Long Live the Queen

Five: How to Play Dead (and Still Look Fabulous)

MAIA

I stared at the box of hair-dye in my hands, sighing for about the fifth time in a row. I wanted to put the disgusting thing back on the shelf and walk away; I wanted to pretend it didn't exist and go back to my normal life. But the hair-dye did exist, and I couldn't go back to my normal life because, technically, I no longer existed.

With yet another sigh for good measure, I tossed the hair-dye into my shopping basket along with all my other essentials - concealer, mascara, eyeshadow, hand lotion, etc. Sure, I was dead, but I didn't have to look dead.

People joke about faking their deaths all the time, and I mean, it wasn't my plan to fake it at all at first. I was actually going to do it. I was going to jump off that bridge, for real, and end my life. But thankfully, logic set in. I couldn't just give up... I had to get even.
Before it happened, my life was absolutely perfect. I was Maia DeRosa: head cheerleader, prom queen, and ruler of the school. I owned that place, and no one could take it from me.

But it happened.

And it destroyed me.

And then Maia DeRosa was dead, and I was living in a scummy old warehouse with my chem tutor. I frowned, thinking about the boy I'd roped into my little revenge scheme. It wasn't that difficult, really. I batted my eyelashes and flashed a smile, and he was hooked. I told him I "loved him," and from then on he'd follow me to the ends of the earth. Simple. Men are always so simple.

I carried my basket up to the register, numbly handing my items to the cashier, who smiled politely at me. She was a short woman, as wide as she was tall, with dark red hair about the same shade as the dye I had picked out. Maybe she used the same brand. I returned her smile as best I could. It felt strange though, interacting with someone other than Hobbes.

I had to drive twenty minutes from the warehouse just to buy this stuff. I mean, I couldn't shop in my hometown and expect to go unrecognized. Everyone knew me there, and on top of that there were memorials in nearly every public building.

It was sweet, really. Hobbes says the whole town came to my funeral, and I guess that makes a girl feel pretty good. I was their queen, in life and in death.

"Miss?" the cashier waved a hand in my line of sight.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I appologized, smiling again. "How much do I owe you?"

She glanced down at the register. "Seventeen-fifty."

"Okay," I reached for my purse, but caught sight of the Cosmopolitan on the rack. "Actually, can I get this too?" I asked, handing her the magazine.

She punched in a few more numbers. "Twenty even."

I smiled - I really missed doing that. There's never much reason to smile when playing dead - and handed her two tens, accepting the plastic bag she held out to me.

"Have a nice day," the cashier called as I exited the little convenience store.

"Have a nice life," I returned. That was my new favorite phrase, not that I got to say it much. Like I said, I barely saw anyone other than Hobbes, and the few people I did see... well, I wouldn't exactly tell them to have a nice life.

I cringed mentally at the sight of the junky old beater in the parking lot. I had almost forgotten about it. As I climbed into the driver's seat, the worn and crumbling leather catching on my jeans, I once again found myself missing my beautiful Cammie. The brand new, shining blue Chevy Camaro had been a gift for my eighteenth birthday.

I only had her for a month before it happened, and now I was driving this ugly thing Hobbes had somehow procured from a friend whose dad owned a junkyard, and my darling Cammie was home in my parents' garage, under a tarp, never to be driven again. The thought nearly pushed me to tears.

She drove like a dream too; so smooth and powerful. The stupid junker I now had sputtered and bumped down the road, and it was missing a hubcap on one tire.

"I want you to know that I hate you," I grumbled to the car as I pulled out of the convenience store parking lot.
Almost as if in response, the gas pedal stuck and lurched me forward. I hadn't bothered to put the seat belt on. Hey, I was already dead, why would I need safety?

The road was mostly empty, but I pulled my hood up around my face anyway. I was driving toward my hometown and the tinting on the beater's windows sucked, I couldn't risk being noticed. Feeling extra cautious, I slipped my sunglasses on as well.

I flicked the radio on, letting the heavily auto-tuned vocals wash over me. The sound quality was terrible, but it was better than nothing. I was never a fan of silence, even silence with my own thoughts. Actually, that kind of silence was the worst. Even crappy pop music was better than that.

About five minutes from the warehouse, I made a left turn. I wasn't sure what posessed me to do it, but I guess I just wanted to see it for myself.

My gravestone.

I pulled up to the graveyard slowly, scanning the area for any other cars or people. It was empty. I idled the car along the sidewalk, right by the gate, just in case I had to leave quickly. I left the key in the ignition.

"This is an absolutely horrible idea. Probably the worst you've ever had," I reminded myself as I slid out of the car. My own words registered, and I giggled. This is the worst idea I've ever had? Out of all the horrible ideas I've had in the past few weeks?

It was a bad idea to buy red hair dye, even if it was temporary (because, gross, red!) A bad idea to fake my own death, even if it was for an absolutely justified and valid reason. A bad idea to have gone to that party. A bad idea... well, the list went on. And on. And on.
Still, going to the graveyard to see my own grave in broad daylight was probably the worst of them all, in hindsight at least.

I wasn't even sure where my grave was located exactly. Hobbes had told me the general area, so I guess I just had to look for the one with the most flowers. And I was right; my headstone was a simple white marble rectangle, with etchings of hearts and flowers around my name.

There were tons of boquets around it, even more than I expected. So many that I couldn't even stand any closer than four feet away from the stone.
And even though the sight of my own headstone was doing weird things to my heart, and to my stomach (I kind of felt a bit like vomiting, actually. Not pleasant), I had to smile. Someone had put my prom tiara on top of the stone.

"Sorry I didn't bring you any flowers, Maia, but it looks like you've got more than enough," I laughed. Holy shit, Maia, stop it. You're talking to yourself.

"I like the tiara, it suits you." I laughed again, my voice carried off by the wind.

"This town will never forget you. And those people... your friends, you'll be the last thing on their mind when their time comes. That's a promise."

The sound of the wind replaced my voice, met only by the beating of my own heart. I was about to turn and leave, when someone spoke from behind me.

"Were you one of her friends?" The familiar voice asked softly.

Oh. Holy. Shit.

I nodded stiffly, biting my tongue to keep from screaming. I pulled my hood tighter around my face.
My mom walked forward, her eyes on the grave. She didn't bother to look over at me, thank goodness.

"She had so many friends," she said. She was smiling, but the tears were obvious in her strained voice. "She was involved in so much, and she always seemed so happy. I just... I don't understand it." She put a hand to her face, holding back sobs.

My own eyes prickled, and I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around her; to shout "I'm here, mama, it's me! I'm sorry! I love you!"
But I couldn't do that, because I wasn't here. I was dead, and I had to stay that way. And so I turned, and I walked back to that ugly car, and I left my mother crying in front of my headstone.

Once in the car, I let myself cry. I cried all the way back to the warehouse.

It shouldn't be this hard to be dead.