Briarcliff Read online

  “DESERTED CAR FOUND NEAR THE BOTTOMLESS POOLS”

  The article went on to say the car was from out of state and unfortunately, whoever was driving may have become another casualty of the bottomless pools. Of course, there was still no body found, so who knew. Maybe they got lucky and took their asses back across the old rickety wooden monstrosity of a bridge that covered the expanse of fifty- or sixty-feet and hovered above the steaming, bottomless pools. The pools had a bad undertow and had a tendency to suck things to who knew where. It was such a shame, too. Didn’t anyone read the signs posted all around the pools? And they were big, too, saying things like:

  “BEWARE UNDERTOW”

  “CAUTION DO NOT ENTER”

  “DANGEROUS”

  Not to mention the biggest deterrent of all, if you asked me was the one that read:

  “PRIVATE PROPERTY

  NO TRESSPASSING

  $1500 FINE”

  Besides, my ass wouldn’t swim in the water, and I lived here; neither would any of the other locals. It was probably another “Granola” tripping on something, who decided to rediscover their youth by taking a dip in the pools. At one time, the town’s big catchphrase had been… “Briarcliff: A place to reinvigorate your senses and rediscover your youth.” It should have said, “Briarcliff: A place to disappear for like…ever.”

  At least that is what happened to a few of the out-of-towners. They went missing. Either that or Briarcliff had become the new place to dump your car, but then what happened to the people driving them? Now that was the million-dollar question. Since no bodies had ever been found, it was hard to cry foul-play.

  I had my own ideas about what might have happened to them, but tended to keep them to myself since they were pretty out-there. “Oh well.” I crumpled up the paper and took my shot. “And she does it!” I cheered. “Two points! Beat that, Hanna!” I walked over to the chalkboard behind the counter and gave myself another point.

  Hanna worked for my parents at the coffee shop too. She was a space cadet…a very “we are not alone” type of girl. I didn’t mind, though…she was nice. Although I wished, she would show up to work on time, for once. Not that Hanna got paid much, but hey, at least she had a job.

  Hanna and her boy -toy, Aaron, could hang and talk alien crap to each other all night. He was Scully. Hanna was Mulder. They dubbed themselves that from an old television show called The X-Files … at least that’s what was written on their t-shirts. They were even saving up to go to Roswell, New Mexico, where the aliens crash-landed, “supposedly.” They were the ultimate conspiracy theorists. Hanna liked to wear her alien antenna headband, too. The little sparkles continually flew off the green b-balls on springs and always ended up getting into some random customer’s coffee…like they needed anything else to complain about. Coffee was a great markup, but when you had to give it away free, it really put a damper on the profit margin.

  Grabbing a pot of coffee, I headed over to the only occupied table.

  “I am telling you Jill, those two are so perfect for one another,” Mrs. Hayward gushed.

  I reached in between the two women, and lifted up one of the oversized cups for a refill.

  “Heather and Kingston remind me of when Charles and I first started dating. Young love,” she exhaled and smiled wistfully.

  The coffee pot shook in my hand and hot coffee sloshed over the side, burning my fingers. Gritting my teeth, I quickly set the cup back on the table.

  “I just wish Barnaby would find someone, Marion,” Jill was saying. I bit back the pain and reached out to grab another cup.

  “Oh, no thank you.” Mrs. Hayward covered the cup with her hand. “Just the check when you get a moment, dear.”

  Reaching into my apron, I dropped the check. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No, wait.” Kingston’s mother reached out and grabbed my hand. I would have groaned in pain but her fingers were unusually cold and felt really-good on my burn as a crisp bill was pressed into my palm.

  “Let me get you some change.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Hayward said. “You keep it.”

  I uncurled my fingers and looked down at the fifty-dollar bill. “Wow, thanks Mrs. Hayward.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She waved her hand and her huge diamond glittered under the lights. “You need it more than I do, dear.”

  Bitch.

  I forced a smile. “Awesome.”

