They Wish They Were Us

by Jessica Goodman

  My heart softens and I picture sweet, sad Henry. He was never right for me, but thinking of the look on his face when I broke up with him still breaks my heart.

  “Plus, Bryce says Adam’s going through some shit now.”

  He pauses but I don’t speak.

  “Weird, huh?”

  “Weird,” I echo.

  “I think he’s hanging around for a while. At least until after our finals. Probably through the month. Then he’s off to some internship in Los Angeles.” Jared slams another forkful of food into his mouth. “At least that’s what Bryce said.”

  Finals. They’re all next week. And before then, Nikki had scheduled initiation. Their last test.

  * * *

  —

  I sit with what I know for the rest of the week, bottling it up inside and keeping it close. I decline Nikki’s invitation to rejoin the Players’ Table for a few last meals, using the awkwardness between me and Henry as an excuse.

  “Come on,” Nikki pleads. “There’s only one week left. Plus, Robert is totally shook from the whole DUI thing. His NYU acceptance was revoked and he has to start court-ordered mandatory rehab after graduation.”

  “Serves him right,” I say.

  Nikki’s mouth forms a pout, but then she nods once. “Yeah, it does.”

  Even Robert being put in his place won’t make me come back. I shake my head and hug her hard as we part ways in the hall. “I just need a little more time.” She knows what’s coming—about the plan Rachel and I made—and so she relents. It feels good to share secrets with her again.

  I retreat to the library where I read all of Wuthering Heights in prep for the AP English final, then go over my flashcards for the physics exam even though I know them all by heart now. I try not to check my email for news about the scholarship. Instead, I run errands for Mom after school, popping in and out of the drugstore and the farmers’ market and the art supply shop. I even clean out the boxes in the basement, the ones with all my old quizzes and research projects from elementary school. Anything to avoid reality. To avoid what I know is coming. And, mostly, to avoid Adam’s texts.

  I need you.

  Please.

  I can’t talk to anyone else here.

  Mom’s driving me insane.

  Why are you ghosting me?

  I’m sorry about the other day!

  Each one is like a sledgehammer to my heart, a reminder of what I thought we were. Everything I thought I knew was a lie.

  Finally I relent.

  Caught an awful stomach bug. Super contagious!!!

  He responds with one emoji: ☹

  When I get to school on Monday, the last Monday before finals, I try to be invisible. I want to soak everything in—how the lockers sound when they’re slammed shut, how the desks are always slick with Windex, how the library smells new even though the books are ancient. I want to remember how the morning buzz shifts from sleepy to frenzied in record time. How Weingarten’s beady eyes roam the audience during morning assembly, how they linger on mine, waiting to see if I’ll break.

  I even want to remember how the Players look from afar, how sometimes the table can feel like a raft in the middle of the ocean, and other times like a shark hunting for prey. How Quentin’s easy kindness radiates when he makes his way through the sandwich line, letting sophomores cut him while he decides between focaccia and ciabatta. I want to remember how Nikki’s confidence seeps into every interaction, and how that took years to build. I want to remember how Marla drags her field hockey stick behind her like it’s a security blanket or an extra appendage. How Henry’s lip quivers just a little when he reads the morning broadcast. I even want to remember how Robert’s eyes scan the caf, drinking this world in, like he knows this might be as good as it gets for him.

  I want to hold this place still in my heart before it changes again for good.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  EVERYTHING HAPPENS QUICKLY once the positions are in place. The days fly by and suddenly it’s Friday, the last real day of school. The halls are maddening, fizzing with anticipation. I am, too, but for such different reasons.

  By the time the final bell rings, it’s as if someone set the school on fire. Everyone pushes and shoves, sprinting toward almost freedom.

  I head out to our designated meeting place—Nikki’s house—and find Rachel there, already waiting. We share a quick hug and wait for the sun to set.

