Chapter Two
Carly - Wednesday afternoon
Carly - Wednesday afternoon
When I come to consciousness, I am thinking exactly four things: 1) Why do I have a killer headache? 2) Why will my eyes literally not focus? 3) Why am I laying in the grass? And 4) How did I get here? I know the answer to none of these, and it frankly kind of scares me.
I try to sit up, but between my eyes my forehead throbs so bad I can’t take sitting up so I fall back into the grass. Wait – that’s not grass! What is it? I reach out with my right hand and feel it. It’s sort of like grass, but somehow different in a way I am at a loss to explain. I squeeze some in my fist and it crunches. Odd. I feel it some more. Ah-ha! Leaves!
At first, I am very proud that I figured out just what it was without looking at it. Then, I realize how useless that information is to me anyway, since I still don’t know why I am laying where I am.
Grin and bear it, I think to myself. You’ve got to sit up sometime. So, I grit my teeth and throw all my effort into sitting upright. I get just nearly there when the pain – everywhere, not just my head, now – is too much. I let out a shriek and fall back into the leaves. My vision fades away.
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Do you ever get the feeling that you were born into the wrong family? I feel like that all the time. I am nothing like either of my sisters. We don’t even look alike.
This is what I’m thinking as I am eating breakfast Wednesday morning. I bite another spoonful of Wheaties from my now-soggy bowl, then pick up the cereal box and read the nutrition label. I like to do that when I’m bored. I don’t know exactly what any of it means, but it’s fun in a very strange way.
Right then, Courtney walks into the room. Even though it’s only about ten a. m., she’s already in her full partying get-up. Super tight tank top and super tight short shorts that show off her curves. That’s the way everything is with Courtney – super tight and letting everybody see it all.
“You look like a redneck,” I tell her, pointing my spoon at her tank top. Wheaties have 1 gram of fat.
“I am a redneck,” she says, and blinks, exposing about ten gallons of sparkly silver eyeshadow. And since when is being a redneck a desirable trait?
“You wish. And you’re also a slut.”
“Now that I’m not.” Wheaties have 110 calories per serving.
“Ha. Funny. You wish you weren’t.”
“No, really. I’m not a slut. Now shut your face Carly if you want to keep it as pretty as it is.” With that, she flips her perfectly curled blond hair behind one ear and stomps out of the room. Did you know Wheaties do not supply vitamin D?
I told you I’m nothing like my sisters. We’re as opposite as three human beings can be. Courtney speaks for herself – and loudly. She’s outgoing. Beautiful. Kind of a b*tch sometimes. Unless she’s on your side – then she’ll kill for you. She’s a partier. Got her choice of boys.
Cara is my fraternal twin. She’s older than me by fifteen minutes and even though she’s the middle child, she’s the most mature. She’s wicked smart. All the advanced classes at school. Overworks herself. Likes to be pressured. I asked her once why she tried so hard. She said for several reasons. One was so no one would think she was the slut Courtney is. Another was she hated the whole “dumb blond” stereotype, and also the “middle child/rebel” thing. Along with that she truly enjoys anything educational.
Me, I’m not exactly one for the books. I get okay grades in school, but of course they pale next to Cara’s shining A’s. Also, I’m a brunette. Courtney and Cara are both blonds. They’re also both pretty. I don’t think I am, but everyone else does. I’m not book-smart like Cara; I’m not street-smart like Courtney. The only notable thing I can think of that I’ve done would be getting a role in My Life in Sticks. Who am I?
Wheaties contain zero milligrams of cholesterol.
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Now, my vision swims in and out. It’s slightly better than it was before, but that’s being optimistic – it still sucks. I can make out trees around me and what may or may not be a sky above, but I don’t know if it’s day or night.
Suddenly, I remember several things: I am Carly. Cara is my twin. Courtney is our older sister. I think she is a slut. Cara is smart. Wheaties have 1 gram of fat.
That’s all I can remember. That’s all I know. I feel that there should be more – I know that I should have loads of memories from my entire lifetime, but I have no idea where they are. It’s an odd feeling – as if I just climbed into bed under the warm quilt I’ve used my entire life but now all but one square of the quilt is missing. Well, that’s a bad metaphor. Why would part of a quilt be missing? But maybe it’s not that bad of a metaphor… why would memories be missing either?
But I know the sky is blue; grass is green; autumn leaves are brown. I know things, but my memories are gone.