  As if on cue, the door flew open; the little bell over the top tinkled and in walked Heather Bishop, my arch nemesis with her little butt-kiss minions, Addison and Brianna Kincaid

  “Lucky me.” I shoved the fifty in my apron and walked back behind the counter. Pulling out my reserve bottle of Aloe Vera, I put a glop of gel on my burnt fingers.

  Just so I wouldn’t have to suffer through another one of Heather’s evil Cujo glares, I pretended to act busy. I had dubbed Heather that the last time she was in the café and had taken a drink of her cappuccino. The froth stuck to her top lip and she reminded me of Cujo, a rabies-infected dog from an old Steven King movie. Bitch was probably more accurate, but Cujo was funnier.

  Heather tapped her fake nails on the counter.

  The sound reminded me of a dog tippy-tapping on the floor. I bet she dragged her ass on the carpet too.

  Taking a breath, I turned around with a fake smile plastered on my face. “Oh hey, Heather, what can I do you for today?”

  Heather looked over my shoulder, which made me want to turn to see what was behind me. It drove me crazy.

  Addison and Brianna gasped, and trotted over to the end of the counter. They were identical twins with disturbingly bright blue eyes and complexions so pale they made Casper look tan. Their unruly red hair was pushed back away from their faces with thick black plastic headbands, and tied off into ponytails that were pulled over their thin shoulders.

  Once again, they all were wearing similar outfits. Did they call each other to coordinate? I couldn’t help but wonder. Each of them wore snug cotton button-ups and short plaid skirts. They all looked like they were wearing uniforms, except Briarcliff Academy didn’t have uniforms. The only differences in the outfits were the colors and what designer purse they had jacked up on their shoulders.

  “Oh, this one looks good.” Brianna pointed to a chocolate éclair in the glass dessert case filled with French Pastries.

  “No, let’s get this one,” Addison leaned forward and pointed to a chocolate croissant.

  “Those are really good,” I told them, trying to be helpful.

  They both wrinkled their noses in displeasure and acted like I hadn’t even spoken.

  “What did you make recently?” Heather piped in, and then added on a nastier note, “I certainly don’t want that burnt shit you served me last time.”

  I fought the urge not to roll my eyes. It killed me to be nice to Heather. “I just made some mocha java…sound good?”

  Heather scrunched up her face in distaste. “No, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “Okay.” I bit back a sigh.

  “Do you have any hazelnut made?”

  I turned around and looked. The pot was empty. “No, sorry,” I said and turned back around.

  “Good, I’ll take some Hazelnut then.” Heather smirked.

  “Oh we want some too, we want some too,” the twins said in unison, excitedly.

  “Okie-dokie, coming right up,” I said as cheerfully as I could and wiped my hands on my apron and walked over to the back wall. The heavy wooden ladder screeched as I dragged it to the opposite end. Grabbing hold of the wrung, I climbed up the ladder and grabbed the last bag of Hazelnut off the top shelf, making a mental note to order some more.

  “Oh, you know what,” Heather called. “Is there any iced tea made?”

  I looked down at the machine—dry as a bone. Shoot. “Nah, sorry, I haven’t had a chance to make any more yet.”

  “I’ll take that instead,” Heather snipped.

  “Oh, us too, us too,” Addison and Brianna
Kincaid both added.

  Good lord, I felt like I was in a cave with all the echoing going on. Just because they were twins didn’t mean they had to say everything twice, in plural. “Got it,” I told them and headed back down the ladder. Placing the bag on the counter, I walked over to the opposite end and pulled out the tea from under the cabinet. Once I added the bags and hit the brew button, I turned back around. Big surprise, Heather was glaring right at me. I chewed on the inside of my cheek to stop from saying anything.

  “You know what?” Heather tapped the counter. “I think I’ll have that hazelnut after all.” She rubbed her thin arms for effect. “I’m feeling a bit chilled all of a sudden.”

  “How did I know that was coming?” I muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said,” I told her slowly. “Sure. Not. A. Problem.” I forced the words out, trying to be nice. Mom always told me if I didn’t have anything nice to say I shouldn’t say anything at all. It would have been nice if Heather’s mom had said the same.

