Hate Me

The images are powerful, emotional.

Even though I don’t want to see her naked, I want to see this movie. I want to know how Maddie went from a seemingly happy party girl to trying to commit suicide.

“That looks really good,” Aiden leans over and whispers to me. “We should go see it.”

In front of me, Dallas say, “All I know is Abby Johnston looks fucking hot. We definitely need to go see that one.”

“I’m not sure if I’d like it,” I say to Aiden.

Dallas’ response to the trailer upsets me, and I can see why it upset Vincent. Maddie looks like she lived a very wild life. And I know she did. Mom let me read the script last year when she was considering the role. Reading about it was interesting. Seeing it played out before my eyes is another thing altogether. And I know that the movie, though poignant, is also supposed to be disturbing.

A little bit sick and twisted.

And, right now, I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach. Not because I’m not proud of my mom, but because I know it’s images like these that set Vincent off.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear the commotion until Aiden startles me by quickly standing up.

I turn around to see Ace standing in front of A

Whitney quickly steps in between them. “Ace, I think maybe you should leave.”

“I’m not leaving unless A

“Aaace!” Chelsea whines. She puts her hand on his back.

He shrugs it off and says, “Get away from me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” A

Jake stands up. He’s taller than Ace, but not as broad.

“She’s not going with you. Do as Whitney asked. Leave, and take her with you,” he says with a sneer toward Chelsea. “We’re all just here to have some fun.”

The way Jake says fun makes it sound like he and A

Once the door slams shut behind them, Whitney says, “It’s not a party ’til someone gets in a fight. Enjoy the rest of the show.” Then she holds up a few Shark logo flasks and asks, “Anyone care to join me?”

Aiden grabs bottles of water for us and sits back down.

“You handled that well,” I tell him.

“I have something else I need to handle,” he says with a sly grin.

“What’s that?”

He picks up my purse. “Is this the bag you took to St. Croix?”

“Uh, yeah.”

He starts digging through it and pulls out the glow-in-the-dark moon. “I’m putting this back up. Where do you want it? My ceiling or yours?”

“Where do you want it?” I ask. The moon and my stupid wish are kinda the last things on my mind right now.

“Well, I wanted it on your ceiling, that’s why I put it there. But I don’t want it to mock you.” He’s trying to suppress a smirk.

“I don’t know,” I say. Part of me wants to see it on my ceiling every night and part of me wishes I never had to look at the moon again.

Aiden holds up a finger. “Wait. I have a better idea.”

“What?”

“I know the perfect place for it. I’ll show you later, okay?”

“Okay. Um, I’m not feeling great, Aiden. I think I’m going to head back to my room.”

He gets up, looking concerned, and says, “I’ll walk you.”

When I’m alone in my room, I grab my laptop and watch the movie trailer again and again.

Watching it makes me feel nauseous.

It’s way worse than I ever imagined. And I know without a doubt that I have to do something about Vincent.

And fast.

I text Garrett.

Me:  I saw the extended trailer. 

Garrett:  Me too.

Me:  Are you in Vancouver with my mom?

Garrett:  Yes. And no one knows this, but we’ve moved up our timeline. We’re not waiting until Thursday. We’re leaving now.

Me:  You’re going with them?

Garrett:  Yes, I’m one of many who are. 

Me:  Thank you.

An old map.

12:30am

Dallas:  Most everyone took Whitney up on her offer, got drunk, and went to bed. You up for a little adventure with Riley and me?

Me:  Yes. 

I throw on some warm clothes and ease quietly out the window.

Dallas and Riley are waiting for me at the clearing.

“It’s cold. Are you sure we want to do this?”

“There is one other place we could go,” Dallas says.

“Where?”

“You know how the chapel is always left open?”

“I have to draw the line at smoking in church.”

“God made weed, you know.”

“I know, but . . .”

“Cool your panties,” Riley says. “It’s not just the chapel that’s open. There’s also the social center in the basement, and we think there’s some kind of special room there.”

“Special room?”

“Cam sent me an old map, a key, and a list of rules.”

“What kind of rules?”

“About taking care of the place. Passing on the key to someone worthy.”

“Why didn’t he give it to Dawson?”

“Dawson may have had a wild summer, but he’s a good boy compared to the rest of us.”

“So, by worthy you mean someone not afraid to take risks?”

Dallas says, “It’s colder than a witches’ tit. Can we discuss this later?”

“Wa

At the chapel, we go in the front door, up the side aisle, through a ski

“Twenty-seven. Stop. This should be it.”

Dallas shines a flashlight in front of us. There’s nothing but a dead end. He points it toward the wall on our left. On this wall is what appears to be a memorial stone for a Mary Jane Stockton, who died on April 20, 1920. Dallas points the light toward the other side. Nothing but a blank wall.

“There’s a door back there,” I say, pointing back. “Maybe you counted wrong.”

“Hang on,” Riley says, pulling the note out of his back pocket. Dallas shines the flashlight on the note. “See this? I didn’t know what this was, but maybe it’s a clue.”

I move the paper closer to the light. “That’s a pencil engraving.” I look up at the circular carving above Mary Jane’s name and laugh. It’s a flower with leaves that look suspiciously like a marijuana plant. “Her name is Mary Jane and she died on four-twenty? This has to be the place.”

“So where does the key go?”

I push the flower to the left and find a keyhole. “Here it is!”

Riley puts the key in the lock. We push the big stone door inward, shut it, and then look for a light.

When Dallas finds one and flips it on, I can barely believe my eyes.

We’re standing in a huge stone room. The walls are painted in bright colors and there are names and dates written all over them in black marker. There are furry and vinyl beanbags of various shapes and colors littering the floor. Psychedelic posters cover the ceiling. There’s a bar ru

“This place is giving me a hard-on,” Dallas says.

“Me too,” I reply in awe.

I go behind the bar and find four built-in mini fridges, each bearing their year of donation, and a place to chill and tap a keg.