Thirteen Times (October Artist Showcase)

Brooke told the whole eighth grade about my dad and the woman from work. Jenna's mom was out at book club. I had a candle off a cake, the hot tap running slow, and a rule that nobody knew. "Three is for babies," I told them. "She won't come till thirteen. And she doesn't care who calls her first. It's the last one she's after." (the last one) Spin once. Kill the light. Look nowhere but your own eyes. Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, come and show your face. Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, come for the one who says it last. Kayla said her stomach hurt. Jenna said her mom would know. Brooke, who'd follow anyone who asked her, said, "I'll go." (I'll go) She said it flat, like roll call, eight, then nine, then ten. I said it low behind her, half a beat, and then again. (half a beat behind) I wiped a hole with my sleeve. Two faces, side by side. Eleven. Twelve. Then twelve again. Which of us was keeping time? Thirteen, and the candle drowned. Brooke yelled, "She's got my face!" Jenna slapped the switch. Brooke's cheek was clean. Three lines ran down the face. (the face) Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, she came and showed her face. Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, she came for the one who said it last. Jenna's mom said fingernails. The counselor said nerves. Brooke signed my yearbook "Stay the same" in a left hand, all loops and curves. (stay the same) Towels on every mirror. Three lines, left cheek, healing slow. I'd have to look to check the side, and I'd rather not know. Somebody said it last.