  “Oh, us too, us too,” Brianna and Addison echoed.

  My shoulders tensed.

  The door opened and the bell trilled again.

  Hanna rushed in, a blur of bright blue hair and dark purple-glossed lips. She had her hair pulled up in a top-knot. Her t-shirt was knotted in the back, hugging her boobs, making the word Mulder all stretched out.

  I relaxed a bit. At least she wasn’t wearing her antennas.

  “Sorry I’m late, Evie,” Hanna said, rushing past. “Aaron and I got a little carried away in the car and we lost track of time.” She smiled wickedly and her Crawford stud twinkled above her lip.

  “Is Scully, I mean Aaron coming?” I asked.

  She shoved her purse under the counter and gave me a wicked smile. “Not now, but he was.”

  “Gross, Hanna!”

  “I know, right,” Hanna, laughed. “You fall for that all the time.” She tied on her apron. “You’re so funny Evie.” She shook her head. “And yes, he is coming in. He’s parking the car.”

  Aaron/Scully didn’t actually work at the coffee house, but he liked to be near Hanna, so he stayed while she worked and helped if it got too busy for her to handle. He was a great guy, really, and totally into Hanna.

  “Ahem. Excuse me,” Heather called out obnoxiously.

  Shoot! I had completely forgotten about Heather. I turned around slowly, dreading the butt- kissing I was going to have to do so Heather didn’t make a scene.

  “Oh my gawd, Heather,” Hanna gasped and stepped up to the counter. “You look so good!”

  I let out a huge sigh…saved once again—I owed Hanna big time.

  2-STAGES

  “Moriah,” her mother yelled.

  Moriah tensed and set down her flattening iron. She walked to the door and poked her head out. “What?”

  “I’m leaving,” her mom yelled up the stairs. “Do the dishes before you go anywhere and switch the laundry.”

  “But Mom, I’m going to be….” Then she remembered her mom wasn’t supposed to know what she was doing. “Fine,” she gritted and walked back into her room. Irritated, she yanked the cord from the wall and grabbed the bottle of Kiehls styling crème off her vanity.

  “Moriah, do the dishes, do the laundry,” she mimicked her mother. “Moriah, take care of your looks or no one will want you.” She made a face. “Moriah, why can’t you get better grades? Are you stupid?” She put a glob of styling cream in her hair and spread it down the length. “Moriah, hold your stomach in, you look pregnant.” Moriah chewed her lip and pushed her stomach. “Whatever,” she sighed.

  She should be used to her mother by now, but she wasn’t. Her mother was a wannabe. She wanted to be everything she wasn’t, which was rich. Her mother was really pretty too, but she was always waiting for someone else to save her from the proverbial blue-collar world they lived in. Her father had been some kind of musician/lead singer in a famous band, which was her mother’s one claim to fame. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out and Moriah had never even known him. Every time she saw a singer in a famous band with blonde hair, she always wondered if maybe he was her father. Her mother would never tell. She wondered if her mom even dated him, really, or was she just some random groupie who slept with him one night and got knocked up as a result.

  Either way, her Mom never told her who he was, if she even knew herself. Her mother styled hair and did makeup for a living. She worked at the only salon in town; it was trendy and upscale. She always went to IMATS shows, making sure she was caught up on the latest styles and trends. This was “honing her craft,” she would tell Moriah, and then she would take off for long spans of time to go to more shows. From the looks of the people who worked at the salon, it looked like it would be more of a party. They all seemed pretty cool.

  Her phone buzzed. Kicking a pile of clothes out of her way, she grabbed up her phone.

  Kingston: BE THERE IN 20

  Dammit! She jerked off her old cutoff sweats and t-shirt and tossed them with the rest of her clothes on the floor. She grabbed a vintage tee, pulled it over her head, and then pulled on a pair of cut-off jean shorts. Bending down, she dug under her clothes for her shoes but couldn’t find the pair she wanted, so she pulled on her tall Uggs. Hopping across the room, she grabbed her weekender bag, dumped her entire bowl of makeup off her vanity into the matching case.

