They Wish They Were Us

by Jessica Goodman

  Nikki’s eyes narrow. “No, I’m not.”

  “How can you not see this?” I feel like I’m losing my mind, like she’s totally delusional.

  “I’m not the queen of the universe, Jill. Anyone can say no. It’s not like we’re forcing them to do anything.”

  “But you are,” I say. My throat is scratchy and raw. “We have the power. They don’t. Did you ever feel once, when we were freshmen, that we could say no? Think of how they feel right now.”

  “This is so classic, Jill. You’re just trying to protect yourself. So if anything goes down, if anything happens to your precious little brother, you won’t be the one to blame. You always let Shay take the fall for you. You’re letting me do it now.”

  My jaw drops open. I stumble backward, feeling like I’ve been smacked in the face. I know exactly what Nikki’s talking about. The Midwinter Challenge. The night where Shaila almost sacrificed everything for me.

  It was an unseasonably warm Friday night in February and we were all called to Jake’s basement for a full class pop. I panicked when I got the text. I was supposed to be at the All-County Math Olympiad Challenge at 8 a.m. the next morning. There were only two weekend meets a year, and I had specifically requested to have those days off.

  “Sure,” Adam had said when I asked. “Won’t be a problem.”

  But I knew there was no way I’d get out of participating. Not if Jake was running the show.

  Shit, I texted Shaila. I can’t drink tonight . . .

  Don’t worry. I’ll cover for you.

  I sent her a million heart emojis and prayer hands before leaving to accept our fate.

  When we arrived at Jake’s, there were a few junior boys there, too. But no Adam, or any of the girls. Jake ordered us into what seemed like a small closet. It smelled of cedar and lavender at first. Two handles of vodka sat atop slim benches.

  “Drink,” Jake said in his deep monotone. “Drink till they’re done.”

  The guys behind him laughed and shouted out some whooping noises.

  Robert scoffed. “That’s it?”

  A slow, scary smile spread across Jake’s face. “Yep,” he said. “That’s it.”

  Then he turned and closed the door. A small click let us know it was locked.

  “Well, this should be easy,” Robert said. He picked up one of the bottles and brought it to his lips to take a swig. But after sipping only a tiny bit, he spit his mouthful onto the floor. “Ugh, gross, it’s hot.”

  Shaila groaned and sat down on the bench. Then her eyes grew wide. “Wait. Is anyone else, like, really warm?” She pulled her fleece over her head to expose a tiny piece of flesh between her pants and her top.

  It was hot. And it was only getting hotter. Steam rose from the floor. I looked up. It was coming through the slats on the ceiling, too.

  “Jesus,” Quentin said as he spun around the small room. “You guys, this is a sauna.”

  We were all silent as reality set in. Jake was cranking the heat up high. Too high. Suddenly, I was so aware of my armpits and the boiling sensation between my toes. I breathed in deeply and swallowed too much hot air. Panic began to rise in my throat and I felt like I was going to collapse.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Marla said. She whipped off her sweater and took a long slug. Her face contorted as she choked it down. “That is vile.”

  She passed the bottle to Henry and it went around the circle, until Nikki placed it at my feet.

  I picked it up and thought about the next day. How I could get kicked off the team if I performed like shit, how that could affect my scholarship or my shot at an Ivy, how it could ruin everything my parents worked for. Everything I worked for. My hands started to shake and I blinked back tears. It was all too much. “I can’t drink,” I said softly to no one in particular. “Olympiad tomorrow. I can’t mess it up.”

  For a moment no one spoke, and then Shaila grabbed the bottle. “I’ll drink for her. Whatever.”

  Nobody seemed to care and slowly my fear subsided. I squeezed Shaila’s hand and said a silent thank you as she drank more and more.

  Soon, we were all bright red and dripping in sweat. My throat felt scratchy from dehydration. Henry wiped his face on his shirt, though it was already see-through.

  “I have to lie down,” Nikki said. Her skin had turned the color of a tomato and her long dark hair was matted around her face.

