I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending
"I don't have a credit card."
"It's okay, I've got you."
Lottie whips around to the sound of a familiar voice behind her, unmistakable in that specific tone; confidence, compassion, just a hint of a challenge.
"Jackie?"
Jackie Taylor's hand is on her shoulder and she smoothes a bit of her hair like Lottie isn't dirty and ragged and stone solid with cold. And Jackie isn't either. She's warm, glowing. That black dress and pink denim jacket, her hair tossed around her shoulders. Perfect blush, perfect lipstick when she smiles and backs up a few steps.
"Come on. You can't be here in that."
Lottie spares one glance back to the other girls before she shoves her chair away from the table and turns to follow Jackie who seems to already be twenty steps down the mall and turning into a store. She hurries her pace, follows muttering for Jackie to wait up but Jackie never does. It had never been her style. Even when they were kids. Jackie Taylor got her period first and kissed a boy first and moved on and found a new high school friend first. And Lottie Matthews followed, always just a bit behind.
By the time she gets in a store, Jackie's already tugging her into a dressing room. She covers her in clothes. First a t-shirt, then a sweater, and then a jacket over that. It's bulky. But it's warm. "Perfect," Jackie grins proudly, as though this isn't the mots absurd looking thing she's ever seen. Even though it is. She shoves around Lottie, fumbling with the door handle and Lottie's eyes widen with panic.
"Whoa -- what are you doing?"
"What am I doing?" Jackie raises one eyebrow, "what are you doing, five? You're stalling."
The door opens and Lottie presses her back into the back of the fitting room. "Jesus Jackie, we're going to get caught. This isn't even subtle."
Jackie starts to laugh. She lifts her hand and presses it against Lottie's cheek. It's cold. It makes Lottie's jaw feel tight. But Jackie's still smiling, all the way into her eyes just before she rolls them. "Not subtle? I'll give you not subtle. You're freezing, Lottie. You need to be out here and instead you're hiding in here, sitting in a stupid metaphor talking to me."
Lottie blinks, awareness slowly seeping into her mind. Jackie's pale. Her perfectly bouncing hair as ragged as Lottie's feels.
"It's okay," Jackie repeats. "I've got you. Remember?"
This time when she says it, Lottie remembers why it sounds so familiar. They're thirteen. Jackie Taylor's just kissed a boy for the first time and she tells Lottie about it in her bedroom while their parents have cocktails. Lottie's wide eyed but not in the scared sort of her way. Thinking about what Jackie's describing makes her palms itch. She pulls the sleeve of her long sweater over them and then Jackie carelessly shrugs, "I can help you practice if you want, now that I know how." And Lottie agrees, because why wouldn't she, and in seconds, Jackie's holding the spot on her palm that'd been itchy just seconds before, and when Lottie's nerves stop them she whispers like it's simple, "It's okay. I've got you."
"I'm not ready," Lottie blurts out, right there in that fitting room. "I'm not ready. This is --" she's about to say the clothes are too obvious. That Jackie's apparently the worst klepto she's ever met. But the clothes aren't there. She's cold again.
"You have to be," Jackie answers. "I wasn't and look what happened."
Lottie goes to answer, but Jackie only looks paler. Her letterman jacket looks too heavy on her boney shoulders. Lottie's eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head. "I'm not ready," she repeats. And she knows now, why Jackie's insisting it isn't subtle, why she's stuck in a stupid metaphor talking to her. Because without Jackie there, they've all started to turn to her. Or against her. It feels like a responsibility Lottie never asked for, one she had always been content to never have and yet -- Jackie Taylor always got to do everything first. She was their captain first. She got to die first. Lottie was always just a few steps behind. "I'm not --"
"Don't say you're not ready again. This wilderness bullshit doesn't wait for you to be ready. You know that."
"I'm not you."
"And thank fuck for that. I don't matter anymore, remember?"
"We didn't mean that, Jackie."
The dressing room feels so small Lottie's sure she can't breathe. Like every word exhausts her. Like the air is heavy. Like her eyeballs are cold against the inside of her skull.
"Sure you did," Jackie shrugs, "and it was way harsh. But I'm over it. It's your turn Lottie."
For a second, Lottie tries to reach for Jackie, like she can shake her or warm her up -- warm them both up -- convince her to stay. But her own limbs barely move. They're too heavy too. She's so cold it's like her fingers won't work. "They need you, Jackie."
Jackie shakes her head.
"Yes."
Jackie takes a step forward. "It's okay, Lott. They've got you."
Before Lottie can argue, Jackie's hands press against her chest. They take the air in her lungs with them, she stumbles backward out of the fitting room, and falls into the snow.