AN: I think it's pretty clear, but just so everyone's on the same page, Edmund is NOT talking to/seeing Lucy as a ghost or anything. The first time is a dream he's having and the second one towards the end is just his imagination. Like I said, I think it's pretty clear in the context, but I just wanted to make sure no one thought I was ruining a perfectly good story with a stupid ghost sub-plot. I hate ghost stories. Oh, and one more thing, I did not accidently mispell the chapter title, I did it that way on purpose. To be funny. Coincidance? Instead of Coincidence? Get it?
Never say things can't get any worse. Because everybody knows they can. And when they get bad, they get really bad.
Living proof of this concept exists in the fact that, when I am finally back in school, attending most of my classes, I find out that Susan Pevensie is dating Rabadash.
I. Hate. My. Life.
In Mr. Tumnus's Music class, I hear some girls gushing about how 'lucky' Susan is, how 'hot' Rabadash is, and how they make such a 'cute couple'.
Rabadash is an ass. And a pig. And a potential rapist. Oh yeah, he's a winner all right.
Of course, they don't know any of that. They're probably too thick in the head to believe it even if someone told them. Even if I could say something. But I can't. My tongue is like lead.
As if by magic, I'm back in the basement room. I don't remember walking down here. I must have, but I don't remember. I see my reflection in the wardrobe door. I'm very pale. My fists are clenched and my knuckles are ashen-coloured.
Feeling sick, I lean the side of my head against the coolness of the nearest wall.
Clearly, I have to do something. I have to say something to Susan. Only, she'd never believe me. She's a nice girl and all that, but why would she listen to some traumatized boy who barely even knows how to speak anymore? She's sane. She's sensible. She's not going to listen to me.
Sensible, I think to myself. As if!
If she really were half so sensible as she has always seemed, then she would date the devil himself before she'd consider Rabadash. She's such an idiot.
I can't worry about Susan, I have my own problems. As soon as the thought enters my mind, I am aware of how selfish and horrible that sounds. And I hate myself for it.
Yes, I do have a lot of problems. My girlfriend's dead. My parents have broken up. My Art teacher was injured in the same accident my girlfriend was killed in. Oh, and I have trouble talking. I can't communicate. Yes, a psychiatrist would have a field-day with me.
But does that really excuse me from doing the right thing? Susan doesn't know about what Rabadash tried to do to Lucy at that party in Bristol. Even if she heard a rumour and confronted him about it, he'd just deny it anyway. And where would such a rumour come from? It's not like anyone really knows other than me.
Inspiration strikes. It's not a great idea, but I have to try something. I have to start somewhere. I know how he really is. I can start the rumour.
The thing is, however, I'm not sure who I should whisper it to. Thunder-fist adores Susan. After all, he did lose a tooth for her. But I haven't really spoken to him much since that first day.
So the obvious choice is Peter. Although, truth is, I'm not sure I can tell him.
I can't just walk up to my Art teacher and say, "Hey, I just thought you might want to know that the boy your sister is dating once attacked my girlfriend at a party in Bristol. Plus also, you probably shouldn't tell him you heard it from me because I kind of sort of left him hanging on a hook and the last thing I want is for him to remember me and try to flatten me like road-kill. So let's keep this little chat between us, okay?"
I am so not saying that.
Stressed and dizzy, I fall asleep.
I see Lucy sitting next to me in this room. I know it isn't real. All the same, she is not unwelcome company. I like seeing her here. Hoping that maybe I'll never wake up and she won't fade away. Even though she always does.
This time, I manage to move my tongue and mutter (mostly to myself), "Why should I bother about Susan? A lot I could do!"
"Edmund," she says, her voice almost as low as mine, "she's your friend."
"I don't have any friends," I say stubbornly.
"You have to help her."
I know I do. Much as I might deny it, I know.
"She's pathetic."
Lucy doesn't say anything; she doesn't have to. Her just looking at me is enough. Those blue eyes still with seriousness.
They were hardly ever like that, you know. She only gave me that look when she was angry or frightened or deeply saddened. It's an expression that can break me down within seconds. Of course I would remember it now. It figures my conscience would take on the form of Lucy Valiant. It's only to be expected. I cannot ignore it.
My eyes shoot open. Lucy is gone. The dream is ended, this is the shadow-world again.
Thinking quickly, my heart pounding, I tear a piece of lined paper out of one of my notebooks I haven't actually bothered to take notes in. Then I scribble a quick message.
To Peter Pevensie:
That Rabadash chap your sister is dating is not a good man. I happen to know he tried to force a thirteen year old girl into a bedroom during a party in Bristol. Tell Susan to be very, very careful.
-A concerned person.
PS: if you can, please tell Susan's friends to stop drooling over him. It's sickening.