  “Come on. We’re so close,” Shaila slurred. She held up the second bottle, which was still about a third full. It was impossible to know how much time had passed but Shaila was swaying at that point.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered into her ear.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said. But when I saw her face, her eyes were cloudy and her mouth was slack. She looked right through me.

  Actually, everyone was sort of on that level, dipping in and out of reality. Loopy and growing loopier. But Shaila seemed in a league of her own.

  “How much did you have?” I hissed.

  “I’m drinking for you, remember?” she said, not unkindly. She smiled a little. “That’s what friends are for.” Then she lifted the bottle and took another huge gulp. Her throat moved up and down as the liquid slid into her stomach.

  Graham shook his head and grabbed it from her hands. “No, babe. That’s enough.” Then he drained the whole thing and clasped a hand over his mouth to keep it all down.

  “Jake!” Robert screamed, banging on the door with the other empty handle. “We’re done!”

  “Finally!” Jake unhitched the latch and we tumbled out of the sauna in a tangle of wet cotton and limbs. The air was a relief and we all gasped, trying to suck it down as quickly as possible. Shaila stumbled out last and almost immediately sank to the floor, leaning up against the wall.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she said quietly.

  “Uh-oh,” some junior Player mumbled. “She’s looking rough.”

  Jake squatted down next to her and stared at her hard, then at the rest of us, at me. “She had more than everyone else, didn’t she?”

  We stayed silent.

  Just then, Shaila turned to one side and in one long burp, she vomited a sticky beige stream onto the hardwood floor.

  “Aw, gross,” Jake said, kicking his leg out in front of him. “She puked on my limited editions!”

  Shaila slumped forward and onto her other side. She was passed out.

  “Um, guys,” I said, my voice shaking. “I think we need to do something.”

  “Oh shit,” Nikki slurred. “We need to take her to the hospital.”

  The junior boys groaned. “Ugh, this happens every year,” one said. I think it was Reid Jefferson, the star of the debate team. “She needs her stomach pumped. I can take her.” He started putting on his jacket.

  “Are you an idiot?” Jake said. “We’re all underage.” His eyes were wide with fury. Maybe fear. “Get out of my house. Everyone. Figure it out on your own.”

  “What?” Henry said. “Are you serious?”

  “Do I not sound serious?” Jake asked. “I’m not going to Princeton if they find out I almost killed some idiot freshman girl.”

  The boys around him nodded as if that seemed like a legit excuse.

  I froze, seeing no clear path away from disaster. But Marla took charge. “Come on, guys. I’ll call my brothers.” She wrapped Shaila’s arm around her shoulder. “Graham, take her other side. Make sure she keeps breathing. Jill, grab her stuff.”

  I followed orders silently, grateful for something to do with my hands, and gathered Shaila’s jacket and backpack. I scurried up the stairs, following Marla’s lead. Nikki whimpered softly behind me, terrified and drunk. “Come on,” I said, grabbing her.

  When we stepped outside, the cold shocked us all into reality and the air turned sour with dread. It was so dark, too dark, not a star in sight.


  “Those assholes,” Graham muttered. Everyone else huddled in silence, waiting for Marla’s brothers’ truck to come barreling down the pitch-black road. Finally, a pair of headlights careened toward us.

  “What the hell, Mar?” James, the oldest, was in the passenger seat and rolled down the window to see what was up. “Are you guys total dummies or what?”

  “Not tonight,” she said. “Please. Just help me, okay? We’ve got to get her home.” Her eyes pleaded with them as they mumbled their disapproval. Marla turned to me. “Are her parents there?”

  I shook my head. “They’re in the Hamptons.”

  “Good. Help me get her up.”

  Graham, Marla, and I heaved Shaila’s dead weight into the back seat as she tried to say something incoherent. I let out a rush of air. She was awake.

  “Not enough room for all of us,” Marla said. “Nikki, Jill, come with me. We can all stay at Shaila’s tonight.”

