The Last Wish of Sasha Cade

by Cheyanne Young

  “Yes,” I find myself saying before I can think it over. The animal clinic has been my usual after-school job, but they understood when I took some time off to care for Sasha. I love animals and I do plan on going back, but without Sasha, it feels like I’m learning how to be a person all over again. Maybe I need something new for a while. “I’m still in school, so I could only work evenings and weekends,” I say.

  “That’s fine. Perfect, actually.” Izzy holds up the simple bouquet, tipping it toward me. “Pink carnations — they stand for remembrance. For you, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking the flowers and inhaling the sweet scent. “How do I apply?”

  “Just come in when you’ve had time to mourn your friend,” she says, taking the index card and tossing it in the trash. “No rush.”

  ***

  I’m awake before the sun on Thursday morning. Sasha didn’t have a viewing — she didn’t want one. She said the idea of lying around dead for a few hours in a funeral home sounded like torture. She wanted her funeral to be outside at the cemetery, her casket surrounded by wildflowers and the sounds of nature.

  Peyton Colony Memorial Park is as beautiful as it is old, with one edge bordering the massive lake that makes our town a tourist stop and a low-budget vacation spot. There are graves from as far back as the 1800s here, and since the grounds slope slightly downward, every headstone has a view of the water. If only hypothetically.

  I wear a dark-pink sundress that stops just above my knees. Sasha picked it out for the occasion. I know she’s wearing a matching dress in purple, her favorite color, inside the casket. Not that I will ever see it.

  I glance at the stack of funeral programs on my desk. Sasha’s grinning school picture from last year is on the front. She’d gone to the salon for a blowout the day before, so her long hair is supermodel-perfect — this was long before the shave. Her high cheekbones and smile make her look like a goddess. I don’t know how she managed to nail school photos. Mine are always the worst.

  I attempt to deal with my hair, but short, wavy and messy are pretty much the only things it can do. Mom keeps saying I should have a stylist cut it into some kind of actual hairstyle, but I like seeing how it grows out all wacky. Besides, I don’t think Sasha will mind.

  “How do you like my hair?” I pick up the first program from the stack and look into my best friend’s eyes, knowing she can’t reply. Even printed on paper, their color is mesmerizing.

  My eyes are a hazelish green, like someone dumped a bucket of dirty mop water on top of them. Definitely nothing to write home about. Sasha, on the other hand, had these gorgeous bright blue eyes that contrasted starkly with her dark hair and brown skin. They were the first thing you noticed when you looked at her, two orbs of light set into a face that already glowed. Sasha was single by choice, since nearly every guy she ever met wanted to date her. She was the kind of charismatic person that would be really easy to hate, but no one ever did. People were drawn to her. People wanted to be her best friend, but for some reason, she chose me.

  I set the program back on top of the stack.

  In the kitchen, Dad’s dressed in his funeral best, which is a far cry from his usual wardrobe of faded jeans and a stained T-shirt. He hands me a cup of coffee and Mom forces a plate of pancakes and bacon into my hands.

  “You need to eat,” she says, watching until I take a bite.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive myself,” I say after breakfast. My parents exchange a look but Mom nods.

  “That’s fine. Just be careful.”

  “I want to get there early and stay late.”

  “Understandable,” Dad says over his coffee mug. Unless the Texans are playing football on TV, Luke Clearwater is a man of very few words. He has even fewer today.

  I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel as I walk through the cemetery. Sad, obviously. Scared out of my mind because I’ll be giving the eulogy? Probably.

  Mostly there’s this unplaceable feeling deep in my chest that makes my fingers and toes feel light. Like when you’re at the top of a roller coaster and it hasn’t dropped yet, but you know at any second, your stomach will fly up into your throat, your butt will lift off the seat, and for just a moment, there will be an addicting kind of chaos.

  Several rows of folding chairs sit in front of Sasha’s casket, which is even more spectacular in the summer sun. The wildflower planters are stunning; every color of the rainbow blooms and stretches toward the sky, making Sasha’s casket look like a work of art.