My headache is exactly the same: violent throbbing beneath my forehead. Without thinking, I put my arm over my eyes to block out the bright light. Sunlight?
My forehead feels rough and moist beneath my arm. It scares me, so I jerk away my hand only to realize there is blood on it – blood from my head. It’s not new – scabbed over, except for a few spots still moist. When did I get that? I look to see if I have any other injuries and realize all my limbs are covered in bruises and gashes and scrapes. Holy sh*t, what did I do? Dive off a cliff?
Well that explains my headache. Mostly. And why my body’s sore. But I know one thing and it’s that I don’t have a lick of chance of surviving out in the woods in the condition I’m in now. I need to get up and not leave myself vulnerable. I need to see if I can help my injuries. How do I know this?
Before attempting to sit again, I move each appendage to determine it’s intact. They all are. I place one hand the ground on each side of me and push, using my few stomach muscles to pull myself up into something very much like the fetal position.
Something has happened to me, I know it. And it is so scary to realize something this bad has happened to you, and you don’t even know what it is. I glance down and see the bruises and cuts up my legs. It hurts to move.
I start bawling like a baby. I manage to crawl over and lean against a tree, then sob some more with my head in my hands. What happened to me? I can’t remember anything!
I decide to take stock of everything I remember. My only memories are the ones from when I came to consciousness until now as well as the flashback I had involving Wheaties and Courtney. I know lots of things; but everything I know is a fact or a habit, not a memory. Like, I know I drink water. I know I eat food. There are some things I don’t know, like my mom’s name or how I got here. But those aren’t really facts, are they? I’m not sure. What makes them different from knowing to eat food and drink water? Are they different? What made me lose my memories? Will I ever get them all back?
That’s when I get what seems like a brilliant idea. Maybe something will jog my memory! Maybe if I hear or smell or see something, whatever is wrong in my head will kick in and I will get all my memories back.
Then comes a new realization – do I even want to know what happened to me, or why I was seemingly left for dead in the middle of an unfamiliar – I think it’s unfamiliar – forest? So many decisions. How do I make the right one?
My stomach growls. I’m hungry. What do I eat in the middle of the woods? What if I get a poisonous berry? And how do I know this is the middle of a woods anyway? Perhaps there is a freeway just over there, or a house…
There’s only one way to check for signs of life – get up and move. But God, it was such a struggle to sit up once. Dare I try walking?
But I can’t exactly sit either. For all I know there could be bears or mountain lions or some other vicious carnivore stalking me right now.
There is a large downed branch and a rock about a foot in each direction beside me. I think one thing: weapons. However, let’s be realistic, if I saw a bear I wouldn’t think to grab the stick; I’d probably just scream my head off and wish it didn’t eat me.
Let’s compare. What good could come out of me attempting to go somewhere other than I am now? I could find someone who could help me. I could find food. I could see something that could jog my memory. And what bad? I could hurt myself. I could get more lost. And what good for staying here? Umm… I can’t think of anything. And bad? I can’t get food. I won’t see something that jogs my memory, since if it was there I would’ve already seen it. Something could attack me.
Looks like I’m walking. I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes on my sleeve. That’s when I notice two things: my shirt is on backwards and my fingernails are painted bright orange.
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As soon as I’m done eating my Wheaties, I put the box back in the cupboard and rinse out the bowl in the sink. I hear a loud radio turn on directly upstairs – Courtney’s room. I smirk, then turn and walk up the stairs to the room Cara and I share. She’s huddled over a book open on her desk and from her expression I can tell it’s one of her favorites – Frankenstein.
I flop onto my bed, closest to the door, and pull my laptop out from under my pillow. I keep it there because then late at night, if I want to get on, I can use it and put the pillow right behind it so if I hear someone coming, I just slap down the pillow and they’d never know there’s a computer there. Unless they look close enough to see the tiny blue blinking light and have good enough hearing to notice the slight whirring.
As usual, it takes a while starting up. Also as usual, the battery’s nearly dead. Another usual – it’s not plugged in – which means Courtney stole my charger. And there’s no way I’m going in her room to face her wrath just yet. I let out a dramatic groan Jen-nay would be proud of.
“What?” Cara asks, looking up from her novel and turning around to glance at me, then adjusting her glasses.
“Stupid laptop doesn’t charge itself,” I say.
She smiles a crooked smile and turns back around. “You can use mine.”
