Daisy plucked, p.12
Daisy, Plucked, page 12
Hana was beginning to understand why so many people broke up with their partners once they started college, though she didn’t plan on breaking up with Daisy. Once Daisy was away from Penfield, she would change too, but the waiting was taking a toll on Hana.
The night before Halloween her entire friend group went out dressed as cowboys. They glued their own rhinestones and feathers to cowboy hats, and they each chose a color to dress in. Hana thought they all looked beautiful and young and stupid and perfect. She chose to dress in all black. She was going to spend the night freezing in her high waisted jean shorts, crop top, and flannel, but it was worth it. She even found black cowboy boots only one size too big at the thrift store to complete her outfit.
“This show is going to be so fun,” Chrissy said on the walk to the party. She was adorned in bright blue, and it made her usually gray-blue eyes look electric.
“Yeah, the bands are dressing and playing as other bands for the night,” Aaron piped up.
“Sweet. What bands are playing, sunshine?” Victor asked, teasing Aaron for his choice of bright yellow for his costume. Aaron elbowed Victor, but the flush on his cheeks showed he didn’t hate the nickname.
“I think, like, early 2000s stuff. Should be fun. Who has the rum tonight?” Aaron asked.
They had started a tradition of drinking rum right when they got to a party, and Hana loved that it felt like they were creating a pact between the five of them every time they went out. Friends at the start, friends till the end.
“I have it,” Skippy said in a sing-song voice. Her older brother held no moral issues with underage drinking, so she was able to get him to pick up alcohol for the group whenever they wanted it.
“You’re the best, Skip. Did you give Georgie our love?” Hana asked.
“Of course,” Skippy said with a laugh.
“George is the only true ally,” Victor said solemnly, and they burst into drunken giggles.
“Plus, he’s hot,” Aaron said. Skippy smacked his arm, and they all laughed so hard they had to stop to catch their breath.
A swell of love for her friends rose in Hana’s chest. She would have them by her side for the rest of her life, and that night she could almost see their futures intertwining.
She could imagine all of them being in each other’s weddings and raising their kids to call each other aunts and uncles. Hana didn’t know who she would become, but she was sure of these people in a way she was never sure about anything in her life. She wondered if she had felt something similar when she met Daisy all those years ago.
The party was in full swing by the time they got there, but it was in between sets when they walked up. They fished their five dollar bills out of their pockets to hand to the person working the door and smiled when they got a small iridescent stamp on each of their hands. Hana was completely wrapped up in belonging, and after they took their communal shot of rum, she pulled Chrissy and Skippy to the basement to get a good spot for the next band.
When the music started, the three of them danced and screamed their hearts out to a song that was popular when they were kids while passing around the rum. Hana was pleasantly buzzed when she noticed a girl across the room eyeing her. She was dressed as an alien, and every time the girl looked over, her eyes raked down Hana’s body like a palpable touch. Skippy and Chrissy floated away in the crowd, and Hana found herself drifting towards the girl.
“Our costumes kind of match,” the girl said, half-yelling over the music.
“Cowboys and aliens? Are we supposed to be enemies?” Hana leaned in close to be heard over the band.
“Maybe. Want to go somewhere quieter?” she asked. Hana nodded and the girl gripped her hand before pulling her upstairs. She led Hana through the first floor to the deserted back porch, vacated once the band started. Hana shivered when the cool October air brushed her skin, and she pulled her flannel off her waist and around her shoulders. If the girl noticed that Hana was cold, she didn’t comment on it.
“My name is Frida,” she said, sitting down on the top step and stretching out her long, tan legs in front of her. She was tall with straight brown hair cropped in a sharp bob. Hana was immediately in awe of her and could feel herself getting pulled into her orbit.
“I’m Hana.” Hana dropped down next to Frida.
“Cool name. You smoke?” she asked. Hana shook her head, but Frida took out a second cigarette anyways.
“It’s as good a time as any to start,” she teased, handing Hana the cigarette. Hana laughed at her boldness and watched as Frida lit a cigarette. The strong-smelling smoke immediately chased away the crisp, refreshing bite of the October air invading Hana’s nose, and she fought not to make a face. Instead, all she thought about was how she wanted nothing more than to look like she knew what she was doing. Frida held up the second cigarette like a question hanging in the air.
Hana leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the yellow end, and when Frida flicked the lighter to life at the other end, Hana breathed in. The smoke was hot and cloudy and scratchy in her lungs, like she’d inhaled hot beach sand, but she resisted the need to cough. She mimicked Frida’s movements and took the cigarette out of her mouth to release the smoke. It was a relief, but she tried to be subtle as she gulped in the night air.
“Tell me about yourself, Hana who doesn’t smoke,” Frida said. She looked like a tableau of everything Hana was warned about in D.A.R.E., backlit by the flickering porch light and smiling at Hana.
Hana took another painful drag from the cigarette. “Not much to tell. I’m a philosophy major, I think. I’m from outside Rochester. I smoke now.”
“Philosophy? Cool. That’s a degree you get because you just love to learn. I like that.”
