Curses of Lavender, page 3
“You left this,” he said, holding something out to her. Her notebook.
“H-how did you know it was mine?”
His lips twitched in amusement. “I only know one person whose notebook could ever be this organized.” He opened the notebook and angled the first page towards her. It was marked in rolling fonts, with looping, swirling lines. Below the main heading were smaller fonts, all in miniature capitals, labeling each of the chapters and modules; this particular notebook was for biology. Doodles adorned the sides. Various flowers, vines, and plants—most of which she’d seen in her dreams, she was ashamed to admit—wrapped around like a frame.
“Oh.” Butterflies fluttered in her chest. Even after all these years, Jett still knew her well enough to recognize her notebook? Her heart was mush, until the image of him and Linda took shape again.
Thicket swallowed—hard.
Jett broke eye contact first, closing the notebook and holding it out to her. It was a moment before she registered the action. “O-oh. Thank you.” She hastened to take it. Trying her best not to brush fingers, she grabbed it at an angle that made her want to hide in embarrassment as she fumbled for a good grip. Once she had it, Thicket hugged the notebook close to her chest. She tapped her fingers awkwardly against its cover, eyes darting everywhere but Jett. Around them, students bustled by. Some threw them odd looks, surely wondering why Jett was talking to her. He hadn’t tried to continue the conversation, but hadn’t left either. It made her wonder if he, like her, wanted to savor this moment, but didn’t know how.
She took a chance. “So, uh, h-how have you been?”
Jett shrugged. “I’m alright. Busy with practice, getting ready for college, trying to graduate.” He gave her a knowing look. “Bet you’re having no trouble with that.”
Thicket’s face heated. Had he heard how much of a know-it-all she was? How in her case, it didn’t make her a nerd, but a freak.
“Well, I’ve got to get to class,” Jett said. “Bye, Thicket.” He started up the concrete path.
If he left, the moment would be over. He would go inside and return to his normal life, leaving her alone—with nothing but her tattered reputation. The thought had her gripping her notebook tighter, tighter, ti—
“Wait!”
Jett paused, glancing over his shoulder.
“Why do people still think I’m crazy?” The words were quiet, as if afraid to be out in the open after being bottled up for so long.
Jett blinked, taken aback. Thicket knew she should leave it alone. Knew she shouldn’t press matters and take the win—Jett had talked to her for the first time in years—but she couldn’t. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, and if that wasn’t possible then she wanted to at least move on from what happened in middle school. She needed to find a way to make everyone believe she was better and convince them that her dreams had no more control over her life.
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Thicket.” The words were soft, shy even, and she saw a glimpse of the boy she had once been able to call a friend. It gave her hope for the future she sought. The redemption. The home. “But,” he continued awkwardly, “I know others do.”
Though she’d said it herself, her heart still sank to hear the confirmation. “I’m done with therapy. And it’s been even longer since I’ve had an episode.”
“I know. Everyone does.”
Crazy doesn’t just go away.
“Then what else can I do? How can I make them believe I’m better?”
Jett sighed, glancing around as he rubbed the back of his neck, as if suddenly worried about what would happen if he lingered much longer. “Look, Thicket. I can’t speak for everyone, but… this has happened before.”
Thicket’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“You appear to be better, like it was a one-time thing. But then months—years—later it happens again. It’s hard to know whether this is just a good phase, or if you are truly over whatever is going on with you.”
The words stung, but Thicket couldn’t fault them. She was unpredictable. She had been the girl who cried wolf too many times for anyone to believe her.
“How do I convince them?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think I’m the best person to ask…” His eyes shifted then, and just like that he no longer appeared as confident and unbothered as she thought he’d been. His eyes were sad and perhaps a bit haunted. “I know you didn’t mean any harm, but it was scary, you know? Watching you panic like that. Watching them drag you away.”
His words were like a fist to her heart. “I’m sorry. I never meant to cause you trouble. But I’m better now. I just want to move on.”
