THE image was now forever seared into my brain.
Recoiling in horror, I couldn't comprehend what I had just witnessed with my own two eyes.
Nothing could eradicate that scene from my memory. The way her hand touched the back of his neck. The way his eyes widened. Pure nausea washed over me in sickening waves that made me feel dirty to the very core.
Disgusting, disgusting sin.
A fist seemed to clench hard around my heart, and there was no doubt I would be looking at a date with death had anyone been aware of my presence.
Sure, no one was a stranger to Violet's obsession with boys. But Rudy? They had such a stark difference. If she was the sun, he was the moon.
They didn't even like one another.
I had hardly seen that level of intimacy between my father and Arabella. Not that they were a shining example of marital bliss. Talk about a suburban scandal - I hardly recalled flitting back to my room and laying in the dark, my chest thumping.
At school, I couldn't even glance in their direction. Neither of them acted as if anything had changed. They sat on separate desks, with little interaction, save the sarcastic banter they had in line for the cafeteria. Even then, Rudy sloped off to his usual bench of solitude.
Violet took a seat beside me.
"I heard that cow talking about you before," she opened dramatically.
"Who, Daisy?"
Our rivalry hardly seemed interesting any longer.
My friends set their plastic trays on the table. Today's menu included some grey-colored bread slapped together with bologna, with a side of apple slices. It was sort of gross, but I was grateful for an excuse not to engage with Violet.
"Yeah, she's been real nasty to you lately," Betsy waved her plastic fork about. "We should probably get her back before summer."
"Oh, we haven't pulled a prank war in ages," Nick said enthusiastically, while Danny nodded. "Things can get nasty. Truth be told, Brenning had it coming. But not without your permission of course, Lydia."
Sunlight streamed through the windows into the cafeteria. Outside, the trees danced in the movement of the breeze. Listening to my friends go on about random nuisance had never felt so reassuring. Mondays, nowadays, were lined with gold.
With a shudder passing through me, I thought about home. Everything in my life seemed to be strange and obscure since I had started my life in this unfortunate town. It was a opposite mirror of of my childhood - a wonderful school life, but a shaky household.
Now Violet and Rudy had complicated things even more. I mean, physically speaking, their relationship (whatever it was) - wasn't incestuous. They shared no blood. But the concept? Revolting.
And what would our so-called 'parents' think? Percival and Arabella, so renowned in the community for their successful lifestyles. I wasn't even sure if my stepmother knew anything outside church or couture.
It reminded me of the time I accidentally borrowed a copy of Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita from the library back home. I say accidentally - more like I had no idea how pornographic it was until I flicked open the first page. Twelve-year-old me was disgusted that a man could become infatuated with a girl my age - however, a sick part of me wanted to read on.
"I'm just not sure where it can go from here," Violet said.
Nick wiped his hands on his jeans. "Worry not! I'm the master of schoolyard comebacks. Back in seventh grade, Howard Bletchley stole my biscuits, and later on that day we set his science project on fire."
"Yikes, don't go lighting up the place," I muttered.
"Fun," Violet's eyes glittered.
"I think it sounds like a laugh," Danny agreed. "You have been a bit of a downer lately."
I was hyper-aware of people staring. I know it was just what teenagers do, but I felt guilty and contaminated. I had the burden of the secret, too. It dragged me down like a heavy weight chained to my ankle. It wasn't only that making me sensitive - it was Betsy's weird rants about politics, Danny's uncanny ability to turn off every female in a five-mile radius. We weren't the coolest kids at Haverbrook District School, but at least we didn't have a reputation of family disgrace.
"You know what they say - float like a butterfly, sting like a bee," Betsy exchanged a nod of approval.
The boys snorted.
"The only war you'll even approve of."
"Yeah, you're such a flower child before you know what's happening the communists-"
The bell rang. A collective groan rose from the room.
"Hey, at least we don't have do that shitty swimming anymore," Violet called over as we paraded towards the classrooms. "Coach Martin did form his own club though. And guess what, our favorite person joined up!"