“What about you? Frida who offers cigarettes to random girls at parties,” Hana joked. Frida laughed.
“Only pretty girls,” Frida said with a wink before adding, “I’m a women, gender, and sexuality studies and English double major. I’m a junior. I probably shouldn’t smoke.”
She leaned forward to count off each item, but she didn’t lean back when she was done. Hana didn’t know when she moved closer, but before she knew it Frida was kissing her.
It was electric, and messy, and an absolutely terrible idea. Hana didn’t care, though — all she cared about was the thrill of the kiss and the older girl who thought she was interesting and pretty.
After a few more seconds Frida pulled back, took a drag of her cigarette, and tipped her head towards the stars dotting the clear night sky to exhale the smoke. Hana let her own cigarette keep burning untouched.
Even though it was cold out, Hana was flushed. She forgot all about Daisy and her small problems and the fact she was a few hundred miles away missing Hana. The box in her mind she once used to lock away her love for Daisy reopened with a sigh of relief as if all the time spent empty was a chore. Hana barely noticed the ways that Daisy was plucked from her mind.
“Man, I could really go for a joint right now. I live down the street if you want to come with me.” Frida stood up and offered a hand towards Hana. The subtext of the invitation was clear, and there was no mistaking her intentions as just friendly. Hana smiled and took her hand.
“Sounds good,” Hana said. Frida grinned and kept their fingers laced, tugging Hana up. They dropped their cigarettes into an ashtray on the edge of the deck and made their way around the side of the house towards the street.
“I should let my friends know I’m leaving,” Hana said, glancing behind her.
Frida’s eyes scanned Hana’s body hungrily. “Okay. I can wait here unless you want to text them.” Hana shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.
“Yeah, just let me text them,” she muttered. She shot a quick message to their group chat letting them all know she was heading out, purposefully not saying that she was going home so that she wasn’t exactly lying. She had a feeling that they would try to talk her out of this, and she had already made up her mind. She tucked her phone in her back pocket, reached for Frida’s hand again, and let herself be pulled away from the party and into the night.
The house Frida lived in looked exactly the way Hana expected it to. The living room walls were covered in a range of different movie posters, and there were random odds and ends all over.
“I live with a DMP major,” she said to explain the posters, which she pulled Hana past on the way up the stairs.
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Hana said, pretending to know what a DMP major was.
Frida laughed a little at her. “It stands for digital media production. This is me, though, no movie posters in sight.” She gestured around the bedroom they had walked into. Hana nodded and sat on the edge of Frida’s bed.
Frida’s room was small. She didn’t have a bed frame, and she turned on the LED strip lights covering the walls instead of the overhead light. They faded through the different colors of the rainbow, casting new shadows in the room every few seconds. There were a few piles of clothes next to the closet that Hana wasn’t sure were clean or dirty and only one thing hung on the walls — a giant tapestry of Van Gogh’s The Scream. Instead of nightside stands, there were piles of books in various states of distress being used to hold an alarm clock, phone charger, and a water bottle covered in stickers. Hana’s eyes raked over the books, trying to find a title she recognized.
“I only buy used books for my lit classes. Then I never want to read any of them again, so they end up as furniture,” Frida explained when she noticed Hana looking. Frida walked over to her dresser, the only real piece of furniture in the room, and started playing a Fleetwood Mac record. She turned and closed the distance between them before placing her hand on the side of Hana’s jaw with her thumb resting on her chin. Hana looked up at her with a smile.
“You’re really beautiful, you know,” Frida said. It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, as if Hana was supposed to know that she was beautiful, and Frida was just reminding her. It was the same tone Hana used when her roommate almost walked out of the room without her key. It was a tone that was casual and spoke of Frida’s honest belief in Hana’s beauty.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” she teased, placing a hand on Frida’s waist. Frida smiled, and then they were kissing again.
The rest of the night was creating a new pile of clothes on the floor, kissing, and trying to stifle their moans after Frida revealed how thin the walls were. Frida didn’t ask why it was so easy for Hana to stay quiet.
Hana fell asleep with the unfamiliar scent of the other girl wrapped around her and woke up the next morning to sunlight streaming in through a thin gap between the blackout curtains. She got up, and Frida barely stirred.
Hana fished her phone out of the pocket of her shorts and winced at all the waiting notifications. She had a handful of messages from the group chat — everyone was confused and told her to text when she got home if she didn’t crash immediately. She shot off a text saying that she was all good and would tell them about it over their usual hangover breakfast.
Then she started reading all the messages from Daisy.
Daisy
I miss you. Remember Halloween last year?
When your mom agreed for god knows what reason to work the overnight shift at the ER?
Getting to hand out candy to kids was so fun. It was like we were playing house
And we broke into your mom’s supply of red wine. Which, for the record, still tastes bad
Anyways I may be drunk at Anna Richards’ party but I love you and I miss you and I hope you’re having fun cowgirl
Text me when you’re home safe I love you angel
The weight of what Hana had done crashed into her with the force of a tidal wave, and she wasn’t sure if the nausea in her stomach was from what she drank last night or the onset of guilt.