  We piled into the back seat and left the boys standing in the frigid darkness. I shoved myself into the far side, so Shaila was propped up in between Marla and me. As soon as we buckled in, Cody, Marla’s second-oldest brother, started driving. James turned up the radio and no one said a word as we barreled down the wooded, winding roads toward the Arnold estate.

  When we got to Shaila’s, we spent the next few hours in her bathroom, as she puked and puked until there was only green bile left. Marla brought her cold compresses, Advil, and Gatorade she found in the Arnolds’ downstairs pantry. Nikki rubbed her back and held her hair in a tight ponytail as Shay lurched forward over the toilet again and again.

  By the time morning broke, I finally left.

  “It’s fine,” Marla said. “Go. I’d be the same if we had field hockey championships today.” Nikki was still sleeping.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying not to cry.

  “You’d do it for me,” she said. “We all take care of each other.”

  I was in awe of her calm, how she kept her fear hidden. I always swore I would thank her again and come to her rescue if the time ever came. But it never did. Marla was always the steady one. She never lost her composure. She was the one we could count on. And we never spoke about that night again. None of us.

  The fact that Nikki brings this up now, when the last thing I want to do is think about how I let Shaila protect me when I never tried to save her, means she’s out for blood.

  Nikki bares her teeth and I step back, plastering my spine against the wall. “I thought you were my best friend,” she whispers. “I already lost one.”

  My shoulders fall. It’s so exhausting to fight. I just want to wrap her in my arms and remind her that we are the survivors. We need to band together. But there’s an anger inside me I just can’t let go. I don’t know if she gets it. If she understands the damage we could cause . . . have caused.

  “Jared’s already changed,” I say. “They all have. Even you. Running around as Toastmaster like you own Gold Coast.” I want to breathe fire. I want to make her burn, to feel the hurt. “You know I’m right. What I said at Road Rally. That spot would have been Shaila’s if she were here. But she’s not and it’s yours. That makes you happy, doesn’t it? That you took her place. Doesn’t it?” Nikki’s eyes are red and bulging but I keep pushing, tapping into her deepest insecurities. “Doesn’t it?” I say again, louder.

  “Shut up!” she yells, covering her ears with her hands. Nikki shakes her head and her eyes grow watery. “Stop saying that!”

  I snap my mouth closed. Instead of being pleased with myself, I feel sick.

  “We only have a few months left,” she stammers. “Are you ready to throw everything away now?”

  I shake my head like I’m Aries the ram. Menacing. Unruly. “I already did.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I’M STANDING AT the edge of Ocean Cliff. The wind is so powerful it rocks me back and forth, threatening to toss me over the edge. But I can’t move. I can’t get to safer ground. I spot Nikki off in the distance and try to wave but my arms stay by my sides. I try to call her name but my mouth won’t open. Then, suddenly, she rushes toward me, her eyes fiery and furious, her mouth a black hole, and in one motion, she pushes me.

  I’m falling, so far, so fast. I’m all alone, plummeting into darkness.

  Until a thundering sound wakes me. My eyes blink open and I rest my hand on my heart. Just another dream. Another nightmare. But the noise goes off again, a thick vibration.

  I fumble for my phone. Rachel’s name flashes on the screen. Quick question: Did Shaila ever write you letters?

  Yes, I type back. Over the summers. When we were apart. Why?

  I found one she sent me back in middle school. I wondered if she wrote to other people . . . told them about ~you know what~

  My fingers freeze. I’m still not sure I believe Graham’s innocence, but the idea that Shaila was cheating almost seems plausible. Were there any hints in one of her letters? There’s no way. She only wrote them when we were away from each other, and we were together for her entire last year.

  Not to me, I type.

  No duh. Anyone else?

  I don’t know, I say.

  Is there a way to find out?

  I mean, probably if we snuck into her house or something, I type, a joke, clearly.

  Would you actually do that????? Her parents go to Palm Beach every winter. There’s probably no one home! Rachel responds.

  You can’t be serious.

  ??????