“Where is it?”
“The closet.”
I raise one eyebrow, but take her word for it anyway and go to open the door. When I do, mountains of clothes collapse all over the floor in front of me – several months’ worth of laundry that never met the washing machine.
“Umm… where at in this death zone?” Someone will be killed in our closet someday, I swear it. Either suffocation, or strangulation from clothing, or stabbing by a hanger.
“I think under the bookcase…” From the tone of her voice, I can tell she’s tuned me out and isn’t really listening to anything I say. She’s lost again in her world of monsters who attack their creators.
I grit my teeth and shove my hand under the bookcase – yes, we have a bookcase in our closet because it won’t fit in our room – and pray that those are dust bunnies I feel and not live furry mammals. My hand hits something hard. Yay! I grab it and jerk it out.
Oh. That’s no laptop. But it is my charger cord! How’d it get there? I really don’t care, just as long as I found it.
Carefully, I pick my way out of this mess in our sorry excuse for a closet and climb back onto my bed. I stick one end of the charger in the wall and the other into my computer. It springs to life and goes straight to the welcome screen.
I bring up Yahoo! Messenger and sign in as invisible. I do that a lot, to see what people’s stats are before they know I'm online. Liam’s on, and I read his stat out loud with a smile. “Roses are red, violets are blue, fire is hot, and so are you.”
Cara turns around. “Wow. Cliché, much? Get one with some class next time, Carly. And tell Liam I said get better pick-up lines.”
I beam and grab the orange nail polish sitting on the bed footboard. As I paint my fingernails, I begin IM’ing Liam – still invisible, and being careful not to get the nail polish on the keyboard.
mylifeinsticks487: heyy
football_geek2012: hey babe
mylifeinsticks487: i <3 ur stat
football_geek2012: yah i wonder who its about lol
mylifeinsticks487: ha yea hard 2 guess
football_geek2012: will u PLZ tell me wat ur username means?
I grimace. Oh dear. But hey, I knew it would come to this at some point, didn’t I?
mylifeinsticks487: weve already been over this. no.
football_geek2012: plz???? i thought u loved me!
mylifeinsticks487: grow up
football_geek2012: im asking again. please, carly laine marshall.
mylifeinsticks487: fine. it’s a tv show.
football_geek2012: well ik that… is it… ur fav?
mylifeinsticks487: i guess u could say that.
Jen-nay (my agent) and Mom’s number one rule about my having a role in My Life in Sticks – the wig. I must wear a wig on set. They don’t want anyone to recognize me when I come home. It’s not like anyone enjoys groupies and paparazzi crawling all over their porch. There are very few people in this world who know who I really am – me (a big d-u-h!), mom, Courtney, Cara, Jen-nay, and a few of the set guys.
Inside, a part of me itches to tell Liam. But I made a promise to Jennifer Rose (Jen-nay's real name) and Mom. Wig = acting, no wig = no acting. They wanted me to have at least a halfway normal life.
But I love Liam. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Yet.
mylifeinsticks487: ok fine… but swear on ur life u wont tell ANYONE. and yes, u can swear on ur life cuz if u tell i’ll kill u myself.
football_geek2012: geez tough threat lol kk
mylifeinsticks487: ever notice the girl in My Life In Sticks looks like me?
football_geek2012: ur hotter than her.
mylifeinsticks487: ha. thats not possible.
football_geek2012: well u ARE hotter than her. prettier, smarter, funnier, and i bet shez a stuck up b*tch
I suck in my breath, trying to control my fear that maybe this is what all of the general public thinks of Kestrel.
mylifeinsticks487: liam, read between the lines. i AM her. did u not get that???
football_geek2012: no
mylifeinsticks487: yes. i have an agent. i wear a wig. i am Kestrel Reid. well i only play her but that’s wat they put as my name in the credits 2
football_geek2012: hahahaha i dont believe u nice try u almost had me 4 a minute
mylifeinsticks487: fine. ill prove it. meet me at Comer Comida in an hour.
I could picture him, bringing up a photo of me and a photo of Kestrel side by side to compare them.
“What are you doing?” Cara leans over my shoulder. I smack the laptop shut.
“Nothing.” Lie. Big Lie with a capital 'L.'
She glares at me in the same way my mom does, like she already knows exactly what’s running through my head so I might as well admit it.
“Really. I’m doing absolutely nothing.”