What was she thinking? How could she hurt Daisy? She cheated on the girl who was there for her and held her after she found out her dad was dead. The girl that bought Hana her favorite candy when she was sad and drunk texted her how much she loved her. She needed to get out of there before the guilt sent her into a spiral that she was certain Frida wouldn’t want to comfort her through.
After she was dressed, she leaned over the bed and gave Frida a small shake.
“Frida? Hey, I’ve got to head out. Last night was fun,” Hana said. Daisy was the only person she had slept with before this, so she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.
“Yeah, it was cool. Leave your number or something. We can do this again,” Frida mumbled, still half asleep.
Hana froze. If she kept this to herself, the truth could never hurt Daisy. She could tell her friends that she went to Frida’s house to smoke and slept on her couch because she was too high to walk home alone. It would be all too easy to separate her worlds and write different stories to appease both sides.
She never needed to keep anything important from Daisy before, but she was in college to learn, right?
Even though she shouldn’t, she wrote her phone number on a piece of paper she found on the ground and placed it on the pillow she’d slept on. She nearly tumbled while slipping on her oversized boots before setting off downstairs, her cowboy hat clutched in her hand and her flannel wrapped tightly around herself for the walk back to campus.
Maybe if she hadn’t left her phone number, she could have forgotten what she did, but when Frida texted her the next day, she responded. And when Frida texted her just before midnight on Thursday, Hana went over to her house and did it again. It happened almost a dozen times before Hana admitted to herself that she needed to stop or tell Daisy.
She would fix her mess, but first she needed one last memory to wrap things up neatly. Just one more time, she told herself, then she would be done with this and stop chasing the thrill she got from Frida.
Hana watched the last of the leaves fall from the tree outside Frida’s window and told her she just wanted to be friends from now on. Frida agreed easily and didn’t ask questions.
Chapter 11
Daisy — July 2019
The day after the party, Daisy got a text from Skippy with a terse apology. She went with Aaron’s original excuse, though she added the new detail that she often started getting mean when she drank whiskey, and she apparently did a few shots of Jim Beam before she spotted Daisy with John.
Daisy accepted her halfhearted apology and went on with her life. She wouldn’t see Skippy for a little while, and there were more pressing things to worry about in the meantime. She needed to figure out how to respond to John’s texts and if Hana was murdered. And if she was, Daisy needed to catch the killer.
She crossed Hana’s friends’ names off her suspect list after adding a note with their alibis. It was time to read Hana’s journal. First, though, she had to how to quell the queasy feeling that popped up every time she thought about reading the words Hana hid from her eyes while she was alive.
The easiest way, she figured out while trudging through a breakfast with her father where she expertly hid her slight hangover, was to try not to think about it. She would take the ghost’s words as the truth and believe that Hana wanted her to read the journal. Anything that would keep her mind occupied so she didn’t have to face the horrible truth.
Opening Hana’s journal took more effort than she thought. It was just an ordinary composition notebook with no lock, not even an elastic holding it shut. But Daisy was struck with the thought that once she read the journal, there would be that much less to learn about Hana. Daisy thought she would spend her entire life learning new things about Hana, but there were a finite number of her secrets left in the world now.
She took a deep breath and read the first journal entry.
3/7/19
Dear Diary,
Today is that magical first day of fake spring. I know it’s probably going to snow again next week, but right now it feels so nice. A moment of warm sun after a hellish winter. Maybe things will be okay after all. Shit, I have to meet Chrissy, we’re going to study on the quad (aka sit next to our open books and gossip and tan).
Sincerely,
Hana
Daisy wasn’t sure why she thought that every one of Hana’s journal entries would be something groundbreaking and revolutionary, but the innocuous first entry gave her more confidence to keep reading the rest.
But as Daisy read on, she noticed that a lot of the pages were ripped out, some entries cut in half or missing entirely. Hana didn’t journal every day, so it was hard to tell how many were missing, but there were at least 15 pages ripped out of the notebook, which was a lot considering the fact that Hana only filled half of the notebook before she died. When Daisy flipped through the empty pages, a piece of paper with a key taped to it fell out from between the pages, and she picked it up hesitantly.
Hana’s ghost appeared, a smile on her face. “Finally! You found it. I knew you would.”
“What is it?”
“Read it and see.”
Daisy followed the ghost’s instructions and unfolded the note.
Dear Daisy (or whoever else finds this),
I think I’m in too deep. I’ve been looking into my dad’s death, and someone is onto me. I don’t know anymore if Jake Hansen was working completely on his own when he shot my dad. I know there were witnesses and everything, so, yes, Jake killed him, but I don’t think that was all.
I’m scared that something is going to happen to me, and I’ll take this investigation and everything I’ve uncovered to the grave. So this note is my safety net and also a goodbye if it comes to that. I really hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t know what there is after death, if it’s the eternal glory of heaven like we’ve been promised, or if it’s nothing. I know I’m not supposed to dwell on that, so I try not to, but I’m not particularly good at doing what I’m supposed to. I can’t decide if I would prefer for the afterlife to be perfect or nothingness. Knowing the way this world works, I’m sure it will fall somewhere in between.
