by Lindy Zart
“I’m good. Just give me a minute.”
“We don’t have a minute.” My neck strains with the chaos battling inside me. Leave her, a voice roars. Leave her and get to Alexis! I almost do.
Melanie waves me away with a hand and attempts to navigate on her knees and hands. She’s literally moved maybe an inch since I got here. I take a deep breath, briefly close my eyes, and haul her over my shoulder. I careen to the left as the dock rolls, and Melanie pounds at my back with her fists, screaming at me to let her down, and then screaming at me to not let her go when I slid toward the edge of the dock.
I fall to one knee, her elbow knocking into the side of my head. Pain slashes through my temple. “Hold still!”
She goes limp, and I shake the ringing from my head. Staring straight ahead, I force myself back to my feet. My muscles burn. Jocelyn and Casey sit huddled together, two dark shapes waiting in the sand. Casey shoots to her feet, her mouth open and her eyes large. She cups her mouth and shouts something.
Hurry.
I’m close to land.
Knowing I shouldn’t, I shift my head and look back.
I’ll never forget it.
Never.
Alexis is slowly making her way toward me, her eyes locked on me, her features set with concentration. She focuses on me like I am her destination, and she only has to reach me, and then everything will be bearable. She meets my eyes as I look at her, and I feel the force of her essence all the way to my core. I don’t think she’s ever realized how alive she truly is. I don’t think she knows that death could never really be an option for her. Alexis burns brighter than anything as small as mortality.
The corners of her mouth dip. I see forgiveness and regret in her eyes. She takes a deep breath. I see every dream she had that involved me, every hope. Her mouth wobbles. I see her heart. Her eyes shine. I see me in her eyes, and I don’t see what I expect to see—I see something that has to be close to love.
As if knowing what is about to happen, she mouths, “I’m sorry.”
Multiple waves, bigger and fiercer than I’d ever expect a lake to produce, crash over the dock with unapologetic savagery. The middle of the dock disintegrates, an unnatural sound taking over the noise of rain and thunder. It splits in two, separating us. The end Alexis is on immediately goes under.
Gone.
She’s just…gone.
I blink, not believing what I see. My grip loosens, and I almost drop Melanie. I want to drop Melanie. I stare in horror at the emptiness where Alexis stood. It’s nothing but choppy, furious water. I can’t hear anything, and then I hear a siren. It’s Melanie.
“Put me down!” Melanie shrieks, pounding at my back. “Put me down and get her!”
Practically throwing her the last few feet, I spin around, searching the black depths for a slight, pale form. I sprint back and forth, up and down the broken dock, looking, looking. My chest is crushing under the pressure of being unable to draw air. The fractured part of the dock bobs in the distance, and there is no one with it. A horrible sound fills my ears, and I realize it’s me, sobbing.
She can’t be gone. She can’t be gone.
I hear voices, see flashing lights through the trees near the cabin. I make out the forms of people running this way, one frame looking a lot like my dad’s. I turn away, diving into the icy, tumultuous water.
Twenty-four
Alexis
THE COLD IS THE WORST.
I go down, falling through the water, and I wonder if it will ever end. Is there a bottom, or does it go on forever? Will I never stop falling? I jerk with shivers, and they take over my body. I open my eyes to black. I am weightless, like I’m part of the lake instead of separate. When I stop spiraling down, I float in limbo before kicking my legs to try to get to the top. Even as I struggle to the surface, and find it blocked by the floating piece of dock that broke off, and unable to draw much needed air into my lungs, it’s the cold that is the worst.
I think of impossible moments as I fight the lake. The feel of Nick’s arms around me, the certainty that I was special to him, and still am. I think of the time my mom decorated my room in pink and frills because I was sick, and she wanted to make me feel better. My dad carrying me through the darkened house after a long day and night at the fair, and how he tucked me in bed and placed a kiss upon my brow. I think of all the things I want to do, should have done, and regret steals whatever air I have left in my lungs.