I know the note is incredibly lame, but it's the best I can come up with. Hopefully it will do the job. I will leave it on Peter's desk. I am glad he's not my English teacher. If he were, he might recognize my handwriting. I don't want him to know it's from me.
Just when I think I have succeeded in keeping the note anonymous, Peter makes me stay after class again and asks me about it.
I try to widen my eyes as if to say, "Who? Me? What?" But of course it doesn't fool him even for a second.
"Did you write this, Edmund?" He is wearing a pair of reading-glasses. I didn't know he wore glasses for anything, I am surprised. I've never seen them before, they must be new.
"No." It's easier to lie. He can't prove I wrote it. Can he?
He arches a blonde brow at me. "Mr. Justaciturn, what's the matter?"
"There's no matter," I say quickly, unable to meet his eyes. "Why would you think there was?"
"You're talking," he replies simply. "Something must be wrong."
Even though he doesn't mean to be unkind, he can tell how snappish that sounds and he amends with a comment that he's not trying to get on my back. He just wants to know why I wrote that note. Whether or not it's the truth or else a prank.
"Do you really think I would waste my time with a prank?" I grumble, glancing over my shoulder to make sure the next class isn't coming in yet.
"It was Lucy Valiant, wasn't it?" He gestures down at the note. "The girl you mentioned."
I shake my head.
"Ed…"
I sigh and nod. How does he do that? Guilt me right into telling the truth, I mean.
"Thank you for letting me know." Peter reaches up with a hand that is shaking just the slightest bit and removes his reading-glasses, holding them by the rims.
He looks very tired as he rubs his eyes and shakes his head.
"Mr. Pevensie," I start to mutter, though I barely know what I am trying to say.
"Yes?"
I shake my head. Nothing. I don't have anything to say after all.
"Don't worry about Rabadash," he tells me, forcing a grin. "You let me handle him."
I wonder if a teacher can get the sack for kicking a student in the privates-because that is exactly how I imagine Peter would react if Rabadash ever really hurt his sister. Then again, he's not all impulsiveness. Maybe now that he knows he has an idea. A real one that (unfortunately) doesn't involve using Rabadash as a crash-test dummy.
Too bad, I think, that would have been quite a show.
"Mr. Justaciturn," he says right as I am getting up to leave.
I clear my throat to indicate I am listening.
"Are you going to the dance next Friday?"
We have a school dance next Friday? It takes a minute to click before I vaguely remember seeing a flyer for it getting tossed around in Professor Kirke's class one of the few times I actually showed up.
"Mr. Tumnus and I got stuck as the chaperones this year," explains Peter, "so we'll be going. If you need a ride…"
Me going to a school dance with two of my teachers? Yeah, like that's ever going to happen.
But I still have to ask, as hard as it is to lift my tongue and make my mouth form the words, "Is Susan…" I mean to ask if she is going with Rabadash, but the whole sentence won't come out. My throat keeps closing. I've spoken too much today already.
Mr. Pevensie understands anyway. "Yes, I'm afraid she very probably is."
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. What does she see in him? I guess he's handsome, if you're into his sort of looks, but he's so awful. Can't she tell? He must be a very good actor, I suppose.
My senses must have been completely lost when the world ended, I must have gone mad, because I actually agree to go to the school dance with my Art Teacher.
Well, to be honest, even that's got to be better than sitting at home listening to my mother cry, wondering if my father's ever coming back or not. I bet he just sends some divorce papers in the mail. Not that I would ever say that to Mum.
Besides, even if Peter does have things well in hand, it wouldn't hurt to have an extra pair of eyes looking out for Susan. It's what Lucy would have wanted me to do. Knowing that compels me far more than I let on.
The days are going by in a blur. Nothing seems real except for my passing concentration in Art class and my anger when I notice Susan and Rabadash in the hallways.
I am so glad I don't have any classes with the two of them, since they're not in my year. It would be impossible to handle seeing with my own eyes what I hear from others about their behavior. She flirts with him in class, and supposedly he passes her notes that make her cheeks go red. If I had to sit through a class with them acting all lovey-dovey, I'd probably have to drop out. It's not only sickening, it's also scary. As I'm sure anyone with half a brain could understand, I don't trust him.
There are moments when I wonder how Peter stands it. How he stands knowing she's going out with that…that…monster. The thing is, however, I can't feel angry at him for not nipping it in the bud right away because I think-if she were my sister-my reaction wouldn't be unlike his. After all, everybody knows that forbidding a courtship only makes both parties more desperate for it. This has to be handled delicately, I know. But my nerves are completely shot.
Whenever they come to mind, I think, "What if he hurts her?"
