I guess Mellie did say something about not talking to Andy anymore, somewhere in the middle of her rant about what a terrible person I am. But what’s the harm in me seeing him now? I already screwed everything up; it’s not like I can make things worse just by talking to a human. I already killed someone and learned my lesson. And besides, Andy’s going to live either way, now that I saved him. I can’t mess that up twice, can I?
“Why aren’t you supposed to see me anymore?” Andy asks, and I really wish he wasn’t here right now. If I was just talking to Reece, I could say whatever I wanted to because he already knows everything. But there are some things I don’t want Andy to know; it would change him, and I like him the way he is right now. Minus the sad look he gets in his eyes and the bruises all over his face.
“Because Mellie doesn’t want what happened to Jeremy to happen to you,” I say, making things up as I go along. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right? “I already told you that ghosts and humans aren’t supposed to be friends. It’s too dangerous.”
“And I told you that I don’t care. You said Mellie gave you permission to talk to me. So what’s the big deal?”
“She gave me permission to say goodbye, Andy.”
Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. I should just get my mouth sewn shut so I can’t say anything stupid ever again. When I get too tired and talk too much, I always end up saying exactly the opposite of
what I should. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let Andy know
that his time was up nearly a week ago, and now I’ve messed that up too.
Andy looks at me, confusion mixing with fear on his face. “Goodbye? Are you going somewhere?”
“No,” I say, trying to backtrack. “Not anymore. Not at all, actually. No.”
I shake my head, trying to silently tell him to drop it, because pushing the issue is a bad idea and what I have to say is just going to hurt him even more. But Andy doesn’t get hints very well, and he never knows when to stop. I swear, if I told him I was about to push him off a cliff, he’d probably ask me why I haven’t done it already and want to know if we could still be friends. He’s a little weird and more than a little crazy – why do I like hanging out with him again?
Oh, yeah. Because I’m weird and crazy too.
“Am…” Andy pauses, glancing back at Reece briefly. “Am I going somewhere?”
And there it is: the question I was hoping he would never ask. Because I can’t lie to him, not about this. It’s his life; he deserves to know. I’ve been so selfish, keeping my secrets without ever worrying about how they might be affecting everyone around me. When I killed myself, that was my thought process too – actions first, consequences later. And now all of those consequences are catching up to me at once.
“No, Andy. You’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“You were supposed to die five days ago,” Reece cuts in, displaying more confidence than I’ve ever seen in him. “Terra
stopped it from happening, and now Mellie’s upset that her death list has been messed with.”
I glare at Reece, who shrugs again and tries his best to look sympathetic. He really has become Mellie’s lap dog; he’s doing whatever she tells him to, no matter how it affects me and Andy. Did she offer him something? Does he get to go to Heaven if he does her job for her? The Reece I knew would never betray my trust like that. Something must be wrong.
Andy’s already pale skin flushes to paper-white and he gapes at me, eyes narrowed and brows knitted together across his forehead. Emotions swirl across his face – confusion, anger, fear, hurt. He looks younger somehow, like a little boy who’s just been told his puppy died.
“Terra, you… Were you there to get my soul? Is that why you met me at school that day?”
“No!” I say, starting to get desperate. “No, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t know at the time that you were supposed to die that day.”
“But if you had known,” Andy says, words coming out sluggishly, “would you still have tried to save me?”
Would I? That was my plan all along, wasn’t it? But there are consequences for messing with death. Am I really willing to deal with whatever those are just for one human?
Yes. I think I’ve known since I met him that I was.
I nod quickly and some of the anger seems to seep out of Andy’s eyes. “Yes. Of course I would have. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“When you met me,” he continues, “you didn’t know anything about me. I could have been a freak, or a bully, or a complete weirdo – even more than I already am. If I told you that I was supposed to die on that day, not five days ago like your Reaper friend said, would you still have tried to help me?”
I think back to when I first met Andy, when I realized he could see me and that he would probably be the next person to die. I remember thinking about how terrible it was that someone as young and healthy as him would have to go through something so horrific. I put myself in the shoes of the people who had to witness my own death and I realized I couldn’t just stand by and watch. I was willing, even from the beginning, to do anything to keep him safe. Maybe I was projecting my own fears onto him, but for some reason he was the one death I couldn’t handle. Esther was hard, David was awful, and Jared was nearly impossible to watch, but Andy would have ruined me. And it’s only now that I’m starting to realize why.
“I thought you were,” I say, not meeting his eyes. “I thought you were going to die, and I was ready to do whatever it took to stop that from happening. I don’t know why, but there was something about you that reminded me of… of me. And that’s why I hung around you so much. I wanted to make sure I could help you when the time came.”
Andy is silent for a moment, watching the clock on his wall tick down the minutes until his parents get home and his life turns upside down again. Reece floats in his chair, his face stony, and I can’t help but forgive him. He may be on Mellie’s side, but that
doesn’t mean he isn’t on mine, too. He came here because he knew there were things Andy and I needed to talk about, that we wouldn’t bring up on our own. And maybe that’s what Mellie’s thinking too; in her own way, she might actually be trying to help.
