Blue Is for Nightmares by Laurie Faria Stolarz

cheap to spring for a dozen. Or maybe a dozen would have been too long for him to wait. Hey, if he does it by Friday, I won't have to take my trig test. You think I could ask him to move it up?"
    I touch Drea's hand and rub her back, watch these simple gestures convert laughter into tears.
    She cups her hands over her face and collapses into my arms. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say to make it better. I can only try to stop the danger before it happens. I rock her back and forth on the bench and feel a nerve at the back of my neck tense up.
    The sound of footsteps is coming toward us from the long row of showers. I stand, accidentally stepping on the wrapping paper and causing a slight rustle.
    The footsteps stop.
    Drea grasps at my arm to hold me back. I place my finger up to my lips to shush her, take a step closer to the sinks, and ready myself to peer around the wall.
    Maybe the person who left the gift is still here, waiting. "Stacey" Drea whispers. "What are you doing?"
    I peer around the corner but I don't see anyone, just a row of empty shower stalls, the curtains drawn open. I peel Drea's grasp from around my forearm and begin down the row of stalls. That's when I notice--the two at the end have their curtains drawn closed.
    There's a clanking sound, like metal, coming from the last stall. I reach inside my pocket for my key ring and prepare the sharpest key to protect myself. "I know you're there," I call out. "Come out and show yourself"
    A pair of feet--black leather clunk-shoes--takes a step closer to the curtain.
    "Come out!" I demand.

    "Stacey!" Drea shouts.
    A white chiffon scarf pokes out from behind the curtain and waves back and forth. I look closer.
    The scarf has yellow ducks patterned across the edges. It can only be one person.
    "I surrender," Amber yells, jumping out from the stall. "Just don't hurt me."
    I let out a long, relief-filled breath and release the key from my grip. 'Amber, what are you doing here?"
    Drea emerges from behind the wall to join us. "You scared us half to death."
    "Sorry" she says, banging her metal Daffy Duck lunch box against the wall. "Just having a little peek-a-boo fun. Didn't think you'd take it so seriously."
    "How else are we supposed to take it?" I ask.
    She ties the duck scarf around her neck so that it sticks out slightly from the collars of her uniform, just enough to piss off Mr. Gunther, her first period algebra teacher, and score her a big, fat detention.
    "I was looking for you guys," she says. "Coming to breakfast?"
    "How long have you been here?" Drea asks.
    "I don't know. Like, two minutes."
    "Did you see anyone coming this way, carrying a gift?" Drea asks.
    "You got it?"
    Drea nods.
    "Holy shit." Amber's eyes slam shut for emphasis, exposing two more ducks, penciled onto her lids with brown and yellow eyeliner. "What was it?"
    "We'll explain later," I say. "I don't want to talk here."
    "This is so cool," Amber says. "It's like some bad horror movie or something. I feel like--who's that chick from the original Halloween?"
    "You mean Jamie Lee Curtis?" I say.
    "Yeah, I feel like her."
    "Amber," I say, "this is serious. It's not for your entertainment."

    She looks at Drea, close to tears. "Oh yeah. Sorry, Dray. I can be such an insensitive beetle sometimes."
    "Cockroach," Drea corrects.
    "Right." Amber's cell phone rings from inside her lunch box. She ignores it out of courtesy. "Just tell me whatever I can do to help, and I will."
    "We need to make a pact," I say. "Right here and now." I extend my hand in the air, facedown.
    Drea places hers over mine. Amber does the same, until our hands make a sixinch-high pig pile.
    "Close your eyes and repeat after me," I say, feeling the warmth of their hands enveloping my own. "To secrecy."
    "To secrecy" Drea says.
    "To secrecy," Amber repeats.
    'And to honesty and strength," I say.
    "And to honesty and strength," they both repeat in turn. "Or death will surely part us," I say.
    "Or death will surely