actually, when I really stop and think about it, I'm not so sure how I lived without these things for so long.
I hope one day you'll understand.
Love Always
Liza
xoxoxoxox
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TWO MONTHS LATER
***
TONY ASHLEY'S THE REAL WORLD AUDITION TAPE-PART I OF IV STARRING
ASHLEY BARBOSA (the actress formally known as Greta)
DIRECTED BY
TONY CASSIS
ALSO STARRING
"RYAN SEACREST": BILL DRISCOLL
PAPARAZZI: JENNA MATHERS, DONNA TIMPECK, ALLAN FEINER, JEREMY BLOOM, DAN RAKOWSKI
A-LISTERS: TIA LAMB, SUZANNE DOWNEY,
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JENTI WREN, CASEY RAMOND, JOHN ROMANOWICZ
PHOTOGRAPHERS: JASON GARBER, HYACINTH BAILEY, ROGER MING
ASHLEY'S BODYGUARDS: KEVIN KNEELAND, MARK GREICO
SUMMARY
ASHLEY WALKS "THE RED CARPET" ON OUR RE-CREATED VERSION OF OSCAR NIGHT.
EXT. KODAK THEATRE-NIGHT
A thick red carpet lines the sidewalks. Floral arrangements decorate the area. A-LISTERS take time to pose for PHOTOGRAPHERS. Cameras FLASH as people mill around, schmoozing and getting interviewed. Giant lifesize OSCARS stand in the background.
PULL BACK to reveal a black stretch limo as it pulls up to the curb. ASHLEY BARBOSA, 17, emerges from the car. PAPARAZZI and photographers swarm, but the velvet-covered roping keeps them at bay, as do Ashley's two hulky BODYGUARDS.
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ASHLEY stops a moment to pose for the photographers. She shows off her gown, a strapless peach-colored satin number that all but reaches the ground. Just her Jimmy Choo heels peep out from the bottom.
"RYAN SEACREST," 30-something, steps forward from a throng of onlookers to interview.
ASHLEY, Meanwhile, cameras continue to FLASH. Paparazzi eavesdrop on their conversation, taking notes.
RYAN
Hi, Ashley. You look gorgeous tonight. Can you tell us who you're wearing?
ASHLEY
Thanks, Ryan. This is a Vera Wang original.
RYAN
Gorgeous. And how are you feeling tonight? I loved Project 17, by the
way. How does it feel to be a part of the first Best Documentary Short nominee to be shot for under a hundred dollars?
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ASHLEY
It feels amazing, Ryan. I'm really excited about it. Really happy about the nomination.
RYAN
And you changed your name.
ASHLEY
Right. I can still be a Greta Garbo fan without trying to clone myself into her. A good lesson to learn.
RYAN
Any other lessons for aspiring actors?
ASHLEY
Yes, acting isn't about the thinking; it's all about the feeling. Each role is unique. And each character needs to emerge from within. Period.
RYAN
Well, great. Great advice. And we can see the fruits of that advice right here, with the film's nomination.
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ASHLEY
That's right, Ryan.
RYAN
So what can your fans expect from you next?
ASHLEY
I'll he starring in another indie. It's about an overly emotional drama queen at an arts high school. We start production this summer. It's being filmed by Tony Cassis, an up-and-coming Boston-based filmmaker.
RYAN
I don't think I've heard of him.
ASHLEY
Well don't worry, because you will. Not only is Tony amazingly talented, but he's also quite sexy.
RYAN
I take it, the two of you are pretty close.
ASHLEY
(grinning) You could say that.
(speaking to camera)
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Hi, "babycakes. I love you.
(Ashley "blows the camera a kiss.)
RYAN
Good luck tonight, Ashley. We look forward to seeing more of you.
ASHLEY
Thanks, Ryan.
CUT TO:
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THREE MONTHS LATER
***
MIMI
June 1, 10:22 PM, rainy night
Our visit to the Danvers State feels like it just happened yesterday. I know that sounds clichéd, but clichés aside, I can't seem to shake the place-can't seem to get it out of my bones.
The post-traumatic stress stuff still lingers. I'm having trouble sleeping, and I still jump at every little noise in the house-from the toaster oven bell to the creaking of floorboards.
I don't know if the sedatives Dr. Maylor gave me are helping, but at least I haven't woken up in the middle of the night this week screaming Christine's name.
My parents are pretty worried, though. My mom continues to blame herself for my PTSD. The other night I heard her talking to my dad, saying that if only she had been more open with
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me about my grandmother, if only she and my uncle had made different choices back then, maybe I wouldn't have felt the need to go to Danvers in the first place.
But my trip to the hospital was never about making anyone feel guilty. And I have no idea why this whole post-traumatic thing even happened. al I can guess is that maybe I wasn't as prepared as I originally thought.
Or maybe that place just makes people crazy.
Regardless, Dr. Maylor say I'm good to go back to school in another week (just in time for finals). He also thinks that all this journaling is actually helping me make progress in my therapy.
Little does he know, however, that keeping this journal only makes me remember Christine more.