As I sit in Art the Friday of the dance, working on my laurel-crown, which is slowly taking a real shape at last, I wonder if I'm really doing all I can. I wonder what Lucy would have done if she were here. My stomach turns and my heart sinks when I consider this. The reason? I bet, in spite of everything, Lucy would have just walked up to her and told her. Maybe Susan would have even believed it from her. Lucy almost never lied. Everyone who knew her learned this pretty quickly.
As always, I wish she was here with me. I wish I could have advice from the real Lucy. Not just a dream. Not just my conscience pricking at me. I want to see her again so badly. And I know I never will.
Gluing a silver-plated metal leaf to the side of my crown, I glance over at Caspian. His family is still too unflawed for Peter's approval. He says Caspian is still holding back from his fears. Right now he's working on a wood-carving. I like the little dog he's working on sculpting out next to one of the kids. That part doesn't actually look half-bad.
Lasaraleen's 'work' clay-bowl looks like a bunch of elephants used it for a community toilet. I bet she's the only one who winds up failing this class. Even Caspian will manage to pass if he can convince Mr. Pevensie he's trying his best. The student who pulled down his pants that one time will probably get points for enthusiasm if nothing else.
As for myself, this might be the only class that my marks aren't low in. I'm not sure I am going to pass P.E. now that the coaches have gotten it through their thick skulls that I am not going to be their new prop-forward for the school's next big rugger game. They must hate my guts.
A shy-looking boy passes a note to Lasaraleen. Leaning over, pretending to rummage through a box of gray and black markers, I read it.
It says: Will you go to the dance with me tonight, Laceralein?
She starts crying. I'm not sure if this is because she is sad that she already has a date since he didn't ask her any sooner, or else upset that the next possible love of her life can't spell her name. At least Peter's gotten a respite from her attentions lately-thanks to all the dance invites going around.
After class, Mr. Pevensie tells me he'll pick me up at seven. Or rather that Mr. Tumnus will, as he's the one driving. I still cannot believe I am going to a high school dance with my Art teacher in my Music teacher's car. I seriously hope the guy who takes pictures for the year-book doesn't have it in for me. Or, if he does, eats some bad sushi or something tonight.
At home, Mum doesn't say much. She hasn't become as borderline-mute as I have, she still talks plenty-only not to me. Most of the time she's on the phone with a workmate or else, I think, with a lawyer. It's hard to keep track.
There's usually a note on the fridge now about ribs on top of the microwave or where the money for pizza is. I just have to walk into the kitchen, read it, and nod. Really, what else do we have to say to each other now? My talking won't fix her problems. And her trying to be a proper mother in spite of everything won't fix mine. It's neither of our faults, I don't think. There's just nothing else to be done.
I assume there will be food at the dance. I flip over her note and quickly jot down where I will be on the blank side. For a second I consider reminding her she can reach me on my mobile. Then I change my mind. It's not as if she'll want to. If we aren't speaking much in person, I doubt a phone call can be excepted of us.
There is no way I am going to get dressed up in a suit. Especially since my life stinks and it's not as though I've got a girl I'm trying to impress or anything. So I just put on a sports-jacket over a clean white shirt slightly less wrinkled than most of the other articles of clothing in my closet. Also I iron a pair of slacks. I burn my finger on the iron and curse under my breath.
I am running my finger under the cold-water tap when the doorbell rings. I throw the slacks on and go to answer it. It's Peter. He's right on time.
He isn't wearing a full suit either, but I notice that, unlike me, he does have a tie on.
Mr. Tumnus, when I see him, getting into the car, has suit-pants on, no tie, and a brown leather jacket. I am impressed. He almost looks like he could have actually been a cool band-guy or something when he was younger.
Part of me wants to ask why Peter doesn't suggest Mr. Tumnus pick up Susan and Rabadash, too. That way there's less chance of something happening. Less time for them to be alone together. But I feel uncomfortable speaking up in front of Mr. Tumnus. So I don't say anything.
Once we are at the dance, I stuff my thumb-nail into my mouth. I am nervous because I don't see Rabadash or Susan yet. I know I have to remain calm. I know that Peter would kill anyone who tried to hurt her. And, to be honest, since I don't really consider her a friend anymore, I don't know why I care so much. I just do.
To my great surprise, Mr. Tumnus really gets the dance going. I'd always thought chaperones had to be boring and stand on the sidelines, glaring at students who got a little fresh with their dates. Apparently not. Mr. Tumnus can (and does) tell the DJ to put on a faster song. He even starts up one of those weird dances that everyone seems to know the moves to by osmosis.
Peter watches them with sort of a small smile on his face. I wonder if he liked dancing before he got his injury. Every few minutes, he glances over at the door-waiting for Susan and Rabadash. I cannot understand how he keeps so calm.
Finally, Susan walks in, her arm tucked under Rabadash's. He has a smug smirk on his face. I think of six different ways to rearrange it. Secretly, I think Peter could come up with eight or nine if he wasn't being so reserved.