  I sit on the deck, sprawling on the chaise lounge and find as many constellations as I can. It’s a perfect night. They’re all out, dancing and galloping through the sky. I should be terrified but my breathing is steady and a calm sets in. Maybe it’s because we finally have a plan.

  “Ready?” Rachel asks. She stands over me in jeans and a ratty black hoodie. Her eyes are tired and her skin sags just a bit around the edges, like she’s aged a decade during this fucked-up year. I want to hug her close and say thank you a million times over. I want to bottle her smile and carry it with me as I do this next part alone. Without her bravery, none of this would have been possible. I would be floating along like a ship with no course, crashing ashore someday, maybe.

  But instead I just whisper, “Yes,” and send the text. It only takes a minute for him to respond. “He’s coming,” I say. “Fifteen minutes.” We sit in silence, a nervous current running between us, until I see the headlights of his beloved vintage Mercedes. Bad punk music blares from the speaker and I try to remember what about those notes made me swoon.

  “My heart is racing,” Rachel whispers.

  “It’s okay,” I murmur. Her hand finds mine and we squeeze each other hard.

  I kick off my sneakers and walk to the beach where I told him to meet me. With every step, I try to stand taller, stronger, more like Rachel—or Shaila. I shake inside my fleece. Not from fright, though. From rage. Pure, searing rage coiled inside me like a snake. I’m ready to let it out.

  When I get to my mark, I turn to the ocean. It’s one big black roiling mess, crashing with impatience. Foam peaks glisten in the distance. They provide the only other light aside from the moon and the stars. How can something this violent be my home?

  “Here you are,” Adam says. He gives me that stupid dimpled grin and opens his arms for a hug.

  I want to unleash something wretched but instead I walk into his arms and let him rest his head on mine, like we’ve done hundreds of times before. “You made it,” I say.

  “So mysterious, Newman.”

  I let him go and step back. I want to see his face head-on when he has to tell the truth for once. I need to catch everything he says, or none of this will work.

  “Look, Adam,” I say sweetly. “This isn’t easy to say, but I need to talk to you about something.”

  He raises his eyebrows and rests his hands on his hips. “What’s up?”

  I take a deep breath and begin, just like we practiced. “I know about you and Shaila.” I try to look sad, like I’m heartbroken and hurt, not seething beneath my skin.

  “What do you mean?” he asks softly. His smile fades and his dimple disappears.

  “I know that you two were . . . you know.” I can’t bring myself to say it.

  “Huh,” he says. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I shake my head and meet his eyes. “She wrote letters.”

  Adam’s voice becomes a whisper. “What?”

  I nod and purse my lips. “About cheating on Graham. About everything. About you.” I hold my breath and wait for him to speak next. I need to exaggerate, to pretend like I’m so sure of these facts my brain will explode.

  “Well,” Adam says. He runs a hand through his hair and shifts from foot to foot. “We both know she was a little out there, though, right? I’m sure she blew things out of proportion.”

  “Maybe.” I turn away to the sea, hoping I look miffed, jealous.

 
“What did she say?” Adam asks. His curiosity betrays him.

  “That she was in love with someone who wasn’t Graham. That it would tear the Players apart. That it was you.” I bite my lip and hope he believes me.

  Adam tilts his head up to the sky and closes his eyes. “I made a mistake.” My stomach ties itself into knots and Adam lowers his gaze to the waves. “You’re not, like, mad, are you?” he asks. “That was years ago. She’s not even . . .” Adam trails off and steps closer to me, just like I planned. “You and I have something special, something different, you know. It’s always been you and me.”

  The words I’d always wanted to hear, now coated in a thick greasy sheen. I want to toss them into the Atlantic and watch them drown.

  “Next year, we’ll finally be together. We can do all the things you wanted,” he continues.

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so, Adam. Everything is different now.”

  “What?” His eyebrows shoot up. I don’t say anything. My stomach flips. “Is this about Graham? All that bullshit about being innocent?” His eyes narrow and he stabs a finger at me, like I’m in trouble, like I betrayed him, which I guess I did. “You don’t really believe him, do you?”

