Teen Idols And Happy Meals

Birthday Cake And Envelopes

Nikki’s POV

It didn’t take much. The sound of sirens in the distance, the smell of lemon pledge, the sight of blood. And sometimes all it took was green eyes. Eleanor had eyes like acid - or at least she had when she was alive. The boy in front of me had eyes like dark emeralds, but even so, when I looked into them, it was like I was back in the forest, like I was pulling the trigger all over again.

“Hello?” the boy with the green eyes said. His voice pulled me from the forest, washed away the snowflakes and blood. Suddenly, I was back in McDonalds, with a green eyed college boy looking at me with concern.

“Oh sorry,” I apologized, rubbing the hollows below my eyes. I hadn’t been sleeping well, neither had Jacen, I knew, even though he didn’t like to talk about it. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have a number thirteen,” college boy answered, though he wasn’t looking at the menu. He was looking at me. He was cute, in a boy next door kind of way, with a friendly face and freckles on his cheeks. It was hard to see any of that though, what with those green eyes of his burning into me. “And a coke.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” I mumbled, still out of it as I punched the correct numbers into the register. I’d been having a rough time of it, that day. It was Jacen’s birthday, and something about celebrating life made me think of all the death I’d seen.

There had been Eleanor, of course. She’d already been buried, but sometimes it still felt like she was alive. Her ghost lived in me, survived off my guilt.

 And then there had been Demi. She’d overdosed two months ago. She’d always been an addict, but the ordeal with Victor and Eleanor had pushed her over the edge. She’d been raped in that basement -  tortured, starved, degraded. Some people could recover from that sort of thing, some people couldn’t.

I hadn’t been the one to sell her the drugs - I hadn’t sold drugs in a long time - but I still felt responsible. Like every dimebag and pill I had ever sold her had led to this. Her funeral had been the first I’d ever gone to - I hadn’t gone to Eleanor’s. It hadn’t been Jacen’s first though. He didn’t cry, he just held me while I did.

Eighteen and already, I had so many ghosts. People said life was unfair, I personally felt death was far more unfair, especially to those it did not claim. I could have died in those woods, or in that cabin, but instead I lived, weighed down by ghosts.

“That’ll be seven eighty two,” I told the college boy, having called in his order. He gave me a ten and as I counted out the change, I could feel his green eyes burning into me again, hotter than before.

“Hey I know you.”

And there it was. The dreaded phrase. “I don’t think so,” I answered, averting my gaze, hoping to discourage him from pursuing this. “Here’s your change - two eighteen.”

“No, no - I definitely know you,” he said, snapping his fingers as he tried to recall. “Yeah! You’re that girl from the news - Nicolette Davenport! Damn! Hey can I have a picture with you?”

“I’m sorry I can’t,” I apologized, only half meaning it. “I’m working.”

“Yeah how come you still work here anyway?” he asked curiously. They were always curious. Once people realized who I was, the questions began. It had been five months since Jacen and I escaped the cabin, and yet the story was still on the news. It had simmered down some, but I knew it would flare again in the fall, when the trial began. “Don’t people usually quit their job when they become famous?”

“Famous doesn’t mean rich,” I responded, handing him the cup for his drink. It was true what I had said, just because I was famous didn’t mean I was automatically rich. I could have been. I was invited on talk shows and news specials constantly, but I always, respectfully, refused. Jacen went in my stead, claiming I was shy - which made everyone laugh. I still ended up on TV, though it was never of my free will. The paparazzi always found a way.