Jett examined her for a moment. She didn’t know what he saw on her face, didn’t know what he himself was feeling, but after a moment he said, “You’d need proof.”
“Like what?” She knew he had already helped her enough, but she felt like a reality where she didn’t have to disappear was finally within reach. She didn’t want to let go now. She wanted to grab hold of it and slowly drag it closer and closer.
“Well, if what you’ve been doing hasn’t been working, maybe try something different.”
Like what? she wanted to say again. Then, the conversation she’d had with her mother last night played in her mind. She was horrified to even consider it, but there was some piece to the puzzle she was missing, and as much as she hated to admit it, maybe her mother was right.
“I’ve got to get going,” Jett said, cutting into her thoughts. He hesitated, as though he wanted to say something else. Instead, he stepped back. “Good luck with everything.”
She nodded, unable to form words. Jett held her gaze one last time before he turned and filed in with the rest of the students on their way to first period. Thicket went in the opposite direction and took a seat on one of the benches surrounding a large tree. She pulled her phone from her bag and held it, picking at the case as she went over again and again whether this was a good idea. After a few more moments of deliberation, she unlocked her phone and dialed her mother’s number. It answered on the fourth ring.
“Thicket Rose Vogeli, I am at work—”
“I’ll get a job.”
There was a stunned pause. “You will?”
Thicket closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t regret it. “Yes.”
Another pause. “At Mr. Dunkum’s?”
Thicket hesitated. Her brain screamed at her to say no. But her heart... It longed to earn back her place and move on. She would do anything to get it. “Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up after work.” Not even a heartbeat later, the line went dead.
Dunkum’s Yogurt Shack . The neon blue words greeted Thicket as she hesitantly stepped out of the car. Trepidation piled in her stomach at the sight.
The yogurt shack was nestled in a strip mall, dreary despite the neon glow emanating from inside. As she waited for her mother to exit the car, Thicket toyed with a curl until it multiplied in size, frizz overtaking the already messy loop of her hair.
“Stop that,” her mother reprimanded, lightly smacking Thicket’s hand away, “or you’ll look insane.”
Thicket wanted to say it wouldn’t make much of a difference, but held her tongue. Instead, she twisted her fingers around one another to dispel the electric nerves taking residence in her stomach.
It had been three years since she’d set foot in the yogurt shack. Since she’d been fired and forbidden from ever returning. She didn’t know what possessed her mother to believe he would ever take her back, but the smile she wore suggested she had nothing but confidence. Thicket wished she could borrow some of it.
A happy chime greeted them as they entered, a mockery of how the man who owned the shack felt about Thicket. If he were at the door, waving customers in, he would have locked her out the moment her pinkie toe left the car.
The yogurt shack hadn't changed. It had the same white and blue tiled floor, white walls, and shiny plastic stools and tables. Creamy lights dangled from the ceiling, casting a yellow light over the room. Dunkum’s Yogurt Shack hung on the wall behind the ordering counter, strung together in cursive neon letters. The air smelled like a mix of sweet and sour frozen yogurt, concealing the lavender scent haunting her day in and day out. Laughter and bright chatter filled the room in a noisy form of joy.
Thicket couldn’t help the envy spiking through her veins. She wanted that. The peaceful exuberance that wasn’t snuffed out by all that was wrong with her life. With her.
A dull splat came from behind the ordering counter, sounding like children’s happiness vanishing as their treat fell to the floor. Thicket’s head jerked up and she locked eyes with a young man, still holding the now empty yogurt cup. Her stomach rolled.
Simon...
When Thicket used to work at the yogurt shack, she’d almost always shared shifts with Simon. She hadn’t seen him since she was fired; he’d graduated high school two years ago, which had been a relief, like escaping a part of her past she would rather forget. But here he was, and he clearly remembered everything.