  “He makes some good points.”

  “You’ve talked to him?” Adam asks. His voice is getting louder.

  “Yes,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “Rachel, too.”

  Adam’s eyes look like they’re about to bulge out of his head. “I told you she was crazy.” His fury starts to build. He’s almost where I need him to be.

  “I believe them,” I say, egging him on.

  “What’s she saying now? That I killed Shaila? That we were sleeping together and on initiation I killed her and blamed it on Graham?” Adam blows out air and shakes his head. “Fucking crazy.”

  “Is it?” I ask, my voice steady and loud. “Is it crazy?”

  “What are you saying?” he says.

  An eerie sense of calm passes over me. “It makes sense,” I say slowly. “You gave her those earrings, spilled your guts to her, and she rejected you. Maybe . . .” I let my voice trail off.

  Adam’s shoulders tense when I mention the diamonds. His fists clench.

  “The earrings,” he says, like he’s just remembering them for the first time in three years.

  “I saw them,” I say, trying to hold my voice firm. “In your nightstand.”

  Adam’s eyes go cold. “After all I’ve done for you? This is how you repay me? By suggesting that I killed Shaila? You’re out of your mind. Dumb bitch.”

  “What did you call me?” My rage leaps into my throat, threatening to strangle me.

  “A bitch. You and all the other little girls. You’re all the same. Pretending you’re cool but ready to fucking snap if something doesn’t go your way.” Little flecks of spit pool around the corners of his mouth. I need him to keep going. I can take it.

  “Is that what happened with Shaila?” I ask. “Is that really why she’s dead?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then tell me.” I’m yelling now and my voice wavers, but I know each of these words by heart. The truth is so obvious now. I just need him to admit it. “Tell me what happened. Tell me the truth.”

  Adam shakes his head back and forth and pulls his black denim jacket around his stomach. “No,” he says, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  Something inside me cracks and my rage boils over. Suddenly, I’m running toward him so fast the air around me turns to ice. When I make impact with his middle, Adam tumbles to the sand. I dig my knees into the ground, straddling him.

  “Admit it,” I scream. “You killed her.” The tears are flowing hot and fast, and I think I’m going to throw up.

  “Don’t do this, Jill.” His voice is tangled in his throat.

  “You killed her!” I scream again, so close to his face I can see his stubble growing in.

  “Stop it!” he wails, throwing his head back into the ground. I’m knocked off balance. The sky above me shifts. Adam catches my wrists in his hands. His grip tightens and in one swift move he flips me over and pins me to the sand. I’m trapped. “I trusted you,” he says. “You were the only thing I had left in this fucked-up town and you betrayed me by going to Rachel, by not believing me.” His voice is wet and garbled as if the words are caught in his throat. “I saved you that night,” he wails.

  “But you did it,” I whimper. “You did it.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Adam says. A lump forms in my throat even as my wrists go numb. Keep talking, I plead. Keep going. Say it. Say it.

  “You didn’t mean to do what?” I scream, sending tiny drops of spittle onto the very tip of his nose. My heart aches inside my chest. I want to vomit.

  “It wasn’t my fault.” He shoves my wrists down farther into the sand and tucks his knees up under my armpits. I’m paralyzed. For the first time all night, I realize that if Adam killed once, he can do it again. I, too, could be just another dead girl in Gold Coast. But in this moment, I need to know more. I need to know everything. The tears are rushing down my cheeks and I find Adam’s eyes. They mirror the ocean behind me, wild and unrelenting.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say through my teeth. “I deserve to know.”

  Adam lets out a rush of air and for a split second, I think I see my Adam in there somewhere. The guy who forced me to listen to Fugazi and bought me platters of hash browns and runny eggs at Diane’s. The boy who sheepishly sent me play after play, just hoping they were good enough. The boy with the dimple and the plastic glasses. The boy whose future I had paired with mine. The boy who did, in fact, save me.