Regret knows me well.
I wasted too much time on things that didn’t change anything, instead of focusing on the things that could, for the better.
The wood of the fractured dock has become a weapon, and we do a fatal dance of chance. Each time I try to be free of it, it seems to follow. On and on this goes, until I fear my lungs will burst. When I think I’m finally around it, and shoot upward, the water slams it into me. It hits my head, and around the agony pulsing from my temple, I see stars. They’re so pretty, but they don’t belong here, not in the water. My head is heavy, and my lungs are on fire, and I finally close my eyes.
As consciousness slips from my grasp, I think of Nick’s dream, the dream where I died. It would be cruel to escape death once just to have it take me now, but then, that is exactly what I know life to be: cruel. I would laugh if I could, but instead, I do nothing. Death is easy; life is cruel. I still want life.
But I am so cold.
Twenty-five
Melanie
IT’S THE FIRST DAY OF my senior year, and like I pledged at the end of my junior, I’m going to be better and more spectacular than ever before. Enid High School won’t know what to do with me. I smirk at my reflection in the full-length mirror, and add in a wink, just because. I look good. I cut my hair over the summer, and highlighted the brown with sun-kissed blond. It now haloes my face in wisps and waves.
“Melanie, breakfast’s ready.”
Giving my black high-waist shorts and navy blue and white striped shirt one final look, I twirl around. I snag my backpack off the floor and skip down the stairs. I have a good feeling I am going to kill today. The kitchen smells like coffee and spices, and I breathe it in with a smile.
With her back to me, Mom opens the refrigerator door, pulling out a gallon of milk. She turns with a smile. Over the summer, we went for walks almost every day, and in turn, she’s looking slimmer and happier than I’ve seen her in years. She even streaked her graying hair with white, and got it cut in layers around her face. She looks awesome.
“What is it today, Mom?”
“Pumpkin muffins.” Her smile grows.
I groan. “Mom, you know those didn’t turn out right.”
“I think they’re good.”
“They taste like egg.”
She opens a container and pulls out the final product from my latest infamous baking attempt, and pops a chunk of pumpkin muffin in her mouth. “It’s good,” she assures me, setting a look of bliss on her face.
I laugh and toss a grape at her. My mom catches it and pops it in her mouth. “It’s close to inedible.”
“It’s a work in progress. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” My mom winks and sips from her cup of coffee. She lifts her eyebrows. “Want some?”
“Mom, you know I cut back on caffeine.” I removed a lot of things from my diet over the last few months, and my life. I spent the summer alcohol, sugar, and caffeine free, and other than when my mom and I were together, I spent it alone. And I didn’t mind it.
“It’s decaf.”
When I nod, she pours me a cup.
“Are you going to your dad’s this weekend?”
After what happened at the cabin, and my dad appearing as Lexie was taken away in an ambulance, I have since been forbidden to be there without his supervision. Old me would have thrown a fit; new me gets it. When I told him I wanted to see him more—after throwing up on his shoes—he agreed that he hasn’t been around as much as he should be. We’ve fallen into a schedule where I stay with him at the cabin, just t
he two of us, once a month. It’s something. It’s more than I used to get.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Good. That’s good.” She sounds like she means it. “I thought I could grab a pizza on my way home from work today. We could watch Supernatural.”
I smile around the coffee mug. “Deal.”
I introduced my mom to Sam and Dean Winchester in July, and she’s since become obsessed—or she’s just pretending interest in the show to do something with me. I know that the initial time she barged into my room and plopped down on my bed with the demand that she was going to watch whatever I was, was a means to connect with me. The show happened to be Supernatural.
She made an effort. I decided I should do the same.
I set down the coffee. “I have to go. Don’t worry about the dishes; I’ll get them when I get home from school.”
Blinking, my mom asks, “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The total one-eighty I recently pulled was shocking to everyone, including my mom, but mostly, me. That night at the cabin changed me. It changed us all. Since then, I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, and the kind of person I want to be. I want to be a good person, someone Lexie Hennessy would approve of.
