Phantom [h.s]

Three

I look at myself in the mirror, admiring the delicate chain fastened around my neck. The small skull and crossbones charm falls to the middle of my chest, just above the hem of my shirt.

It's beautiful.

But how the hell did it come to be in the small box? It's been a night since I found it in there, and I'm currently getting ready to go to school for the second day. Do I wear necklace the school? I'd like to. It's delicate and sentimental, and somehow it almost makes me feel decent instead of sulky.

I feel like I should be freaked out that a random necklace turned up in a random box that I found a random photograph in, but I'm not. It's almost like a little gift, these random things I'm coming across.

"Whatever," I say, to my reflection and reach over to get my bag, leaving the necklace on.

I make my way down the stairs, pushing my dark hair over my shoulder. The sun us shining today; it reflects off of the little crystals hanging off the chandelier in the foyer.

"Morning, darling," my father greets, me from his seat at the kitchen table. He holds the news paper in his lap and a plate of eggs sits in front of him. He smiles brightly at me.

I nod the him and reach for a banana from the fruit bowl.

"Jane, I made you toast," my mother says, pouring coffee into a mug.

"It's okay, I'm fine with a fruits," I say, peeling the banana. My mother shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. "Well, I should get going," I say biting into my banana and trucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Alright, have a good da-" My mother stops speaking abruptly, her brow furrowing. "Jane," She says and I stop moving, looking back at her.

"Hmm?"

"New necklace?"

My hand flies to the skull pendant. I stop chewing, swallowing quickly. She steps toward me, quitting at the pendant. "A skull?"

"Uh.., yeah. I found it at, uh.., Claire's."

"Claire's? You've hated that place since you were twelve," my father remarks.

"Well, I saw it in the window and just wanted it," I say backing away from my mother, who has begun to reach out to touch the skull.

My parents exchange a look.

"Can I go now?" I ask. "I'm going to be late?"

"Yeah. Have a good day," my father says, looking back to the newspaper.

I left out a breath of relief and push out the back door, walking around the side of the house to my car.

I don't end up being late for school. In fact, I'm early, and I pass my time by picking at my nails in my first period classroom.