  But it was all a lie, calculated to get me to trust him. My Adam has been replaced by a monster I’ll never unsee.

  “We hung out all summer,” Adam says softly, though his fingers are still clenched around my wrists. “When Graham and Rachel weren’t around. We ran lines together, drank spiked lemonade by her pool. We had . . . a bond.”

  My heart breaks. I thought that bond was mine. I thought I was the special one.

  “We kept it cool, though,” he says. “Until the spring musical. Remember that? Rent.” Adam’s face twists into a weird smile and I wonder if he’s picturing Shaila shimmying and singing on stage with thick coats of makeup patted onto her face. “Keith asked me to doctor up the script so I was there a lot. Shaila was . . . amazing,” he whispers. “It was easy after that, to sneak around behind the theater after rehearsals, to pull my car into the staff lot, and be together. We just . . . fit.”

  His grip is still strong, but his knees unclench just a bit. He wants to let it out. I can feel it.

  “But then, I gave her those earrings, the same ones Kara had that she was so obsessed with. Shaila told me it was too much.” The anger builds in his eyes again. “She couldn’t do it to Graham anymore. She couldn’t do it to Rachel. She told me I wasn’t worth it. That she didn’t want to hurt you, her best friend, more than she already had. That you were in love with me, as if I couldn’t already tell.” His mouth curls in a sad little frown, like I’m some pathetic little child who needs his pity. “The guilt was eating her alive and we had to stop.”

  I want to spit in his face and rip his skin with my teeth. I want to show him who’s a little girl with a crush now. But I bite my lip and wait for him to continue. I need him to press on. I steel myself for what’s next.

  “I told her she was making a mistake, but she insisted. I was still so fucking mad on initiation. When it came time to pick pops, I chose Ocean Cliff for her. I was never going to make her actually jump. I just thought we could have a little time alone and, you know, make up. But when we got there . . .” He pauses and sucks in a puff of air through his teeth. “She rejected me. Again.”

  Adam looks me dead in the eyes.

  “You know wh
at she did?” he asks. “She laughed at me. I tried to kiss her one last time and she laughed.” Adam lets out a snort. “That stupid laugh of hers, all deep and raspy, like I was an idiot for even trying. So I told her to just jump so we could get it over with and go back to the group. She refused. She said she was smarter than that. That she’d die and it wasn’t worth it.”

  Adam shakes his head.

  “But I needed her to do it. I wanted to see the fear in her eyes. I said we couldn’t leave until she did it and then she started walking away. She said, ‘You’re not the boss of me,’ like a petulant toddler. And so I grabbed her arm and . . . pulled.”

  Tears stream from my face. I can picture this all so easily.

  “It must have been too hard. She stumbled back into a pile of driftwood and just fucking lost it. She shoved me. So I shoved her back, right up against those rocks, and then I heard her head crack. Something inside me just . . . snapped. Next thing I know she was lying on the sand near a puddle of sea water. There was so much blood everywhere. I panicked. I started running. It wasn’t long before I found Graham wandering around like a drunk baby, totally blackout. He had cut himself on some glass in the house, I guess, and was covered in blood. It was almost too easy. I pointed him in the direction of Ocean Cliff and told him to find Shaila. When I got back, I went looking for Jake. Then . . . well, you know.” His eyes soften as he continues. “I told everyone Shay went to take a shower, but when she and Graham didn’t come back, Rachel and Tina got nervous. So I called the cops and told them I saw Graham covered in blood by the cliff with Shaila. That was that. They arrested him on the spot. And when he confessed, no one thought otherwise.”

  He’s relaxed now, comforted by his own admission. Relieved, almost.

  “So that’s it,” I say, trying to temper the vibration in my voice.

  “That’s it. I’ve had to live with this for three whole years,” he says, like he can’t believe he’s actually done something this heinous, like I should feel sorry for him for having to carry around this weight. My insides curdle.