  I stand there and watch people arrive. Sasha’s parents give me a quick hug but then they’re taken away by the duty of greeting guests with pained smiles. Before long, it’s obvious that every member of our senior class and many of the juniors have shown up, and they stand around filling every inch of grass. I recognize a few teachers as well, along with our principal and Mrs. Sparks, who was Sasha’s kindergarten teacher.

  Zack wears a suit that makes him look more handsome than I’ve ever seen him. His grin tells me he knows how great he looks, his eyes locking on mine as he walks up the rows of chairs. He hugs and kisses me like I never yelled at him to leave my backyard.

  “Thanks for coming,” I manage to say. He takes a spot next to some of Sasha’s distant relatives.

  The funeral begins and Pastor Williams reads Bible passages and a poem. I’m sitting up front, right next to Mr. and Mrs. Cade and my parents, but I don’t really hear a thing he says. Instead, all I seem to hear are Mrs. Cade’s quiet sobs and the crinkle of her package of tissues as she reaches for another one, and yet another.

  My typed eulogy gets sweaty from my grip. Public speaking isn’t my favorite thing, but weirdly, I’m not nervous anymore.

  When Pastor Williams calls me up, I rise and walk to the podium. Zack meets my gaze and gives me a thumbs-up. Then I glance toward Sasha’s parents, who watch me with eager, bloodshot eyes.

  “Good afternoon,” I say, glancing at the casket. “My name is Raquel Clearwater, though you probably already know that.”

  I open up the paper, spread it out flat on top of the wooden surface. The words blur as tears fill my vision. I draw in a slow and deep breath, glancing back out at the crowd. I see Izzy in a flowy dress, and she smiles.

  “I met Sasha in Mrs. Wood’s class. My family wasn’t doing too well back then, and I had these stupid shoes that came from the dollar store on Fifth Street. It was the first day of first grade and we had to sit in a circle, and some kid saw the dollar store logo on the bottom of my shoes. Everyone laughed and made fun of me. That’s when Sasha walked up and declared that she thought they were cool.

  “The next day, she came to school wearing the same shoes. Mine were pink and hers were purple.” I can’t help smiling. “We were six years old and she was already cool as hell. Soon, everyone else wanted the shoes because Sasha had them. The dollar store couldn’t keep them in stock anymore because they were flying off the shelves.”

  There’s some soft laughter in the crowd and I focus on the spray of gorgeous sunflowers on top of the casket. “Sasha became my best friend that day, and she has saved me from being an outcast about a thousand more times over the years, in many ways that I won’t tell you guys because it’d be mortifying.”

  More laughter. I glance at Mrs. Cade and she beams at me, the same kind of smile she used to give Sasha all the time. I swallow and glance back at my paper.

  “Sasha Cade was kind. She was an old soul with a spark that couldn’t be extinguished. She pulled me out of my shell time and time again, and taught me to do what I love without caring what other people think. Once she became your friend, she would move heaven and earth to make sure you had what you needed. I’ve always known I could never pay her back for how much she’s given me over the years. But even if I could somehow do that, she wouldn’t have let me.”

  The next line of my eulogy begins an
other story from our past, but I skip over it, knowing I’ll burst into tears and ruin my speech. I notice Zack is staring at his phone. Annoyed, I scan the crowd. Sasha would have loved this, all these people here just for her. I take a deep breath and skip to the last words on my paper.

  “Sasha was a firecracker. I loved her, and I will miss her every day. She’s leaving a trail of sunshine in heaven now.” Tears spring to my eyes and I rush to the end. “Thank you for coming today.”

  I look up to the sky, close my eyes and feel the sun warming every cell in my body. I have no freaking clue who I am without Sasha.

  But I’ll be okay.

  Pastor Williams clears his throat and hands me an envelope. In a hushed tone, he says, “Sasha wanted me to give you this, at this moment. You’re supposed to read it.”