I blink as an image of Lexie’s lifeless body being dragged from the water by Nick enters my head, bringing the cool kiss of icy death with it. In spite of the warm temperature, I shudder. I think of her often. In a messed up way, I’m glad I met her. She saved me that night, in more ways than the obvious. I’m kind of sad that she’s gone. I think I could have liked her.
It was evident a part of Nick died as he wept over her frigid and limp body, clutched within his arms. She had to be pulled from him by the EMTs, and she wasn’t breathing. He sat in a daze in the sand, looking at the water like he was waiting for it to bring back Lexie. They say death is never the answer. Maybe someone should ask Alexis Hennessy about that.
“It’s okay, Melanie.” My mom places a hand on my shoulder, knowing exactly where my mind has taken me. “It’s okay to think about it.”
I shake my head, dispersing the memory, and give her a quick hug. “I’ll see you later.”
“Have a good day,” she calls after me. “And take a muffin!”
I wave, and leave the house, minus the muffin.
My house is a ten-minute walk to the school. I wonder why I never bothered to walk it before. It’s already hot out, and I’m glad for my shorter haircut, knowing it’s only going to get hotter as the day goes. The breeze is nice, and I slide sunglasses onto my face to help block out the sun. Less potential for wrinkles when I’m not squinting.
A car of teens drives by, and I face forward, not wanting to know whether or not I know them. My mom’s car appears at the four-way stop, and she honks. Making a face, I wave as she heads in the direction of her workplace. The houses on either side of the street become sparser, and then the school stands before me.
I pause for a moment, taking in a lungful of air. I lift my head, straighten my back, and walk.
The first person I see upon entering the building is Jocelyn. She looks the same—same long black hair, same heavily made-up face, same suggestive outfit that’s probably inappropriate for school. She stands near Jeff Oliver in the hallway, a palm on his chest. His lightning blue eyes touch on mine, shifting away before mine can. Jocelyn doesn’t notice me until I’m almost past her, and when our eyes briefly meet, it’s like looking at a stranger. We both avert our gazes, and I continue toward my locker.
With my backpack inside the metal nook, I’m about to close the locker door when I smell familiar cologne. I shut the locker door and turn to face Jeff. His hair is longer than last year, and the rumpled waves soften his features. With his head tilted, he studies me like he can’t figure me out. I could end the mystery and let him know that he won’t. I am no longer paper thin like Jocelyn. I’m working on adding some depth.
“Jocelyn isn’t here,” I say pointedly when he continues to stare.
He tries to smile, but it doesn’t touch his blue eyes. “I liked you, you know.”
I cross my arms and rest my back against the cool lockers. It makes my skin break out in goose bumps. “Yeah, I could tell by how you went on a date with me, and the next time I saw you, you were with Jocelyn.”
Frustration tightens the skin around his eyes. “You didn’t act like you were interested.”
“I guess you should have asked,” I reply coldly.
Jeff opens his mouth, and I hold up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t date you now, no matter what. I hope you have a good year.”
With those parting words, I head for the cooking class I chose as an elective. I promised Mom I’d make dinner most nights, and I need some serious help if I want to make anything decent.
Farther down the hall, I see two boys shove a boy back and forth between them. The girl standing with them knocks papers from his hands. They laugh as the boy scrambles to pick up the papers from the floor. I slow my footsteps, watching as one of the boys kicks a paper out of the kneeling boy’s reach. With a sigh, I hurry my pace to get to them before the group disperses.
“Hey.” My tone is commanding, and four sets of eyes snap to my face. “What are your names?”
The boys stutter responses, but the girl remains quiet. Even the boy on the floor tells me his name. I focus on the girl, taking in her wavy red hair, challenging green eyes, and the magenta top I almost bought a couple weeks ago. “I like your shirt,” I tell her.
Suspicion clears from her gaze, and she brightens. “Thanks.”