Unlike the yogurt shack, Simon had changed. His once scrawny frame was curved with lean muscle, and he’d abandoned his too large glasses in favor of contacts, making his brown eyes all the more visible as they gawked at her. The messy, mouse-brown hair was the same though, rumpled like a forgotten sheet.
Simon broke free of his trance. He set the yogurt cup down and muttered something to the family he was assisting. Waving another employee over to take his place, Simon slipped through a doorway in the back—one that led to Mr. Dunkum’s office. The spectacle reminded her of the events leading up to her banishment. People threw odd looks her way, averted their eyes, or quickly left the building. Thicket’s fingers pinched tighter.
A few nervous heartbeats later, Simon reappeared through the doorway, Mr. Dunkum towering behind him. He was a large man with scrappy blond hair and a stomach that bulged over his belt. With the way his eyes narrowed at the sight of Thicket and her mother, she got the feeling he wasn’t pleased. He glanced around his yogurt shack, as if worried about the response his customers would have to her being here, and motioned them to move into his office with a sharp nod of his head.
While Mr. Dunkum’s office was the messiest room Thicket had ever seen, it managed to be as bland as though it were empty, contrasting heavily with the jubilant decor of the dining area. A thick layer of beige paint covered the walls, on which hung only a single white board and calendar, both containing nothing but messy black text. Not even an inspirational cat picture dared bring color to the room. A dirty-gray carpet was as hard as tile under Thicket’s feet, providing flooring for many brown cabinets shoved against the wall; random objects were stacked into and on top of them.
Rounding the large wooden desk, Mr. Dunkum sat down, the black leather chair creaking under his weight. He grabbed a pen from the top of his desk, covered in uneven stacks of paper and empty yogurt cups, and clicked it several times as he examined Thicket and her mother, as if trying to guess why they’d come. He must have drawn a blank because he leaned forward and said, “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that you are no longer welcome.”
Thicket swallowed. She was about to apologize and back pedal out of the yogurt shack, but her mother had other ideas. She lay a hand on Thicket’s shoulder and flashed Mr. Dunkum her brightest, most innocent smile. “Thicket was wondering if you would be willing to give her a job.”
“Give her a job?” Mr. Dunkum said, almost spitting as he emphasized the two words in bewilderment. “Maria, do you think that is a good idea? Do you remember what your daughter did the last time she worked here? Now, I was patient with her, but enough is enough. I cannot allow or tolerate that kind of behavior inside my yogurt shack again, which is why, if you remember, she was banned.”
The behavior he’d spoken of had been during one of the darkest points in Thicket’s life. She didn’t like to make excuses for herself. She knew she had an issue. Knew it was her fault; she’d been told as much for most of her life since the incident in middle school. But she knew she wouldn’t have messed up as severely if the anniversary of her father’s death hadn’t plunged her into a series of unrelenting dream of darknesses.
It happened about six months after starting her job. In her dream, Thicket’s sister had stormed through a pair of wide double doors, the same glittering object from her dreams a few nights ago in hand. Coincidentally, the voices in the dream of darkness talked about her sister, as well. In her vulnerability, Thicket’s grip on reality faltered. Her dreams twisted her thoughts until she believed the dreams to be true. In this false reality, Thicket had a sister. She was lost and needed to be found. She’d asked customers if they’d seen her sister. When they’d asked for a name or description, Thicket could give them neither. The impracticality didn’t sink in until it was too late.
“Yes, Jerald, I do. But Thicket has gotten much better. She has been out of therapy for a year, excels in school, and hasn’t had any outbursts since she worked here.”
Thicket blinked up at her mother. Did she believe what she said, or was it merely a tactic to coerce Mr. Dunkum into doing what she wanted?
“You expect me to take you at your word?” Mr. Dunkum said, a disbelieving breath mingling with his words.