My sister swiveled her head around to catch my reaction. I kept it as blank as a mask.
By the end of the afternoon, my mood died.
On the days Rudy had no piano tuition, we would ride the rickety school bus until it dropped us off at the church in the Hollow. But today, I was dreading the walk up with Rudy and Violet, not knowing whether I could pretend things were normal.
Violet gave me a sudden shove. "Aren't you listening to me? Come on, the driver will close the doors any minute now."
"Oh," I emitted nervous laughter. "Sorry."
Maybe it was the delicate pronunciation of my words. But my friend seemed to sense my reluctance. I had a habit of my hand fleeting back to my throat when I was feeling uncertain. Betsy, her hair a halo under the sun, took one glance at me and offered, "do you want to come back to my house for a few hours?"
Rudy was hanging back to catch a glimpse of us. He was shielding his eyes with some sheet music. Evidently, he was trying to figure out what the hell was taking us so long.
"I'm not sure our mother-" Violet started.
My fingers dragged across my collarbones. "Maybe one of the boys wants to-"
"No, I don't want fucking Danny to come," Betsy hissed, then changed rapidly to a bright smile. "Lydia asked me for help on her math homework."
The statement was a blatant lie, but Violet swallowed it. She lifted her shoulders offhandedly to mask her disappointment. With weak knees, I realized I wasn't sure how else Arabella could punish me. At least not with Daddy around.
So I went home with Betsy Dawson, and I didn't care about the consequences.
From the thriving fields to the quiet roads of the outskirts of town, the walk to her house was longer than I anticipated. Gravel crunched under my feet as we went along. I couldn't help thinking the remote area resembled a scene from the pictures where a psychopath abducted his victims. During the silence, my mind went to strange places.
"Are you okay?" Betsy watched me closely.
"Sure," I wasn't sure if my face betrayed the fact I'd been thinking about serial killers.
"Really? I know it's been a rough time. With your cat dying and all."
"Oh, it's nothing, I'm over it," I wasn't sure why the lie seemed necessary.
For some stupid reason, I was nervous. When we reached the front of the Dawson's residence, it appeared ordinary enough. It was a detached property with honeysuckle creeping over the walls, licked with pale blue paint. There was evidence everywhere that the owners were farming folk - the muddy boots littering the porch, the wheelbarrow full of weeds, and wooden windchimes hung from the exterior.
God knows what sort of parents Betsy had. To be honest, I had never really thought about my friend's homes before. It was like they ceased to exist outside the times we met.
Not sure what to expect, I was relieved when Betsy unlocked the door to reveal an average-looking house. The state was a tad sloppy - the houseplant on the kitchen side was wilting, and newspapers were stacked in piles by the doormat. I began to unbuckle my shoes, sliding them off and placing them neatly in the corner.
"Oh, bless you," Betsy laughed when she saw what I was doing. "Let's go to my room."
"Elizabeth, is that you?"
A feminine voice rose from afar. Betsy gave a great sigh. She pressed her hands to her temple before retaliating; "What is it, Mom?"
Upon hearing footsteps, I braced myself.
But Betsy's parents weren't the free-thinking hippies I had imagined them to be. In my head, I pictured them to share the same bizarre outfits and wild opinions as my closest friend. In person, Betsy's mother proved no threat when it came to tarnishing my image.
She was soft-spoken, wearing a cardigan with flecks of paint on the sleeves. Her yellow hair was twisted into a dutch braid. She took my hand with a degree of astonishment; "You didn't tell us you were bringing home a friend, sweetie. Never mind. Would you like to stay for dinner, Linda? I'm got a casserole on the stove."
I was so struck by her, I couldn't even correct the mistake.
As Betsy's father emerged from the hallway, you knew at once he was a farmer - the plaid and a rough beard painted an instant portrait.
He lit up like a Christmas tree. "How's my favorite child?"
"Dad, we all know I'm your only child," Betsy swatted his arm.