  This isn’t in the binder.

  I take the envelope and turn it over. My heart hammers in my chest. Written in pink Sharpie, in Sasha’s perfect cursive, are these words:

  Sorry to spring this on you, Rocki. I have some final things to say.

  Love you always,

  Sasha

  Chapter Four

  After months of planning every second of this funeral, she would have known that springing a surprise self-eulogy on me last minute, while I’m standing up here with the entire senior class watching me, would have been a shock.

  Which means she did it for a reason.

  Maybe it’s just another way of her pushing me out of my comfort zone, edging me to the cliff of my fears and promising my parachute will open, if I just get the courage to jump. Inwardly, I roll my eyes. Thanks. Thanks a lot, Sasha.

  I clear my throat, my eyes zooming across the paper in a futile attempt to take it in before I speak the words.

  “‘So,’” I begin reading, clearing my throat. Sasha wouldn’t do anything to embarrass me, I realize after what feels like an eternity. I find a way to step out of my own brain and just read.

  “‘So, it’s my funeral. Let me guess … all one hundred and twenty-four of the seniors are here, right? So glad you made the ultimate sacrifice of your education to come watch me get lowered into the ground.

  “‘I want to thank Raquel, my bestest friend on earth — I say on earth because surely I’ve made some killer best friends up here in heaven so far. Don’t worry, Rocki, no one will replace you. Prince and Shakespeare are just my temporary replacements until you arrive, hopefully old and wrinkly, because life is a gift and I want you to have a long one.

  “‘So, back to my speech. I trust Rocki is delivering it with as much grace and just the hint of sarcasm that I would have used if I could somehow have been here to give it myself. Ten bucks says Rocki called me a firecracker in what I’m sure was a beautiful eulogy. She never let me read it, but I know she worked hard on it.’”

  There’s laughter, and I can’t help but grin as I wipe away some tears and keep reading. “‘Mom and Dad —’” I pause here, trying to read ahead before I say anything aloud, and then I look over at Mr. and Mrs. Cade. Their expressions look as blissful as though their daughter has crawled out of her coffin alive and well for a private conversation. Now I know why she left this note. It’s not for me, or even for our peers — it’s for her parents. I clear my throat and start again.

  “‘Mom and Dad, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the greatest parents a girl could ever have. Thank you for choosing me all those years ago. I know Great-Grandma didn’t like that I was mixed race, but you still picked me even with all the family drama. You guys are the best. The absolute best, please know that. Don’t ever doubt it, no matter what. I’m sorry I had to go so early. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you grandchildren. But please know that my years with you guys as parents meant the world to me.’”

  There’s a line drawn at the bottom, separating one final note from Sasha. I see the words

  Rocki you don’t have to read this part aloud.

  So I don’t. I fold up the paper, let the tears fall freely and step down to where my mom opens her arms and takes me into her embrace.

  ***

  The next morning, Friday, I get dressed for school, still not sure if I’m actually going back. I’m not ready to face the world or pretend to have a normal day when nothing will ever be normal again, but the walls of my bedroom are starting to close in on me. And too many missed school days will only mean I have to make up the time, so school feels like something I should do. Something Sasha would want me to do.

  Sasha’s surprise eulogy rests on my nightstand, the special postscript message now etched into my brain since I’ve read it a million times.

  I know you want a sign, and you’re about to get it. Love you!

  Last night, I might have spent an embarrassing amount of time searching the internet for ways to hear from a dead person. All I got was weirdo nonsense, famous TV personalities who claim to be mediums and charge a ton of money, and a whole lot of people saying that kind of thing is impossible.

  I push a thick black headband over my eyes and up, lifting the hair out of my face. If Sasha is going to give me a sign from the afterlife, I’m sure she can do it while I’m at school.