Susan sees Mr. Tumnus leading the party, and starts to laugh. She claps her hands. Rabadash just stands there at her side with a bland expression. Trying to act cool, I guess.
I shift my gaze to Peter who walks over to them, motioning for Susan to join the others. When Rabadash tries to follow her, he grabs his shoulder and tells him he needs help with something. Rabadash can't refuse to help his date's injured brother without looking like the jerk he really is. He has no choice but to comply to Mr. Pevensie's request.
Less than a minute later, Susan's dancing with some of her friends and Rabadash is helping Peter readjust his crutch. Right when he's nearly finished, one of the bolts has 'gone missing'. Smooth work, Pete.
I stand off on one of the sidelines. Watching the different couples on the dance-floor makes me think of Lucy and miss her even more. And that hardly seems possible.
If she were alive, she would have come to this with me. I imagine her standing by my side. Usually I can't see her this clearly when I'm not in my basement room. There have even been times when I've found myself shaking with grief because I can't picture her face as readily as I used to. But here, tonight, she's with me.
I reach out and hold her hand in mine. She smiles so sweetly. I close my eyes and try to hold this moment for just a little while longer. For I know that when I open them again, she'll be gone. She never stays. There won't be a hand in mine once the whirling memories slow like a fan that has been unplugged.
My eyes open slowly. My fingers tighten instinctively around the hand they are holding. Wait a minute…
There's still a hand in mine? That can't be right.
It is not Lucy's hand after all. I've grabbed onto someone's hand for real. Oops! My mistake. Dreadfully sorry.
Glancing up, I see who it is. Susan Pevensie. She must have walked away from the dance-floor to take a breather. I don't remember grabbing onto her hand. That's because I was thinking about Lucy Valiant and was somewhat oblivious to my surroundings.
As if it is a flaming ball of fire, I instantly drop Susan's hand and step away.
"Sorry," I mutter.
Turning a little red in the face, she tells me not to worry about it.
Rabadash is still busy helping Peter who keeps falling over things and 'accidentally' dropping his crutch, so he didn't see me holding his date's hand. Phew. Well, there's one load off of my mind.
Nothing important happens for a while. Then Rabadash finally manages to get free of Peter and is dancing with Susan.
When I see him slip his arms all the way around her, I want to throw up. I wish I could just make him disappear. But of course I can't. My stomach turns and I try not to think about how scared Lucy was that night in Bristol…
Thankfully, I am distracted by Peter and Mr. Tumnus whispering about something. No one else seems to notice them, but I suspect some kind of plan is being discussed.
A few seconds later, Mr. Tumnus joins the dance and taps Rabadash on the shoulder. "May I cut in?"
I can tell he is ticked and is about to say no, but all of Susan's friends are encouraging her to go dance with the Music teacher. He's one of the few males with a pulse in this room who can actually stay on beat, they point out. Two girls already got their feet stepped on and swore at their dates. I can believe that.
Good old Mr. Tumnus, I think, watching him dancing with Susan in a much more modest manner than Rabadash was working up to. Maybe I misjudged the poor chap when I called him a fruitcake before. It's very sweet of him to help out the Pevensie family like that. Goodness knows he doesn't have to.
At one point, towards the end of the dance, Mr. Tumnus spins her around and she goes twirling right into a certain someone who is not paying attention-again. Me.
"Oh, hi, Edmund," she says, nice as anything. I really wish she could just be more of a female dog. She would be so much easier to dislike if she were. Stomp on a fellow's foot once in a while or snub me in public. Then I wouldn't be so concerned about her well-being.
I don't say anything back.
"Hey, you haven't danced at all yet," she realizes.
I shrug my shoulders. I really couldn't care less.
The DJ calls for the last dance of the evening.
Susan smiles at me. "Do you want the last dance?"
I start to shake my head no, but then I happen to look over my shoulder at Mr. Pevensie, who's eyes are flickering towards Rabadash. I realize it is either me or the monster. Having heard that they car-pooled, I am not worried about Susan being alone with Rabadash in a parked vehicle afterwards anymore. Regardless, I'm not up to watching them dance together again, either.
I nod since it's still easier than speaking.
The whole time I am dancing with her, I sense Rabadash glowering at me. When the song ends, he approaches me and says, "Hey, I know you?"
I shake my head rapidly. No, you don't. And certainly not from any party in Bristol.
"You look familiar."
"Ed's a friend of mine," Susan tells him. She doesn't say it nonchalantly. She says it like she actually means it.
I suddenly feel much shorter. Am I smaller, I wonder? Because I feel pretty insignificant right about now. Instantly, I feel guilty about all those things I thought about us not being friends. Why does she have to be so nice all the time?
When I get home, I crawl into bed feeling more confused than ever.
AN: That's all for now. Please review.