  A vintage head vase held her makeup brushes and she grabbed those, too, and dumped them inside her overstuffed bag. These were another one of her mom’s must-haves: “Moriah, a good makeup brush can and will, make all the difference in the world when applying makeup.”

  Actually, she bought most of her own and Moriah’s at the art store. She said they were made better and more affordable. She bought the metal sharpeners for her pencils there too, and Moriah had to agree, nothing sharpened eyeliner pencils better than a metal one. And it only cost like a dollar, whereas the kind in the normal stores cost like ten. “Tricks of the trade,” her mom would say.

  Get Burned by Sleeper Agent, blared out of her phone again. She picked it up.

  Kingston: WHERE ARE YOU?

  “Shit!” Grabbing up her duffel and purse, she took off down the stairs. The kitchen still smelled like burnt toast. She tossed the dishes in the dishwasher, ran to the laundry room, and switched the laundry. Five minutes later she was back in the kitchen. She pulled off a neon post-it and wrote a quick note to her mom.

  At Evie’s for the weekend

  Call me if you need me!

  Sloppy kisses - M

  Crossing over to the fridge, she lifted a flower magnet, stuck the post-it to the front, and then headed out to meet Kingston.

  3-SURPRISE

  I painted my last fingernail with O.P.I. “umpires come out at night” polish. Gravity Falls’ theme song blared out from my phone. I flipped it over.

  Moriah: GOING TO BE EPIC

  Right—I blew on my nails. I still had no idea what was even going on, really. Moriah was being all cloak-and-dagger about it all. Granted, I loved surprises as much as the next person did, probably even a little more, but this was getting insane. At this rate, the party would be beyond epic—it would be outta control. I glanced over at the bed. On top was the gift Moriah had given me last night.

  ♦

  “Seriously,” Moriah said. “Don’t you think it’s weird that chick doesn’t think anything is strange about that huge sheet of plastic spread over the floor?” She grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed it into her mouth, her gaze directed at the television. We were watching American Psycho.

  “Maybe she is hard-up or something?” I reasoned. “Or, maybe she is merely mesmerized by Christians Bales’ perfect face?”

  I watched the screen as he circled around the girl in his apartment.

  “Eww, no way…” Moriah said. “I don’t care how hot a guy is. If he invites me over and there is plastic on the floor, I am taking my ass right back out of the door.”

  “What if it was Ki
ngston?”

  I reached into the bowl and grabbed out a junior mint.

  “Well…hmm,” Moriah said and smiled wistfully.

  “That’s what I thought.” I laughed and popped the candy into my mouth.

  Moriah crossed her legs and wiped her hands off on her yoga pants. “I almost forgot,” she said excitedly, and reached down into her bag. “I got you an early birthday present.”

  “No way!” I sat forward excitedly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Now don’t freak out,” Moriah warned, holding something behind her back.

  “Oh—kay,” I said slowly, my excitement diminishing quickly.

  “Ta-dah!” Moriah pulled a box out from behind her back.

  I looked down at the box and blinked stupidly. “Ah…thanks.” I took the box and read the container. “‘TROJAN Stimulations ECSTASY’ a revolutionary design that lets you feel the pleasure, not the condom.”

  “They’re in assorted colors too,” Moriah added, excitedly.

  “Wow,” I said. I was too stunned to say anything more.

  Moriah smiled gleefully, apparently quite pleased with herself. She bounced up and down on the bed. “Aren’t they great?”

  “Ah…”

  Moriah’s phone rang and saving me from having to lie. “Hold on.” Moriah reached over and lifted her phone from the top of her bag. She punched the button and held the phone up to her ear.

  “Speak,” she said and climbed off the bed.

  “Oh, hi Mom,” she sighed. “What? But we’re watching a movie,” she complained and ran her hand down her long ponytail. “Come on, can’t I…” She paced back and forth. “Okay,” she exhaled. “I’ll be home soon.” Pressing end on her phone, she tossed it in her bag. “I gotta go.”