  The curse of attending a school as small as PCHS is that there’s nowhere to hide. You can’t exactly blend into a crowd when there’s no crowd to begin with. I’m aware of the eyes on me as I make my way through the parking lot and into the school. Part of me even regrets some of the personal things I said at Sasha’s funeral. Even though I was saying them for her, everyone in this hallway heard them, too.

  I keep my head down and give a polite but tight smile to the few girls who say hello to me. My mom told me to be myself, even if myself was still mourning and wanted to be left alone.

  Zack finds me in the hallway after first period. He’s wearing a hoodie over a pair of neon-orange board shorts, with flip-flops.

  “My beautiful girlfriend is back,” he says, falling into step with me as I walk toward the English hallway.

  “Hey.” It’s pretty much the only thing I can be bothered to say right now. Sure, I’m no longer crying, but the pain has cracked open a hole in my heart that’s bigger than the Mariana Trench. Suffice it to say that small talk is not on the list of things I am capable of.

  In fact, that list is about four things long.

  Sleep.

  Walk.

  Breathe.

  Eat.

  The rest of the student body and my teachers have all accepted that. Not Zack.

  His meaty arm slings around my shoulder, protecting me from the parade of students rushing to their next class. I lean against him, allowing his body to be my shield.

  Part of this feels all wrong, like I am dangling Zack from a fishing line with no intention of reeling him in. I cared about him once, and I can probably find those feelings again, if I try hard enough. It’s the trying that’s giving me a hard time. Zack has no real ambition besides video games and working out. In junior high, that didn’t matter. In high school, Sasha thought I could do better.

  We reach my class and he stops, pulling me up against the lockers. “I missed you,” he says, peering into my eyes. “I missed you a lot.”

  “Did you miss me, or did your boner miss me?” I ask, deadpan, because I know he’s letting it touch me on purpose.

  He sighs. “It’s not my fault you make this happen,” he says, nodding downward before putting a hand on my hip. I shuffle back a little, not wanting to be within five hundred feet of a horny teenage guy.

  “I have to go.” I turn to leave and Zack rushes forward, blocking my path to Mrs. Garza’s class.

  Something like sincerity crosses his features and he frowns. “Baby, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to act, okay?”

  My lips press together, and God help me, my ice-cold heart starts to melt a little. “Okay. Sorry I’m being a bitch. I did miss you — I mea
n I do, I just — Sasha.” My shoulders fall. “It’s hard.”

  “I know.” Zack reaches up and touches my face. “Come to the movies with me tonight.”

  “Is that a question or a caveman demand?”

  He rolls his eyes. “A question, obviously. Come on, it’ll be fun. You can get out of the house and we’ll spend time together.” He leans in, not even flinching when the warning bell rings. His next class is way across the school so he’ll get a tardy even if he leaves now. “Come on, Raquel. Please? We’ll go to the drive-in and watch from the back seat.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows and I exhale so loudly I think everyone in the hallway hears it. He holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, fine. Regular movie theater.”

  My lips press together, and the risk of getting detention from a tardy on my first day back makes me hasty. “Sure,” I say, turning toward my class. “Whatever.”

  “That means yes?”

  I nod, hitching my backpack up on my shoulder. “Yeah. Call me later.”

  He leans in and quickly kisses me before turning and running down the hallway. Sasha’s voice tsks in my mind, and although she’s no longer in this class with me, I take a seat in the back and look over at her empty desk. I know what she would say: Dump him already.

  ***

  When Mom gets home from work, she peeks into my bedroom and makes this weird sound that’s a mix between surprise and shock. I turn toward her, mascara wand in hand. “What?”

  “You’re dressed nicely.” She studies me, mama bear unsure about her cub.

  “Skinny jeans and a tank top aren’t exactly dressed up.”

  “Matched with those fancy heels and a face full of makeup, I’d say that’s dressed up.” She points a stack of mail at me, her car keys still clutched in her other hand, purse strap over her shoulder. Checking on me is now her first priority, as if the sadness of losing my best friend will make me disappear into thin air if she doesn’t watch me close enough.