“You did,” Andy mutters. I strain my ears and can barely hear him. “That day, the day we met. I was supposed to die that day. But I didn’t because I met you.”
I stare at him blankly, trying to process what he just said. It doesn’t make any sense, and then a flashlight flickers to life in my head, and whoa. All at once I realize, and I think back to all of the tiny details I missed at the time, every little puzzle piece that fits together into the truth that’s in front of me right now. And it makes so much sense, it’s scary. That’s why I empathized so easily with Andy; that’s why I latched onto him so quickly.
Because he’s just like me. Because, on the day I met him, Andy was planning on taking his own life.
Andy seems to realize the moment I understand, because he looks down at his fidgeting fingers and sniffles. The tips of his ears are bright pink and his eyes are closed. He looks like he’s trying hard not to cry.
Reece has the tact to leave, nodding at me on his way out. “Mellie will be by soon to talk to you,” he whispers in my ear as he leaves through the open window. “I won’t tell her you were here.”
“Thanks,” I say as I watch him fly away. He still stumbles a bit the higher he goes, but he’s getting a lot stronger. Pretty soon he’ll surpass me, and I’m not even upset about that possibility anymore.
“We need to talk,” I say as soon as Reece is out of sight. Andy looks up at me, his eyes wet but his cheeks dry. The bags under his eyes look darker, somehow.
I don’t expect him to agree, and I don’t know what I’ll do if he does. But I’m sick of keeping secrets from the only real friend I have, and I have to hope he feels the same way about me.
“Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How were you planning on doing
it?”
“Terra, I told you I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Yeah, but I told you how I killed myself. It’s only fair you repay the favor.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
I wink at him, trying to keep the mood light. I realize we’re talking about a very sensitive subject, and if I want to get any answers out of him, I have to make sure he doesn’t get nervous and shut down. Andy is usually pretty open when he talks to me, but I know this is something he intended on nobody ever finding out. I feel honored he told me, but scared that he had to in the first place.
Why does it bother me so much that he tried to kill himself when I did the same thing and actually succeeded? He’s alive right now and that’s all that should matter. Right?
Andy sighs and stands, walking over to his dresser and rummaging through one of the drawers. He pulls something out and shakes it, then tosses it in my direction.
“Here,” he says. I just manage to catch it before it hits the floor. “Can we stop talking about this now?”
I look down at the bottle clasped in my hands; it’s large and white and printed all around with a label that looks professional. I don’t recognize the medication name, but the word anxiety jumps out at me in the directions. Take one tablet daily as needed for anxiety. Huh. So I wasn’t the only messed up kid in this town. I don’t know what surprises me more: the fact that Andy takes medicine for anxiety, or that he was planning on using that same medicine to take his own life.
Not that Andy seems like a calm, collected person, but I guess I’ve always just assumed that he’s got his life together a bit more than he obviously does. He takes the bullying and the beatings without saying or doing anything. I should have known that things like that would have some kind of effect on him.
“Alright,” I say, throwing the bottle back at him. He takes a long look at it before stuffing it back in his sock drawer. I wonder why he’s hiding it when his parents must know about it, but I realize that if he was planning on taking enough pills to kill himself, he probably skipped a few doses over the past couple of months. He must not have wanted his parents to know he’s been hoarding meds.
Just like I hid my penknife in the space between my mattress and bed frame. I wasn’t sure I would ever use it, but I needed to know that it was there just in case I did. It was comforting, somehow. The thought of it makes me feel sick now.
I wonder if that should mean something to me. It almost does, but I can’t quite figure it out.
♠♠♠
Andy returns to school three days later, exactly one week after the ‘incident,’ as I’ve been calling it in my head. It’s easier to think of it that way than to remind myself that it’s already been a week since I almost saw Andy die and I got so angry I killed someone.
It’s been seven days, and sometimes it feels like more, but most of the time it feels like it was just yesterday. I can remember everything that happened in crisp, clear detail – the blood on Andy’s face, Jeremy’s fist raised for another punch, the slow-motion replay as I slammed myself into him and his body became a solid, touchable object that I felt as soon as I collided with it. The memories come back at odd intervals, hitting me when I least expect them and sending my mind reeling. I wish I could forget, but the harder I try the more I remember.
Jeremy’s funeral is tomorrow afternoon. Andy doesn’t plan on going, and I don’t blame him; I would feel out of place mourning him too. I think it’s already brave enough of Andy to go back to school, even if he’s been absent for at least a week. If his parents weren’t forcing him, I don’t think he would do it. I can understand that, too.