Her journal still sits in a duffel bag in the back of my closet, along with Christy, her doll. Dr. Maylor says that one day-sometime when I'm completely healed-I should go back and look at that stuff, just to prove to myself that I'm stronger than that place and those memories. But for now I can't imagine when that time will ever come.
Chet seems to be the only one who understands that. I've grown so much closer to him. He's been visiting me more often lately, usually at night, right after my tutoring sessions.
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He keeps me updated on all his dad drama, which helps me focus on something besides shrink-speak and schoolwork and talking about what it is I'm supposedly feeling all the time.
He and his older brother got together last week to confront their dad, and apparently the old man has agreed to get some help for his drinking. It's all still very fresh, so I have no idea what will happen.
All I know for sure is that I love having Chet around.
Last night he came over with a pint of my favorite pistachio ice cream. We ended up camping out on my bed, eating our way to the bottom of the container, and laughing at stupid stuff-like our trig teacher's green polyester suits and Ms. Pimbull's obsession with the Chia pet. The poor woman ahs at least eleven of them in the art room, and she calls them her kids.
I was laughing so hard I could barely even swallow my ice cream. And then Chet dug his spoon back into the container and scooped up the very last bit. He held it at my lips, waiting for me to relax-his face all serious, just staring at my mouth. After a couple seconds, he slipped the spoonful over my lips. And then he kissed me, his mouth folding over mine in pure creamy goodness. My heart beat fast and my skin tingled over, like snowflakes swirling all around me.
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We continued to kiss some more after that-until well past midnight, when he was supposed to leave.
I can only hope there's more to come.
More soon,
Mimi
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SIX MONTHS LATER
***
DERIK
A LOT'S GONE DOWN since that night at Danvers State.
First: I didn't win the contest. Not that it really matters, because, hey, at least I tried.
The thing is, something really weird happened after my experience at Danvers State. It may sound kind of cheese-ass, but spending the night there made the problems with my parents seem so small. So I ended up telling them all about the movie after all--even though I didn't win. At first they were cool about it. My dad told me about some guy he knew who had stayed at Danvers State--some guy who thought he was the real Burger King--crown, robe, and all. But then I got to the part where plans had changed for me--that I wasn't going to work in the diner.
And that's when things got ugly.
My mom was ripshit. I mean, beyond--yelling at me in Canuck, telling me I had shit in my head. My dad
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didn't say much at all, just sort of sat there listening, clenching his granddad's spatula tighter than he holds his rosary beads. That's the part that made it hard--seeing how disappointed he was.
It took a full five weeks to actually convince them to sit down and watch my film. But then, once they did, after it was over, my father got this huge-ass grin on his face, even though he didn't say anything. My mother was happy, too. I know she was. She cut me a slice of blueberry pie and set it in front of me, squirting a giant swirl of whipped cream on the top. For her, that says a lot.
A couple months after I sent my entry in, I got a letter in the mail from RTV--the contest people. It was a personal letter, not one of those standard photocopied ones, telling me that they really liked the project and encouraging me to keep working on the footage and try again.
Which is exactly what I did.
So, in the end, I didn't win the internship, but RTV ended up selecting a handful of student documentaries taken from the submissions pool to air on the show. I guess it's sort of like what they do on American Idol --when they show some of the auditions--except RTV actually chose quality student documentaries to air, calling them runners-up. The actual winning entry will be on in a few weeks.
I've named the movie Project 17, after the chair, not to mention all the other messed-up references to the number that we encountered that night. It's weird; I can't even
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look at the number now--on the clock, on the calendar, on a price tag--without thinking about that stupid chair.
The movie airs tonight, and I'm having some people over to watch, including Liza. That's where another one of my chang
es comes in. She and I are dating. We've been together for six months, ever since the project.
We're setting up the family room since it's got the widescreen, waiting for everybody to arrive. I've loaded up the tables with stuff like cheese pretzels (the organic kind for Liza) and my parent's contribution of celebratory sparkling cider (though I've got the real stuff).
"Are you nervous?" Liza asks, clicking the TV on.
I shake my head, knowing that I probably should be. But I honestly feel like I did good work.
"This is just the beginning for you," she says.
"For both of us," I clarify, stopping a second to really focus on her--on how unbelievably amazing she is.
Her eyes crinkle up like she's just as excited as me. "I'm really proud of you, you know that?" she says, her tone all serious like she really means it.
I really mean it too. I hold her hands. They feel so smooth, like bars of soap. "How did I get so lucky?"
Liza smiles--a wicked little grin that sneaks up her lips, like there's just something secret about her that I have to know.
"You know," I begin, "a very wise person once told me that there are close to three hundred germs living in the human mouth, and that kissing--sharing those
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germs--can help support the immune system."
She leans in closer. "Care to boost your immunity?"
I nod and press my lips against hers, noticing how she smells like vanilla candles--and how she tastes like tangerines.
When the kiss breaks and we finally come up for air, I click on over to RTV. "Forty-five more minutes," I say, glancing at the clock.