Five Minutes To One
Sydney groaned, standing in the kitchen. Her painted nails clawed into her braided midnight hair as the weight of her mother’s words threatened to crush her. Her mother continued wiping the counter, as if it didn’t matter that her daughter’s life was falling apart. Mrs. Poe’s pink pinafore dress gave a domestic look despite the chaos.
"Mom, you can’t," Sydney stomped her foot against the linoleum floor, her voice cracking from frustration.
Mrs. Poe froze, holding a spoon tightly in her grip. She whipped around, and gave a flat, unimpressed look. "Yes, I can, Sid."
"I'm not going to Girl Scouts!" she shouted, "Over Jamie Lee?"
Bastian strolled toward the fridge, grabbing the milk, and slamming it shut with his hip. He turned around and froze, glancing between his sister and mother
"Am I interrupting?" he shrugged.
"Go away Bastian," Sydney urged, snapping her fingers.
"Leave your brother alone," she insisted.
"Mom, I am the best cheerleader in the squad," she argued, "This is unfair."
"You know what’s also unfair?" Mrs. Poe narrowed at her. "What you did to that girl."
"She deserved it," she scoffed, her voice wavering, "She was awful."
"She’s in the ER, Sid!" she arched a brow.
"Oh right, the Jamie-Lee incident," Bastian chuckled.
Sydney pointed at her brother. "Look, Bastian already forgot about."
"He’s in middle school," Mrs. Poe replied, "So it doesn’t really affect him."
“I’ll be in high school soon,” Bastian chuckled, opening the milk carton.
"Thank Goodness," she sighed, clasping her hands in relief, "I’ll be gone by then."
"And when you’re in college, your stuff will be mine," he grinned, wiggling his brows.
Sydney stuck out her tongue in defiance.
"Sid, the fact that you don’t care is exactly why you’re going," their mother said.
"I sent flowers, I sent apologizes," Sydney listed, "Why do this?"
"Sid, life has consequences," Mrs. Poe stated.
"You stopped me from going into detention," she said, smirking. "Now you want me to learn consequences?"
"Why don’t you let her go to the hospital," Bastian inquired. "That’ll teach her."
“So I would feel guilty?” she smiled, a flash of worry in her gaze.
"You’re free to go," Mrs. Poe said. "Mrs. Douglas urges me to let you. I don’t know why."
The bus's horn reached Sydney’s ears. She hurried to her mother, kissing her cheek, then ran for the foyer.
"Sid!" her mother shouted.
"We’ll talk later, mom," Sydney yelled, before slipping through the door.
"This isn’t over," Mrs. Poe yelled after her.
"You’re in trouble," Bastian shouted.
Mrs. Poe shook her head as Bastian took a swig from the carton.
Sydney’s feet trampled the grass as she crossed the yard. Nearing the bus, the doors swung open and Sydney scaled up the stairs. Her nose was assaulted with the strong smell of spilled orange juice and sweat.
She scrunched her nose in disgust, but strolled down the aisle, dodging paper balls, and juice boxes until a familiar bracelet caught her eye. She hurried forward and plopping down beside Summer in the backseat.
"Argument with Mom?" Summer asked, beaming.
"Yes," Sydney nodded.
"It’s almost like we’re synced," Sydney laughed as the bus began to move.
Mrs. Poe watched woefully as her husband approached her from behind. He planted a kiss on her cheek as she sighed.
"What are we going to do with her?" she mumbled.
"Nothing,” he replied. "She’ll mellow out."
As Sydney slammed her locker shut, and leaned against it, Summer gazed fondly at her compact mirror. Elma strutted toward the pair, her clicking of her heels drawing their attention to her. Elma stopped before them,her right hand shot up in the air, and her other hands cocked to the side.
"We’re screwed," Elma breathed.
"My mom’s sending me to girls' scouts," Sydney grimaced, turning to Summer. "She thinks it’ll help me."
"What a coincidence, mine too!" she giggled.
"They act like we intended for her to fall down those stairs," Sydney scoffed, waving her hand.
"We did put too much olive oil," Summer mumbled, her forefinger tapping against her chin.
Elma folded her arms, and struck out her foot, making her look like she was going to topple over.
"It’s all Matt’s fault," she said, her voice rasp and hoarse. "He failed to see those steps."
"At least we know why Old Preston High was abandoned," Sydney said, strutting past her friend.
"Yeah, killer stairs," Summer grinned, clapping her hands.
"Enough," Sydney muttered, "Don’t you guys get it?"
Elma stood straight, and Summer chased after her friend. Elma then followed somberly behind as Sydney pulled out her phone, gazing at the blackened surface.
"Preston High are cowards," she growled, gripping her phone tightly, "They’d rather allow their star cheerleaders to cripple a girl, than actually punish them."
"I thought we did because we hated Jamie Lee?" Summer said, scrunching her face in confusion.
"We did," she groaned, tugging at her midnight braid, "But everything is deeper than it seems."
“Should we pay Jamie Lee a visit after school?” Elma suggested, shrugging. “I’ve heard she’s being discharged.”
Sydney stuffed her phone in her pocket, patting it softly. Summer scoffed, “Sure, why not? Let’s torment her more.”