Andy’s mother hasn’t spoken more than a few brief sentences in passing to her son since he was released from the hospital. I can’t tell if she’s angry with him or just done dealing with his problems. Her eyes graze over him critically whenever he’s around, and she’s been out of the house more often. Sometimes I
think maybe she feels guilty for causing the beating that sent her only child to the hospital, but then I remember the awful conversation she had with him just a few days before and I realize she doesn’t have it in her to feel guilt. If she did, she wouldn’t have outed Andy to the entire school and basically ruined his life.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I tell him as we approach the large, overbearing front doors of the school. Andy’s father stands a few feet behind us, leaning against the window of the passenger side of his car and watching Andy closely. “We can just sneak out the back; nobody will even notice. I doubt your parents will even check up on whether you go today or not. They don’t seem like they care that much, no offense.”
Andy shakes his head, shifting his backpack on his shoulders. “I can’t just run away from my problems,” he says, and I understand the double meaning in his words.
“I know. But you don’t have to do this today. You’re still healing; your stitches haven’t even come out yet. Just wait a few more days, until you’re feeling better. I won’t try to stop you then, I promise.”
“You can’t stop me now, either.” He looks behind him at his father getting back into the car and watches as he drives away. “I’ll be fine, Terra. It’s just school.”
I know that, and I know I shouldn’t be making such a big deal out of this. But the last time Andy was in this building he was unconscious and being loaded onto a gurney. I didn’t worry about him before then, and look what happened – he nearly died. And I still don’t know if he’s safe now; Mellie hasn’t told me anything,
and for all I know Andy’s death date has just been moved back a couple weeks. There are always going to be people in this world who hate him just for who he is, and I can’t stop everyone from reacting when they find out; I would have to tail him for the rest of his life to do that, and I don’t know if I have that much time.
But I shouldn’t have worried, because school goes by without any problems other than the occasional slur whispered to Andy in the hallway. Most of the kids just stay away from him, casting sidelong glances as they pass. It’s almost like they’re afraid of him, stepping back when he walks by and averting their eyes. But then I realize, belatedly halfway into second period, that it’s not fear on their faces, it’s disgust. It’s the same sick expression I saw in Jeremy’s eyes when he first pulled Andy up by his collar and slammed him back against the lockers. I saw it on Reece’s father’s face just moments before he shot his own son. It’s pure hatred, and it makes my stomach churn.
Some of the students don’t pay Andy any attention – they don’t look disgusted by him, but they don’t look at him at all. I think I see one or two older kids smile at him as he passes, but it happens so fast I don’t have time to point it out to Andy. If anyone is on his side in all this, they don’t make it obvious enough; from what I can see, Jeremy was popular and Andy is taking the blame for what happened to him.
“Still think this is a good idea?” I whisper against the shell of his ear after a particularly nasty comment is fired his way by a girl I recognize from one of my own classes. She flings her braid over one
shoulder, shouts out a few choice insults, and walks away before Andy can defend himself – not that I expect he would have if he’d had the chance. Andy’s spent most of the day with his head down and his fingers twitching around the hem of his shirt.
“It had to happen eventually,” he says, dodging an elbow and ducking around a row of lockers. At least he hasn’t been beaten up today – yet. “I can see you now,” he mumbles, out of the blue. I cock my head and look at him, confused.
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. I remember him mentioning something like that before – a long time ago and then again just after he woke up in the hospital. He told me I was disappearing, and I shrugged it off as half-asleep rambling. He sounds serious now, and he’s speaking so low it’s like he doesn’t really want me to hear him, but he knows he needs to say it anyway. It must be important.
“I can see you too,” I say. “Does that mean something?”
He shrugs, stopping at his locker and opening it with stumbling fingers. He opens his backpack and takes out two textbooks, swapping them out for a notebook and shoving it in his bag among the loose papers and pencils.
“I could see you before,” he begins, not looking at me, “because I was going to die, right? And then you started getting blurry, and your arms would sometimes disappear or your body would flicker, and it scared me until I figured out why it was happening.”
He zips up his backpack and throws it over one shoulder. The
hallway is nearly empty now, and if he stays here much longer he’s going to miss his next class.
“You disappeared completely, once,” he continues, turning and leaning against his locker. I can’t help but picture him, held up against the metal frame by a pair of rough, strong hands, his head slamming back over and over until blood sticks in clots in his hair. “But since yesterday I’ve been able to see you just fine. It scares me a little, to be honest.”
He closes his mouth and sighs. It takes me a minute to understand what he’s implying, and even longer to connect the pieces together. He could see me clearly because he was going to die, and then he stopped being able to because I stopped him from dying. He chose not to kill himself, for whatever reason after he met me, and I started to vanish because humans who aren’t about to die can’t see ghosts. Maybe Mellie was wrong, and the friend she accidentally touched was going to die anyway.
But now Andy can see me again, even though his original time of death has passed. What does that mean?
“I don’t understand,” I say slowly. “You’re safe. You’re totally fine, right? You aren’t going to off yourself any time soon, are you?”
Fear creeps up in my throat. Is that what he’s trying to say – that he plans on trying to kill himself again? That really shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, because I’d be a hypocrite if I said I was against teen suicide. But there’s something about Andy that doesn’t quite fit the criteria; I just can’t picture him in place of
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