“Carly, I’m not stupid.”
“Really?”
“Cut the crap.”
“What makes you think I was doing anything in the first place?”
“You were making really weird faces at the screen. For a sec I thought you were looking at pornography.” Something clicks in her mind. “Were you looking at porn?”
“Yes,” I say, drenching the word with sarcasm so she’ll tell I’m joking and not mistake it for the truth.
She rolls her eyes. Cara is the police officer of our family. She keeps us in line. All of us but Courtney. She’s so out of line she won’t come back.
Cara goes back to her book and I take the moment to take a deep breath. I just told my boyfriend my biggest secret. Not to mention I ditched him by slamming the laptop. Oh well, I’ll tell him I had to leave suddenly when we’re at Comer Comida.
A secret is a funny thing; it’s as if it’s trapped in a balloon inside you. Every time you think about the secret, the balloon gets bigger. Some are stronger than others. But no matter what, the balloon always bursts and the secret gets out into the world.
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My heart beats fast in my chest. I am Carly. I love Liam. Cara loves Frankenstein. Dust bunnies are under my bookcase. Someone will be killed in my closet. Jen-nay is my agent.
I know more about myself. I am Kestrel on My Life in Sticks. Odd name – both Kestrel and My Life in Sticks are odd names. I don’t recall what the show is about. No one knows I am Kestrel.
My nails were painted orange by myself. Roses are red, violets are blue, fire is hot and so are you. When I think of that phrase, something in my gut lurches, like being punched in the stomach. There is meaning to that. I know there is meaning. I just don’t know what the meaning is.
I start crying then. I cry because I know nothing. I cry because I don’t know where I am, why I am there, or even who I really am. I cry because everything hurts. I cry because, for the first time, I’m afraid I could die out here. I cry because I’m not sure what I would be leaving behind.
Just then, I hear gunshots. They’re shooting, I think stupidly. They heard… I should be dying. They’re coming to kill me. Call me what you want, that’s what I think as I hear the gunshots.
Now it occurs to me guns are manned by people. People wouldn’t be coming to kill me. Maybe they could help me!
“Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Help!” Unfortunately, the ‘top of my lungs’ is just above a normal whisper.
I think I hear the gunshots getting closer. But I can’t trust my hearing, so I wouldn’t know for sure…
“HELP!” I try to get up, and somehow manage to get onto my knees if I hold onto the tree trunk behind me. My head throbs and black creeps into the corners of my eyes.
Footsteps break through the brush and into the small clearing where I am. I can’t tell what the people look like just yet, my vision’s not good enough. But I can tell there are two – one short and one tall – and they’re facing me.
When they see me, they break out in a dead run in my direction. Tears stream down my cheeks. Here I was, thinking I was going to die and I am finally being rescued. I think.
I only hear bits and pieces of what they say as they hover over me.
“My God,” one says.
“What happened?” Deep voice. Not asking me, just talking.
“Stabbed?” the not-so deep voice suggests.
“Alive?”
“Yes. Talking… pulse… breathing.”
“Conscious?”
“Obviously.”
“Delusional?”
“More than likely.”
Now they talk directly to me. “Who are you?”
I debate whether to say Carly or Kestrel. I pick the latter. “Kestrel,” I try to whisper, but no sound to speak of comes out.
“What happened to you?”
“I don’t know.” My voice is rough and scratchy. I look around, trying to focus on something. They probably think I’m mental.
Silence for a moment. I can picture them exchanging a silent glance, saying so many words with just one connection.
“We’re going to carry you to the car. We’re driving you to the hospital. Grant will hold your feet, and I will hold your head and arms. Okay?” the deeper voice says.
I nod weakly. “Uh-huh…” I can already feel myself zoning out again. At least, I am zoning out until someone touches my ankle. I let out a scream because it hurts like hell and kick out, striking something hard.
“Ouch,” someone mutters, and I’m not sure if they’re saying ‘ouch’ as sympathy for me or because I actually kicked hard enough to cause pain. Despite the hurt and adrenalin racing through my system, I feel slightly proud to realize that even in this condition I can cause harm.
Cautiously, the smaller person grabs my ankles again and I grit my teeth.
Then, I’m in the air.
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Just something I wrote a while ago and I thought I'd see how you guys like it.
I like the whole idea of her not knowing where she is, all bloody, etc. But I don't like the fact that she secretly plays a role on a TV show. 