"Never mind that," Elma said as the bell rang above. "You guys did the homework for today, right?"
Every student began filing into their separate classrooms, and the girls joined into the crowd.
Sydney glanced at the clock, noticing the time. It was practically nailed to the wall, to keep it from falling off she had heard. The weirdest part of it is that it had remained on the same time for ten years.
Five minutes to one.
Sydney jolted as Summer pulled her away from the pole. Sydney turned to her friend, giving a grateful look.
"Focus," Summer whispered.
"Sorry, I was staring at the clock," Sydney glanced at it briefly.
"Again?" Summer said, shaking her head. "It doesn’t mean a thing."
"What if it does?" Sydney mumbled mysteriously.
"Focus," Summer said, grasping her head. She forcefully made her look forward as they entered the open threshold.
The girls strolled through the sliding doors, the smell of chlorine and clinical pristine assaulted their noses. They approached the receptionist’s desk and flashed straining grins. The receptionist, a Miss Becky, grimaced in disgust at the girls.
"We came looking for a Douglas, Jamie-Lee?" Summer rattled out.
"I will call security if you don’t leave," Miss Becky warned.
"Ms. Poe?"
Sydney turned to see a woman wearing an off-shoulder purple shirt that tapered to her waist. A long, flowing maxi skirt, and sandals that poked out from the folds. A vibrant red and orange head tie hid her hair from view, and a septum nose piercing glinted in the light.
"Mrs. Douglas," Sydney whispered.
"Follow me," Mrs. Douglas beckoned, curling her finger.
They hurried over as Summer waved at the disgruntled receptionist. Reaching Mrs. Douglas, she grasped Sydney by the hand, and dragged her down the porcelain hall.
As the headed for the room, she felt everyone’s eyes were on her, that they judged her silently as she passed by them.
Sydney shut her eyes, trying to ignore those glares. She didn’t even notice Mrs. Douglas pushing the door open, and leading her into the desired room. Sydney’s eyes fluttered open, and they landed on Jamie Lee lying on the bed, freshly clothed.
Jamie Lee’s gaze morphed into a heated glare.
A weight pressed down on her chest, nearly suffocating her. She rubbed her aching chest, hoping the feeling would pass.
"Something’s wrong," Sydney mumbled, "I feel like I can’t breathe."
She sucked in a breath as Summer answered, "Maybe it’s heartburn."
Mrs. Douglas released Sydney’s hand, and approached her daughter’s bed. "Glad you came. Now you can apologize genuinely," Jamie Lee said.
"My mom’s editing was for nothing," Summer folded her arms.
Sydney’s fingers curled tightly into a fist. "Then hear this," she sneered, stepping forward, "I’m not sorry. You choked. You were so busy ordering everyone else around than actually cheerlead."
"You feared that you’d be replaced," Jamie Lee snapped, "That’s why you tried to kill me."
"I didn’t—" Sydney’s voice broke, causing her to fall silent.
Summer and Elma turned to her, the former puffing out her cheeks as she held her breath. Mrs. Douglas placed a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
"Ms. Cheshire, and Ms. Rowel," Mrs. Douglas glanced at the girls. "Would you mind helping my daughter?"
Summer nodded, blowing out the air and coughing. She and Elma hurried over, extending their hands. Jamie Lee smacked them away and slid off the bed. She headed for the door, with the two girls following close behind.
Jamie Lee stood beside Sydney and whispered, "You choked."
Sydney’s eyes widened, but she clenched her fist harder.
She continued and exited the door. Summer and Elma brushed past their friend, yelling for Jamie Lee to slow down. Sydney wiped at her eyes to remove the tears.
"Are you repentant?" Mrs. Douglas asked.
"No one says that anymore," Sydney said, pulling out her phone, "It’s archaic."
She switched it on, and noted the date—September 16th, 2013. The time was five minutes to one. Her brow furrowed, but she dismissed it.
"Happy birthday," Mrs. Douglas replied. "In this life…and the next."
"What?" Sydney looked up, frozen.
"My daughter’s not mad at you," Mrs. Douglas walked around the empty bed. "She’s angry at me."
“Why?” Sydney asked, arching a brow.
“This incident proved my prediction correct,” she answered, staring straight at Sydney.
“Why would you predict this?” Sydney said, looking around.
"Sydney, you will die," she rested her hand on her shoulder. "But you will live again."
"What, no," she pulled her shoulder free. "What are you saying?"
"I had hoped we’d meet sooner," Jamie Lee’s mother lamented, tears escaping her eyes. "But now it’s too late."
Eyes wide, she bolted out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors where a harsh breeze swallowed the clinical chill of the AC. Dark gray clouds choked out the sun.
Ignoring her friends, who yelled at her from the parking lot, she sprinted straight into the street.
Sydney glanced back at the hospital, spotting Mrs. Douglas at the threshold. She turned away and put on a burst of speed, ducking her head.
She’s been tormented enough. Nothing and no one will stop her. Not her friends yelling, and not that stupid truck’s horn.
Truck?
She glanced up, bright lights blinding her—
There was a screech, and then shrill panicked screams. Her phone lay broken and bloodied. The hurried footsteps of three figures had blurred into one, heading right for her.
They were all crying, "No. Dear God, no!"
