Amanda waves her beer at me. “Oh my God, we need to fix your hair.” She
is talking about the bangs I gave myself. “And why are you still wearing those
glasses? I get wanting to remember your sister, but didn’t she have, like, a
cute sweater you could wear instead?”
I set my cup down. I’m still carrying my pillow. I say, “My stomach’s
bugging me. I think I’m going home.”
Suze turns her big blue eyes on me. “Is it true you pulled Theodore Finch
off a ledge?” (She was “Suzie” until ninth grade, when she dropped the
i
. It’s
now pronounced “Sooze.”)
“Yes.” Please, God, I want that whole day to just go away.
Amanda looks at Suze. “I told you it was true.” She looks at me and rolls
her eyes. “That’s just the kind of thing he does. I’ve known him since, like,
kindergarten, and he’s only gotten weirder.”
Suze takes a drink. “I know him even better than that.”
Her voice goes
slutty. Amanda slaps her arm and Suze slaps her back. When they’re done,
Suze says to me, “We hooked up sophomore year. He may be weird, but I’ll
say this for him, that’s one guy who knows what he’s doing.” Her voice goes
sluttier. “Unlike most of these boring-ass boys around here.” A couple of
those boring-ass boys yell from the floor: “Why don’t you come and try this
on for size, bitch?” Amanda slaps Suze again. And on they go.
I shift my bag over my shoulder. “I’m just glad I was there.”
To be more accurate, I’m just glad he was there before I fell off the ledge
and killed myself in front of everyone. I can’t even think about my parents,
forced to deal with the death of their only remaining child. Not even an
accidental death, but an intentional one. That’s
one reason I came tonight
without a fight. I feel ashamed of what I almost put them through.
“Glad you were where?” Roamer stumbles up with a bucket of beers. He
slams it down, ice sloshing everywhere.
Suze looks at him through cat eyes. “The bell tower.”
Roamer stares at her chest. He forces himself to look at me. “Why were
you up there, anyway?”
“I was on my way to Humanities and saw him go through the door at the
end of the hall, the one that goes to the tower.”
Amanda says, “Humanities? I thought that was second period.”
“It is, but I had to talk to Mr. Feldman about something.”
Roamer says, “They keep that door locked and barricaded. That place is
harder to get into than your pants, from what I hear.” He laughs and laughs.
“He must have picked the lock.” Or maybe that was me. One of the
benefits of looking innocent is you’re able to get away with things.
People
almost never suspect you.
Roamer pops the top off a beer and chugs it down. “Asshole. You should
have let him jump. Prick almost took my head off last year.” He’s referring to
36
the chalkboard incident.
“Do you think he likes you?” Amanda makes a face at me.
“Of course not.”
“I hope not. I’d be careful around him if I were you.”
Ten months ago, I would have sat beside them, drinking beer and fitting in,
and writing witty commentary in my head:
She puts the words out there on
purpose, like a lawyer trying to lead the jury. “Objection, Miss Monk.” “So
sorry. Please disregard.” But it’s too late because the jury has heard the
words and latched onto them—if he likes her, she must like him in return.…
But now I stand there, feeling dull and out of place and wondering how I
was ever friends with Amanda to begin with. The air is too close. The music
is too loud. The smell of beer is everywhere. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Then I see Leticia Lopez, the reporter from the school paper, on her way over
to me.
“I’ve gotta go, Amanda. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Before anyone can say anything, I walk upstairs and out of the house.
The last party I went to was April 4, the night Eleanor was killed. The
music and the lights and the yelling bring it back. Just in time, I pull my hair
out of my face, bend over, and throw up onto the curb. Tomorrow they’ll
think it was just another drunk kid.
I search for my phone and text Amanda.
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