In memory of Nicole Lewanski

her
my new friend.”
“It wasn’t a party,” I said, my voice rising. “It was a 
funeral.
”
“What’s the difference?” he challenged.
“It’s just different.”
“How?”
“Oh, forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
“And I suppose he does?”
I stood up. “What’s the matter with you?” I said angrily. “We just hung out;
it’s not a big deal. His girlfriend just died, and I think that would be the only
thing on his mind.”
“Right,” said Duck, with a shrug of his shoulders. He looked away.
“Whatever.”
“Look, you’re just sick and feeling like shit. I get it. But you don’t have to be
jealous of Rad.”
“So, he has a name.”
“Can you stop?”
“Stop what?” He looked defiant.
“Stop being a jerk about this whole thing. I did nothing wrong, and you know
it.”
He looked at me for a few moments, a blank expression on his face. Then, he
sighed and said in a resigned voice, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I said tightly.
“It’s just that I’ve been stuck in my room all day, and I hear all this stuff about

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my girlfriend going off with some guy. How do you expect me to feel?”
“It’s not like I planned it, you know. It just happened that way.” I threw my
hands in the air and sat back down on the edge of Duck’s bed.
He picked up the PlayStation controller and began playing his game again. “So
how is he doing, anyway?”
“He’s okay, I suppose. I’m sure he and Ana were really close. I mean, I can’t
imagine how I would feel if I were in his shoes.”
“Me neither,” said Duck quietly. He glanced up at me. “You know, I still
can’t get my head around what happened to Ana. She was there last week. She
lent me a pen in English class. How can someone go from lending a pen to being
dead?” I felt the room spin a little, and I clutched the sky-blue comforter on
Duck’s bed. “Do you ever think about not existing?” he continued, missing my
sudden bout of anxiety. “I mean, doesn’t the concept terrify you?”
“Of course it does.”
“I remember when I was twelve. My dad was talking about someone’s kid at
work who choked on a piece of apple and died. I think it traumatized me. I
mean, I kept obsessing about death after that. To the point where I was sick
about it. Like, imagine that. Not being anything.”
“It’s a scary thought,” I agreed.
“It’s like 
The NeverEnding Story.
You know, how the Nothing starts to take
over.”
I nodded, thinking back to the day at the lake, my unconscious body settling
down among the moss-covered rocks, an audience of tiny fish darting anxiously
to and fro. How long would it have taken for my life to ebb away? What if Duck
didn’t find me on the second dive down? What if it had been the third, the
fourth? Would it have been too late? If Duck hadn’t saved me that day, would
Ana still be here?
I looked at Duck, his eyes fixed to the screen. Sirens and radio static boomed
from the television set. A car chase was under way. I tried to imagine how I
would feel if the shoe was on the other foot and Duck had left Ana’s funeral with
another girl. I felt nothing—not even a pang of jealousy. Was it because he never
gave me reason to doubt his feelings for me? Why was he always doubting mine?
“So,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at me, “are you going to keep hanging
out with this new friend of yours?”
I stood up, my fists clenched tightly at my sides. “Look, stop trying to pick a
fight with me, okay? I’ve been having a rough time lately; you know that.”
“Audrey, you were never that close to Ana,” he pointed out. “I mean, Candela

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seems to be handling this better than you, and they were really close.”
“Hey,” I said defensively. “Some kid you didn’t even know died from choking
on a piece of fruit, and it messed you up, so maybe this is the same thing for me.”
He was quiet for a few moments.
“I guess,” he said finally.
“Anyway, I should head back before it gets dark.”
“Okay.”
“Are you going to school tomorrow?” Duck and I were both in our final term
at Barrett, one of the few co-ed private schools in North Sydney. It was a short
bus ride from Three Oaks and where most families in our town sent their kids.
“I think I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
L
ATER
THAT
NIGHT
, I was lying in bed when I overheard a conversation between
my parents.
“I think it’s time we send her to see someone.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“Well, she’s barely eating and those mood swings . . .”
“I don’t know what has gotten into her . . .”
“For Chrissake, Edwina, her friend just slit her wrists.”
“They weren’t exactly close.”
“They’ve known each other since they were kids. Ana’s been around here
plenty.”
The conversation continued, but it began to rain and their words were lost to
the soft drumming sound on the roof. I sighed and reached over to turn on my
reading lamp. I propped myself up with some pillows and took the half-read copy
of