  I drop my phone on my duvet. Would it be worth it? What could I find?

  The thought stays with me all through school, while I sit in the library alone, studying for the Brown scholarship exam—my new favorite activity—during the Math Olympiad meeting, and still, at the dinner table, as Jared gives me the silent treatment over salmon and roasted sweet potatoes, while Mom and Dad drone on and on about their work and how awful the weather is this year.

  I tap my foot under the table, restless and jumpy. I can’t take it anymore. I lift my head. “May I be excused?” I say. “I forgot a book at school and have to go back and get it before they lock the doors for the night.”

  Mom and Dad don’t even look up. “Of course,” Dad says. “Come right back, okay? It’s getting late.” Dad fishes his keys out of his pocket and hands them to me.

  I nod and head for the door. My brain spins, turning over what I’m about to do. If someone’s home, I’ll just leave. That’s what I tell myself.

  I haven’t been back to Shaila’s house since before she died, but I know the route by heart. It’s like muscle memory. I drive down East End Street, past the light, then up Grove Avenue, through town via Main Street. I pass the spin studio Adam’s mom loves, the Garage, and farther out of town, on the wooded back roads, I drive by the horse stables where Shaila took lessons as a kid. I brake slightly as I make my way over the little bridge that separates the Arnold estate from the rest of Gold Coast and suddenly, I’m at the mouth of their massive tree-lined driveway. I stop and turn the engine off.

  I grip the steering wheel to keep my hands from shaking. Am I really going to do this?

  I squeeze my eyes shut and rack my brain for the millionth time. What would Shaila do? She would keep going. I know she would.

  My legs are wobbly when I climb down from the car, and the wind whips at the exposed skin along my neck. All the cars are gone. A sure sign the Arnolds fled town for winter.

  If Mr. and Mrs. Arnold really were off in Palm Beach, they would have left a key in a lockbox attached to the guest house in the back. Their code to everything was always Shaila’s birthday, 0316. I inhale the cold air deeply and let it fill my lungs, give me courage.

  Then I sprint. First through the thick-wooded grove that divides their property between lawn and forest, so I’m out of sight, away from the security cameras they installed after Shaila died. It’s so
dark, I can barely see my feet below me. Fear pounds in my chest, but I tell myself this will all be over soon. I’m almost there. I can see the glow from the moon spotlighting the house a few hundred yards away. I dart through the trees and emerge in the Arnolds’ backyard, an expansive field that fits a pool and a tennis court.

  From here, I can see Shaila’s bedroom window, pitch-black, just like the rest of the mansion. I take a deep breath and creep to the far corner of the yard where the cottage sits untouched. The lockbox is still there, mounted on the front door. I keep my gloves on as I key in Shaila’s birthday with shaky fingers. The light changes from red to green and the latch swings open. I gasp.

  The key is right where it always was, just waiting to be used.

  I grab it and make a break for the side door of the main house, the one that’s hidden and only used for deliveries or the caterers when the Arnolds held fancy cocktail parties. It wasn’t for invited guests. When I reach the entrance, I peel off my jacket and my boots and leave them in a heap outside the house. Can’t track mud or dirt in here.

  The key turns and the door unlocks. I wait a beat, for an alarm or . . . something. But nothing happens. I step inside Shaila’s house. The air is stiff and stale and I wonder when her parents were here last. No one has seen them since the first day of school. Not around town or at the supermarket. That’s normal, though. They stopped socializing after Shaila died.

  I tiptoe through the first floor, more out of curiosity than anything else. Everything is as it was the last time I was here three years ago. The good china is still stacked on display in a large wooden cabinet in the grand dining room. The Steinway piano is polished so well I can see my reflection. The spiral staircase is still decorated with red and green holiday-themed runners even though it’s the middle of February.

  And Shaila is everywhere. Her face, captured at her first communion, peers out at me from a painting in the living room. Her fifth grade class photo hangs in the hallway. There she is in her Easter best, grimacing with her parents, on the stairs.