“I leave all of my drawings from AP Art to Lydia, because she is the weirdest girl in class, and I can appreciate that.” Summit put the pencil to her lips, pushing it up as her eyes looked off into the distance, noticing a cobweb that the cleaning staff had missed.
As she pondered who to will what to next, the edge of the tin wrapping that held the chewed eraser grazed her bottom lip.
She looked at the paper-thin piece of metal more closely. It was sharp, almost like a razor, once the buffer of an eraser was gone. Summit ran her finger along it, pressing until she could feel the sharpness dig in. It wasn’t really painful, just a little more than annoying. She pushed harder until the edge sliced into her flesh and emitted a small droplet of blood, which she let drop onto the page. She pursed her lips together, leaned down and imprinted them in the liquid.
“Sealed with a kiss,” she whispered, and then sucked on her finger until the blood stopped flowing.
“To Jillian, who always pretended to be my friend, but never was – I leave my collection of scarfs. Maybe she can hang herself with them.” “No,” Summit argued. “I can’t write that. I am a good girl who is about to go to college. Harvard to be exact. And I don’t need to have some dumb Senior Will come back to haunt me. Be careful, that’s right. Careful is the name of the game.”
She continued to write. Jillian gets my scarfs to highlight her dark brown eyes. Corey gets my art supplies because I won’t need them in college, and Tom gets my CDs because he appreciates my choice in funky music.
Summit next thought about what to write for her Senior Message that would forever rest beneath her picture, which was just OK in her opinion. She liked how her long blond hair flowed in waves down the middle of her back, and her petite figure, even though she always needed to lose five pounds; but she was never a big fan of her moon sized crystal blue eyes. While the color was pretty, a cross between Tiffany and Sky Blue, she didn’t like how they were larger than most girls’ and set deeper into their sockets. She looked a bit like a scared fawn in search of its mother. Summit laughed out loud. How true, she thought. My mother. As if.
Summit had been voted Most Likely To Succeed, which she thought was a total joke. It was probably because her family was one of the wealthiest ones in San Francisco and her parents were on the Boards of just about every major arts organization from the San Francisco Ballet to the de Young museum. They owned a towering mansion in Pacific Heights and a 10,000-foot beach house on the Jersey Shore where her mother grew up. But all of this had nothing to do with her. Summit was not at all about money; in fact, she despised it for what it did to her family – did to her.
Regardless, she needed to continue to play the part for now and offer a smart yet profound quote in order to keep pace with her image – until she could get away for good.
“No one even knows me,” she sighed as she searched online for an appropriate passage, settling on one by Einstein.
Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.
“Yeah, that will get them thinking.”
Summit folded the piece of paper, which she planned to hand over to the yearbook team at school tomorrow, and closed her computer.
“I wonder if they’ll know it’s blood.”
Summit climbed into bed, donned her Beat headphones and turned on Miles Davis.