“What’s your name?” I ask again, and this time, she tells me.
“You’re all freshmen, right?” When they nod, I continue. “I’m Melanie Mathews, and I’m a senior. Being freshmen, maybe you aren’t aware of certain rules, so I’ll be helpful and tell you the most important rule.” I pause, meeting three pairs of eyes. “You don’t treat other kids badly.”
The girl rolls her eyes.
I grab the front of her shirt and yank her to me as she sputters and tries to get away. Transforming my expression from friendly to wicked, I hiss, “If I see you picking on anyone, anyone, you’ll get to see my nasty side.” I smirk into her wide-eyed face. “You don’t want to see my nasty side.”
I open my fingers and she staggers back, tugging at her shirt. When I look at the boys, they blanch and start to turn. “Where do you think you’re going?” They freeze. “Get these papers picked up. Now.”
They scramble to do my bidding. I look at the blond-haired boy with brown eyes crouched on the floor. He looks young, and innocent. He looks like the kind who won’t fight back. He’ll be eaten alive if he doesn’t change his ways. I offer a hand. Looking relieved and much too grateful, he accepts.
I squeeze his hand as he stands beside me, and he meets my eyes. “Stick up for yourself. Bullies hate that.”
AS I GO THROUGH MY classes, and steer through the halls, I feel Lexie. It’s hard to explain how exactly I do, but it’s like her mark is on the walls. Her ghost walks these halls with the students. She was here. I knew her. I won’t forget her. I smile ruefully, thinking of the crap she pulled on me in retaliation of the crap I pulled on her first. I wish I hadn’t been such an awful person.
So don’t be, I hear her say inside my head.
In Art, my last class before lunch, I hesitantly take a seat at the same table as Casey. I’m not sure what to expect from her, but I owe her an apology. I treated her wrongly.
Other than one time when we bumped into each other at a clothing store at the mall, I haven’t seen her since the night of my disastrous party. She was with Lucas when I saw her, and she looked happy—well, she looked happy until she saw me, that is. I said hello. Her reply was less than friendly.
Dressed in a pink top and black shorts with her blond hair in a side-braid, Casey looks sweet and pretty. She stiffens when I say her name, avoiding my gaze. Feeling my chest deflate, I look around, contemplating sitting so
mewhere else entirely, but then she speaks.
“I always thought you and Jocelyn were better than me.”
I go still, staring at her lowered head.
Casey looks up, her mouth tight. “You were, but only because I let you.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, meaning it.
She gets to her feet and walks to a table across the room, but not before saying, “You should be.”
Lunch isn’t much better. I stand in the cafeteria, surrounded by hundreds of kids, and I have nowhere to go. The noise level is earsplitting, and it smells like tacos and cheese. Kids are talking about what they did over the summer, and the air is thick with excitement. I feel displaced. Grabbing a tuna fish sandwich and a bottle of water, I quickly leave the mayhem of the lunchroom and head for the picnic tables outside.
There’s a handful of students making use of the picnic tables, while others sit in the grass. One girl sits alone at a table, eating a sandwich as she watches traffic go by. I can’t remember her name—I think it is Anne—but she’s in my grade, and I saw her with Lexie last year. I wonder if she knows what happened to her. If she doesn’t, I’m not telling her.
Swallowing my pride, because, really, it needs it, I keep her in sight as I approach. The girl has limp brown hair, and dresses in jeans and tee shirts that are too big. Her face is pale with small features. She isn’t popular. She will never be popular. In fact, she’s one of the kids who are usually picked on by others, a kid I probably made fun of at some point. And I want her to be my first new friend.
“Hey…Anne. Can I sit here?”
“It’s Anna.” Her eyes are wary upon my face as she looks up.
“I’m sorry, Anna. For…that, and for, well, for me. You know, how I acted last year.” I roll my eyes. “Okay, all the years.”
I didn’t realize I’d spend most of my first day of school apologizing to people, but maybe I should have.