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  1. I met Dooley in the spring of my senior year. I remember the day distinctly. I had set my alarm for 6:15, but after hitting the snooze fourteen times (I’d been having a good dream, but can’t tell you what it was, because I’m not the sort of girl who’ll tell a stranger all about her most secret dreams) I’d barely had time to leap out of bed, yank on a pair of Levi’s 515s and a dark green T-shirt before grabbing the whole box of Lucky Charms on my way out the door. I didn’t even have time to brush my hair, which I didn’t realize until I got to school, still shoving handfuls of marshmallow cereal into my maw. I could think of nothing else until he walked in, and then I could think of nothing at all. He walked down the hallway, clad in black from head to toe. Well, neck to toe. His head wasn’t covered in anything but a thatch of blond hair, which was gripped in the long, slender fingers of his left hand. His head, which swung freely with his lean yet muscular arms, sported a wide, ear-to-ear grin. Literally ear-to-ear; I didn’t even know mouths could smile that wide. I wondered what it would be like, to be that happy, instead of weighed down with the weight of homework and lousy wifi. “Hey, Jordan!” The oddness of a head speaking from near somebody’s kneecaps vanished the second his cheerful voice washed over me. “Sam, Lori, Mister Andrews. What’s kicking? Aside from you….kicking the bucket!” His laughter rang through the hall as three students and a teacher fell to the floor in a dead faint. There were gasps and screams, but I barely heard them. Barely saw all the students pull out their cell phones and dial 911. Or maybe their parents. I wasn’t paying attention. The box of Lucky Charms had slipped from my hand and fallen to the floor. I don’t know what it was that drew me in, when so many of my classmates seemed repulsed by his very presence. Perhaps it was his laugh, so loud and full of mirth. Perhaps it was his roguish good looks, accentuated by his strange choice of where to keep his head. But I think it was his confidence. So many boys my age stuttered and stammered when they tried to ask me out, but Dooley marched through the school like he was some ancient spirit with command over every soul within it. I grew short of breath as he approached, striding up to me without a care in the world. He was coming, and he was going to talk to me. I became ever more aware of my long, mousy brown hair, standing up in giant poofs like I was a member of an 80s hair metal band, my fashionable yet rumpled jeans, my T-shirt that I only then realized I’d put on inside out. I wanted to straighten my hair, to make myself look more presentable, but it was too late, he was almost there, almost to my side…. At the last second, his eyes widened, as though he’d accidentally slammed his nose into his knees. He stumbled back, swearing viley, before hurrying off down the hall. “God, I hate your necklace! Wear something else next time!” Stricken, my hand flew to the gold-plated locket at my neck. I didn’t remember putting it on. ----------------------- My friends were unusually quiet that day at lunch. Usually they were talking about the latest pop culture sensation, and I’d listen just to be polite. I really prefer entertainment made at least forty years before I was born. Not Elvis or the Beatles, though. They’re too mainstream. I prefer the Archies. “Did you see him? Brianna said in a hushed tone that I wouldn’t have heard, if the rest of the cafeteria hadn’t been so quiet. “Carrying his head….” “Mmm,” I said dreamily. “He was really slaying, wasn’t he?” Sometimes I like to use modern slang. “Uh, yeah,” said Nathan, fixing me with a stare. “Literally slaying.” “I heard they’re dead,” Sofia whispered. “So am I,” I said, chin propped on my elbow. “No, Cora, dead dead. As in, are-you-going-to-the-funeral dead.” “What are you saying?” I asked. “Are you saying Dooley would kill someone?” “No,” Brianna said, “I’m saying he already did.” “How’d you know his name, anyway?” Sofia said, but I was already gathering my healthy salad with tofu and butter, because I’m half-vegan on my mother’s side. I wouldn’t stand for this blatant slander any longer. “Dooley is sexy,” I told them, “and I will not have you besmirch his good name in my presence.” The last thing I heard as I walked away was Nathan’s voice: “When’d she learn a word like besmirch?” ------------------------ Weeks passed with no sign of Dooley. The days blended together, a dull conglomeration of hours and people and meaningless events with colors melding into grey. The world felt so lifeless without Dooley in it. Sure, I’d only seen him once, but that one time was all I needed. Then, just before Prom, I got a card in the mail. The front was a picture of the strangest car I’d ever seen, a black convertible with a ragtop made from pieces of….animal hide? Maybe? The wheels had spokes that were strangely white, like bleached bones. They were shaped like bones, too. The headlights were set on top of the hood, and seemed to be made from human skulls. It was kind of hard to tell through all the silver glitter. Inside, the message was penned in dark red ink that smelled kind of strange. Like...I don’t know. My dad’s eyes went wide and he asked if that was blood, but I figured it was just one of those scented markers. Hey, baby, the message read. Put on that white dress I like and meet me in the ballroom. Leave that awful necklace at home. I’d rather kiss your neck when it’s bare. I didn’t know what white dress he was talking about. All I’d ever bought was jeans and T-shirts, because I’m not like those stupid giggly girls who go all gaga over a boy they just met. I went to my closet anyway, and there it was: a flowing gown of white silk that left much of my back and both shoulders bare. I tried it on and it fit perfectly. “You are not going to that dance, Cora,” Dad said. He was standing in my doorway, shaking like a leaf. “You’re not the boss of me.” “Actually, I am.” “Well, I’m going.” ------------------- I still don’t know how I slipped out the window without tripping the alarm he’d set just for me, but I was there in the hotel ballroom the school had rented for the big dance. And so was Dooley. He had his head tucked under one arm as he danced to “Whip It” playing over the speakers. His other arm swung the strangest whip I’ve ever seen--white and bendy, looking identical to pictures I’ve seen of human spines--to the beat of the music. People screamed when it touched them, falling to the floor and clutching their faces as six teachers and countless students dialed 911. I too was enraptured by his dance moves. How he did them in a tux was beyond me, but he always was magical. When he saw me, his face split into that massive grin, made all the more charming by the way it came from beside his chest. He strode over and, taking his head by the hair, he used his free hand to spin me around the ballroom. “You’re an amazing dancer,” I breathed. “Tell me more,” he said, his head rolling from hand to neck to shoulder and back again. “People fall to their deaths when you say their names.” “Keep it coming, babe.” “Your whip...it...it looks like bones.” “Mmm…” “I know what you are.” “Say it.” He was holding his head right up next to mine now, and I could smell the overpowering scent of moldy cheese. “My boyfriend.” His grin fell. I had a split second to wonder what I’d done wrong before he spoke. “Yeah, I just don’t think this is going to work out, Cora.” I wasn’t aware of the gasps, the screams. I didn’t see the paramedics rushing in a moment too late. I wasn’t even certain I was dead--I’m still not certain now. All I know is my last thought before I crumpled to the floor: I can’t believe you’re dumping me!
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