"Pleased to meet you! You're not one of those kids who was caught smoking weed behind the bike sheds with my daughter, were you?"
He broke into peels of laughter at the tentative shock written across my face. I had never heard anyone discuss drugs with their parents so freely- let alone crack jokes about it.
"Don't encourage that kind of behavior, Jeremiah," her mother said, and then her hard voice softened once more. "Would you like a snack or something? Some apple slices, carrot sticks? Everything is home grown," she informed me. I tried to look impressed.
Before her parents could embarrass her any further, Betsy ripped me away. Her bedroom was nothing short of my expectations. It was shrouded in darkness, and when she opened the velvety curtains brightness illuminated the contents of her room. The walls were lilac, and so many candles cluttered the vanity it was a miracle the place hadn't gone up in flames. A peeling Rolling Stones poster was thumbtacked on large board alongside Polaroids and snippets of articles; a string of lights hung across her bed. Betsy began to bundle some clothes off the floor.
Her sunny persona evaporated. "Sorry about the mess. I know your house is probably a hundred times nicer."
With a pang of guilt, it suddenly hit me how intimidated she was by my opinion.
"Relax. It's cool."
She walked over to a vinyl record player to her bedside. Wordlessly, she lowered the needle and the music came to life, some sort of jazzy whirlwind so vibrant I could taste it. Betsy started to move to the rhythm absently, shaking her head so her beaded earrings jangled.
I picked up a woven headband from the carpet.
"This is so awesome, did you make this?" I exclaimed.
The compliment made her glow. She rushed over, and excitedly started to tell me how she put it together. I had worn my birthday shirt to school a few times just to please her, which caused a few raised eyebrows between Daddy and Arabella.
This led to a new wave of enthusiasm. Before I knew it, I was stripping off to my underwear and trying on Betsy's entire wardrobe. T-shirts with cut off sleeves, jeans patched up with aesthetic designs, and wrapping myself in yards of exotic material. Betsy spluttered with amusement.
She took we by the wrists and whirled me around. With the blues now singing in my ears, I hardly cared about the wrath that would be brewing at home.
We collapsed on the floor.
"I'm going on summer camp, you know," Betsy said when our laughter quieted down.
My head made home on her shoulder.
"Really? Like a cabin in the woods and all that nonsense?"
"Not exactly." Seriousness blossomed underneath her content expression. I could sense it. "But I believe it'll be good for me."
"Your parents seem cool."
"Yeah, they are. Well, the road so far has been pretty non-problematic. I don't have any brothers or sisters to distract them though. My mom's an artist, so she disappears for a few hours to get it the zone or whatever. My dad spends his life dedicated to the crops. He used to be Amish when he was our age. Then during Rumspringa he met my mother and never went back."
"Whoa, I'd never have guessed that."
I thought about it a bit more. The Dawson's isolation from the rest of town was sort of unusual.
"So when they had a kid they poured all their love into me," she cringed. "They let me do whatever I want. Great."
I propped myself up on my elbows. Her life sounded like heaven to me. But something about the way she phrased it was off. I looked at her deeply. Now it was turn the tables on her.
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, I don't want to bitch," she fiddled with a ring on her fingers whilst avoiding my eyes.
I waited.
"It's just... I know I can be a little overbearing sometimes. I get excited. I get overinvolved. I want to share pieces of myself with the world and I get so shattered when I don't receive it back. Get this, my Dad was actually proud when that teacher found me and Nick sharing that joint. How screwed up is that? Parents aren't supposed to be your friends."
"Most kids would love that," I agreed.
"Nick's mom forced a rosary into his hand and made him go and study the bible. He had to sneak out the house to meet me for at least three weeks."
The question that had been lingering on my mind came out in fractured strings of sentences.
"Did you and Nick ever... have you ever...?"
Betsy gave a great shout of laughter at my boldness. "Nope! He's like a brother to me. I think my Mom's been trying to encourage a boyfriend for years."
"But they seem like they really love you."
"I know," Betsy's face went grim once again. "I just don't want to be a disappointment. That's all."