“I am so glad you asked,” her mother chirped. She drew a folder from her purse and set it on Mr. Dunkum’s desk. Mr. Dunkum scowled as he opened the file. The scowl deepened as he flipped through its contents, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge anything that would challenge his perception of Thicket being a business-ruining monster.
“Please,” her mother said. “I know you need the help. One day is all I am asking. If she does horribly, well then… Thicket and I will leave and never come back.”
Mr. Dunkum’s head lolled side to side as he considered her offer.
“But if she does well…”
After a considerable moment, Mr. Dunkum sighed. Though he still looked opposed to the idea, by some miracle, he said, “Then I guess I can reconsider her banishment…” He clicked his pen once more and lay it on the desk. “Oh, fine. One shot, you hear me? But if she fails—she’s out. For good this time.”
“That’s more than fair. Thank you, Jerald.”
After a sharp look from her mother, Thicket glanced at Mr. Dunkum and stretched her lips as wide as they would go. “Thank you, Mr. Dunkum.” A scowl from her mother told her it wasn’t enough. Dragging her head back, she added, “I’m thankful to once more work for you in this… delightful yogurt shack.”
Mr. Dunkum grunted. “Simon!” he called. Moments later he appeared. “Give her a uniform.”
Simon followed Mr. Dunkum’s line of sight. Looking paler than he had when he’d entered, Simon grabbed a shirt crumpled on top of one of the cabinets.
“Wear that tomorrow during your first shift,” Mr. Dunkum directed as Thicket took the shirt. “Do you remember what this job entails?”
“I—I think so.”
“Simon will refresh your memory.” Mr. Dunkum turned to him. “You’ll oversee Thicket. Start her off easy and give her more responsibility when you feel like she’s ready for it.”
Simon nodded, but it was curt. He wasn’t happy about their arrangement. Thicket couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t thrilled, either.
“Your shift starts at three,” Mr. Dunkum went on, “but I expect you to be here at least fifteen minutes before. You will work until closing at ten. Depending on how you do, we will reevaluate your further shifts. Do you have any questions?”
Thicket shook her head.
“Thank you, Jerald,” her mother said. “I’ll make sure she’s here on time.”
Mr. Dunkum grunted again. He grabbed his pen and clicked it, dipping his head towards the papers on his desk. They’d been dismissed.
As Thicket and her mother left the yogurt shack, her body buzzed with relief—and fear. This would either win her a place in the town, or go terribly, terribly wrong.
Chapter Four
The ring of the lunch bell was distant in Thicket’s ears as she gathered her belongings and shuffled out of the classroom, letting her feet carry her wherever they desired. Her mind fast-forwarded to the future, when she would show up to her first shift at Mr. Dunkum’s. Though nerves clogged her stomach, something else shimmered inside her. Something that made every other horrible thing pale, shrivel, and become inconsequential.
She was too lost in her thoughts to notice someone else intersecting her path. They collided. Thicket yelped and her body seized up in a cringe as the books she’d been carrying crashed to the ground.
“I-I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was goi—” She stopped as she caught sight of who she’d run into. Jett stood in front of her—for the second time in two days. Usually, the irony would have made Thicket chuckle, but she hadn’t seen laughter in a while. It must have left her a long time ago, back when her world burned and she was left in the ashes.
“It’s okay.” Jett readjusted his backpack strap. “Seems like I made a bigger mess for you.” He bent to gather her belongings, pausing when he saw the notebook from yesterday. He picked it up and stared at it for a moment.
Thicket felt as though she were standing beneath a blazing spotlight. She wrung her hands, unsure of what to say. She wanted to tell him she’d gotten a job at Mr. Dunkum’s—wanted a way to be friends again—but she also didn’t want to seem desperate.
Before she could sort out her warring thoughts, someone rounded the corner and gasped. “Jett, are you okay?” Thicket glanced up to see Linda. Her old friend’s eyes hardened as she looked between the two of them. “Thicket… This is a surprise. I was under the impression you two were no longer friends.”
