Free Secrets by Melinda Metz - Fingerprints - 4 Page B

under the bed. Let’s take them to my room,” Mandy said. Rae could see why she was eager to leave. The room was beautiful, but it was creepy, too.
    “Can we help you carry them?” Yana asked, already heading for the bed. She was in extreme pushy mode, definitely borderline obnoxious, but Rae was glad she was there. If Rae and Mandy werealone, they could end up frozen in place forever. At least that’s how it felt.
    “Okay,” Mandy told Yana. “It’s the two flowered boxes.”
    A second later Yana was on her knees. She pulled one of the boxes free and handed it to Rae- /why?/shouldn’t have/why?/why?/
    –then grabbed the other one and stood up with it cradled in her arms. “Lead the way,” she told Mandy.
    “My room’s kind of a sty,” Mandy admitted as she walked them over to a closed door a little farther down the hall.
    With an embarrassed half smile, half grimace, she opened the door.
    Mandy’s room didn’t smell like incense or candles. It smelled like… pizza. Rae tracked the odor to a pizza box almost buried under a pile of dirty clothes. Mandy wasn’t exaggerating about the state of her room. There were piles of junk on every flat surface-except the bed. It was a peaceful island in the middle of the chaos. “I guess I’ll just put this here,” Rae said, setting her box at the foot of the bed. Yana placed her box next to Rae’s.
    “Sorry about-” Mandy made a helpless gesture.
    “Hey, makes me feel at home,” Yana said. “You should see my room.”
    Rae was pretty sure Yana was lying, remembering the row of flowers Yana had planted along her frontwalkway.
    But lie or not, it worked. Mandy sat down cross-legged in the middle of the bed, patting spots on either side of her.
    Rae and Yana took the invitation, then silence began to fill the room like cold water.
    Mandy just kept staring at the boxes, and the quiet began to feel like a weight on Rae’s shoulders, on her chest.
    “How should we do this?” Yana asked, the silence sucked down the drain at her words. “Rae and I could hold stuff up and you could tell me keep or not keep-unless it would be weird for us to touch the stuff.”
    “No. No, that would be good,” Mandy answered, starting a new little braid.
    That was lucky. Rae hadn’t even thought about what she’d do if she couldn’t get a chance to touch the objects and pick up whatever thoughts she could.
    Yana gently removed the cover from the box closest to her. She pulled out a pink sweater, beaded with a snowflake pattern.
    “Not keep,” Mandy said quickly. “She hated that one.”
    “For the not-keep pile,” Yana told Rae, handing her the sweater. Rae noticed that the tag was still on it. She ran her fingers lightly across.
    The rest of the sweater had a few fuzzy, grief-soaked thoughts. Nothing else. Rae carefully set it down.Yana pulled a gray zip-front sweatshirt out of the box. The front pocket had come loose on one side, and the tie was missing from the hood. Mandy reached out and took the sweatshirt, then brought it to her face and pulled in a long, deep breath. “Keep,” she said, her voice muffled. Reluctantly she handed the sweatshirt to Rae. smells like my
    That thought was so clear, it had to be Mandy’s. There was more fuzzy grief, probably from whoever packed the box, but there were many more happy thought fragments, fragments about dogs chasing sticks, tide pools, kids splashing. Beach vacation, Rae figured.
    Yana pulled out another sweater. Mandy shook her head. “This is the only piece of clothing I want.” She took the sweatshirt away from Rae and tucked it under one of the pillows on the bed.
    Rae started to tell her that the smell would last longer if Mandy kept the sweatshirt wrapped in plastic, then changed her mind. That sweatshirt should be touched, not turned into an artifact.
    “Just more clothes in this one,” Yana said. “You sure you-”
    “Yeah,” Mandy answered, patting the pillow the sweatshirt was nestled under. Rae returned